Living in the Hearts of Others
“I think the people I helped remember me sometimes. I think I live in their hearts. That’s a nice thought, isn’t it–to live in people’s hearts? I can remember their faces but not their names. I can’t even speak their language. But I am sure they remember me, my kindness, and my work, and I live in their hearts. If they remember me, they will someday be inspired and perhaps do good also, and if they do, when they do, then what I did was worth it. Even if they don’t, even if they forget me, it was still worth it, wasn’t it?”
While preparing for my first-year retreat with the Anam Cara program, it asked us to recall our birth and early experiences - traveling back to our birthplace, the home where we were babies, and entering the space. We were encouraged to take note of what we saw. Who welcomes us into the world? And in what spiritual context were we being held, baptized, and honored as a new soul? Then, we were invited to imagine the other faces who gazed down at us and back at them, sending them our gratitude for our welcome.
Never had I ever examined my baptism deeply until now. I called my mom and asked her about the environment. She immediately sent me my baptismal certificate. When I noticed the end of the signature signed with "SJ," a sense of wonder and curiosity enveloped me. I noted in my biography that my roots are Ignatian based, which grew when I went to Loyola Marymount University as an undergrad and served with the Jesuits at retreats in my young adult years and until now. This baptismal certificate led me to consider whether the Jesuits have been a part of my life since the beginning. It took me down a rabbit hole of researching Fr. James Joseph "Joe” Devlin, SJ, a Jesuit priest who devoted his time in Thailand to the Songkhla Refugee Catholic Community, which was part of the COERR (Catholic Organization for Emergency Relief and Refugees). The moment I took a closer look at the stamp on his signature, "Some of us are here. God took the rest,” tears of gratitude overwhelmed me for his commitment, generosity, and outpouring of love to fight for the underdogs.
To know we were on the same coast at one point made me wish how I had the chance to meet him and express my deepest gratitude. He was why my parents did not rush to Canada upon escaping Vietnam. He helped them discern their choices and encouraged them to stay in Thailand and wait patiently for eleven months to have a chance to live in America. He was a chaplain to thousands of Vietnamese refugees fleeing from the Communists.
One grounding expression that navigated Fr. Joe on his journey of accompanying others was, "Primum est esse, quam esse tale." It means that before you become something, you have to exist first. He believed it was vital to try to keep the refugees in existence and give them a sense of being before any conversion could take place. It is about keeping another in existence, holding them up, and being their sister or brother.
As I reflect upon Fr. Joe's arduous labor of love, I see a human who invested years of unceasing effort to relieve the burden of grief and suffering experienced by his flock of lost and abandoned sheep. My family included. His strength and compassion to not look at others as statistics but as individual human beings with a right to dignity, self-respect, and freedom. His life reminded me of what a Jesuit friend once shared with me, "We can serve without loving, but we can't love without serving." His story grounds me, allows me to dig deeper into my why, and propels me to continue learning and doing what I do. I remember listening to a podcast that says we are either running away from something or towards something. Perhaps I am running towards a life with greater intentionality and fewer regrets, knowing all that has been given to me has been a gift and a response in gratitude.
