in memoriam . . . BIKO
Years back, probably through some bad luck, I was forced to teach gardening to a class of high school students. I was chosen not for any studies which I did, or degree which I have. The only criteria I suppose for the choice was the fact that I have chosen gardening as a hobby to while away my time as a celibate and I have done so ever since I was in theology. It was not talent that made me choose that hobby. I just cherished the silence that it brings and I like to see things grow.
I woke up early one morning and I knew that things looked bad for a gardener. The weather had not been good for almost two days then, and that morning as any gardener would surmise, things turned out from bad to worse considering that we had just replanted then some seedlings. After mass I went to the garden and indeed my worst fears were confirmed – the garden was awashed with water and in another plot the fledgling seedlings were pinned down to the ground.
And there and then I thought to myself, if only we can control the weather, then things would turn out as expected. If only we can control the seasons. It was a mere wishful thinking, imaginations we would often entertain every time difficulties with its consequent feelings of helplessness come our way. If only we can control the seasons.
Seasons are not only true in the world of nature. These uncontrollable seasons are not only present in the world around us. There are also seasons of the heart, there are seasons in our lives just as there are seasons in the world. They too are uncontrollable. Life is not just painful and terrible, nor is life just joyous and wonderful. The simple truth that I found out in our garden that morning was that life consisted of both. It consists of pain and joy, terror and wonder, helplessness and hopefulness. We were not born to live in this world and live through it happily ever after. There will be seasons of joy, there will be seasons of sadness. There will be seasons of grief, there will be seasons of gladness. And all these are uncontrollable. And just as I could not force the heavens to stop from pouring down rain, so too I could not prevent and nothing can prevent, the coming of autumn and winter into our hearts. It can never be forced. We could only welcome it.
It was only a short five months ago when the class gathered as jubilarians of twenty five years. It was a happy occasion – the joy of seeing each other once more, the memories recalled vividly with excitement as if it happened only yesterday, the enthusiasm of seeing the changes brought about by time in each one of us, and the excitement brought about by personal stories, told and retold, updating our fond memories for each other, keeping them new again.
But that joyful celebration would be punctuated with something disheartening, marring yet again another alumni homecoming. Biko came for the homecoming. Little did we know that it would be her last and it would also be her final preparation for the true homecoming with her creator. I am going to prepare a place for you, Jesus said, so that where I am you may also be.
Death is part of us as much as life is. Death has to be welcomed. The grief in death is part of us as much as the joys of life. It can never be forced, it can never be done away with. One can only welcome it as a gardener welcomes the rain or the storm.
When St. Francis was at the point of death it is told that he uttered these last words: “Welcome sister Death” and with a smile he breathed his last welcoming, that season in one’s life that announces one’s entrance to immortality with God. May we learn to welcome our sister death in the end as much as we welcome the coming of grief and joy in our lives for true indeed, despite this grief, we possess that faith that death can never ever separate us from the love of Christ and whatever unites us all in Christ Jesus.
Today as we mourn the death of a classmate, let us welcome it as Christians would, for when the depth of winter comes, spring is also not far behind. For the promise of Jesus holds true, on that day when every tear will be wiped away and we will be gathered together joyfully once more in that really grand homecoming in the Father’s house.
I woke up early one morning and I knew that things looked bad for a gardener. The weather had not been good for almost two days then, and that morning as any gardener would surmise, things turned out from bad to worse considering that we had just replanted then some seedlings. After mass I went to the garden and indeed my worst fears were confirmed – the garden was awashed with water and in another plot the fledgling seedlings were pinned down to the ground.
And there and then I thought to myself, if only we can control the weather, then things would turn out as expected. If only we can control the seasons. It was a mere wishful thinking, imaginations we would often entertain every time difficulties with its consequent feelings of helplessness come our way. If only we can control the seasons.
Seasons are not only true in the world of nature. These uncontrollable seasons are not only present in the world around us. There are also seasons of the heart, there are seasons in our lives just as there are seasons in the world. They too are uncontrollable. Life is not just painful and terrible, nor is life just joyous and wonderful. The simple truth that I found out in our garden that morning was that life consisted of both. It consists of pain and joy, terror and wonder, helplessness and hopefulness. We were not born to live in this world and live through it happily ever after. There will be seasons of joy, there will be seasons of sadness. There will be seasons of grief, there will be seasons of gladness. And all these are uncontrollable. And just as I could not force the heavens to stop from pouring down rain, so too I could not prevent and nothing can prevent, the coming of autumn and winter into our hearts. It can never be forced. We could only welcome it.
It was only a short five months ago when the class gathered as jubilarians of twenty five years. It was a happy occasion – the joy of seeing each other once more, the memories recalled vividly with excitement as if it happened only yesterday, the enthusiasm of seeing the changes brought about by time in each one of us, and the excitement brought about by personal stories, told and retold, updating our fond memories for each other, keeping them new again.
But that joyful celebration would be punctuated with something disheartening, marring yet again another alumni homecoming. Biko came for the homecoming. Little did we know that it would be her last and it would also be her final preparation for the true homecoming with her creator. I am going to prepare a place for you, Jesus said, so that where I am you may also be.
Death is part of us as much as life is. Death has to be welcomed. The grief in death is part of us as much as the joys of life. It can never be forced, it can never be done away with. One can only welcome it as a gardener welcomes the rain or the storm.
When St. Francis was at the point of death it is told that he uttered these last words: “Welcome sister Death” and with a smile he breathed his last welcoming, that season in one’s life that announces one’s entrance to immortality with God. May we learn to welcome our sister death in the end as much as we welcome the coming of grief and joy in our lives for true indeed, despite this grief, we possess that faith that death can never ever separate us from the love of Christ and whatever unites us all in Christ Jesus.
Today as we mourn the death of a classmate, let us welcome it as Christians would, for when the depth of winter comes, spring is also not far behind. For the promise of Jesus holds true, on that day when every tear will be wiped away and we will be gathered together joyfully once more in that really grand homecoming in the Father’s house.
Comments