When I was 20 years old, I was in jail.

PUMBRERA


When I was 20 years old, I was in jail.

I was in jail. And I was there behind bars, together with rapists and murderers .

And all the prisoners had tattoos all over their bodies. Imagine, and experience the seething reality, the raging, threatening atmosphere of violence surrounding you, drowning you, ready to explode at any moment, at the slightest provocation, into a vicious gang war — a deadly, bloody, violent, merciless Gang War!

It was hell on earth. The incarnation of Evil. Very filthy. Very dangerous. Very, very dangerous. But Fr. James J. McCann, S.J., the Master of Novices of the Jesuits, thought it would be good training for us, future Jesuits, to live and work among those deadly prisoners, for if we could pray properly, and if we could keep united with God in that atmosphere, then we could pray properly and keep united with God in any situation on earth, or outside the earth!!!

And every Sunday, every Sunday, some OLD WOMEN would come and bring food for their sons, the prisoners: food wrapped in some wrinkled, colored plastic bags or lovingly arranged in some old battered pumbrera.

There was a prisoner there, Menandro, a leader of the Sigue-Sigue Gang . . . and I was really shocked one day when, right before my eyes, he strode towards his visitor, his Mother, grabbed her pumbrera, lifted the cover, peeked inside, and in his disgust and anger, he threw the food down to the ground before all of us, the rice and the fish mixing with the soil and the gravel of the dry, dry earth.

This rejection of course made his poor, wrinkled Mother sob painfully in embarrassment and helplessness.

You can imagine how the Mother felt, an old widow whose only source of livelihood and money was forcing her undernourished body to launder clothes with her frail, weak hands to earn a few pesos so that her son Menandro, her criminal son Menandro, would have some extra food, something special on Sunday — different from the terrible, unspeakable, tasteless food the jailhouse was giving all the prisoners day after day after day.

But Menandro had demanded and expected more expensive, more luxurious food from his poor old Mother — but she could not — she could not afford more than what she actually brought, for she was only a poor, weak lavandera.

So Menandro threw down the pumbrera. And slapped his Mother! YES, HE SLAPPED HIS MOTHER!!!

That vile Menandro, who had disgraced his Mother and his family by robbing and raping and murdering, now shouted and screamed at his Mother and slapped her in public! And she went away crying, she went away shattered, she went away sad, she went away devastated.

My friends, that poor Mother, maltreated and shamed and slapped like that, should have turned around, should have gone away from her son! Forever!! Because Menandro was evil, criminal. Above all, he was ungrateful, cruel, selfish, useless.

Yes, his Mother should have left him. And never come back.

But you know what? You know what? The very next Sunday, like every Sunday, she was there again! Stupid, wonderful Mother. She was there again — trudging weakly, painfully from the outer gate to the inner jailhouse.

Yes, there she was again! The poor, battered Mother, carrying her pumbrera, waiting humbly, hopefully, as her son opened the cover of the pumbrera. This time Menandro liked the food. He began eating at once.

He never paused to say “Thank you, Inay.” Never paused to share some of his delicious food with his hungry Mother.

Menandro of the Sigue-Sigue Gang. Guilty. Criminal. Unrepentant. Demanding. Screaming. Selfish. Cruel. Taking his Mother for granted. With no appreciation. No gratitude.

And poor Inay. Giving everything. Receiving nothing. Receiving no love. But only pain. Only pain. And then coming back for more pain and more abuse, and more ingratitude. STUPID. WONDERFUL. MOTHER.

v v v

The waves of time have washed away almost all the memories of those exciting, challenging, dangerous days when I was in jail as a Jesuit Novice. But the bitterness, the violence, the wound that was despicable Menandro, standing there . . . selfish, evil Menandro — standing there — screaming, slapping his Mother, throwing her precious rice and fish to the ground — this revolting picture still remains engraved in my guts, festering like a deadly cancer in my guts, rebelling at the EVIL, the PAIN, the INJUSTICE of it all!

Menandro. Selfish Menandro.

Am I — like — Menandro? Are you, are you like Menandro? Are you?

You and I . . . I and you . . . are we selfish? Blind, ungrateful, demanding, unreasonable, abusive, unloving before OUR FATHER, OUR MOTHER, GOD?

My brothers . . . my sisters. We are not like Menandro. . . . We are worse than Menandro. . . . We are worse than Menandro. Why? Because Menandro was just a criminal — ignorant, uneducated, savage — with no education and no experience in Christianity and the Bible and the Sacraments and the good example of our environment. But we . . . but we, we are so familiar with Christianity and the Bible and the Sacraments. We are supposed to be good, intelligent Christians! WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE GOOD, INTELLIGENT CHRISTIANS!!! And yet you and I, we sin again and again and again — we are so bad!

But God, like a perfect Mother, is always there. Waiting. Even after all my sins. Even after all my sins. Waiting. Trying. Trying. Everyday. Every minute. Reaching out. Reaching out. Longing — longing like a loving Mother. Longing for us. To come back. To come back home. To Him . . . to be embraced by OUR LOVING FATHER AND MOTHER. . . . and to receive His forgiveness. His healing. His welcome. His love.

But you and I, we sin again, and again, and again. We insult Christ. We slap Him. We spit on Him. We torture Him. We crucify Him. We kill Him. We ignore Him. We reject Him. And what does He do? Stupid, Wonderful God. He forgives me. He does not reject. He does not abandon me. Again. And again. And again. Instead He comes back to be slapped again . . . to try and win MY love . . . again.

Poor God! Stupid God! Wonderful God! Most Loving God! Waiting for me. Forgiving me! Healing me! Thank you, God! How good you are! To me!

My friends. At this moment, I ask you, please, deep in your heart, PLEASE listen to the gentle whisper of God’s loving voice to you . . .

“Dear, dear child, where have you been? Where have you been? I have waited for you. So long. I — I have waited for you so very long.

Come now, my child. Come home. Let us begin. Again.”

v v v


In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.



~ a c j ~