“A Writer’s Pain”
(Random Blogging Series #7 – Friday, December 25, 2009) – Christmas Reflection
Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
I got a phone call one day, asking me to write a short article in a magazine. Sensing the desperation in the caller’s voice, I said yes, even though the dead-line was just the following day. I did my best, finished the article, and e-mailed it. Then I got a phone call. With a mix of embarrassment and guilty feeling the caller told me that the editors had changed the theme, and my article simply would not be published.
There was another phone call. Same situation: a request for a short article that had to be sent within a couple of days. I put all my instincts of a writer at work. Given the very limited space, I had to edit it several times. Finally I thought that I had been able to put the best part right at the end as a surprise twist. It was supposed to be the “catchy phrase,” and I was quite happy with that (even tempted to tap on my own shoulder!).
Now imagine my reaction when it was published as scheduled. Even if I had not gone beyond the limited space, the published article had been truncated. Still worse, my best part, that “catchy phrase” that I had planned to become “the bomb” was simply not there! Of course, it’s the job of an editor. I’m quite familiar with that. Yet, still, to find that the best part of my article had completely been erased was rather unexpected.
As I was trying to reconcile myself with the pain, God seemed to show me something. How many times have I come to God, asked urgently for a help, and after it had been granted, I simply said to God, “I don’t need it any more. I changed my mind”? How many times has God given me all the best things that God could do, and I simply rejected them, for no clear reason whatsoever?
Thinking about Christmas? Well, if I can feel the pain of being used, neglected, rejected, misunderstood through my writing experience, how much more God can feel the pain writing that four letter word L O V E in the most intimate chamber of my heart? So I pray, that next year on Christmas I may be able to say “I’ve learned to let God help me; I didn’t give God too much pain.” Have a joyously blessed Christmas!
Friday, December 25, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Baggage Claim... Again?
"Baggage Claim… Again?"
(Casual Blogging Series #6 – Sunday, December 13, 2009) – Birthday Reflection
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
I know this is not new. I must have mentioned it several times. Recently I’ve been traveling across the globe: in October westwards to
Waiting for my bag on the baggage belt can become like life-or-death experience. If after some time I don’t see my bag, I begin to worry: Is it coming? Has someone stolen it? Has it been taken by mistake? Once I see it, I feel such a big thrill. But this time something new dawned on me. Assuming that there is no malice, why on earth do people take a wrong bag that doesn’t really belong to them? I can only find one answer: because the bag itself appears to be theirs! No surprise! Many bags just look the same! [And worse, if you go to
This made me think. If I were like a bag moving on the baggage belt, who will pick me and claim me? What would be on my bag tag? Is it clearly written “Christ’s,” or what? This is what I have done so many times: I put other names on it. Here are some examples: “Career’s” – “Pleasure’s” – “Comfort’s” – “Lust’s” – “Fame’s” – “Pride’s” – “Intimacy’s” – “Success’s” and on and on and on… you name it. Whenever I put those names on top of the real label “Christ’s,” then of course, I make my life such a mess. Not only that, I hurt others as well, because I turn their sincere trust into just a cheap toy!
Yesterday, December 12, I turned 43. I thank God for so many wonderful people who have always been there to peel off other labels I have glued on my life bag tag, and make the real one visible, “Christ’s”! And when they see me being taken away, they are willing to fight for me… “God, You know me, nothing hidden to You…”
Saturday, November 21, 2009
"Paolo and Gianluca"
“Paolo and Gianluca”
(Casual Blogging Series #5 – Sunday, November 22, 2009) – Christ the King
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
About a month ago I had the opportunity to visit some old friends in
For one reason, there is this cultural thing. Here in
Later on, I realized that this is how God has been dealing with me. God always calls my name with that “pure trust.” No hidden agenda. God loves me as who I am, not as who I should be. More surprisingly, that memory became very strong this morning as I pondered upon today’s feast, Christ the King. Yes, in Christian belief, He is the King of Kings, of all universe, and of the whole history of humanity. For Jesuits, all the more, having been formed by the Meditation of the King’s Call in St. Ignatius of Loyola’s “Spiritual Exercises,” this feast has a special emphasis that moved us not only to love Him, but more so to offer Him our total service [oops, well, at least that’s the ideal for each Jesuit]. This is not a feast of a frightening King. I believe that this is also a feast when I hear again Christ the King calling me, “Deshi,” with a pure trust in me. The same thing also to each one of you.
