Surprising Grace

 Some time ago, I visited a prison with a few other volunteers from a chaplaincy team. The experience was not quite what I expected. As we approached the prison riding in a tricycle, what impressed on me first was the land: it was hilly and dry, with the long grasses going brown under the summer sun, a sign of resilient life. The prison complex itself was surrounded by two layers of barbed wire fencing. After being checked by security, we were shown to a large, open-air visiting hall. Many people were there visiting their family members, enjoying time with each other over baskets of food, almost as if they were at a picnic. A tall, young inmate came in as we were there, and was hugged immediately by a little girl of around 7, who looked to be his daughter. I felt a little guilty, as if by looking we were interrupting a private moment. A few inmates then led us into the prison proper. The complex had many buildings: some were residential, but there were also small food and provisi

Last Advent, I prayed through a lovely retreat offered online by Jan Richardson for Women’s Christmas, titled “The Path We Make By Dreaming” . It was the first time I came to know of Jan’s work, and would highly recommend it (you can access her website here ). One of her paintings in this retreat was particularly significant for me. The title was what struck me first: “honest about the darkness, perceptive of the light”. ©   Jan Richardson I first saw this a day after trying to counsel someone I care very much about over the phone. As it became clear that what she was hoping was not easy to achieve and the path ahead was uncertain and full of obstacles, she got more and more discouraged. Even on the phone I could feel her slowly slipping away even as I was trying my best to console and give hope. Knowing that she had a tendency towards depression, I was very anxious even after I had put down the phone, and kept wondering what else I could have said or done that could have help

I follow your footprints on the sidewalk. I sniff around corners for your presence, but I don’t find you. I knock on doors and come away empty – then I go home. There is a piece of paper at my door: “I waited long for you. I was very wet, I borrowed your clothes; I went out disguised as you.” - Agustina Suhartini, fcJ  (translated by Audrey) ************ This poem is written by Agustina Suhartini, an FCJ sister who lives in Ende, Indonesia (see original Indonesian below). The lovely, intriguing images in this poem stayed with me for a long time. It is written in the ancient tradition that sees God and the divine as a lover, sought after. The part I like most is the twist at the end, when the divine figure has been in the seeker's room and borrowed her clothes -- what a familiar and earthy gesture! It reminds me of that incredible truth that the divine is not "out there" and unreachable... We search for it, but even as we do so we realise that wha

I read a story in my Tagalog class that made my skin crawl: Once upon a time, there was a family that lived in the forest. They were Father, Mother, four brothers and the youngest sister, who was very pretty and whom they all loved very much. They ate the fruits of the forest and were happy and never in want. Photo by  Paul Jarvis  on  Unsplash Once day, however, a drought came to the forest. The plants started to die and there wasn’t enough food for them to eat. They started to go hungry. One day, while they were foraging, the little girl said, “Last night I had a dream. The dream told me what we have to do. You have to kill me and separate my flesh from my bones and bury them. That will make the drought end and you will not be hungry again.” “I don’t care if we go hungry,” said the father, “as long as we are together.” “It’s alright,” said the little girl. “After you bury me, when you miss me, just look around and you will see me in everything. And every time you eat you

Our guest writer this week, Agnes Samosir, a sister in the Society of Sisters, Faithful Companions of Jesus (FCJ), lives in Myanmar. In this reflection, she shares her "journey of being faithful ...of sharing companionship...of being a space holder especially in the midst of suffering, violence and fear". Agnes (middle) with some of the women she journeys with in Myanmar. ---------- I was born in Banjarbaru (South Borneo) on January 30th, 1969. I was the third child of five children of Mr. Victor Samosir and Mrs. Mariani Marpaung. The seed of my vocation began to appear when I joined an altar girl group, an organist group and "Ascensio" children's choir under Fr. A. Soetanta, SJ, at Fransiscus Xaverius Parish, Tanjung. Priok, North Jakarta. The seed grew more and more when I was at Ursula High School, studied at Sanata Dharma Teacher Training Institute (now a university) and was involved in Christian Life Community (CLC). This precious experience encour