Refugees
have been a big part of parish life at Christ the Redeemer. Your generosity to
them has brought tears to my eyes more than once.
But the
Shaboo and Dayekh families weren’t my first experience of refugees, nor the
first time I met people persecuted for their Catholic faith. Almost thirty
years ago there was a young refugee who sat at the back of St. Patrick’s parish
where I was the assistant pastor.
He
didn’t speak English, and made no attempt to communicate with me until some
years later, when I learned the story I’m sharing with you today. The young man
had been a seminarian, where he had been sent to prison twice for teaching catechism
by the Communist victors in the Vietnam War.
Burning
with the desire for freedom and the practice of his faith, he escaped from the
prison, only to be driven back from the sea by a storm. Recaptured, he was
abused and beaten.
But
he escaped a second time, successfully, and after being rescued by a passing
ship landed in a refugee camp in the Philippines. There he went to work
organizing children into a sort of Catholic boy scouts, patiently waiting for a
new home.
And
then—he was in a car accident outside the camp and suffered serious head
injuries from which he took a long time to recover.
Finally
he came to Canada, where he lived with his nephew and younger brother, who also
wanted to be a priest. Since it seemed
financially impossible for both to go to the seminary, the older brother
decided to abandon his own hopes and send the younger brother, washing dishes to
support them.
On Christmas
Eve, the nephew died. For some reason, I find this the saddest part of the
story.
But
it’s not, ultimately, a sad story. It’s a fulfillment of the prophecy of Isaiah
in today’s first reading. Because the young man wasn’t so much a refugee as a
missionary—a survivor sent “to the nations,” “to the coastlands far away” that had
not heard of the Lord or seen his glory.
As
Isaiah promised to the Jewish people, there would be some exiles whom the Lord
would call as his priests. And so it happened here, as dozens of Vietnamese
exiles became priests to serve the Church in Canada. Among them were the two brothers,
for even the older one managed at last to return to the seminary.
That
exile, Joseph Phuong Nguyen, becomes the Bishop of Kamloops on Thursday
afternoon.
His story
makes me squirm when I read today’s Gospel. In some ways, my life as a
Christian has been easy. Like the people to whom Jesus speaks these harsh
words, I have had good times as a disciple—I have ate and drank with him, and listened
to him teach without a whole lot of personal cost.
And
without doubt, I’ve been influenced by the theologians of the past fifty years
who’ve tried to flip the words of Jesus around—treating the door to hell as the
narrow door, and the path to heaven as broad and easy.
Call
it what you will—Christianity lite, cafeteria Catholicism, or universal
salvation—it’s an attractive sort of faith. We’re all going to be saved, so let’s
not worry too much about it
It’s
just that Jesus said the exact opposite.
Jesus
tells you and me the same thing that kept the new Bishop of Kamloops afloat on
a sea of suffering: unless we pick up our cross and follow Christ, we cannot be
his disciples.
If
you think Jesus is a bit harsh in today’s Gospel, consider his words in St.
Matthew’s version: “Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the
road is easy that leads to destruction, and there are many who take it. For the gate is narrow and the road is hard
that leads to life, and there are few who find it.”
Where
do we go with that? I’ll conclude with two answers from our readings today.
First,
we don’t lose hope—because we do know that God wills us to be saved. Just as he
called back Israel’s exiles, he calls us to himself in countless ways. The
Church is our ark, protecting us against the waves and even against the pirates
who so often attacked the helpless Vietnamese boat people.
Second,
we know that all things work for our good, as St. Paul tells the Romans.
Whether our sufferings are dramatic and terrible, like those of Joseph Phuong
Nguyen, or just everyday troubles, our loving Father uses them to train us for
his kingdom. Prosperity and good fortune are poor guides to heaven, but the
patient acceptance of suffering can be a straight path.
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