The twain shall meet

There was a melancholic – Celtic? – streak in me, a wanderlust that drove me to spend long hours alone on meandering country bye-ways. I seemed to be contemplative long before I knew the meaning of the word, finding God in what the Irish call ‘thin places’, places where the veil between heaven and earth is particularly thin.

My primary education was in my native village and my secondary schooling was with the Christian Brothers in Dublin city, some 15 km away. One day one of the Brothers came to give us a talk on the call to Religious Life. I don’t remember a single word he said but I do recall that at the end of his talk he asked for a show of hands from those who wished to learn more about his topic.

From my desk at the front of the class – I was small in stature – I looked back to see who raised his hand. There were no hands up! I felt sad for the good man who had spoken so sincerely so on the spur of the moment I raised my hand. Interviews followed and a visit to my home and before I fully knew what was happening, I was on my way to join 40+ other postulants in Baldoyle, north Dublin, and take my first steps on the long road that would lead to my becoming a Brother in 1961.

When I was posted in Marino and attached to a primary school in Fairview – both places to the north of Dublin city – a letter was circulated from the Brothers’ headquarters, asking for volunteers for the missions in South America, South Africa, India. Running from the dining room where the letter had come to my notice, I dashed off a message to my superiors, offering to go on the foreign missions.

To this day I recall the last sentence in that message: I am not only willing but longing to be sent on the foreign missions. I hoped to be sent to South America because reading about the Aztecs and El Dorado and Machu Picchu had fed my boyhood with strange dreams. But it never happened. I was chosen for the Indian Mission and together with three others, I arrived wide-eyed in Kolkata – then Calcutta – in 1965.

It wasn’t love at first sight – far from it. In fact I wanted to take the next plane back to Ireland. But a strange amalgam of love-hatred closed in on me and my Western, Celtic heart surrendered to the fascinating mystique of the East. West was meeting East and a miniscule exception to Kipling’s summary observation, was emerging in the very country, ironically, where he wrote his famous poem.

One year followed the other in India and my life was a kaleidoscope of experiences, mostly pleasant. There were brief exposures in China and Vietnam where the Orient worked further magic in my heart. What gripped me more and more was the dawning realization that there were in our world other Holy Books than the Bible, languages as sweet as English written in strange scripts, new cultures, and a climate that featured monsoon rain and incredible heat.

By no means a musician, I did have a good ear and a modest flair for languages and over the years I became comfortable with Hindi, Bengali and Khasi. And as a secondary adventure, Braille – for which I won an award as International Student of the Year from the Hadley School for the Blind in Winnetka IL, USA.

There were fascinating postings in Asansol, Naini Tal, Shillong, Kolkata, Rajasthan. The five years in Mount Abu, Rajasthan, were witness to an incredible excitement and satisfaction together with a contrasting disenchantment with Religious Life and a corresponding attraction to the appeal of married life. Out of nowhere emerged a lady who seemed to embody promise for all kinds of fulfillment.

One thing led to another and I found myself dispensed from vows and free to chase another dream. No sooner did I return to my homeland, than I realized I had been rash and foolish. Too shy, or proud, to ask for advice, I had chosen a path that was full of hollow promise, or at least not meant for me. Augustine’s stark observation screamed mockingly in my heart – You have made us for yourself O Lord and our hearts are restless till they rest in you.

Long prayer in the lonely hours led to a settling of the dust and a clearing of my vision. I sensed that I was not marriage material and I made my way to Australia to tell the lady as much. She was gracious enough to understand and as soon as I was back in Ireland I applied to return both to India and the Brothers. I had a right to neither but God strangely cleared away obstacles on both fronts and in early 1987 I was back where I felt I truly belonged, and based successively in three of the Brothers’ centers in Kolkata.

Ironically, this incredible experience of reconciliation with the Brothers held the secret key to a future not yet seen in which I would become a minister of Sacramental reconciliation in the priesthood. There was a two-year interlude when I was sent on secondment to NBCLC, Bangalore. There I interacted with an incredible staff and an array of visiting speakers that blew my mind.

Five years in Delhi as director of Teacher Formation began in 2007 and took me all over India and other parts of the world. The exposure would later stand me in good stead.

My next appointment, end of 2011, was to the village of Wahrinong in Meghalaya and my pioneering experience there took me deep into a new type of awareness. God’s plan was coming to a head and new stirrings were at work inside my ever-dreaming heart.

The Khasis and the Khasi Hills were not new to me. I had fallen in love with them as early as 1968 when I first came to Shillong and came under the influence of Sister Rosario and other Spanish and Khasi sisters in the village of Raliang. There I saw missionary activity at its best and it changed me forever. I learnt the language quickly and was given access to the inner social world of these lovely tribal people who gave me more than I could ever give them. But back to my story.

The village of Wahrinong, West Khasi Hills, was then was under Mairang parish, which was so extensive that Mass was available only twice or thrice a year. I clearly remember one Sunday morning which was to prove a turning point in my story. I was sitting on a high boulder, as the bell for the Sunday assembly of the faithful was ringing in the distance and the people began to make their way for what they knew as ‘Mass without a Priest’.

As I climbed down from my rocky elevation and joined them, a verse from Scripture, Mt 9:36, jumped into my mind and haunted me for weeks. It is the verse that spoke of Jesus’ compassion for sheep that had no shepherd. I was over 70 years then and still very healthy. I fancied I had some 20 more years to serve God and I wondered if I might not spend them fruitfully as a priest. This was a strange dream but I knew that it was genuine and vibrated with what was deepest in me, and that God would open the way.

I struggled painfully with the implication of leaving the good Brothers for the second time, but since the cause was noble and honest, I had no problem discussing it with my superiors. As expected, they were sad, but they were big enough in heart to help me with the Canonical nitty-gritty and another exercise in dispensation.

I offered myself to the gracious Bishop Victor of Nongstoin, the diocese where Wahrinong was situated and where my dream took concrete shape. Within days the good bishop, with incredible daring and against some weighty advice to the contrary, said Yes and invited me to brush up on my Philosophy and Theology – the which I did in 2014-2015 in Bangalore and Pune.

Thanks to the kindness of many Dominicans and Jesuits, I was prepared for the exciting steps that now beckoned me onward. My dispensation came through in April 2015 and on May 1 that year I bade a sad farewell to the Brothers in Shillong and later to those who drove me to Bishop’s House, Nongstoin. I was ordained Deacon on May 3, 2015, and placed under the gentle pastoral care of Father Sylvester Nongsiej in Mawthong parish.

The Diocesan Eucharistic Procession 2015 was to be held in Mawkhlam parish, Nongstoin, on Sunday, December 13. I suggested to Bishop Victor that my ordination be incorporated into the liturgy of the day and he readily agreed. The day is still a whirlpool of happy memories for which my daily prayer is one of boundless gratitude.

While presiding at Mass is an honor beyond the reach of words, it is being minister of the Sacrament of Reconciliation that gives me the greatest fulfillment. Each time I sit for the Sacrament, I relive, often consciously, the memory of the reconciliation that the Brothers mediated to me. Ordination notwithstanding, I am still a Brother at heart, and always will be to the people I serve. Perhaps because of my advanced years, people – averaging some 8,000 a year – are comfortable to come to me for their confession.

The Sound of Music movie comes to mind and I find myself singing – sotto voce – What will my future be, I wonder! I don’t know and it does not worry me. I have lived in India all these years on a Resident Visa, graciously renewed every five years. Will it be renewed when it expires in 2020? One hears of other missionaries [Spanish nun and Irish priest] being refused extension.