The purpose of this book is to share with whomever wants to read it, my simple spiritual journey from childhood through today. This is a journey with numerous peaks and valleys, but with no burning bushes, awesome spiritual experiences, or extraordinary miracles. I am a convinced and passionate Catholic who profoundly respects people who have chosen other Christian denominations, non-Christian religions, or no religion at all. They may be close members of my family, relatives or friends. I unconditionally love them and will never destroy a bridge, build a wall or close a gate that unite us; and I expect to be treated the same way. I am no better or worse than anyone else, and my spiritual journey is no different from other people's journey who were in similar circumstances, such as living in a country where an aggressive, official atheism was an integral part of the political structure and later becoming immigrant in another country, learning a new language, adapting to a new way of life and continuing this earthly pilgrimage. In this journey, I have-now as before-the support and companionship of my loving, compassionate and spiritually correct wife.
Catholic
My Simple Spiritual JourneyBy Ysaac J. ChaboAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Ysaac J. Chabo
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4520-8701-6Contents
Introduction......................................ixGod in my childhood...............................1Understanding God.................................7The Scriptures and the Church.....................17God did Provide...................................29Thy Will be done..................................33Changes in the Church.............................41Joyful times......................................45Hard times........................................51In God's hands....................................61God was with us...................................77I was afraid again................................81Final Note........................................91Bibliography......................................95
Chapter One
God in my childhood
God was a spiritual judge somewhere in Heaven, a paradise above the sky, watching us to punish our misdeeds and reward our good deeds; and I was only a child.
I was baptized and given the name Ysaac Jesús at age three when my parents finally decided on who my godparents would be: my godmother, from my mother's side, was my aunt Irene (also known as Carmen or Merí), while my godfather, from my father's side, was my cousin Ramón (also known as Sacuma). The uneducated belief was then that one was "Jew" until he or she was baptized.
Four years passed. Then in the early afternoon of a day that escapes my memory, most probably a Saturday, in the year nineteen forty-six, I heard what I thought was the ringing of a small bell while playing on the front porch of my parents' house. The sound was coming from the square at the center of my hometown—San Antonio de Río Blanco—in the Province of Havana, Cuba. I reacted with the curiosity that any child of that age should have. I stopped playing and looked at the street in the direction where I heard the bell ringing. A few minutes later, an old priest, followed by a few lay people, turned the corner of the square onto the main street and walked towards where I was. He was ringing the bell. As he approached my parents' house, I noticed that someone walking next to him was carrying a basket of candy. The priest, in loud voice, was inviting all children under age seven to follow him to San Antonio de Padua Catholic Church where, after a brief catechism class, candy would be distributed. At that time, my mother came to the front door of the house and I asked for her permission to follow the priest to the Church. She told me, without hesitation, to go. I joined the group and tried to walk as close to the candy as possible, thinking that one or two may fall from the basket.
After walking most of the streets of the small town, we entered through the big double doors of the main entrance to the church. Once inside, we were told to have a seat in the pews at the front making sure that every pew was completely, but comfortably occupied. A lay person distributed the catechisms. The priest welcomed us, and said that, with our parents' approval and support, we would meet every Saturday at the same time and place, and repeated that candy would be distributed at the end of each class. He said that classes would start next Saturday; then he distributed candy and told us to go home.
I told my mother what the priest had said, and she not only gave me permission to attend the catechism classes, but encouraged me to do so. The following Saturday, I went to Church at the established time thinking about what kind of candy and how many I would get. The priest was not there, but the basket full of candy was. I couldn't take my eyes away from the treats. A nun rang a bell and said, "Let's start with a prayer." My eyes began to move from the nun to the basket of candy and vice versa. Then, she asked us to open page one of the catechism book and asked the first question on that page: Who is God? We didn't answer. She repeated the question, but got no response. Then, she said, "God is the most perfect spirit creator of Heaven and Earth" and asked us to repeat it three times which we did while discretely looking at the basket of candy. She asked the next question: "Who created us?" We remained silent. She repeated the question, but we remained silent. Then she read the answer, "God created us" in a loud voice and asked us to repeat it three times. We did it looking at the basket of candy. She then presented us the third question: "Why did God create us?" But this time she asked us to read the answer from the book and we did according to her request. It went as follows: "To love and serve Him in this life, and enjoy His presence forever after this life." That was the end of the first session. Candy was distributed and we went home. The rest of the classes were basically conducted with the same format, but included stories and songs. Candy was always available. We did learn about the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit being three different identities, but only one God. At times, I found it difficult to accept this as a mystery of our faith. We also learned about the history of the Church, the meaning of the different parts of Mass, and the two most frequently recited prayers: The Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary. Everything was adapted to our age. In spite of that, most of the instructions remained just that: instructions recorded in the brain and only in the brain. However, one of the last sentences we heard from the old nun did strike me so hard that I started to put it into practice—not always successfully—through today: "Hate sin but love the sinner." That is the foundation for my motto: Build Bridges, Tear Down Walls, Open Gates.
