On the evening of last October 25, Pilar called me to tell me that her son Miguel had died. He was 13. He participated in the children’s group that met every Saturday in our parish in Bogotà for a moment of games and theater followed by Mass. They are in preparation for their First Communion.
Miguel had been in a bicycle accident a month before. By now, he had seemed to have been back to normal. After the accident, when I would take his younger brother, Esteban, home after the Saturday group, I also would go inside to briefly say hello to Miguel. They lived with their mother and two younger sisters: one little room in the small shanty town that is within our parish boundaries. During one of these visits, I had told the two girls that they would be able to receive First Communion together. They were all excited.
There were less than two weeks to go to the sacrament when Miguel began to feel unwell. He died on the way to the hospital. I alternated going to see the family with Fr. Giovanni, so as to not leave them alone in this terrible moment. The mother was without work and could not pay for the funeral services. We offered to help her with the expense and we began a collection among parishioners and friends, in the certainty that we are one body. With the adults who share the guidance of the group, we accompanied the family, living, we firstly, the hope that it is the hand of a good God guiding the events of history, even if at times they wound us and we are not able to comprehend them.
The initiative of God with these children is always more than I can understand.
Everything was planned: Miguel would have received his Communion less than two weeks later. Instead, God allowed him a different path that brought him to that encounter earlier, not hidden in the form of bread and wine but face to face, like a Father who for a long time has awaited a son. There are many questions and there is one discovery: God has a unique and unrepeatable relationship with each of the children that He entrusts to me, asking me to take care of nothing less than their personal relationship that He has with each of them.
On the 8th of December, the children received First Communion: among them was Esteban as well. Five minutes before the Mass, he had not arrived yet. I called his mother who told me that Esteban did not want to receive Communion anymore. He felt uncomfortable: all of the others were dressed nicely for the occasion while he didn’t have anything but a pair of jeans and an open shirt over a white tee. I ran to get him while he was returning home with his mother. I sought to get him to see that these aren’t important things but inside I think of how I messed up by not anticipating this problem earlier. His reaction was more than comprehensible. I waited, insisted, and waited again but he didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t give up, thinking of his brother Miguel. And finally he was convinced. He sat with the other children and, little by little, he loosened up. He received his First Communion. After the Mass, he was as happy as can be. We all celebrated together in the parish hall, with cake and songs. Once the celebration was over, I saw him by himself. I asked where his mother was. He was not even able to respond before the father of another little girl who received First Communion presented himself. He said that, in agreement with the mother of Esteban, they had invited him to celebrate at their home. Amazing. I bent over to ask for a confirmation from Esteban and he, with a great smile, confirmed that he wants to go. That evening, I saw him again, after returning from his special day. He was playing with his sisters and two other children in the condominium where he has lived. And he was so happy that he greeted me in a hurry so as to not lose time and continued to play. I thanked God for this little miracle.
The initiative of God with these children is always more than I can understand. At times, the absolute lack of proportion between me and what He makes happen leaves me speechless. It is a silence in which I thank Him because He does not fail to show His paternal love to the children who He brings to the parish. There is just one task that is entrusted to me: leaving space for Him, so that, through my actions, my words, and, perhaps, even my questions, He can exercise His paternity.