Thank you, Paolo and Gianluca, for this wonderful teaching.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Not-So-Good Samaritan
“The Not-So-Good Samaritan?”
(Casual Blogging Series #4 – Wednesday, July 8, 2009) – Presidential Election Day
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
I just voted. I won’t tell you whom I voted for, unless…. (sorry, I can’t say it for fear of making hidden campaign). As I was driving home from the election site, watching at my tainted finger, thinking of some other things happened recently in my life, and reflecting on God’s soft whispers I had been hearing during these past weeks, I recalled the story of the Good Samaritan. What really makes this guy “good,” that centuries of generations have been canonizing him as the Good Samaritan? At least, there are two kinds of goodness. I call them, “the goodness of stopping” and “the goodness of moving on.”
That guy saw a wounded man. [Wait a minute, did I tell you it’s in Luke 10:25-37? And make sure you look up for Luke in the New Testament. If you don’t know, you must be a classical Roman Catholic. Oops… Peace!]. He stopped and did everything he could: approached him, poured oil and wine over the wounds, bandaged them, put him on his donkey, brought him to an inn, and might even stay awake all night long to take care of him. All this is his “goodness of stopping.” Yes, he stopped from his routine. He put aside his personal plan and let himself be bothered by the suffering of his fellow human being. He might feel groggy the next day for lack of sleep.
Here comes the surprise. The very next day, he gave two silver coins to the inn-keeper, asked him to take care of the poor guy, promised to give more should it be necessary later on, and… and… and… he took off! Wait a minute. Did he really leave the poor fellow in the hands of a stranger? How did he know that the inn-keeper would really take care of the wounded man? Wasn’t he afraid that the inn-keeper would waste his money for other needs? Well, all we know is that he really took off and left the poor fellow with the inn-keeper. All that he did the next day (and God knows how many more days after that) was his “goodness of moving on.”
I believe that this combination of complementary two kinds of goodness really makes him good! Cross out one of these, and you will have a “not-so-good Samaritan.” He is good because he wants to do good with as much time and energy and love he has. Yet, if he thinks that he is the only one who can do good, and everybody else will never do such goodness, he is not really a good guy. And remember, this parable is Jesus’ way of teaching how we should love others as we love ourselves. This guy is good because he both loves others and himself totally. He doesn’t forget his own needs to do his own business. This is so amazing. Yes, even Mother Teresa had to eat, have some rest, pray, go to Mass. She was a saintly woman, precisely because she loved herself so much and at the same time loved others so much. And think about Pope John Paul the Great who always had time for skiing. He became a saintly man, again, because he loved himself and others so much. That is the real teaching in the parable of the Good Samaritan.
Yet, sadly, many of us practice only the first half of his goodness. Many of us will immerse themselves in helping others without ever loving themselves much enough. Just look around. Wives who tend every single detail of their husbands’ needs, mothers who sweat all day and never believe in trusting their children to stand on their own feet, priests who never eat because they give all his time in ministry, and still many others. I believe, were Jesus here, He would have said, “Well, these people, even the most heroic ones, are in fact the not-so-good Samaritans.”
[Now, just a small note about the election. I put it between brackets. No clear insight yet. When leaders say that they will give themselves up totally for the people’s needs, many ears will hear, ironically, just the second half of the goodness. They probably would never really stop and take care, but simply ask others to do their jobs, and eventually blaming others for not doing their jobs well. I hope I am completely wrong here].
So, just be the really, really, really GOOD Samaritan.
PS. This reflection is inspired by Bo Sanchez’ book “7 Secrets to Real Freedom,” pp. 91-92. If you buy and read this book, tell the author that I mention him here.
(Casual Blogging Series #4 – Wednesday, July 8, 2009) – Presidential Election Day
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
I just voted. I won’t tell you whom I voted for, unless…. (sorry, I can’t say it for fear of making hidden campaign). As I was driving home from the election site, watching at my tainted finger, thinking of some other things happened recently in my life, and reflecting on God’s soft whispers I had been hearing during these past weeks, I recalled the story of the Good Samaritan. What really makes this guy “good,” that centuries of generations have been canonizing him as the Good Samaritan? At least, there are two kinds of goodness. I call them, “the goodness of stopping” and “the goodness of moving on.”