One day, close to the completion of the program, the priest came to the class and told us that he was going to visit our parents to request their approval and support to prepare us for the next two Sacraments after Baptism: Reconciliation (private confession of sins) and Eucharist (Communion). After two weeks, he informed us that our parents gladly allowed him prepare us for these Sacraments, and said that preparation would start two weeks after catechism classes ended. One of us asked if candy would be distributed during the preparation. The priest smiled and said that candy would be available. Preparation for the First Communion lasted two weeks. The following Saturday we received the Sacrament of Reconciliation. In my case, my "laundry list" of sins was very small and included only venial sins, as expected for a seven year old child. Reconciliation was followed by a rehearsal of what would happen the next day. A lady told us that immediately after the priest had consumed the consecrated bread and drink from the chalice, we must stand up and walk to the kneelers in front of the altar where we would kneel waiting to receive the consecrated bread, now the Body of Christ by transubstantiation. At that time we must open the mouth and project the tong slightly out. After the priest had put the host on our tongues, we must consume it and slowly return to our seats. We practiced with a few blank wafers until everything was correctly done. Probably due to our age, we were told not to chew the host, but roll it a little bit with the tong and then swallow it. We had been attending Mass that was then said in Latin, except for the homily, and were familiar with words and motions. As everybody else, we carried missals where we read the complete Latin Mass and the translation into Spanish. That Sunday family and friends attended Mass making the church unusually small for the number of people present at the Liturgy in addition to the regular participants. There were no white suits for boys or fancy girls' white dresses, but clean and, in some cases, new clothing. At the appropriate time, we were ready to receive communion. When the priest stood in front of me, he took the host and showed it to me saying "Corpus Christi." I responded "Amen" exactly as we were taught. After Mass ended, there was no party at the Church or our houses. We just went home, changed our clothing, and went to play as every other day.
I felt no different; no change, no burning bush in my soul or fire in my heart. For me, everything was still out there: God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit and the Church. I was the same child before and after my First Communion. So I thought. I believed that the bread became the body of Christ and the wine became His blood after consecration because priests and nuns told me so, and I believed what they said. I did not realize the magnitude of what I had done and that a tremendous amount of growth was not only expected, but unavoidable in my spiritual journey. I just received two sacraments by my own will (Baptism was decided by my parents). My faith was much smaller than a mustard seed, practically invisible; however, I had a vision: I wanted to be a Pope.
Chapter Two
Understanding God
God was in Heaven and Earth but still a distant judge. I began to love Christ for what He said and did, but the mystery of the Holy Trinity was very confusing to me. I accepted it because priests, nuns and many books stated that there were three identities in one God. How? God knows. I don't.
The next three years were not very challenging. Therefore, my spiritual life became stagnant in the weekly routine of confession on Saturdays, or Sunday mornings followed by Mass. I didn't know the profound reasons for going on with that routine, but I felt at peace after each confession and happier after each Mass. As the penance for my sins were usually to say the Our Father and the Hail Mary, I memorized both prayers; however, I paid no attention to the meaning of the words and just recited them.
At that time a group of young priests, missionaries from Canada, were assigned to different parishes in the provinces of Havana and Matanzas. One of them became the Pastor of San Antonio de Padua Catholic Church in San Antonio de Río Blanco, my hometown. A few weeks after his arrival, he asked me if I would like to join the team of acolytes, and I enthusiastically accepted. Training started immediately and was not very easy because Mass was said in Latin at that time and we had to memorize the responses—which I remember well after so many years—in that language. I usually was at church at least forty-five minutes before Mass started to make sure I was one of the acolytes ringing the three bronze bells pulling the ropes. The bells were rung every fifteen minutes starting half hour before Mass. That was a lot of fun! We also tolled the bells for funerals and rang them during processions, beginning when the people had left the church until they had returned in no less than one hour.
There were some festivities that always made an impact in the community at large. The Christmas celebrations began on the eighth of December, the feast of the Immaculate Conception, that Cubans called "Little Christmas Eve" and ended on the sixth of January—the feast of the Epiphany. Family dinner was done on the twenty-fourth of December—Christmas Eve—after which many people would attend the Midnight Mass. On the twenty-fifth of December there was another Mass in the morning for those who decided not to attend the Midnight Mass. There was no Santa Claus and no gifts. Using the leftovers from the previous night plus a few additions, families prepared a plentiful and delicious lunch. During the early evening, dances started at the local social clubs. These parties ended at sunrise when participants were ready for breakfast.
