Chapter 10
Wonder how things are at home. Even in a monastery things break and problems need to be solved. People have such a stereotype of our life. We find God in the ordinary, not by being shielded from everyday issues. Some who want to enter this life are running away, not running toward. Francis was having the time of his life. The experiences he was having would accompany him throughout the rest of his life both personally and in his ministry. Never did he think he would be in Asia, much less have all of the adventures he was having. The inner and outer world seemed to open up after his fiftieth birthday.
His international travels all started when Aunt Tish took him and one of his sisters to Italy. It was his sister the nun went on that trip. His other sister, the mom and grandmom, was with them both in spirit, as was his strong but gentle brother-in-law; the monk and nun siblings had spent dozens of holidays at their warm and welcoming home. His three brothers were also a big part of his life, as were his two sisters-in-law, who have always been as close as sisters to him. Nieces and nephews, then marriages, and then grand nieces and nephews. He was truly blessed. Then there was this trip to Asia, the product of a financial grant he didn’t even personally apply for. God bless his friend Father Ignatius Lynn, SJ for doing that.
Another blessing for Francis was his clinical and pastoral compassion for young married couples. Their ability to raise children, let alone even have children, was not well supported in contemporary society. The loss of a child is one of the most profound losses in life; some of his patients taught him that very well. He was sure that his love of family came from being born into his own.
The boat Francis was now on must have held a thousand people easily. In the States large boats are “ships,” but here the English word used was simply “boat.” It was three stories high and propelled through the waves by an enormous paddle wheel at the back end. On his trips from island to island, Francis loved to go to the lower level where some of the travelers could often be seen playing cards, with Chinese paper money scattered all around. The color and size of the money made it look more like they were playing Monopoly than cards. Ironically, the action took place under a sign that read in English as well as Chinese “No gambling.” Huge pushcarts full of all types of vegetables were lined up on the lower level near the exits. They would be sold on the streets of whatever island the boat was destined for. Being a good vegetarian, Francis eyed the pushcarts and began to feel hungry. He tried to order a cheese sandwich at the snack bar. The Westerner wound up with a cup of tea. Something in the back of his mind reminded Francis that the Chinese word for tea and the English word for cheese sounded a little bit alike. He wouldn’t forget that. If he did, he might never be able to eat again while he was traveling.
How quickly we change. When he arrived in Asia a few weeks ago Francis would see people sprawl out lengthwise on three or four molded plastic chairs on the boats and take a nap. He thought it a little ill mannered. Now here he was sprawled out and not giving it a second thought. Judge not and you shall not be judged! The hour ride across the South China Sea was very refreshing. It gave the pilgrim time to process a little of the many events that had occurred in his life recently. Images of the big Buddha danced through his mind over and over again. The music that accompanied his trek up and down the mountain of steps echoed in his heart and soul. His gratitude for a personal relationship with God through Christ abounded. How he loved and respected the Eastern teachings, but how he thanked God that he knew Jesus as God and human. Maybe he didn’t have the depth to find God in other ways, so a merciful God came to him in the form of Christ.
Christians are a minority in Asia, and Francis observed that when they meet other Christians will often tell one another the date of their baptism and beam with pride. We Westerners could take a lesson from them I suppose. Remembering birthdays can be a good thing, but celebrating all of life, each and every day, can be even better. That is not always an easy thing to do given the challenges and injustices life can present us with, but it is so much better than the alternative.
The folks here often walk right up to you and ask you your age. That is so different from us Westerners. They almost always, in addition, talk about the amount of qi, or life force, that radiates from me. I think it has something to do with the pinkish glow of my fair O’Neill skin. Whatever the case, it is so enjoyable to watch. I can predict the question and comment every time I am in a crowd here. Maybe it was worth all that sun poison my half Irish skin endured as a child.