That guy saw a wounded man. [Wait a minute, did I tell you it’s in Luke 10:25-37? And make sure you look up for Luke in the New Testament. If you don’t know, you must be a classical Roman Catholic. Oops… Peace!]. He stopped and did everything he could: approached him, poured oil and wine over the wounds, bandaged them, put him on his donkey, brought him to an inn, and might even stay awake all night long to take care of him. All this is his “goodness of stopping.” Yes, he stopped from his routine. He put aside his personal plan and let himself be bothered by the suffering of his fellow human being. He might feel groggy the next day for lack of sleep.
Here comes the surprise. The very next day, he gave two silver coins to the inn-keeper, asked him to take care of the poor guy, promised to give more should it be necessary later on, and… and… and… he took off! Wait a minute. Did he really leave the poor fellow in the hands of a stranger? How did he know that the inn-keeper would really take care of the wounded man? Wasn’t he afraid that the inn-keeper would waste his money for other needs? Well, all we know is that he really took off and left the poor fellow with the inn-keeper. All that he did the next day (and God knows how many more days after that) was his “goodness of moving on.”
I believe that this combination of complementary two kinds of goodness really makes him good! Cross out one of these, and you will have a “not-so-good Samaritan.” He is good because he wants to do good with as much time and energy and love he has. Yet, if he thinks that he is the only one who can do good, and everybody else will never do such goodness, he is not really a good guy. And remember, this parable is Jesus’ way of teaching how we should love others as we love ourselves. This guy is good because he both loves others and himself totally. He doesn’t forget his own needs to do his own business. This is so amazing. Yes, even Mother Teresa had to eat, have some rest, pray, go to Mass. She was a saintly woman, precisely because she loved herself so much and at the same time loved others so much. And think about Pope John Paul the Great who always had time for skiing. He became a saintly man, again, because he loved himself and others so much. That is the real teaching in the parable of the Good Samaritan.
Yet, sadly, many of us practice only the first half of his goodness. Many of us will immerse themselves in helping others without ever loving themselves much enough. Just look around. Wives who tend every single detail of their husbands’ needs, mothers who sweat all day and never believe in trusting their children to stand on their own feet, priests who never eat because they give all his time in ministry, and still many others. I believe, were Jesus here, He would have said, “Well, these people, even the most heroic ones, are in fact the not-so-good Samaritans.”
[Now, just a small note about the election. I put it between brackets. No clear insight yet. When leaders say that they will give themselves up totally for the people’s needs, many ears will hear, ironically, just the second half of the goodness. They probably would never really stop and take care, but simply ask others to do their jobs, and eventually blaming others for not doing their jobs well. I hope I am completely wrong here].
So, just be the really, really, really GOOD Samaritan.
PS. This reflection is inspired by Bo Sanchez’ book “7 Secrets to Real Freedom,” pp. 91-92. If you buy and read this book, tell the author that I mention him here.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Sea of Albs
“Sea of Albs”
(Casual Blogging Series #3 – Wednesday, June 24, 2009)
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
I was at the Cathedral the other day with our Bishop Cardinal and hundreds of priests. [For you who have never seen so many priests in one place together, it is highly recommended to come to the Chrism Mass during the Holy Week, or to an ordination, either to the diaconate or the priesthood]. Let me tell you a little secret. I usually enjoy such occasion, not for a pious reason at all, but rather a human one. Being among my brother priests is like being immersed in the unconceivable richness of God’s love. How so? Just look around.
You will see very thin priests who make you think that the Church do not feed them enough, but you will also see obese priests who make you think that they have taken more food portions from their brother priests. You will see priests dressed in lousy and wrinkled shirts, but you will also see priests dressed in crispy neatly iron-pressed shirts fresh from a professional laundry. You will see priests with worn-out strap sandals inherited from a deceased elderly priest, but you will also see priests walking around in their shiny Prada shoes. You will see priests with last-century cell-phones heavy like a corner stone, but you will also see priests with the ultimate feather-light model of Blackberry or I-Phone. [Well, if you know me, you can easily tell which category I will fit in]. The list can go endlessly.
