A Church of Different Colors

Where is your special space every sunday?

I went to mass last Sunday with my husband and son. It's the same church where my son's Ninong and Ninang (godparents) go every Sunday. The 11 AM mass is the mass for the community and fortunately, the priest is a foreigner like me. I can't tell where he is from but by the color of the skin I was guessing he is an African.

There were many children. More, because they are having  classes in preparation for their first communion come Easter time. The teacher assisting them is a Carmelite nun, of course with the assistance of the African priest.

A baptism we attended in Legnano, Chiessa di San Magno.

It was a great experience, thus, I am blogging about it. It became greater and better when the celebrant started delivering his homily. I tried to listen with my eyes closed. I heard the priest loud and clear maybe because I'm trying to learn the language better.  I couldn't even tell if he is a foreign or a local priest. But with some mistakes he had in grammar and having corrected himself so fast; I told myself this priest is for real. If you listened to the Pope we have now, and to the last pope we had; you would understand what I mean.

Our bible, I also read it for language learning.

     He is younger than me and he has really prepared a written homily. When I opened my eyes and listened deeply, I realized he memorized the text too. It was a very personal and substantial homily, yet his message was universal. The locals are smiling and some are giggling. I saw some even nodding their heads. I was seated at the back in between 2 grandmothers. I am always delighted and enlightened to hear priests from poor places like mine : Africa, India, China or Philippines.

A church in Tagaytay Philippines (pink sisters)

The Sacre Cuore of France in LEGOland Windsor

     He was called Fr. Herman. He mentioned his grandmother who was always takin him to church every Sunday after he had his first communion. He emphasized how important it is to have that personal connection to God in a more regular basis. He said you could do it by praying your rosary daily if you can't go to mass. But it is always good to come every Sunday, he reiterated. He talked about not losing connection or not having conversation with HIM. If that happens we will lose our way.

    The gospel was about the woman and the water of life. He provided glasses of water to the first communicants after his homily and explained to them briefly how significant the water of life is to everyone.

"L'acqua di Vita" as they say it.

Luzern, Switzerland at the city center

Luzern, Switzerland, at the city center

     I enjoyed my mass again in that church called San Pietro. It was my third time there. It is not the parish where we used to belong. I want to be in that parish, it is a REAL church for me. I saw the plumber of my in laws, happily playing the guitar for the choir composed of mainly teenagers. I saw the family of one of my former students and it felt awesome when the mother approached me and asked me about my son. Her daughter was my former student in the English kindergarten class and she knows I left the school because we had to move to England. 

       The Ninong and Ninang of Nico are my husband's cousins. Their teenage daughter was one of those collecting the offering.  There is that a wonderful feeling, to be recognized that you belong. I remember some faces and I was quenched of the thirst I was experiencing prior to my entrance in that space. It is a holy place which you long for if you believe, if you listen, if you care to be there and if you share your silent hour as well.

     There was an old couple from the south and they renewed their vows of wedding that day. Fifty long years for them... I will have my fourth. The other grandma next to me whispered that she did renew her vows, too. Her 50th as well, and if the husband lived it will be their 62nd. She was seating next to her daughter whom i can guess is older than me. She was showing me her ring while telling that story. I was thinking of my Inang all the while. The other grandma next to me greeted me, "Buona Domenica Signora", on our way out. I said the same to her. "HAVE a BLESSED Sunday Madam"... if I would translate that.

Our Church wedding was officiated by an Italian and a Filipino priest. 18-9-2010

      Where I am right now, they always look at me because I look different. I am easy to spot. I am an Asian. I am a Filipino. But once I start speaking their language, they look away.  Language does wonders sometimes or should I say most of the time? Their language is the other language I could write and read and speak, though not in a very fluent way. I am still learning it for my son.

      L'acqua di Vita! Che bella giornata! Era una Domenica interessante, non dimenticera'!