Alleluia

It has been a year over his death when I finally had a chance to visit his grave.  A small burnt piece of paper caught my eyes.

Alleluia.
Hebrew for "Praise the Lord!"
Or its Christian meaning:  hope, new life, resurrection.

Father Thaddeus Ban has always been a cordial priest.
He was the always the first to give me a call when I came home to see my family.
He was our parish priest and pastor.

Our church was in the midst of tumultous transitions as several priest moved in-and-out in one year.

"Father, how long will you stay?" I asked simply that summer eleven years ago.
"Maybe a year," he replied.
"And you're planning to build a new church?" I gasped.
"It will be where the people are. I'll use any days the good Lord gives me."

He was never transferred that year.
Or the next.
People couldn't persuade, frighten, or flatter him away from his vision.

It was about a week before our new church would be consecrated by Bishop Jaime.
It was a grand structure, within 15 minutes of 2000 of its 3000 parishioners.
It was totally paid for by the people's generosity as they looked upon their pastor's threadbare clothes.

Then the accident happened.
A car crash as he turned out of the sister's convent after morning Mass.
He was unconscious for several hours.


The date of the ceremony could not be moved.
New priests were sent to take his place.
Visitors flowed in and out of his room, bringing flowers and tasty Vietnamese dishes.


One of the dishes was contaminated.
Accidentally or deliberately?
No one knew.


He never made it to the consecration ceremony of the new church.
He stayed in the hospital with a running fever and constant diarrhea.
No one ever heard him voice a single complaint.


Actually no one ever heard him complain, even once, in the ten years he was with us.
Even when people tried to get him transferred.
Or when his health situation made him get acupuncture and he walked around for a few days with needles protruding from his skull.


Nothing matters.
Nothing matters.  That's what every visitor heard him say when they came to saw him.
That's what every one of his religious brothers heard when he was sent back home to Carthage to die with his religious family.  Nothing matters.

Alleluia.
Praise the Lord.  Jesus is risen!  Alleluia!!!
The little scrap of burnt paper flew closer to Father Ban's gravestone.


Father Thaddeus Ban has always been a cordial priest.
He was the always the first to give me a call.
I knew that he told Someone to send me news that nothing matters.

He was where the people were.
In their hearts and with their prayers.