On judging

I’m no good when it comes to being a Catholic. I fall asleep during mass, use the Lord’s name in vain quite often, and believe in contraception. Unlike some of my peers, I don’t pray the rosary regularly or implore the help of a sain when in a predicament. Needless to say, I’m a drifter–I go to all the rites, but my faith is questionable.

Tonight’s mass shattered the very core of my faith.

The gospel was being read when a very odd-looking man in his early 20s sat beside me. Too close beside me, if I might add. He was wearing a plaid polo tucked into high-waisted slacks and shiny black oxfords. He looked like a stereotypical nerd, and assumed that he was probably part of the academe. From the corner of my eye, I could see him staring, and I was starting to freak out. First of all, I could not understand why he would have to sit so close when there was still so much space for him to sit on the the other side of the pew. Second, I do not appreciate being watched by a stranger.

I did not want to be rude and I definitely did not want to be a snob, so I reserved all thoughts of asking him to stop staring to myself. When the homily was said, I could not help but look at my mother and see if she understood what it meant for me at that moment. The priest said, “I do not need your sacrifice, I need your mercy”. He talked about how each one of us can become as judgmental as Pharisees and cast people off based on our predisposed notions. And I was guilty of it right at that very moment.

The longer I sat beside the man, I realized that he was much more of a boy than I could have thought. He seemed very scared, but he had a confidence about him that I sensed could only be drawn by faith. He sang all the mass songs with such gusto, even if his voice is as flat as a rock. He seemed to have no sense of tone, but he kept right on, singing at the top of his lungs. When he passed me the offertory basket, he told me, “Ito po, Sister“. I had knots in my stomach because of all the guilt. I asked myself, “How can this man still be so nice when all I’ve been doing these past few minutes is wonder if he has brain damage?”

I did not anticipate what occurred next. When it was time to sing The Lord’s Prayer, I held hands with my family, as I always do. I was praying that the man beside would not take my hand, but he did. For the duration of the song, I could not help but feel very awkward as he pressed my fingers and stroked my palm. I felt as if I was being violated by someone parading to be righteous. By this time, I was squeezing my mom’s hands so tight so she could get the message. As the song ended, I quickly retracted my hand from the odd man and proceeded to focusing on how to get through the next few minutes.

Communion gave me the perfect opportunity to sneak out to the back of the church. As I was standing there, I glanced at him and saw that he was looking at me once more. He had a sad, disappointed look in his eyes, and I had to turn away. My mom stood beside me and told me, “Remember what the priest said, don’t be judgmenta, People are not what they seem.” The man was indeed suffering from a mental illness, my mom said so. His voice was unnatural and he had an uncontrollable twitch.

I was a Pharisee and I passed a very cruel judgment on someone I barely knew.

I left the church with a heavy heart knowing that I missed the opportunity to become a human being and be compassionate. I turned around to look for him and maybe just acknowledge him with a nod or a smile. He was on his knees, praying.

“I do not need your sacrifice, I need your mercy”

He was probably praying for the forgiveness of my soul.