The blast of the ship’s horn blasted me out of my sleep and upright. My body now had three ridges from the molded plastic chairs, which had served as my bed for the last hour. I tried to look like a native as I stood up and stretched but my “Jack in the Box” act when the horn blew probably gave me away—not to mention my round eyes and big nose. We all gathered our parcels and jackets and lined up near the exits from the ship, very near the carts of vegetables. A few buoyant bumps later we were filing out of the large boat onto the dock of Cheung Chau.
There were the golden arches of the ubiquitous McDonald fast-food restaurant gleaming on the dock. I understand that in each location the McDonald chain creates a sandwich that reflects the locale. Since I did not want a “Sumoburger” I thought I would try for some French fries, which I did get. Ah, the perfect complement to the tea I received when I was trying to get a cheese sandwich. I’m getting better at this.
My friend Ignatius had hand drawn me a little map to help me find my way from the dock up the mountainside and back to the retreat house at the top of the mountain where he lived. It had grown dark and there were no streetlights. I walked along the dock in the sporadic light of the shops. Navigating through light and darkness with peace of heart is our spiritual quest, as I see things. One area where there were no shops and which was quite spacious was in front of the undertaker’s parlor, which is what we would call such an establishment in the West. The locals give wide birth to spirits, real or potential. It was in places such as this where the local community would have their funeral services, and then carry the bodies in procession through the island town to the graveyard. They had to carry them—there were no motorized vehicles on this island of Cheung Chau, except for a few putt-putt type motorbikes.
My father was a bus driver and none of his children inherited his excellent sense of direction. I guess it skipped a generation. I made a few turns into a darkening maze of houses, little shrines with incense sticks burning at the doorsteps, and a few growls from half-asleep dogs. The maze made me think of all the rats, mice, monkeys, and pigeons I worked with and did surgery on in experimental psychology lab during my training. I also remember a human brain in a jar of formaldehyde in the lab. I was more taken by all of the life events and feelings that that brain must have experienced than the neuroanatomy and physiology which was the point of that educational experience.
Now I know how all those animals must have felt when I maze-trained them to find the reinforcer, usually food, at the end of the maze! Before very long I was completely lost—the story of my life. There I stood with a little flashlight on the brink of burning out—part of my story also, my trusty umbrella and my suitcase, looking at the scrap of paper on which the map was so neatly drawn with a black pen. I really was less than ten minutes away and was not particularly concerned, but still didn’t relish the idea of sleeping on a bench somewhere until morning.
Clinical psychologists know from scientific research that about eighty per cent of communication is non-verbal. A perfect example of this occurred while I was making believe that I could see and understand the little map in my hands. A Chinese woman who spoke no English came up to me, a Westerner who spoke only medical Chinese, and pulled the map out of my hand. I was a little startled but I presumed that she was trying to help. Fortunately for me, she was trying to help. My Asian angel didn’t seem to understand the map at first and was turning the paper from front to back, side to side, top to bottom. Was she imitating me? I oriented the paper for her and traced the route drawn for me with my finger, and when I got to the top of the route saw that my friend had placed a cross there as a symbol for the retreat house. I circled the cross with my index finger and pointed up the mountain into the void of darkness. I could see an enormous light bulb aura begin to glow over her head as this Traveler’s Aid type person grabbed my arm, without asking I might add, and dragged me down an alley. It was like we were on roller blades and my wheels were stuck. This was yet another opportunity for me to think as I had just a few days prior: Well, she’ll either kill me or it will be fun.
We twisted and turned through right angle after right angle like two pieces on a Monopoly board, no fake money with us this time. We climbed up a few steps, turned at a cement landing, and then climbed a few more steps; finally we passed the silhouette of a little school building and playground on our way. The large light bulb of understanding lit above my head this time and I knew exactly where we were and that I could proceed straight ahead and that the gates to the retreat house would be directly in front of me. I bowed to the lady out of respect and to let her know that I knew where I was. She bowed back and vanished into the darkness.
