Today's Marists 2024 Volume 8, Issue 2

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Forgiveness, Reconciliation, and Restoration: Instruments of Divine Mercy by Bill Rowland, SM, Rector, Marist School, Atlanta, Georgia It seems the second most frequently asked question of priests, with the first one being how to pray, is how to forgive. Let us look at that question and its relationship with reconciliation and restoration. I will give you this teaser and say that forgiveness is different from reconciliation or restoration. I borrowed heavily from Fr. Mike Schmitz, a popular author, speaker, podcaster and Director of Youth and Young Adult Ministries in the Diocese of Duluth, MN, whose podcast, Forgiveness Is Not the Same as Reconciliation, is the basis for what follows. To begin, forgiveness is not saying everything is fine or saying not to worry about it or to move on. When people ask how to forgive, they are asking what to do with feeling hurt, angry and resentful. Forgiveness is not a magic wand that quiets those feelings, which are like a violent storm that upsets our emotional equilibrium, causes havoc to our mental stability, impairs our physical wellbeing and affects us spiritually. Imitating Christ on the cross who said, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do,” (Lk. 23:34) seems beyond our capability and even willingness to do. Now we have additional feelings of guilt and inadequacy with which to deal. When we have hurt someone or have been hurt ourselves, we protest the injustice of it all. Something has been taken from us, such as friendship, trust, reputation and overall well-being. We want those back. Now, we have entered into the realm of justice. The virtue of justice requires that we get back what has been taken from us or give what someone is owed. The first step to forgiveness is acknowledging that the person who hurt us owes us something. The second step will require some time to identify how someone has hurt us and how that person is indebted to us. This will lead to the third step, the decision to cancel the debt. We are telling the person who offended us that we will not make them pay us back. It is not the same as saying it is okay when our feelings tell us differently. It acknowledges that pain but consciously cancels the debt someone owes us. It means not waiting for the other person to pay us back in full. That may not even be possible. This does not happen overnight. It is a process and we have to make that choice repeatedly. It also may mean letting go of the hurt and even the person who has caused us so much pain. It means letting go of this person, friendship or the depth we once shared because they cannot be trusted. That brings us to what I said at the beginning, forgiveness is not the same as reconciliation. Reconciliation has to do with repairing the relationship. It takes time to rebuild the trust that has been broken. Fr. Schmitz makes the following analogy. We may lend someone our car to use, and they may get into an accident. If this involves a son or daughter, parents may release them from paying the cost to repair the car, which they owe in justice. They are canceling the debt, and that is forgiveness. That does not mean their son or daughter can drive the car immediately. Parents may place restrictions that have to be met, such as when, with whom, where and how often the car can be driven. Trust has to be restored to repair the relationship. That is the work of reconciliation, and that too, is a process. That leads to the third step, restoration. Now the relationship is back on track and maybe even stronger than before the event that caused the rupture. The grace of forgiveness, reconciliation and restoration played essential roles in healing South Africa and Rwanda. Nelson Mandela, South African anti-apartheid activist and South Africa’s first president from 1994 – 1999, initiated a national process of forgiveness, restoration and reconciliation toward his former captors as he tried to steer his nation away from resorting to violence and retribution. Left to Tell, a book written by Immaculee Iligagiza, describes the horrors of the Rwandan Holocaust, including her family being brutally murdered and costing the lives of nearly a million Rwandans. Her trust in God’s love for her enabled her to seek out and forgive those responsible for killing her family. Marists are to be instruments of Divine Mercy. Forgiveness, reconciliation and restoration are acts of Divine Mercy that are to be brought to bear in various settings and relationships including families, friendships, business, politics and international relations. To be conduits of Divine Mercy, we must acknowledge our need for and be recipients of this grace. We can experience this grace in the Sacrament of Penance, also called the Sacrament of Reconciliation. There, we are forgiven immediately. We are reconciled to God immediately. Our relationship with God is restored immediately. So, if you struggle with forgiving someone, reconciling with someone and restoring a broken relationship, frequent the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Then return to your family, work or school and carry-on being instruments of Divine Mercy by being instruments of forgiveness, reconciliation and restoration. 8 Today’s Marists Magazine
