My dear Friends,
The painting you see above is my last one of 2010. I called it the Jesse Tree,
because Jesse was the father of king David, the ancestor of Jesus. The church on the right is the oldest castholic church near Wellington ( 1878).
So the painting holds the past and the future of Christianity.
The story, below, is part of my life with the expectation of better times.
A better life
This morning St. Theresa’s school opposite my flat was celebrating their last Mass of the year. The kids were singing happily. The sermon was too long, but the candle- ceremony at the end was very moving. Some of the parents said that the final song,” The Irish Blessing” was sad. For their children it was the last day of school year.
Now it is very quiet in the street. My car is at the panel beater. It is time to meditate.
Also it is time to ask myself, “Where am I?” Can I make things better? That is a dangerous thought. In the past the idea to improve things caused me a lot of problems. I wonder why?
When in the primary school there was a fight in the playground. I tried to stop the boys on the ground. But then a teacher pulled me away from the scrum, accusing me of starting the fight and sent me to his room (9 year olds). I thought that it was unfair, so I left the room and the school and went to the harbour until twelve o’clock. When I got home my mother already knew what happened and told me to apologize, which I did reluctantly. To help out and to stop the fight, in other words, to improve things got me into trouble.
Not that I had a bad time in the primary school. One of my school friends had a miniature altar. I had one too and with my younger sister as altar “servant” I said Mass in the shed at home. Martin then six years old, played up and did not get a peppermint. “He should have behaved better.”
One day a missionary came to school and talked about his work in the Congo. I really enjoyed his talk. At the end of his story he asked the class who wanted to be a missionary. I waved my hand and found out later that I was on a list to go the minor seminary.
At age of twelve I left home to a make-shift seminary, an old two storey big house. It was the first year of World War II. The dormitory was in the attic. At night we could see the stars through the tiles on the roof. During the winter snow fell on the blankets.
The classes were more about languages like Latin, Greek, French, English and German, than science. I was good at Mathematics. There was a big park behind the house, with lots of trees.
On the feast day of the Sacred Heart we walked in procession to an altar under the trees.
One day I was falsely accused of causing trouble in the dormitory. For punishment I had to run in the park, by myself, during midday play-time, for four weeks. Even now I think that the priest who accused me should be punished. He died a long time ago.
Still I stayed in the seminary and I am better for it.
I could write a book about all these years, war-time and bombs around, liberation and fear about family, change in respect for authority, in church and society and hope for better times.
After the war I found my self in the novitiate and major seminary. The Church was waiting for the second Vatican Council. I myself had so many dreams, not only about my own vocation, but also about the vocation of the Church. Jesus started by calling ordinary people, teaching them by being with them for three years how to pass on his good news to the world , indeed to the whole world, then and for now. And I am part of it, with my short-comings and with my talents, in order to better the lives of the people I was called to meet. Many of my expectations have been shattered. Why? Were they too high?
So I will tell more of my stories, trying to engage people’s imagination in such a way as to fulfill hopes.
Let me quote Fr.John Broadbent about Vatican II:
“If our polarised peoples at down and saw that they share baptism which has given us faith and confirmation which strengthen it to make us all,-clergy, religious and laity- apostles of Vatican II, surely this is a good starting ground for dialogue which can be expanded further and provide perhaps a basis for Vatican III”
Vatican II also stressed the responsibilities of bishops in their own right and not as delegates of the Pope, especially to the liturgy.
I remember that I our seminary some students found archives of the ancient liturgy of the papal Mass. After a rigorous study they decided to perform it in the chapel. Since I was involved for years in painting backdrops and make stage props, I was asked to change the sanctuary for the celebration of the papal Mass. After the dress rehearsal I started to take everything down, which I promised to the superior. But the students protested because it would take a lot of time, and more to build it again on the next day. I said I promised.
Since the superior was not in they asked the vice-superior. He said it was logical to keep it as such. At the end of the day, before the final blessing, the superior told me off severely for breaking my promise. Instead of thanking me for the work done I got this reprimand. Was it undermining his authority or lack of trust?
I don’t know. I had better days.
Comparing the celebration of papal Mass in 1953 with the concelebrated Mass in the Cathedral in Wellington now in 2010 I notice that there is little difference.
When we, the community of Assumptionists in Porirua started with the concelebrated Mass, we had different ideas about it. Some thought that this type of Mass was an expression of the unity of the priesthood. Others thought it was a time saving device.
All of us were chasubles and saying the word of the Mass aloud. It looked more like individually saying Mass simultaneously.
Some did not like it. Was it to do with the stipends the priests get for saying Mass? But people don’t pay for a Mass. Surely! They all share in the priesthood because they are baptized.