Children were looking forward to another date, the sixth of January when very early in the morning they could find their toys and other gifts under, or next to their beds. Who did this for the kids? They believed that during the night of the fifth of January, while they were sleeping, the three Wise Men entered each house to deliver toys and gifts in remembrance of their visit to Baby Jesus, after a long journey, bringing Him some meaningful gifts such as gold (for a King), frankincense (for a Priest) and myrrh (for a Man and Prophet). There were no gifts for the adults. It was a kids' day. However, I always had a question in my mind: What was the reason for the three Wise Men to leave many gifts for some kids and just a few or none for others who I knew were good, but poor? One year, I got a leather western belt with holsters and two very nice toy guns so well made that looked real. As I walked out of my house to play with other kids, I saw one child with no toys and tears in his eyes seated on the sidewalk. I asked him if he wanted to play, but he refused because he did not have any toys to play with me. He told me that he had been a good boy and I did not understand why the Wise Men forgot about him. I gave him one of my guns so that he could play with me. After playing for about two hours, we decided to go home and he made a gesture to return the gun, but I told him to keep it so that he could play with other kids, too. His eyes shined, and he ran away. I did not know that what I did put me a bit closer to God because it was not only a matter of the intellect, but of compassion, of the spirit. I was happy sharing what I had with a child who had nothing. One gun was enough for me and the smile that did away with the tears put joy in my soul. I told my parents and they approved of my action.
Lent, starting on Ash Wednesday and ending on Easter Sunday, was the next big event in our Church and the community. Every Friday we did the Stations of the Cross at 3:00 p.m. and the prayers and reflections at each station always made me think about Christ's suffering and death while walking the few blocks between the Church and my parents' house. The highest point was the Holy Week. I either served as acolyte, or helped as requested during this sacred season. As ashes were applied to our foreheads to form a cross on Ash Wednesday, the formula at that time was: "Pulvis est et in pulvis reverteris" (You are dust and to dust you shall return). Later, I learned that it was a reference to the Creation and what our physical bodies go through after death. As in Christmas, attendance to Mass more than doubled on Ash Wednesday and almost tripled in the ceremonies of the Holy Week that started with the procession of the palms and Mass on Palm Sunday. The reading of the Passion of Christ put tears in my eyes, and many times I asked myself "Why did God allow this to happen to the son of the carpenter?" Soon, I found the answer: God allowed this to happen to Himself because He, and only He, could save mankind offering—as a man—His human life for our redemption. It was the perfect sacrifice. The symbols used in the Catholic Church convey very spiritual and powerful messages if we understand them correctly. At the end of Mass on Palm Sunday, every statue inside the Church was covered with a purple cloth to signify that we just entered a period of mourning, prayer, meditation and expectation. A number of people, I among them, went to Church every day to pray, read spiritual books such as the New Testament, The Imitation of Christ by Thomas Kempis, etc. We returned in the evening to pray the Rosary and on Thursday worked very hard preparing everything for the Mass celebrating the institution of the Eucharist by our Lord Jesus Christ at the Last Supper. We had to build what was called a monument that was a small tabernacle in an elevated place inside the Church surrounded by fresh flowers and candles, which could be accessed by three well carpeted steps with fresh flowers and candles on both sides. At the end of the Liturgy, the priest—after a short procession inside the Church—placed the gold cup containing the consecrated hosts inside the tabernacle and locked its door. I thought of Christ's burial. The tabernacle at the main altar was empty and its door open, which reminded me of the empty tomb. The covers from the altar's table were removed as Christ's clothing was removed before His crucifixion.
On Holy Friday, a liturgy was done starting at 3:00 p.m. (the approximated time of Christ's crucifixion and death). There was no consecration of bread and wine and communion was administered with previously consecrated hosts kept in the monument. I thought of the naked, bloody, spat on, muddy, bruised, crucified Christ, and asked myself, "Why did this happen?" The answer that came to my mind was, "To deliver us from sin." Another question came to my mind: "Was there not another way?" But there was not another way, because no one could save us from our sins except the perfect sacrificial lamb: the Son of God. I thought of a judge sentencing a criminal to death and, after pronouncing the sentence, coming down from his seat and taking the place of the criminal: The reconciliation of Justice and Mercy. On the evening of that day, people carried a very heavy wooden and glass casket, containing an image of Christ, in a procession through the town's main streets. A priest was walking behind the casket while continuously reciting different prayers including the sorrowful mysteries of the Rosary. Sometimes, I walked next to the priest and at other times, I stayed at the church tolling the bells. Candy was no longer important.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Catholicby Ysaac J. Chabo Copyright © 2010 by Ysaac J. Chabo. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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