Then, it was time for Mass. All took off their shirts and put on their albs. Of course, some look whiter than the others. [If you don’t know what an “alb” is, it’s the “white gown” priests wear while they’re on duty]. I had had that experience of “mass changing room” many times before with my brother priests. Yet for some reasons, it was so touching. Well, after all, we all share the one and same priesthood. That convinced me about my idea of God. For me, one adjective that would perfectly describe God is “crazy.”
God must be crazy. No, I’m not quoting a title of a funny movie decades ago. I’m saying it, because it is this God that appears in my mind every time I think of my priesthood, as well as that of others. Being in the midst of the sea of those white albs brings with it a bit of uneasiness. Yes, we wear white, while we know perfectly how our hearts are so far from white! I began to think that it is white because it is a way of saying how God always sees each and all of us. This is not a self-justification. We priests do need conversion. I’ll be the first who desperately cries to God for another deep conversion. Yet, again, if I think of my priesthood, I know for sure, that my God is indeed a crazy God. There are many good men out there, but why on earth did God pick us?
For you who have been wounded by priests (including me), I ask for your apology. May this “Year of Priests” (from June 19 this year until the same date next year) be a year of profound and sincere conversion for us priests. Believe me, while there are certainly many, many, many, good priests on this planet who far outnumber the bad ones, the idea of becoming good priests can appear to many as counter-cultural. Join us in this not-so-easy journey into the most intimate precincts of the hearts of priests.
(Casual Blogging Series #3 – Wednesday, June 24, 2009)
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
I was at the Cathedral the other day with our Bishop Cardinal and hundreds of priests. [For you who have never seen so many priests in one place together, it is highly recommended to come to the Chrism Mass during the Holy Week, or to an ordination, either to the diaconate or the priesthood]. Let me tell you a little secret. I usually enjoy such occasion, not for a pious reason at all, but rather a human one. Being among my brother priests is like being immersed in the unconceivable richness of God’s love. How so? Just look around.
You will see very thin priests who make you think that the Church do not feed them enough, but you will also see obese priests who make you think that they have taken more food portions from their brother priests. You will see priests dressed in lousy and wrinkled shirts, but you will also see priests dressed in crispy neatly iron-pressed shirts fresh from a professional laundry. You will see priests with worn-out strap sandals inherited from a deceased elderly priest, but you will also see priests walking around in their shiny Prada shoes. You will see priests with last-century cell-phones heavy like a corner stone, but you will also see priests with the ultimate feather-light model of Blackberry or I-Phone. [Well, if you know me, you can easily tell which category I will fit in]. The list can go endlessly.
Then, it was time for Mass. All took off their shirts and put on their albs. Of course, some look whiter than the others. [If you don’t know what an “alb” is, it’s the “white gown” priests wear while they’re on duty]. I had had that experience of “mass changing room” many times before with my brother priests. Yet for some reasons, it was so touching. Well, after all, we all share the one and same priesthood. That convinced me about my idea of God. For me, one adjective that would perfectly describe God is “crazy.”
God must be crazy. No, I’m not quoting a title of a funny movie decades ago. I’m saying it, because it is this God that appears in my mind every time I think of my priesthood, as well as that of others. Being in the midst of the sea of those white albs brings with it a bit of uneasiness. Yes, we wear white, while we know perfectly how our hearts are so far from white! I began to think that it is white because it is a way of saying how God always sees each and all of us. This is not a self-justification. We priests do need conversion. I’ll be the first who desperately cries to God for another deep conversion. Yet, again, if I think of my priesthood, I know for sure, that my God is indeed a crazy God. There are many good men out there, but why on earth did God pick us?