I walked up the mountainside for another minute or so, feeling the fatigue of my travels and hoping that the gates would not be locked, and the next thing I knew, there I was in front of the open and welcoming gates to the Xavier Retreat Center. I went to my room and unpacked a few things and washed my face. It was about the time when Ignatius would have an hour of meditation before the Blessed Sacrament. Next I walked over to the simple Asian chapel, feeling strangely rejuvenated.
I fell in love with that chapel at first sight and was happy to spend some time there. I took off my shoes, walked into the big square room with an enormous glass window looking out into the South China Sea, placed a little wooden prayer bench over my ankles and sat back on it, low to the floor. There were about a dozen votive candles flickering in glass holders of every shade of the rainbow. My friend loves color; I’m more of a clear glass person myself. The shimmering rainbow did look inviting and soothing just the same, yet very alive. I made a resolution to become more colorful in my choices and see how it would go. Friends and family do stretch us and help us to grow, if we just let them.
The room was filled with about thirty Asian faces. These were a group of young people here on retreat. How I admired the fact that they were taking time from busy work schedules to spend it on inner reflection and prayer. Father Ignatius came out in a white alb, a robe that went down just below his knees, even though it was supposed to be floor length. It seemed like he was growing taller every day even though he was in his mid-forties. He placed a very simple monstrance, a small crystal container holding the Eucharist or sacred bread, venerated as the Body and Blood of Christ, on the coffee table high altar. Moonlight sprinkled the shimmering waves of the sea and cast a calming spell over the gathering. Gentle breezes entered through the windows inviting the curtains to do a little dance. We lit incense sticks and the community sang in Chinese. I lip-synched in the rainbow-filled darkness.
We rested in prayerful silence for about an hour. An Asian tradition of spirituality, along with my own Salesian spirituality and my friend’s Ignatian spirituality, talks about the sanctity of the present moment. We went there--lost ourselves in it. Even the very hyper collie A Lek, a name that translates in to something like “dear very skilled one,” slept in prayerful silence for the entire hour. When A Lek first climbed the chapel stairs to settle in on the landing just outside the open door (without so much as a bow or genuflection I might add) my thoughts drifted to his name for a few moments.
The only thing that dog was skilled at was running and escaping the Superior of the community when it was time for him to go into his cage, usually because a new group of retreatants was arriving. Ignatius, in contrast, would call him and A Lek would respond promptly, going into his cage docilely if that is what was being asked of him. When the Superior of the community wanted A Lek, it was an entirely different matter. The large framed gentleman with bald pate and silver “tonsure” was the soul of charity and his call to the dog was more like “asking” than “commanding.” I would sometimes be in my room, hear the Superior call the collie, and then see the dog run by my window, followed a moment later by the puffing Superior. It was a little like watching a “Punch and Judy” puppet show, or the Muppets on TV. This show would go on for about twenty minutes. Sometimes he would so fatigue the older Jesuit that the dog got his way and stayed out of the cage until Father Ignatius returned and took charge. Approximately every three or four times, however, the Superior would win and A Lek would eventually go into his cage after about twenty passes by my window. After this cognitive tangent I returned to prayer, smiling at the simple gifts of life.
A few minutes before our prayer time ended, Ignatius took an incense stick and reverently circled the Eucharistic Presence in front of us on the low altar. The community began to sing the English hymn that our monastery back in Pennsylvania sings every night during the Office of Night Prayer, a service which is more traditionally called “Compline.” Ignatius loved that hymn which he learned when he came to spend time with us at the monastery. Ignatius took a copy of it with him once when he stayed at our monastery and later taught it to his friends here on the other side of the world. It was deeply moving to hear the reverent voices singing in English.
“Now in the fading light of day,
Maker of all to you we pray,
That with your everlasting love,
You guard and keep us from above.
“Help and defend us through the night,
Danger and terror put to flight,
Never let evil have its way,
Preserve us for another day.
“Creator Almighty this be done,
Through Jesus Christ, our Lord, your Son,
Who in the Spirit we adore,
Who reigns with you forevermore. Amen”
I wonder how things are back at home. Hope the folks there are as peaceful as I am.