Joy and Sadness at the Olive Garden.
Why do we come to the Olive Garden? We will tell you why but we want you to
first, see the light, feel the experience, the joy of summer, and witness the green
leafy vegetables in your backyards, of the flowers in bloom welcoming
the excitement of life while fascinating people were on the move for a mission in
the intricate pattern of life.
We will tell you who we are and why we came. We came because we found joy in the garden of our lives, where hope awaits, where opportunity opens, where love blossoms, where peace beckons; where the tranquility of balmy nights brings solace to aching hearts.
We came to humbly tell you that in the Land of Uncle Sam, we serviced homers,
the offices, the churches, the hospitals. We took care of those that need tender loving care, of the sick, the aged and for those who must just have partners. We walked miles, We drove, Wwe dined. We sang. We danced. We laughed. We cried. We are your friends and neighbors; your brothers and sisters. But sadness crept in the inner recess of our mortality, in the sanctum of our being because you will soon depart to spread the carpet of the genius of Catholicism to the communities who were not really engaged in their religious practices. Your homilies and reflections manifested your untiring personality on the profound poring of the Words of God only to ponder the meaning of being a leader of a diverse flock and the miracle of your transformation.
By the way, Fr. Peter Fernandes belongs to the Society of the Missionaries of St. Francis Xavier (sfx). He is from Goa, India whose religious life revolves around prose and poetry. His first book of poem, "A Soul in Flight: Path to Contemplation", indirectly leads one on a path less traveled in this world fraught with distractions, The second is "Lead me on... Path to contemplation". Reading this book will direct one to the classroom of silence to submerge one's self to deep reflective thoughts. Fr. Fernandes has also written several articles for newspapers and magazines, on socio-political commentary to spiritual reflections". He is a prolific writer of prose and poetry and a great pastor.
And he came with his stirring youthful portrait of a missionary, "from India's coastal Konkan region on the bank of the Arabian Sea on the western coast. He left the much-loved tourist place with its famous beaches, astounding monuments, and churches, and bustling nightlife of Goa, the smallest Indian State" to Oregon, the Beaver State on the west coast of the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave for 4 years.
Finally, he found himself drifted to the prairie land of the Midwest on the Windy City, Chicago, that is. He stayed for 13 years. Those were trying years in a new frontier and he was welcomed with open arms. He cloaked himself with the mettle that was acceptable and loved at St. Timothy parish whose Sunday attendance was dwindling. Slowly but surely, a revival came. Attendance shifted to high gear and excitement was around the corner. St. Timothy got a facelift, new paint for the rusted fence, a tall white cross at the northern entrance signifying that the 3-story rectangular building at Washtenaw Ave. is a Catholic church. And there were tall images of Saints besides the church.
The renovated interior has a chapel for daily Mass and a Mother of Perpetual Help novena every Wednesday, a haven for weary souls. And yes, Fr. Peter, as a pastor of St. Timothy was on the right course and the sailing went well in the fullness of time but farewell was inevitable.
We love you Fr. Peter because you trust and love us. The reason why we came to the Olive Garden was for a memorable moment with you. Wherever you will be: this is just a reminder note for you to read. Fr. Peter Fernandes, sfx. please remember us with our flaws and foibles in the endless flow of time, in the Breaking of the Bread. And, we will never forget those shared memories, the trust, the love, and the lessons we both learned.
We are Strangers. Opportunity Seekers. Immigrants. Parishioners of St. Timothy Church. Americans.
(Greg In. Trabanca)
