ONE of the most famous drawings in the world is Albrecht Durer’s “Praying Hands.” This is supposedly a tribute to his brother, Albert, who for years worked in the mines to finance the studies of Albrecht in the arts academy. Coming from a family of 18, with limited resources, the brothers made a pact that while one studied, the other would work to pay for the former’s studies. Both dreamed of becoming artists.
Albrecht, even before graduating from the academy, was already a sought-after artist, receiving good pay for commissioned works. Upon graduating, Albrecht told his brother, Albert, that it was his turn to study in the academy. It was Albrecht’s turn to support him so Albert could also pursue his dream to be an artist.
Albert, in tears, told his brother that the years of manual work had impaired his hands. He knew it was no longer possible for him to fulfill his dream of being an artist.
As a tribute to his brother, Albrecht created this famous painting, “Hands.” This eventually came to be known as “Praying Hands,” a tribute to the love and sacrifice Albert offered so that Albrecht could fulfill his dream.
Today’s Gospel from St. John talks about the great commandment of love. The Lord says, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” The story of “Praying Hands” is a perfect example of how this great love will inspire one to sacrifice one’s life—and dream—to let the other succeed and excel.
What are our own stories of love and care? Of persons who touched us and made a difference in our lives?
It is quite appropriate that we have this Gospel on love as we celebrate Mother’s Day and the 95th anniversary of the apparition Our Lady of Fatima. I believe if there is one person in most everybody’s life who makes a difference, it is our mothers.
Our biological mothers, but also our other mothers: emotional, spiritual, professional, vocational, all these are the mothers we celebrate. But what is at the core, I think, of the “mother” is the nurturing principle, the care that gives life and inspires excellence.
“No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” This is the “mother” principle in Christ’s story, the self-sacrificing love for friends. This line—like the drawing of “Praying Hands”—carries the story of Christ laying down his life on the Cross out of love for his Father, and for those the Father has given him, his friends, his brothers and sisters.
Someone familiar
Let me share four stories about my biological mother, my “adoptive” mother, my “conflicted” mother, and Our Blessed Mother. I pray these stories of the “mothers” in my life will somehow show that truly “no one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
My biological mother had a very challenged life. I had my issues with her, which surfaced only when I was well into my early adulthood and almost five years after she passed on. But this is another story all together.
She was a very generous woman, who loved to cook and feed people. In her final months, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and aortic aneurysm. My brothers and I took turns keeping her company, as it was difficult for her to be alone with her caregiver. She always needed someone familiar.
Most of the time I took the lunch-to-early-evening shift. I was then studying Theology at the Loyola School of Theology at the Ateneo de Manila Loyola Campus. We ended classes close to noon and I’d go home across to Varsity Hills to have lunch with my mother. Then I would try to convince her to take siesta, since if she had her afternoon rest, chances were she would have better quality time with the family in the evening.
She was not too happy about my entering the seminary. Somehow she had the old-fashioned notion that seminarians were starved and deprived. One day I had to go back to Ateneo earlier, before my brothers could come home.
As I tried to make her take her siesta, I noticed she was restless. She was going around the house looking into rooms, in her cabinet, in shelves for something, and she seemed to be trying to hide this search from me. I asked her what she was looking for. Nothing, she said. She did not sleep.
When time came for me to kiss her goodbye, she handed me a hanky. Wrapped in it were coins—we no longer let her keep money or anything valuable, as she would always misplace or lose these. This was what she had been hiding from me. She was scrounging around the house for coins to give me.
As I walked out the front door, tears began to roll down my cheeks as I held the hanky full of coins. They didn’t add up to much, but those coins told the story that “no one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” For this alone, it was the pearl of great price.
The second story is about my “adoptive” mother, who became a true mother to me and a nurturer of my priestly vocation. She “adopted” me at the time I requested for dismissal from the Jesuits to pursue my present work with public schools. My daily Masses with her anchored my priestly vocation, and ministering to her spiritual needs perhaps nurtured my own spirituality far more than I might be nurturing hers.