For you who have been wounded by priests (including me), I ask for your apology. May this “Year of Priests” (from June 19 this year until the same date next year) be a year of profound and sincere conversion for us priests. Believe me, while there are certainly many, many, many, good priests on this planet who far outnumber the bad ones, the idea of becoming good priests can appear to many as counter-cultural. Join us in this not-so-easy journey into the most intimate precincts of the hearts of priests.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
A Split-Second
“A Split-Second”
(Casual Blogging Series #2 – Sunday, June 21, 2009)
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
Remember Naomi, my lovely-black-lady-car? Well, I’ve got a bad news for you. Naomi was hit by a motorcycle. I had switched the left-turn-light on, looked to my left side… clear! I had just made a slight turn to the left when suddenly a motorcycle hit the passenger door from my left side. [Well, I should have known this. Jakarta’s motorcycles are dangerous!]. Still worse, the young man riding it just ran away speeding. Well, at least, it was obvious that he knew he had been guilty. I was so so so angry. [Bad words even came out of my lips. Please don’t tell my Superior].
As I continued driving, my mind immediately began to elaborate a story about the accident. Strangely enough, all I could come up with was a list of that young man’s mistakes. Yet at the same time I knew I was not honest to myself. At last I decided to claim also my own share in the accident. You know what? Just a split-second before the accident I had put down my cell-phone after declining a request for a school Mass. So, yes, the accident took place because I was not completely focused on my driving. I remember I said this to one of my Jesuit brothers. Once I had admitted, “I was distracted by the cell-phone,” I began to feel a deep sense of relief. Peace returned to my heart.
I knew I had learned something precious: as long as I see all the wrong-doings are only somewhere out there, I will never ever gain a true peace within. I was stunned by the fact that I had even been willing to lie to myself about myself. Yes, that’s a sad irony: we are the most dangerous and deadly liars to ourselves. I still wanted to convince myself, “I’m just a victim.” The problem with that statement doesn’t lie on the word “victim,” but on the word “just.” I was in a sense a victim of that reckless motorcyclist, yet I was clearly not just a victim, since I also had my own share in what eventually led to the accident.
I also learned not only to admit that I had been wrong, but more importantly, to own the pain caused by my own mistakes. The beautiful paradox was clear: once I had owned the pain, it immediately disappeared! Just as my mistake took place only in a split-second, so did the healing! But believe it or not, so many people out there prefer to delay [some even until their death!] that split-second of the promised healing. God forgives me. The problem is: I don’t always forgive myself. Bottom line, I still want to be bigger than God. And if this is the case, learning to forgive myself is indeed a very serious business!
(Casual Blogging Series #2 – Sunday, June 21, 2009)
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
Remember Naomi, my lovely-black-lady-car? Well, I’ve got a bad news for you. Naomi was hit by a motorcycle. I had switched the left-turn-light on, looked to my left side… clear! I had just made a slight turn to the left when suddenly a motorcycle hit the passenger door from my left side. [Well, I should have known this. Jakarta’s motorcycles are dangerous!]. Still worse, the young man riding it just ran away speeding. Well, at least, it was obvious that he knew he had been guilty. I was so so so angry. [Bad words even came out of my lips. Please don’t tell my Superior].
As I continued driving, my mind immediately began to elaborate a story about the accident. Strangely enough, all I could come up with was a list of that young man’s mistakes. Yet at the same time I knew I was not honest to myself. At last I decided to claim also my own share in the accident. You know what? Just a split-second before the accident I had put down my cell-phone after declining a request for a school Mass. So, yes, the accident took place because I was not completely focused on my driving. I remember I said this to one of my Jesuit brothers. Once I had admitted, “I was distracted by the cell-phone,” I began to feel a deep sense of relief. Peace returned to my heart.
I knew I had learned something precious: as long as I see all the wrong-doings are only somewhere out there, I will never ever gain a true peace within. I was stunned by the fact that I had even been willing to lie to myself about myself. Yes, that’s a sad irony: we are the most dangerous and deadly liars to ourselves. I still wanted to convince myself, “I’m just a victim.” The problem with that statement doesn’t lie on the word “victim,” but on the word “just.” I was in a sense a victim of that reckless motorcyclist, yet I was clearly not just a victim, since I also had my own share in what eventually led to the accident.
