Lent never failed to give me that moody feelings. I thought I will probably just ignore the dark skies and just get moving. What good is it to dwell on the past? But then, if not for the past, I wouldn’t embrace Christ as the Lord.
So, in our CCC (classes for catechism teachers) yesterday, we have Fr. Francis Sebastian to come and ‘teach’ us. I always tell my kids when I am leaving the home for CCC, “Ok, mommy is going to class to learn to teach you better.” Usually, at that hour, the kids are alone at home because hubby has his must-do badminton session on Sundays. So, I have to emphasize to the young one not to do anything that can burn down the house or cause his fingers to get chopped off. Anyway, I have pretty reliable older boys to watch over him and he is usually engrossed with either the TV, book, online games or something tame.
Yesterday, Fr. FS talked about ‘entering into the Jerusalem of your heart’. Initially, I wasn’t sure what it means. Then, I also do not know much about the significance of Palm Sunday except it is a day Jesus entered Jerusalem on a donkey hee haw hee haw (the hee haw was what my little boy described). I probably heard of some homilies and maybe some explanations in RCIA or other formations but maybe they didn’t register in my old, over capacity brain.
The only thing I remember about Palm Sunday is one homily by Fr Msgr Stephen, our former parish priest. Fr. Stephen said the palm is a symbol of how unfaithful we are. One Sunday, the people welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem. The following week, they demanded for him to be crucified.
But what Fr. Sebastian explained about ‘entering into the Jerusalem of your heart’ sort of opened an old wound. Fr. Sebastian said unless we are willing to ‘walk through’ the hardest and most painful part of our lives, we won’t be able to experience the grace of God. And to me, if I had not experienced the pain of my #4 son long illness and eventual death, I probably won’t be so thankful for what I have now.
Today, Martin Jalleh, in his parents sharing session also talked about digging out the old wounds to reflect on. And I felt like a stubborn donkey who refused to be led into Jerusalem (of my heart) because I don’t want to do it, if I can. I don’t need to. The pain is always on the fringes, so I don’t need to venture far.
For example, while waiting with Martin and some other parents for the hall’s door to be opened, Doc C came out of mass with his youngest son who is about the same age as my Matthew. I was standing on the first floor and he waved to me and we had a short chat, one storey away from each other. He is the most instrumental person in my Christian’s life. Seven Good Fridays ago, i.e. on Good Friday 2002, me, the unbeliever was already at the end of ever having any more hope. So, I asked him to specifically pray for my son Vincent at the hospital. I don’t know why but being a non-Christian, I thought Good Friday will be an extra lucky day to pray.
He did. And somehow, every time Good Friday approach, I will be extra melancholy when I see Doc C in church. When I was going through my RCIA rites, he would be there and the moment I see him, I would cry buckets because no one knows what cross I was carrying except Doc C. On my baptism, he was like the saviour to me, helping me to achieve the ultimate saving grace from God.
So, yeah, I don’t need to venture very far because Jerusalem is etched all over my heart.
Some related old posts : One Friday, four years ago
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