"Inside a Jaguar"
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
Thursday, February 16, 2012
I was recently invited by a family for a lunch. They had promised to send a car to pick me up. I was so surprised when I saw a brand new Jaguar entering our parking lot. Apparently, they wanted to treat me well. So I got in, and as you can guess, I was stunned by everything inside. I was almost literally frozen, because I was afraid that I would do something that would make a scratch or a scar. Yes, I admit, it did feel so so so good. I felt like being in a completely different world.
Later that day, I had to say Mass in memory of one of our beloved sisters. It was a remembrance Mass, one year after her death. She had been diagnosed with a very rare, aggressive, and deadly cancer. Her death after only several months since the first diagnosis was so painful, although we knew that it was a liberation for her. I know that now she is in another world, completely different from the one I live in. And I know, it must feel so so so good up there.
Both experiences became an invitation for me to see death from a different perspective. If I could enjoy and feel so good only in tasting that "beautiful world" inside that Jaguar, how much more God has in store for us. The bliss of eternity is way more than the short glimpse inside that Jaguar. Although death of a loved one is always painful, I want to believe that in the end, it must feel so so so good for the one moving from among us to be with God.
P.S. Well, it's embarrassing to admit that I wouldn't mind another trip with that Jaguar, a longer one if possible. Oh no, this should not be read as part of the spiritual reflection.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
Every Time You Go Away
"Every Time You Go Away"
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
January 30, 2012
There's a line in Paul Young's 1984 hit that goes "Every time you go away, you take a piece of me." Well, it's a sad love song with desperate tone. Honestly, I don't really like the whole song either. But that line rings so true. It echoes an old saying, "Good-bye is like a little death." I believe, at several points in my life, I did sing that song in my heart. On the other side, I also believe, that others sang that song in their hearts to me as I was moving along my life's path from one place to another.
As a young priest I once worked as a summer chaplain in a Nuns' Convent in Munich, Germany. During my stay there, my sister's father-in-law passed away of heart attack. The whole family was so devastated. Out of compassion, the Mother Superior handed me a little book in German, "Du bist nicht mere da!" In English, it is "You are no longer there!" How true. Either death or just any good-bye, the core of the pain is just that. Deep in our heart there is that cry. All the high-tech communication gadgets that we have today can't help us to ease the pain. We simply say, "You are no longer there... for me... physically."
It wouldn't be so surprising, that in a way, Jesus has sung that line so so so many times to me, and may be to many of us. But why? Okay, from my side, it's part of just being a fragile and sinful human being. Yet, may be another line in the song can explain better. Is it possible that Jesus also sings to us "May be you're too close to see"? Could it be possible, that since we're too close to Him, we take many things for granted, to a point that we can't no longer see who He really is? I believe it could. Returning to Him at the end means bringing back to Him that "piece."
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
January 30, 2012
There's a line in Paul Young's 1984 hit that goes "Every time you go away, you take a piece of me." Well, it's a sad love song with desperate tone. Honestly, I don't really like the whole song either. But that line rings so true. It echoes an old saying, "Good-bye is like a little death." I believe, at several points in my life, I did sing that song in my heart. On the other side, I also believe, that others sang that song in their hearts to me as I was moving along my life's path from one place to another.
As a young priest I once worked as a summer chaplain in a Nuns' Convent in Munich, Germany. During my stay there, my sister's father-in-law passed away of heart attack. The whole family was so devastated. Out of compassion, the Mother Superior handed me a little book in German, "Du bist nicht mere da!" In English, it is "You are no longer there!" How true. Either death or just any good-bye, the core of the pain is just that. Deep in our heart there is that cry. All the high-tech communication gadgets that we have today can't help us to ease the pain. We simply say, "You are no longer there... for me... physically."
It wouldn't be so surprising, that in a way, Jesus has sung that line so so so many times to me, and may be to many of us. But why? Okay, from my side, it's part of just being a fragile and sinful human being. Yet, may be another line in the song can explain better. Is it possible that Jesus also sings to us "May be you're too close to see"? Could it be possible, that since we're too close to Him, we take many things for granted, to a point that we can't no longer see who He really is? I believe it could. Returning to Him at the end means bringing back to Him that "piece."
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Two Mothers
"Two Mothers"
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
Sunday, January 29, 2012
I believe, this is one of those privileges in a priest's life. Within a week I was present in two families who were mourning their mothers. Both deaths are painful, since they came without notice. The first one was a mother in her early forties, who had been diagnosed with leukemia two weeks earlier. In an attempt to have a conversation with the younger son, ten years old, I told him that I had just lost my father some six months ago. He replied, quite innocently, yet powerfully honest, "Yeah, but it is easier to loose a father, than to loose a mother." I was speechless.
The second one was an elderly widow in her late seventies, who in the process of recovery from her illness, had caught a serious medical allergy, that really caused her unimaginable pains in the whole body. One of her children, the only boy in the family, a married man with three growing up children, said rather bluntly in his speech, "When our dad passed away, we were sad; but now, when our mother is gone, we are very very sad."
We know that sooner or latter each one of us will die. Yet, it is completely another story when death comes just right there, as if from the middle of nowhere. And on top of that, it is the mothers who have been taken away. God seems to be without guilt in doing this to us. I tried hard to find some reasonable explanations, only to realize that I would never find any. All we can do is just hanging in there, embracing the pain, sharing the memories, while hoping that sooner or later we can stand strong again. Pain and sadness, seen from different angle, is a clear proof that there is that four-lettered gift from God: L-O-V-E.
