One of the beauties of being a seminarian is that you get sent to help out with summer vacation events. I've just returned from a 5-day bible school program organized by Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish. It was fun. I taught elementary school kids bible stories, and led adults in prayer. However, the particularly sweet moments for me were not the passionate teaching sessions, or the few who came up to me after I had "performed" and thumped me saying, "Good job, Samuel!" The tenderest moments were for example when a little girl shouted after me as I was returning to the parish house: "Brother Samuel!" And when I turned around, she smiled and waved. A second example was when another little child, in all her innocence, threw herself at me, looked me in the eyes and smiled so divinely. I was joyful.
Only this evening, having led prayer and returned to my chair, a group of three girls said to my sweet surprise: "Come over and sit with us, Brother Samuel!" I smiled from ear to ear, and said: "Don't mind if I do." They chuckled. As I sat with them, they asked me a thousand and one questions, and not one of them included "Where are you from?" As far as they were concerned, I was one of them. My soul belonged to them. And please God, I would one day be a priest for them; for us, actually. There's no them, there's only us.
And so the bible school is over, and I'm lying on my bed and thinking of little Jazz-may who shouted after me as I made my way to the parish house. I'm thinking of Jules, who threw herself into my embrace after bible class; I'm thinking of the three school girls who invited me to sit with them, and I'm smiling. I'm feeling on top of the world, but in a good and humble way. I'm not as proud as the conceited rooster that we learnt of who always woke up very early in the morning, climbed on the fence and squealed: "Cluck-a-doodle-do," and then the sun would rise, and the farm animals would begin to graze, and the rooster would peer out and say to itself: "Ah, I make the morning come and the day begin!" And then one day the rooster overslept, and when it finally woke, the sun had already risen, and the farm animals had already begun to graze, and it was very sad, because its pride was hurt, and it went and hid in the corner of the yard, and its fellow birds scolded it and said: "You know, you never really caused the morning to start. All you did was herald it."
And so I know I am not indispensable in any way. Nothing I did at the Vacation Bible School was super special. I don't even remember the lessons I gave or the prayers I chanted. All I remember was that I felt a part of a community. I felt the unity that the heart craves. And the unity was a shower of grace for my heart, a pouring rain on the dry soil within. "Like the deer that yearns for running streams, so my soul is yearning for you my God" (Psalm 42:2). And I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that these little acts of charity that chain out to many hearts - these are what I long for, thirst for. It is in them I see the face of God.
Only this evening, having led prayer and returned to my chair, a group of three girls said to my sweet surprise: "Come over and sit with us, Brother Samuel!" I smiled from ear to ear, and said: "Don't mind if I do." They chuckled. As I sat with them, they asked me a thousand and one questions, and not one of them included "Where are you from?" As far as they were concerned, I was one of them. My soul belonged to them. And please God, I would one day be a priest for them; for us, actually. There's no them, there's only us.
And so the bible school is over, and I'm lying on my bed and thinking of little Jazz-may who shouted after me as I made my way to the parish house. I'm thinking of Jules, who threw herself into my embrace after bible class; I'm thinking of the three school girls who invited me to sit with them, and I'm smiling. I'm feeling on top of the world, but in a good and humble way. I'm not as proud as the conceited rooster that we learnt of who always woke up very early in the morning, climbed on the fence and squealed: "Cluck-a-doodle-do," and then the sun would rise, and the farm animals would begin to graze, and the rooster would peer out and say to itself: "Ah, I make the morning come and the day begin!" And then one day the rooster overslept, and when it finally woke, the sun had already risen, and the farm animals had already begun to graze, and it was very sad, because its pride was hurt, and it went and hid in the corner of the yard, and its fellow birds scolded it and said: "You know, you never really caused the morning to start. All you did was herald it."
And so I know I am not indispensable in any way. Nothing I did at the Vacation Bible School was super special. I don't even remember the lessons I gave or the prayers I chanted. All I remember was that I felt a part of a community. I felt the unity that the heart craves. And the unity was a shower of grace for my heart, a pouring rain on the dry soil within. "Like the deer that yearns for running streams, so my soul is yearning for you my God" (Psalm 42:2). And I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that these little acts of charity that chain out to many hearts - these are what I long for, thirst for. It is in them I see the face of God.
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