But more than this, “going home” every afternoon to celebrate Mass with her and her “barangay” and “parish” was like going home to “safe ground,” where one always felt accepted and loved.
She is very generous, both in big things and small. The support she gives me and many others is awesome. But what is even more than the big things, which are “easy” for her, is her painstaking thoughtfulness in the small things, that makes me appreciate her care so much more.
How she gives it
Whatever she gives, big and valuable or small and simple, she gives with genuine care and love. “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
With my “adoptive” mother, it is not what she gives—she can give much—but in how she gives it. Every gift is given with tender loving care, painstakingly thought of. Like Mother Teresa of Calcutta, she does things—big or small—with great love.
My “conflicted” mother and I had the perfect love-hate relationship. I think we genuinely loved each other, but somehow we were too young to appreciate the authenticity of this love.
We ended up “hating” each other at one stage, a convoluted story. I think our friendship was rooted in a shared pain of growing up in a difficult family context, two souls and hearts longing for healing. Somehow, I think, we gave each other peace, a sense of security and love.
When I entered the seminary and pursued my calling, she somehow suffered. But I was too self-centered to notice her pain and what she was trying to tell me.
In an unromantic way—may I say clearly—she is this to me. This is the thank-you speech of John Nash, played by Russell Crowe in the movie “A Beautiful Mind,” when he received a Nobel Prize in 1994: “I have always believed in numbers, in the equations and logic that lead to reason, but after a lifetime of such pursuit, I ask, what truly is logic? Who decides reason? My quest has taken me from the physical, to the metaphysical, to the delusional and back. And I have made the most important discovery of my career, the most important discovery of my life. It is only in the mysterious equations of love that any logical reasons can be found. (At this point in the movie, he turns to his wife and continues.) I am only here tonight because of you. You are the reason I am. You are all my reasons.”
My “conflicted” mother has helped me journey back to my authentic self. She has helped me discover authentic human love in its many twists and turns, yet always a love that says, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
Finally, the Blessed Mother, Our Lady of Fatima, Our Mother who leads us to her son and places us with her son. In December 1997, the initial diagnosis of an ailment I had was a cerebral aneurysm. I remember my neurologist telling me that she was 95-percent sure, and even gave a detailed description of what they saw in three MRIs.
But she said that the gold standard was a cerebral andiogram, which we needed to have to confirm and also to guide my doctors in the treatment. We could not run the test until after the holidays, but meanwhile I had so many “don’ts” to follow. We sought a second opinion, and the prognosis was the same.
Surrendered
During the Christmas break in 1997, I spent much time in prayer—the most important chapters of my life were prayed over and guided during Christmas breaks. I was at peace and made an offering and surrendered to God.
I checked into the hospital Jan. 6, 1998, and the next day we had to drive in an ambulance to another hospital since the equipment of the hospital where my doctor was broke down. My doctor rode with me, and we prayed the rosary on the way to the other hospital.
When we got to the room for the tests, she and the doctor who would run the tests explained the procedure and said they would take 30 minutes. The 30 minutes extended to an hour and a half.
At the end, the two doctors walked in and joyfully proclaimed, “You’re okay! There is no aneurysm!” Then they explained everything, but at that point I was lost in my gratitude to God.
When I got back to my hospital, the nurse opened the door to my room. As I was wheeled in, I was surprised to see the TV on; I was sure it had been turned off when I left for my test. Being shown was a documentary of Pope John Paul II’s visit to Our Lady of Fatima. Right there and then I just felt in my heart that she was instrumental in obtaining the grace of my cure.
“Place me with your son.” This is the greatest of love stories, the people who weave into our story the grace of bringing us closer to Christ and placing us with Him who is perfect love.
It is good to remember today the stories of care, the stories of love in our lives.
