Next-Door Saint

Just this past Sunday, the homily was on next-door saints. They are saints who lived ordinary lives, and their martyrdom were daily witnessing to the love of Christ. They knew both the joy and pain of loving another, of giving oneself to the least of God's children - "the widowed and orphans", the poor and the outcast. And this message of love for the poor, be it materially, emotionally or spiritually, was reinforced when I read the following from Ron Rolheiser's column:

"The quality of your faith will be judged by the quality of justice in the land and the quality of justice in the land will be judged by how "widows, orphans, and strangers" fared while you were alive. Jesus wouldn't disagree. When he describes the last judgment at the end of Matthew's Gospel, he tells us that this judgment will not be, first of all, about right doctrine, good theology, church attendance, or even personal piety and sexual morality, but about how we treated the poor. "

All these reminded me of mum. Over the past week, I've heard stories after stories of how when she was alive, she in her simplicity cared for those who needed some attention, some love. And despite her own limitations in finances and time, she always watched out for the less fortunate, and helped them generously. Her generosity was by no means measured by the material support she gave, but by how indiscriminate her love was in caring for people around her. From coffee-shop helpers to the poor in the neighborhood, from provision-shop owners to her relatives and colleagues-in-need, she has given of herself, her money and her time more generously than anyone I had known personally. Her stories reminded me of the widow's mite. She was generous in action because she had generous love in her heart. And she counted no rewards, for she demanded none.

The past few days led me to look more critically into my own heart, even as I grapple with the reality that mum would no longer be physically here. God has gently invited me to by-pass my mind so as to look into my heart, and remain there for a little while. I have been feeling a lot more lately, rather than thinking too much. I have become more honest with myself. And all that had been suppressed in my heart over the years are starting to surface. Through my mum, God is gently leading my heart out of its deep, dark dungeon. My heart is afraid of what he might discover, or realize, at the end of this journey. But he had no choice, for he can run no further. This new journey will be like getting to know God all over again, as if he had never known Him before.

I know God, and my mum, is calling out to me, inviting me to realize that I too am called to be a next-door saint for many others who are in my life. Many around me have yet to experience the love that brought Christ to His passion, and I have been invited to be one of those, like my mum, to help them experience it. I look up at my Father in heaven, replying "But how can this come about? I myself have yet to experience the profound love of God." I patiently await the reply from the angel of God...