By Fr. Rey Villanoy
(I am yielding my column to this touching narrative by Fr. Von Ryan Relos, who is presently studying in Rome.)
After my pilgrimage to Fatima, I stayed for a few days in a house of the Society of the Divine Word in Portugal. Mealtimes there were lively, and I will admit I was usually one of the noisy ones. I laughed, told stories, and filled the room with my own chatter, sometimes not even noticing the other tables.
But I do not speak Portuguese! At the table, I could only read faces, gestures, and can only understand little contexts that have similarities with the Italian language. My words were few. FOR ONCE, I HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO BE QUIET.
It was in that silence that I noticed him. An elderly confrere sat at a corner table, a white napkin tied gently around his neck. He is unwell, and he could no longer manage a meal totally on his own. Beside him stood another priest, with a ladle of soup with steady, careful hands. He filled the plate slowly, as if the soup were something precious, and set it before his brother. There was no hurry and no show. All I can see was patience. It was simply what one does for a brother.
This is not a special occasion in the house. The priests take turns. They help him eat, walk with him to the chapel, and sit beside him in prayer. Nobody keeps a schedule of it, and nobody announces it. LOVE HAS SIMPLY BECOME A ROUTINE.
I sat there and felt something in me grow quiet. These men had given their lives to mission, to preaching, to serving people in many places around the world. I later learned that the priest who was sitting loved football and was a former goalie himself!
Now, in this humble and quiet house, the mission has become smaller and, perhaps, more beautiful: TO MAKE SURE THAT NO BROTHER IS LEFT BEHIND.
I have often thought about growing old, and about who will be there when my own strength fails. That evening, without a single word I could understand, I received my answer. Community, wherever it may be, is not just something we live in when we are young and strong. It is a promise that someone will be there when we can no longer carry ourselves.
I came to Fatima to pray (specifically for my final year of studies and thesis writing). I think Our Lady sent me a homily instead, one without words.
To the SVD fathers, thank you. You taught me more in one silent meal than I have taught anyone in a hundred sermons.
