grieving
There was once a hermit who lived in the deep forest in order to dedicate his life solely for the Lord. In the course of many years this hermit befriended a fly, a mouse and a rooster. The rooster would mark the times when the hermit should pray. Kon magsugod na gani tukturuok ang manok ang monghe magabangon na agod makapangamuyo sia. The fly, ang langaw would guide him in his prayer by jumping from one sentence to the next sentence in his prayer book. And lastly the mouse would stay on his shoulders when the hermit prays and when he dozes off, kon matulugan sia, the mouse would gently nibble on his ears to wake him up and keep him awake when he prayed. This was their arrangement everyday in the life of that hermit deep in the forest, until one day, mortals as they were, the dying began. First to die was the fly. Then a few days later the mouse died too. And still a few weeks later the rooster died and the hermit was all alone in the deep forest. He cried and cried and was filled with grief. The hermit was so devastated with his loss he wrote his abbot by the name of St. Columba telling his master of his great grief of having lost his beloved friends. St. Columba wrote back and in the tradition of monks and hermits he wrote as few words as possible. Actually he only wrote back one sentence. St. Columba wrote the grieving hermit saying: When you put your trust in possessions, what else can you expect but grief?
When I read this story I don’t know whether to laugh at the situation of the hermit or be disturbed by it. And so I did both. First, I laughed. Why did I laugh? The hermit lost a rooster, a mouse and a fly and he was grieving, grieving to the point of writing his abbot asking a saint to help him in his grief over his loss kag ang nadula gid lang sa iya kabuhi is manok, giting kag langaw. And so I laugh. Who wouldn’t?
And yet I was also disturbed by this story of the hermit, for if this monk who deprived himself of everything can grieve with the little that he had, how much more us who had so much for ourselves. Kon makahibi ining monghe tungod lang sang manok, giting kag langaw nga nangin iya, ano pa gid ayhan kita nga sa pagkadamo sang aton ginapanag-iyahan kag kadamo sang aton kahagugma. The thought is disturbing isn’t it?
And I remember. Sang naigo sang kilat ang akon computer ang tanan naguba, nasunog - the CPU, the mother board, the printer and the monitor. Only one thing was left functioning and that was the keyboard. Keyboard bilin. Everything I have worked on, everything I have written, every thought that I have entered in that computer for so many years were all gone overnight, and I cried, I cried over the loss of my computer and its contents more than I cried at the death of my father. It is disturbing how this loss, though trivial to many of us, to many of you perhaps, can make the person who possesses it grieve, and grieve a lot.
I am a priest, I have no wife, I have no children, I will not be experiencing in this lifetime giving my beloved daughter off in marriage because I don’t have any anyway, I will have no grandchildren from my children, and I won’t be as anxious as you are when the dengue season is raging; though I have a little of everything, I have a piano which I love so much, I have a saxophone which I acquired a long time ago for a pittance, I have a few books, I have a few birds, a few finches which a few weeks ago were almost wiped out by rats, and of course I have a computer - with the little that I have I grieve from time to time over my losses, and I could only imagine how you are able to manage your grief when you have so much. Sometimes I get myself to believe in that song “No woman no cry, no woman no cry” and I am not just referring to women.
Here in the cathedral especially if your room is overlooking the church where you can hear everything that’s happening in this church, every now and then you hear a little drama going on at a funeral mass - the crying, the shouting and even the banging on the coffin. I can only sympathize. And besides that, there is actually not much I can do about it anyway. You just have to go through it, you just have to permit it to pour out like water with their tears.
Our first reading says, who can fathom the counsels of God, who can truly understand what God wills? Sin-o gid bala ang nakahangop sing tuman sang kabubut-on sang Dios ukon sang iya mga laygay? Now read this with the counsels of Jesus in the gospel. He said: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” Cruel, isn’t it? But these are the words of Jesus. And to add salt to injury he added, everyone who does not renounce his possessions cannot be my disciple. Probably it’s not really hating as we understand hating being the by-product of anger. Some translations would say the readiness to turn back and cut off one’s relationship. Probably it’s more of maintaining a healthy distance, and air of detachment on the things that we love and possess. Some would say, go ahead possess it but don’t get possessed by it - don’t get possessed by it.
In the end we have to understand that losing something or someone we love is part of our humanity. We just have to understand and probably brace ourselves for it before it comes, that one day, someway, somehow we have to learn to let go of a thing or two, then later we just have to learn to let go of someone or somebody, then in the end we have to understand that we just have to let go of everything - to understand that this is something that we should learn to abide with, human and mortal as we are. That loosing, letting go and grieving in our loss is part of our humanity. That it is a cross, a very big cross, for most of us, it is the biggest cross we will be asked to carry around. The key word is to understand - to understand that loosing is part of our humanity and a very big part in our following of Jesus - to understand.
