A Lesson on Love: Meeting Fr. McCarthy

Lovely photo from http://designyoutrust.com

Every Friday afternoon, the Catholic students of Daniel Thompkin’s Elementary School (P.S. 69), would hop onto a bus to a nearby Catholic school to receive their weekly catechism lessons.  While these students were learning about Jesus, the Bible, and the Sacraments, those remaining would be left with a free period where they could play with puzzles or other materials, interact with classmates and the teacher, read books, or catch up with work.

I was in the third grade and I was not enrolled in this program. I do not remember the reason why. But I do remember waving goodbye to my friend Debra as she went off towards the bus, then proceeding to settle down with some book or word puzzle, all the while feeling an odd sense of loss and displacement.

I should be on that bus, I thought to myself. I was Catholic and I should be learning what that was all about.

Then came the day when my mom said that she would be enrolling me and my brother in these classes. I was so happy and excited. I couldn’t wait to ride the bus with my friends and be headed somewhere other than home, to see what a Catholic school looked like, and most of all, to learn about my faith. I recall waiting in anticipation as my mom contacted the people in charge, waiting for her to tell me, “Okay, you can go on Friday.” 

But after her conversation with them she told me, “They said you and Ramon can’t go. We inquired too late, and they say you won’t be able to catch up.”

I listened in shock. It had never occurred to me that I would not be able to go. But I’m smart, I thought to myself.  Didn’t they want to meet me first and see how excited I was ? Didn’t they want to see if I could catch up? I wouldn’t mind putting in the extra reading. I was a quick reader. I read the biography of Martin Luther King, Jr. in three days. Surely I could catch up!

I then resorted to quietly entertaining myself on these Friday afternoons when half of the class was gone, gone to a place that I felt I had been unfairly been shut out of. During church on Sundays, my family and I would stay at the back, and as I watched the priest feeding the parishioners bread then having them sip wine from a silver cup, I felt isolated and dejected. I was never going to experience that, I thought to myself. They didn’t want me to. In those moments, I felt that God was far, far, far away and that he didn’t seem to care for nor mind me. He was probably too preoccupied with other Catholics and the rest of the universe.

Then one Sunday, when my parents and I were about to exit the church after Sunday mass, we were stopped by the parish priest. He introduced himself as Fr. McCarthy. He looked like he was in his 50’s, and had a kind face with eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He reminded me of an American Karol Wojtyla. He gazed at me and my brother and spoke to us. He asked us how old we were and what grade we were in school. He found out about our hobbies and our favorite subjects. Then he asked why he didn’t see us every Friday afternoon in catechism class. He was the teacher. I looked down as my mother answered. The people in charge said we couldn’t.

He looked at me, thinking. I was still looking at my feet. He then asked me if I liked to read. I looked up and nodded my head shyly. He left for a while and came back with a book each for me and my brother. I took mine and looked at it in wonder. It was to be my first book about a saint.

Finally, it was time to go. But before we left he called out to my parents, “Don’t mind what they said. Just let them come. We’d love to have them.”

I remember my heart lifting and a wave of quiet happiness rush over me. I was welcome. I could come.

We never were able to attend the Friday afternoon catechism classes as we made our return to the Philippines shortly after. I was able to receive Holy Communion within a few months of our arrival, coached by sweet nuns headed by a Sister Pura, who was a Fr. McCarthy all on her own.

Meeting Fr. McCarthy was my first experience of God’s love as shared by the Church, and to this day is a shining example of how it should be. It was – and always will be – a reminder of how I should love, that when I find myself shutting out others, or raising up walls and drawing lines between me and my brother, I should instead welcome, invite, embrace, listen, and truly, truly love.