I remember that during the wake, Paolo’s father did not talk much. It
was his mother who said of the relationship of her husband and her son,
"They simply adored each other…" and then continued with these heart
wrenching words: "My 16 year old Paolo, who enjoyed beating his old man
at every game of one-on-one basketball and in every swimming race, beat
his father to the grave."

When we hear such words we instinctively feel, "It shouldn’t be, such
things should never be!" But they do happen–though we would rather
believe they don’t–especially when they happen to us.

My dear friends, the same thing can be said of our dear, FATHER MICHAEL
ROONEY: "These things should not be!" He may be old, if many of the
students he guides in Ateneo de Naga High School think a man of 67 is
old, but still we want him around a little (much) longer.

We feel this way. We have these thoughts. And so does God. The default
reading for funeral mass (from the book of Wisdom) reminds us: "The
souls of the just are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch
them. They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; and their
passing away was thought an affliction and their going forth from us,
utter destruction. But they are in peace." For death was not God’s
doing. God takes no pleasure in the destruction of the living. He
created all things that they might have life, all his creatures that
they might have health.

Why death? That’s part of the mystery we live. Scripture does not
attempt to explain. It simply says, "The devil’s envy brought death
into
the world." That is not much of an explanation. It does, however,
reassure us that it was not God’s intention, that God wants nothing but
what is good for us. Having all the answers would not take away the
pain
anyway. We would still have our sorrow. Our faith in God gives us our
hope and comfort.

Echoing the message from the book of Wisdom, (we can say that) our
consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Father
Mike dies; that when he breathed his last early yesterday morning,
God’s
heart was the first of all our hearts to break. This is the God we
believe in, the God we worship…not a God who wants illness and
suffering for his people but the God who became one of us.

Jesus Christ shared our life. He suffered and died to overcome illness
and death, to restore us to God’s original intention, to help us
realize
that God knows the pain of life, its struggle: "My God, my God, why
have
you abandoned me?" He knew the shock, the disbelief. This can’t be
happening to me: the feeling that God isn’t there.

But even in the middle of grief and aloneness Jesus said, "Father, into
your hands I commend my spirit." In faith, we are doing the same here,
placing Father Mike, and ourselves in God’s hands, trusting that he
restores his health and life and will heal our pain.

St. Paul, in his letter to the Thessalonians, speaks of this living of
faith in the midst of sorrow. With him we believe that those who died
are better off than us. We believe that, but we are not better off for
losing them. Our faith does not minimize our loss but our faith teaches
us to love. The pain we feel now is the price we pay for loving our
dear
brother in Christ. A small price, considering all that we have received
from him and through him.

And what did we receive from Father Mike? I am sure many things . . .
different things to different groups of people.

The GIFT OF LAUGHTER. He was such a jolly person and his laughter was
contagious almost. I remember weekday afternoons at the Loyola House of
Studies Library in the seventies when I was a philosophy student and
Father Mike was studying theology. He would often study in the same
spot
in the library, sharing a table with the late Father Amado Cruz. I
would
often be disturbed by their laughter, a laughter which will make Father
Amado’s chinky eyes diasappear and Father Mike turn red. But I did not
mind because their laughter broke the monotony of studying in the
afternoon.

If former President Joseph Estrada has his "Eraptions", I was thinking
I
could also publish "Mike-rooneysms", a collection of Father Mike’s
malapropism or un-intended (ludicrous) misuse of words that sound
alike.
One time, when our Jesuit house was still new and the High School has
not transferred to Pacol, we were in our dining room and he pointed to
a
high school student coming from the back field. He said, "You know that
small boy there is graduating this year. He is very small because he
has
genital defect." To which I exclaimed, "Michael?!" And he said, "But
that is true! He was born with that defect that’s why he’s small." And
I
said, "Michael, the word is ‘congenital’."

Often, during meals at the Jesuit residence, he would clamor for jokes
.
. . and then he would grade them. He would give a joke a grade as high
as 99.99 % if it were really funny. If it were not, he would not give
the joke a failing mark, he would just say, "Corny!"

A CARING PERSON. Ever since I have known Father Mike, he had always
been
fond of speaking in the dialect. In Manila, and later in Davao where he
stayed for some years, he tried to speak in Tagalog. When he moved to
Cagayan de Oro, he adjusted his tongue to Cebuano. Then here in Naga,
he
still tried to learn Bikolano. I believe he really wanted to be in
touch
with the people he worked with and worked for. He wanted to understand
them and made sure his message is understood also. I am sure this is
something that did not escape you, especially at Mass, how he spoke
clearly and how he enunciated every word he said while proclaiming the
gospel or while delivering his homily.

Yes, Father Mike was a very caring person. I do not think he was
capable
of hurting anybody physically, but he would not want to hurt anybody
even with his words. And he always wanted to please people: if you
needed anything, if you had any request, he would try to attend to you
and respond to your need immediately. In the provincial jail, along
with
other volunteers, he ministered to the prisoners, helping them in any
way he could–from distributing bath soap to mailing prisoners’ letters
to relatives, from providing corrugated boxboards for mats to listening
to their stories, from sharing simple snacks to leading them to Christ
in His own banquet we call the Eucharist. In the High School, I know he
preferred writing individual recommendations for college for the
seniors
than ticking boxes in a recommendation checklist. In the Jesuit
community, as our house minister, he usually put it as a joke: "Ano’ng
problema, Bay?" or "Do you need anything?" Of course, he was always
hesitant, if not afraid, to ask me if I needed anything because I would
tell him I need 2.6 million (pesos) for a render farm in the Digital
Animation Department or plane fare to visit my parents in New York. And
he was very thoughtful. I remembered how, after spending the summer in
the U.S.A., he brought chocolates for the Jesuit community and t-shirts
for the boys helping us in the house. Never mind if he only bought them
from SM upon his return (as I saw the price labels). It was the thought
that counted.

A PRAYER . . . a man of prayer. This is what about Father Mike that I
find very edifying. I would pass by his room in the morning, sometimes
his door already open, and he would be seated inside with his breviary.
Often, early in the morning, he would be out in our porch in the second
floor, praying or reflecting. In the late afternoon or early evening,
if
I came in early to our house chapel for our evening prayer, Father Mike
would be there, sitting in the dark, praying quietly. I believe he has
made his home in God just as Jesus Christ has done. This is also the
invitation of today’s readings to all of us. We are invited into a
deepening trust of God. Jesus is asking us to make our home in God just
as he has done. "I say only what the Father has taught me," Jesus says
to them. "The One who sent me is with me. He has not deserted me…."

My dear friends, in the next few days, before we finally bring Father
Mike to his resting place, perhaps we will learn more about who Father
Mike is when we hear other people talk about parts of his life we
didn’t
know. Today Jesus reminds us about parts of God’s love for us that we
might fear to trust, because it doesn’t fit with our perspective of
human love. If only we can pray for the ability to trust God more as
Father Mike did, I believe our lives will be graced with more freedom.

Again, for you: my Jesuit brothers, Ateneo lay collaborators, sisters
from different congregations, students, alumni, the jailer and the
prisoners, volunteer workers, friends, and for me, Fr. Mike could be
this or that, a combination of all that I have mentioned or perhaps
more. Precisely because of this and every other thing he is to us that
we feel the sorrow and pain of his leaving us.