One Hundred Mass Intentions. Who is My Neighbor? A Marist Priest Reflecting on Mission in Mexico by Fr. Francois Chauvet, SM, Marist Community, Paris, France I had just been appointed as vicar to the Marist parish in Mexico City, Mexico where we felt we could do more. Luckily, a letter came from Sister Diana (Misioneras Guadalupanas del Espíritu Santo), inviting the Marists to lead the services during Holy Week among the indigenous communities of Tepezintla and Tonalixco, where she had been for several years. Sr. Diana and I met when she was a student leading a youth group in Mexico City and discovered her vocation to religious life. A Marist deacon due to be ordained priest that year and I took the long bus ride to Zacatlan and from there, two more hours to where Sr. Diana was waiting. The next day we walked three hours to Tepezintla. On the way we receive our first Nahuatl language lesson: “Kema - yes, amo - no!” That afternoon I celebrated Mass in Tepezintla and discovered a world and an approach to God that were totally unbeknown to me. Arriving at the sacristy, I saw a line of about twenty people waiting. Apparently, word had spread that the padrecito (little father) had arrived, and people had come to present their Mass intentions. Sr. Diana instructed me to sit at the table and welcome each person. They greeted me with a light bow and a gentle, imperceptible smile. They looked tired as if they had walked quite far. The following day I realized that most of the people do not live in the village, but in houses scattered across the countryside, and walking is a way of life here. They seem to have come straight from the fields, still carrying tools. I noticed their used clothes, too long or too short, and sandals that scarcely covered their bare feet, offering almost no defense against the cold. Nothing like the jacket and boots that I brought! I saw faces burned by the weather and calloused hands hard as metal. I saw the fatigue, the weight of the day, the journey of the life they have spent tilling the land or working in the city, and here they were, to offer that life they carried on their backs like a cross, that life of effort, work, of struggle, to “ask for their little Mass.” An older lady approached and took from the folds of her clothes a small plastic bag, from which she reverently removed a folded sheet of paper that she handed to me. I read the large, scribbled words that read something like: “Santo Padrecito (literally, “holy little father”), very good afternoon, I greet you with respect and I ask you to please celebrate the holy Mass today for my animals, my chickens, my corn, the harvest, for my husband who is in Mexico City, for my children who have not returned, for the eternal rest of my mother Ofelia, for my sister Anastasia, for Juan, for Isidoro (and twenty other names). I thank you and God bless you.” It was written in big round letters, like the ones we learned in grade school. The lady smiled at me and walked away, and another person approached. The short, solemn ceremony of handing over the sheet of paper to me repeated twenty or thirty times. “Each day we have to decide whether to be Good Samaritans or indifferent bystanders.” (Fratelli Tutti, 69) Sr. Diana explained that I must take all the papers to Mass and put them on the altar, where everyone can see them. During the prayers of the faithful, I had to read all the names from those papers. Sr. Diana said firmly, “it is not enough to mention some of them, you must read ALL of them. They need to hear the names of their loved ones at Mass.” After Mass, to my surprise the people lined up to collect their papers. To each one I asked; “what are the names of your difuntitos (your departed loved ones)?” Sr. Diana also explained that I was to “give a piece of good advice” and bless them. Each person handed me a fivepeso coin (that is the equivalent of a day’s salary!), picked up one’s paper, carefully refolded it, and put it back into his/her pocket with infinite respect and care, as a treasure of great value. This begged the question: Why do they keep that piece of paper so carefully? Why do they always carry it with them? Why is it so important? It took a while for me to understand: Many of our indigenous brothers and sisters, do not know how to read or write. Women in general do not speak Spanish. They are unable to read what exactly is on their paper. I learned that one day prior to my coming to say Mass, some kind person helped them. A teacher, someone “who knew how to read and write,” a “person of reason,” wrote down their Mass intentions, the names of the people they loved. So yes, the paper was a treasure they carried close to their hearts. Someone GAVE them an infinitely valuable treasure which bears their loved one’s names. On that paper are their animals, their harvest, their pains, their absences, the emptiness that centuries-old poverty and deprivation has etched into the deepest part of their being ... and so many other things that they could not write down. No one knows when a padrecito will come again. No one knows when Mass will be celebrated again - a Mass they may not understand much about, but a Mass where someone who “knows” talks about them to God, someone who puts their names on the altar; their little animals, their harvest, their hope for a better future that most likely may never come. However, this day they are happy because “the little father said my little Mass.” To me this ritual before Mass is already Mass. It is a Mass that precedes the Mass. It is a prayer, an offering, the sacrifice of hours of walking from a hamlet or village. It is the sacrifice offered for others, for those no longer here, but who are not completely gone, those who are no longer “out there” but are still alive “in here.” It is also, and this is no small thing, the sacrifice of a whole day’s salary. That money is not free, it did not fall from the sky. It is the continued on page 11 Volume 8 | Issue 2 9
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Today's Marists 2024 Volume 8, Issue 2

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