I also learned not only to admit that I had been wrong, but more importantly, to own the pain caused by my own mistakes. The beautiful paradox was clear: once I had owned the pain, it immediately disappeared! Just as my mistake took place only in a split-second, so did the healing! But believe it or not, so many people out there prefer to delay [some even until their death!] that split-second of the promised healing. God forgives me. The problem is: I don’t always forgive myself. Bottom line, I still want to be bigger than God. And if this is the case, learning to forgive myself is indeed a very serious business!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Silly Corrections
“Silly Corrections”
(Casual Blogging Series #1 – Wednesday, June 10, 2009)
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
I’m a teacher. Giving exams is always exciting. A lot of good lessons can be drawn. Here’s one. Someone can be so sure with the answer. He or she writes and writes and writes (perhaps with thanksgiving prayer to God and with a stronger belief that those candles lit in front of the statue of Mary really work!). At one point he or she realizes that the answer already written is completely wrong. I can see three options here for this student.
First, he or she can apply the correction liquid to cover all that is written with sheer white coat; then he or she write on it. Problem is, some pens are simply not made to write on those shiny-slippery white coats. Even worse, the first page will not look nice at all to the eyes of the teacher. Second, he or she can simply make a line across the first page and write the right answer on the second page. The wrong answer is still there and can be seen clearly, but that line across the page will tell the teacher not to bother with what is written there. Fair enough. Third, he or she can simply toss the answer sheet to the trash bin, walk to the teacher’s desk, and say “I’ve made mistakes. Could I have a new answer sheet, please?”
Imagine I have three students taking those options respectively. Suppose also that the three of them give the “correct answers.” Well, beyond the grading, I can see at least three different ways of dealing with mistakes. Option one: you focus on the mistakes and have a hard time to brush over them, and then pretend that everything is normal and under control. Option two: you recognize the mistakes, but you still hold on them along the way. Option three: you admit that you’ve made mistakes, focus on the new possibilities in the future, and move on.
Now, you see, that this is actually a miniature of our life-stories? Sadly, I’ve met many good Catholics who opt for number one while dealing with their mistakes. Fewer take number two, and not so many are willingly take number three. Why so? Because in a sense many of us like to feel like heroes or heroines while focusing on the mistakes. Many of us enjoy performing on the life-stage and tell the whole world that we are just victims and that we still desperately wrestle with the mistakes done to us.
We all make mistakes. The difference is, some make silly corrections, while some make smart ones. Whatever you choose, it will determine your life story after the mistakes.
(Casual Blogging Series #1 – Wednesday, June 10, 2009)
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
I’m a teacher. Giving exams is always exciting. A lot of good lessons can be drawn. Here’s one. Someone can be so sure with the answer. He or she writes and writes and writes (perhaps with thanksgiving prayer to God and with a stronger belief that those candles lit in front of the statue of Mary really work!). At one point he or she realizes that the answer already written is completely wrong. I can see three options here for this student.
First, he or she can apply the correction liquid to cover all that is written with sheer white coat; then he or she write on it. Problem is, some pens are simply not made to write on those shiny-slippery white coats. Even worse, the first page will not look nice at all to the eyes of the teacher. Second, he or she can simply make a line across the first page and write the right answer on the second page. The wrong answer is still there and can be seen clearly, but that line across the page will tell the teacher not to bother with what is written there. Fair enough. Third, he or she can simply toss the answer sheet to the trash bin, walk to the teacher’s desk, and say “I’ve made mistakes. Could I have a new answer sheet, please?”
Imagine I have three students taking those options respectively. Suppose also that the three of them give the “correct answers.” Well, beyond the grading, I can see at least three different ways of dealing with mistakes. Option one: you focus on the mistakes and have a hard time to brush over them, and then pretend that everything is normal and under control. Option two: you recognize the mistakes, but you still hold on them along the way. Option three: you admit that you’ve made mistakes, focus on the new possibilities in the future, and move on.
Now, you see, that this is actually a miniature of our life-stories? Sadly, I’ve met many good Catholics who opt for number one while dealing with their mistakes. Fewer take number two, and not so many are willingly take number three. Why so? Because in a sense many of us like to feel like heroes or heroines while focusing on the mistakes. Many of us enjoy performing on the life-stage and tell the whole world that we are just victims and that we still desperately wrestle with the mistakes done to us.
We all make mistakes. The difference is, some make silly corrections, while some make smart ones. Whatever you choose, it will determine your life story after the mistakes.
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