May you rest in peace as you are now present to us in a new way...
By Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
Sunday, January 29, 2012
I believe, this is one of those privileges in a priest's life. Within a week I was present in two families who were mourning their mothers. Both deaths are painful, since they came without notice. The first one was a mother in her early forties, who had been diagnosed with leukemia two weeks earlier. In an attempt to have a conversation with the younger son, ten years old, I told him that I had just lost my father some six months ago. He replied, quite innocently, yet powerfully honest, "Yeah, but it is easier to loose a father, than to loose a mother." I was speechless.
The second one was an elderly widow in her late seventies, who in the process of recovery from her illness, had caught a serious medical allergy, that really caused her unimaginable pains in the whole body. One of her children, the only boy in the family, a married man with three growing up children, said rather bluntly in his speech, "When our dad passed away, we were sad; but now, when our mother is gone, we are very very sad."
We know that sooner or latter each one of us will die. Yet, it is completely another story when death comes just right there, as if from the middle of nowhere. And on top of that, it is the mothers who have been taken away. God seems to be without guilt in doing this to us. I tried hard to find some reasonable explanations, only to realize that I would never find any. All we can do is just hanging in there, embracing the pain, sharing the memories, while hoping that sooner or later we can stand strong again. Pain and sadness, seen from different angle, is a clear proof that there is that four-lettered gift from God: L-O-V-E.
May you rest in peace as you are now present to us in a new way...
Sunday, March 28, 2010
We Can't Let You Leave
“We Can’t Let You Leave”
Lent 2010 – Day 34b; Palm Sunday, March 28.
Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
Last Tuesday I had to go to Manila. Since this was not my first time, I took the whole thing too easily. I printed my departure ticket on the very last minute before heading to the airport, and didn’t even bother to print my return ticket. Then, the nightmare came. Without the return ticket, the guy on the check-in counter said: “We can’t let you leave.”
I had to make phone calls. The return e-ticket shown on my Blackberry screen was not enough. As I was waiting, that seemed forever, I asked myself: “Why don’t they let me leave?” Luckily the guy at the counter was generous enough to find a solution. I could leave. Yet my question has already been ingrained in my mind.
Thinking of this holy week of Jesus’ passion and death, I began to see a symbolic meaning in my experience. Jesus was willing to suffer because He won’t let me leave. Many times I have thought of freedom which is actually a new kind of bondage in Jesus’ eyes. I have tried to convince Him to let me go, but Jesus has never given in.
Lent 2010 – Day 34b; Palm Sunday, March 28.
Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
Last Tuesday I had to go to Manila. Since this was not my first time, I took the whole thing too easily. I printed my departure ticket on the very last minute before heading to the airport, and didn’t even bother to print my return ticket. Then, the nightmare came. Without the return ticket, the guy on the check-in counter said: “We can’t let you leave.”
I had to make phone calls. The return e-ticket shown on my Blackberry screen was not enough. As I was waiting, that seemed forever, I asked myself: “Why don’t they let me leave?” Luckily the guy at the counter was generous enough to find a solution. I could leave. Yet my question has already been ingrained in my mind.
Thinking of this holy week of Jesus’ passion and death, I began to see a symbolic meaning in my experience. Jesus was willing to suffer because He won’t let me leave. Many times I have thought of freedom which is actually a new kind of bondage in Jesus’ eyes. I have tried to convince Him to let me go, but Jesus has never given in.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Unexpected Death
“Unexpected Death”
Lent 2010 – Day 21; Friday, March 12.
Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
One of my batch-mates, a Franciscan priest, tragically died, choked alone in the tiny 15-meter-deep well at the convent’s backyard, while trying to fix the pipe. His body was found more than 24-hours later. A special rescue team was called to evacuate him. An accident like that is always shocking. It reminds me of the brevity of life and disturbs me to ask about my own life. How much time do I still have?
The surest thing in life is that we all die one day. Yet, death like this one feels so unexpected. Along the way after the first half of this 40-day journey, somehow that question keeps ringing in my conscience: “How much time do I still have?” I’m sure that God can still wait for me to return home and say “I’m really sorry. Please forgive all my sins.” All the more, God loves me just the same.
God is saddened by my unwillingness to repent, because God knows very well that one day I will feel the burdens of sins unbearable. I don’t need to delay that long, do I?
Romo Sunar Suryo, Requiescat In Pace!
Lent 2010 – Day 21; Friday, March 12.
Deshi Ramadhani, SJ
One of my batch-mates, a Franciscan priest, tragically died, choked alone in the tiny 15-meter-deep well at the convent’s backyard, while trying to fix the pipe. His body was found more than 24-hours later. A special rescue team was called to evacuate him. An accident like that is always shocking. It reminds me of the brevity of life and disturbs me to ask about my own life. How much time do I still have?
The surest thing in life is that we all die one day. Yet, death like this one feels so unexpected. Along the way after the first half of this 40-day journey, somehow that question keeps ringing in my conscience: “How much time do I still have?” I’m sure that God can still wait for me to return home and say “I’m really sorry. Please forgive all my sins.” All the more, God loves me just the same.
God is saddened by my unwillingness to repent, because God knows very well that one day I will feel the burdens of sins unbearable. I don’t need to delay that long, do I?
Romo Sunar Suryo, Requiescat In Pace!
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