Any way we had to get used to concelebration, for whatever reason or feelings.
One year our community was having a retreat. The retreat priest introduced us to a sharing- retreat, in other words we were invited to share our faith-story. The first priest did it fifty-fifty. Next it was my turn. So, being a feeling person I had no problem. But I was the last one. The others refused to open up. End of our sharing-retreat.
Is our community dysfunctional? It is certainly not affectionate.
In the past I dreamed of a community that was life-giving, in the full sense of the word.
But unfortunately for me that dream did not come not true.
We all do our own thing, like teaching our own particular subjects, prayers and hobbies. Anything I suggested as an improvement or a better way in college or community was regarded as a negative criticism.
Here I come to a major problem about relationship. Do I draw my basic energy from my own self, from the high and lows that I myself undergo in life, feeling good when things are going well and feeling depressed when they are not? or do I draw my courage from something beyond my self, from God? If I do the last part, might I feel less prone to discouragement or less angry? I looked up the experts. The person who is so full of himself one day and the person who is empty of himself the next day, neither of those persons is me.
In God’s presence we can’t go wrong. I think I am a hermit. .
After being involved in teaching for thirty years I felt called to parish and hospital ministry. I enjoyed teaching; most students told me that I did a good job. More than fifty of my former students asked me to officiate at their wedding. I baptized untold number of their children. Further more during the years of teaching I was also involved in the Antioch youth programme for 15 to 18 year old boys and girls, outside the college I experienced the youthful enthusiasm as a special challenge.
But having done all that I needed something new, like a small parish ministry and chaplaincy near by in the psychiatric hospital.
In parish and hospital I got close to the bottom of society, to the handicapped and the little ones.
In 2002 I was in Rome for a Faith and Light conference. We were privileged to attend an audition with the pope John Paul II. I quote what I wrote down at that time:
Here was the Pope belonging to Faith and Light, our representative, because of his illness. He is our icon, showing us to be faithful to the little ones of Jesus. There he was, his face unchanged, deprived of the ability to smile or cry, but behind the mask the love for all his friends in front of him on the courtyard of his house.
This new perception of the Pope moved me to the core of my being. Thank God for having a Pope in the midst of Faith and Light, a “little one”, but a great light in the world, a symbol of brokenness, not giving up, not put away like so many handicap people. In the weakness of the Pope God continues to show his strength, and so darkness becomes light. The fragility and suffering of the Pope becomes a sign of hope for the disabled people in society. It proved to me that Jesus has a preference to the poor.
Let me quote some of the Pope’s speech.
“Your movement has received a great deal from the grace of this special place, where the sick and handicapped are given the first place. By welcoming all these “little ones” with the mental handicapped, you have seen in them special witnesses of God’s tenderness, from whom we have a lot to learn and who have a specific place in the Church. In fact, their participation in the ecclesial community paves the way for simple and close relationship, and their faith and spontaneous prayer invites each one of us to turn towards our Heavenly Father.”
No wonder I found the time in the new ministry a graceful experience and one of the better moments in my life.
At one stage during a meeting with the ecumenical chaplains I was asked what I was doing in the hospital. I told them that I was bringing the sacraments. But in order to do that I had to be their friends. Only by going in and around to their wards and being part of their lives they began to trust me and accept me as their pastor, representing Christ with his gifts.
But to be their friends, I also had to be their chaplain, different but close to them.
In the chapel the liturgy was changed by the patients. They sang out of tune; the interrupted the sermon any time; they became church in their own sad, happy or longing way and they cured themselves, because the Good Shepherd knew their names.
The staff was, on the whole, very good, but I discovered that there was cruelty, dishonesty, lies and corruption among a small group of them.
It became worse when the politicians decided that the whole hospital was going to be closed down. Managers knew better and within one year the place was run down, the staff replaced by untrained nurses, who were gagged not to speak the truth. A sad end to a good welfare system. Patients disappeared to private nursing homes. The staff began to accuse themselves of all kinds of bad behaviour. It had all to do with money. Their lawyers made a big profit. I decided to pull out, because I could not work in that corrupt situation. It did not take long before good staff members were accused of maltreating the patients.
Staff and chaplains became easily victims themselves, one of the handicapped and little ones whom the Pope Paul II talked about. My six and last year in the hospital was for me not a good time. I had a better life before.
It is now the last day of 2010. As usual we look back what we have done. Above I wrote about part of my life, with its ups and downs, about the better moments but also about the difficult ones, the crosses which made my life a real journey of faith.
Let me finish with a quote by Joy Cowley.
I believe that the life without a cross is the life unlived. I suspect also that the size of the cross matches the size of our commitment to discipleship.
God Bless.
John Heijnen
31-12- 2010
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