Probably I told this story a hundred times over. The wife of a Chinese philosopher died one day. He loved her so much and when he came to know that she died, he sat at the door of his house and laughed with a laugh that was as hard and as loud as anyone could ever laugh. Of course the neighbors were confused. Why should a good husband who loved his wife so much laugh at her death? Did he become mad in his grief? And so with much trepidation they approached him and asked: Sir why are you laughing? Your wife just died, but why are you laughing out loud? But the philosopher did not even bother to pause, he just laughed and laughed and laughed. Then one person who could not stand this chagrin anymore shouted at him and asked “why are you laughing?” The philosopher looked at him with a smile and said, “I understand, I understand, I understand,” and he laughed and laughed and laughed till the sun went down.
I understand that one day in following Jesus I have to let go of the things and persons I really love. To understand the grieving and the pain of parting is part of that following. To understand.
When I read this story I don’t know whether to laugh at the situation of the hermit or be disturbed by it. And so I did both. First, I laughed. Why did I laugh? The hermit lost a rooster, a mouse and a fly and he was grieving, grieving to the point of writing his abbot asking a saint to help him in his grief over his loss kag ang nadula gid lang sa iya kabuhi is manok, giting kag langaw. And so I laugh. Who wouldn’t?
And yet I was also disturbed by this story of the hermit, for if this monk who deprived himself of everything can grieve with the little that he had, how much more us who had so much for ourselves. Kon makahibi ining monghe tungod lang sang manok, giting kag langaw nga nangin iya, ano pa gid ayhan kita nga sa pagkadamo sang aton ginapanag-iyahan kag kadamo sang aton kahagugma. The thought is disturbing isn’t it?
And I remember. Sang naigo sang kilat ang akon computer ang tanan naguba, nasunog - the CPU, the mother board, the printer and the monitor. Only one thing was left functioning and that was the keyboard. Keyboard bilin. Everything I have worked on, everything I have written, every thought that I have entered in that computer for so many years were all gone overnight, and I cried, I cried over the loss of my computer and its contents more than I cried at the death of my father. It is disturbing how this loss, though trivial to many of us, to many of you perhaps, can make the person who possesses it grieve, and grieve a lot.
I am a priest, I have no wife, I have no children, I will not be experiencing in this lifetime giving my beloved daughter off in marriage because I don’t have any anyway, I will have no grandchildren from my children, and I won’t be as anxious as you are when the dengue season is raging; though I have a little of everything, I have a piano which I love so much, I have a saxophone which I acquired a long time ago for a pittance, I have a few books, I have a few birds, a few finches which a few weeks ago were almost wiped out by rats, and of course I have a computer - with the little that I have I grieve from time to time over my losses, and I could only imagine how you are able to manage your grief when you have so much. Sometimes I get myself to believe in that song “No woman no cry, no woman no cry” and I am not just referring to women.
Here in the cathedral especially if your room is overlooking the church where you can hear everything that’s happening in this church, every now and then you hear a little drama going on at a funeral mass - the crying, the shouting and even the banging on the coffin. I can only sympathize. And besides that, there is actually not much I can do about it anyway. You just have to go through it, you just have to permit it to pour out like water with their tears.
Our first reading says, who can fathom the counsels of God, who can truly understand what God wills? Sin-o gid bala ang nakahangop sing tuman sang kabubut-on sang Dios ukon sang iya mga laygay? Now read this with the counsels of Jesus in the gospel. He said: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” Cruel, isn’t it? But these are the words of Jesus. And to add salt to injury he added, everyone who does not renounce his possessions cannot be my disciple. Probably it’s not really hating as we understand hating being the by-product of anger. Some translations would say the readiness to turn back and cut off one’s relationship. Probably it’s more of maintaining a healthy distance, and air of detachment on the things that we love and possess. Some would say, go ahead possess it but don’t get possessed by it - don’t get possessed by it.
In the end we have to understand that losing something or someone we love is part of our humanity. We just have to understand and probably brace ourselves for it before it comes, that one day, someway, somehow we have to learn to let go of a thing or two, then later we just have to learn to let go of someone or somebody, then in the end we have to understand that we just have to let go of everything - to understand that this is something that we should learn to abide with, human and mortal as we are. That loosing, letting go and grieving in our loss is part of our humanity. That it is a cross, a very big cross, for most of us, it is the biggest cross we will be asked to carry around. The key word is to understand - to understand that loosing is part of our humanity and a very big part in our following of Jesus - to understand.
Probably I told this story a hundred times over. The wife of a Chinese philosopher died one day. He loved her so much and when he came to know that she died, he sat at the door of his house and laughed with a laugh that was as hard and as loud as anyone could ever laugh. Of course the neighbors were confused. Why should a good husband who loved his wife so much laugh at her death? Did he become mad in his grief? And so with much trepidation they approached him and asked: Sir why are you laughing? Your wife just died, but why are you laughing out loud? But the philosopher did not even bother to pause, he just laughed and laughed and laughed. Then one person who could not stand this chagrin anymore shouted at him and asked “why are you laughing?” The philosopher looked at him with a smile and said, “I understand, I understand, I understand,” and he laughed and laughed and laughed till the sun went down.
I understand that one day in following Jesus I have to let go of the things and persons I really love. To understand the grieving and the pain of parting is part of that following. To understand.
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