A decade almost had passed between us, and I thought about him rarely; that is to say, I did not think about him at all, except perhaps, as a footnote to simpler days, when everything seemed possible. He was, of course, that priest who sat in that room all morning, hearing the confessions of hormonal boys, whose sins, perhaps, were as humorous as they were honest. We would visit him once and a while, on Monday afternoons, when it did not rain, to hear some spiritual direction, unsure of whether it was we who needed guidance, or he who needed the company. In some deep dark corner of our misguided minds, we thought that it was our act of charity: old men needed only to feel useful.

I sat there embarrassed at our ingratitude, but I knew that he forgave us, because it was something that I knew he did so well. He was the priest of my confessional, and I visit him now to make this confession. I am sure he is glad that, at least, I returned.

* * *

I sat in silence in that empty church, reflecting at the simplicity of his final leaving. There were no distinctions which marked his passing; no banners heralded his life. No bright lights surrounded him, to keep watch on these dark mornings. No flowers adorned his bier. There was only that solitary candle whose flame was lit on that Easter Eve, when our faith affirms that we do not die.

Of course, there were no metaphysical medals of those patient mornings, nothing to remind him of the souls he helped unburden, of the confused lives he tried to mend. I wondered what, in death, he held and owned closest to his heart, as a legacy of his living and a memory to his passing.

My mind wandered to that fine day in May (surely, he too must have done it), when he knelt before the bread which was the Body of Christ, and pronounced the vows of his life-long vocation.

Almighty and eternal God, I, though altogether most unworthy in your divine sight, yet relying on Your infinite goodness and mercy and moved with a desire of serving You, in the presence of the most holy Virgin Mary and your whole heavenly court, vow to your Divine Majesty perpetual poverty, chastity, and obedience in the Society of Jesus; and I promise that I shall enter the same Society in order to lead my entire life in it, understanding all things according to its Constitutions. Therefore, I suppliantly beg Your immense Goodness and Clemency, through the blood of Jesus Christ, to deign to receive this holocaust in an odor of sweetness; and that just as You gave me the grace to desire and offer this, so You will also bestow abundant grace to fulfill it.

Following this profession, he arose and received a crucifix which under the Constitutions of his Order is the only thing on earth he was allowed to own. And from that day forward, he owned nothing, nothing at all, and nothing else. Would it have been enough?

His life supplied the answer.

He clutched that crucifix on that fine May day, like his brothers before him, since time immemorial and forever more. And I remembered what they used to say about the dead, of how they go to their graves clutched in their hands only the things that they have given away.

He lived with nothing, but he died with everything. His is still the only life that makes sense.

[Photographs by Bro. Jeff Pioquinto, S.J.]