When we are called upon to write about our missionary activity we usually mention our activities, the work of catechisms, baptisms, the churching of the faithful, the rebuilding of churches, schools, humanitarian aid in general and the progress of the action developed by the Grace of God in this area. But mission, like all God’s work, is not just a beautiful and joyful series of events, nor is it a romantic monologue designed to impress and temporarily excite the senses, but a reality which is often harsh and which often hides unexpected sadness in those who experience its truth. But each such sorrow in turn hides the peace of God and his wondrous Providence. God’s plan that My hand fell imperceptibly on the child’s frozen forehead. Eyes closed as if he was now dreaming without any hindrance of the eternity that every man looks forward to in this life, however much he may not want to believe in it. My hand crosses the now white, though until now black, forehead of the 22-year-old boy and my lips after the trisagion monologue“eternal memory of our brother, be merciful and remembered“. But my eyes don’t want to leave his serene face. Until yesterday full of pain and suffering. Now untroubled, a stranger to this world, far from us though so close to us. This lad was one of our faithful. At some point an unexpected mischief prompted him to leave our Church. Ten months ago he was in a car accident. The course of his health, although very difficult because he suffered a fractured spine resulting in paralysis of his lower limbs, has so far been not disappointing and with much hope. I was aware of the case, but business never let me go to the hospital to visit him. One day one of our priests strongly suggested we go. I accepted the offer and followed him.
When I entered the ward I saw that the young man was already in a semi-comatose state. His body had now ceased to accept the serum that had been in his arm for ten months and so it now seemed that he was in the final stage. No other signs of communication. In the evening we prayed for this child. I had a desire from early in the night to read a forgiving prayer to the patient, even in this last moment when he had lost all communication with the world. He might, after all, have repented, but now there was no longer any possibility of confession. After reading the relevant blessings, we left for a 3-day trip. The priest who led me to the sick man said to me.
Father, I don’t think he’ll sleep tonight, but tomorrow. He’ll be waiting for us for the funeral. “. His health had a slight improvement overnight. On the third day when we were returning – because until then there was no possibility of communication – we called the father of the child who informed us that the boy had slept the night of the second day since we left. That night, one of the priests in our escort saw the young man pushing our car in his sleep. On the third day we were actually back and the parents were waiting for us for the funeral. Now my hand now on his frozen forehead. Father didn’t even have money for the funeral. My mind spins involuntarily around two words: Human drama. And my last prayer turns imperceptibly into an apology: ”
Forgive me, my child, for being late. Forgive me for not having had time to give you the love you deserved as a human being. . Forgive me that on the eve of your great journey, I barely met you. As soon as I opened the leaves of your heart I had to close them again in the face of the greatest event of your life. I would have liked to do so much more for you as your father and brother. But I didn’t have time. The pain remains inside me. But also the hope. For another is the judge of our actions. We see according to the human. But He even examines our inner sighs. Farewell, my brother. Have a good journey. Farewell to you, long-suffering son of Madagascar, my poor brother of Tuliar.”
Monk Polycarp Agiannitis
