Miracle?

It seems so appropriate that I'd be writing about an experience from almost 12 years ago on the eve of my birthday. It was October 1999 and I had just met the love of my life in late September. I had just returned from a three-year study leave in Yokohama, Japan where I was successful in earning my doctorate. It was a fresh start for me considering there was a lot of things going for me including a pending promotion from the University were I worked. I remember I still had some free time as I arrived towards the end of the first semester and a 2-week break was coming up before I resumed work in the second semester of the same academic year.

The wiring in my brain told me to spend the time wisely and among others that I wanted to do at the time was to visit my high school and particularly have some time at the church of St. Francis of Assisi. I only went to two churches for some quiet time, brief personal retreats I call it. One is the U.P. Chapel and the other was St. Francis. I was quite familiar with the schedule at St. Francis since I attended Grade School and High School at Lourdes Mandaluyong. I was also quite comfortable with the atmosphere since I practically grew up in that area and have so many fond memories associated with St. Francis including milestones like graduations, first communion and Sunday masses with family even when we already lived in Cainta at the time. Well, at the time (1970's to 1980') it was actually no hassle to come to the area since there were few buildings, and there were no malls that now attracted so much traffic. In short, the Ortigas area was still a pleasant area, traffic-wise.

I don't really remember what I was thinking when I went to St. Francis but it was the first time in more than 3 years since I left for Japan. It was always nice to reconnect with places I called haunts and maybe chance upon some old faces including teachers and priests I knew and who knew me. I do remember that as I sat quietly in what was practically an empty church (it was a weekday), the confessional box caught my attention. I believe it was a morning there might have been a few other people there considering Mass was celebrated in the chapel located at a room at the corner of the Church. A light was on indicating there was a priest who administered the sacrament of Penance. The idea of receiving the sacrament suddenly came to my mind, my last confession being prior to Easter that year at Sacred Heart in Yamate. It was also a good idea, I thought at the time, as I wanted to start with a clean slate and that included cleansing myself spiritually through the holy sacrament.

I waited for my turn and was quite anxious not knowing who the priest was. I knew many of the Capuchins at St. Francis as the Rector, Vice Rector and other administrators of Lourdes were also my teachers. The Rector during my grade school and high school days was the same person who celebrated Mass during my wedding. There were also Spanish and Italian priests at St. Francis including one Spaniard who was managed the school's finances for a long time. In fact, I was baptized at St. Francis by its Spanish parish priest in 1972. So it is easy to understand my affinity to St. Francis and why it felt so comfortable for me to return from time to time even for short breathers.

After some minutes of anxious waiting it was finally my turn and I entered the box. I caught a glimpse of the priest on the other side thanks to the holes that allowed for our words to pass through the cubicles. My training at Lourdes kicked in and I remember greeting the priest and automatically reciting the introductory statements prior to pouring my heart out and trying to relieve myself of sins including those I typically consider as petty that they didn't need to be stated every time. I didn't expect the response of the priest on the other side. I only remember now that I received what others may refer to as a tongue-lashing. The priest admonished me and interrogated me about my faith and what I wanted to do with my life. In the process, I thought I felt being exorcised and I poured more of myself in that confessional than in any other time I remember. I ended up crying, perhaps weeping as the priest continued to bombard me with challenges and reminding me how Christ sacrificed himself for the salvation of my soul. In the end, his voice shifted from its angry tone to a more soothing one, reminding me of my responsibilities and how I should live my life from then. In the end, he told me that God had forgiven my sins and that my tears have shown my sincerity for reconciliation. I received my penance though unlike the usual confessions, the priest blessed me but did not tell me to recite any specific prayer or the number of times these should be recited.

I left the confessional feeling fresh and I have not felt that way for a long while. Perhaps that was the feeling of a thorough cleansing that I experienced after receiving the sacrament of reconciliation. Perhaps this was the aftermath of the manner I received the sacrament from a priest I didn't know but who had a heavy accent that I thought was either Italian or Spanish. He sounded like one of the foreign priests assigned to St. Francis but I knew he was not the school treasurer. I caught a glimpse of his long white beard when a ray of light happened to hit us while inside the confessional.

I remember afterwards that I decided to visit the parish office, curious about the identity of the priest. I was told that there were no Spanish or Italian priests at the church at the time and that the school treasurer was away in Spain. This came as a surprise to me and I didn't know what to think or to believe as I knew there was someone there who had a foreign accent and who had just administered reconciliation to me. On my way out, I saw in the corner of the parking lot a statue. It was a bronze representation of a man, a Capuchin priest who is best known as Padre Pio. Padre Pio is well known for the gift of stigmata, the wounds of Christ as He was crucified. His image fit the person who was in the confessional with me. Later, I read about his style of giving confession and came to believe that I had experienced a miracle, a blessing to have received the sacrament from what could have been the person who was to be canonized a few years later.

Such is my experience that made my faith stronger despite all the challenges or obstacles that I have come across since that confession. It is part of the foundation of my belief that indeed there is a God and that He has His ways of connecting to us including sending His servants to remind us of our responsibilities and prepare us for what is to come. Prepare me He did through that priest and to this day I am grateful for that wonderful experience and pray always that I may be true to what the priest had told me that fateful morning. I guess we should always open ourselves to receive such graces from God and that we should be so because we cannot tell when or where we are to receive His graces. One thing we should remember is to be humble so that we can readily surrender to His will and He is sure to take our burdens away just as when He sacrificed His own Son for our salvation.