The purpose of this book is to share with whomever wants to read it, my simple spiritual journey from childhood through today. This is a journey with numerous peaks and valleys, but with no burning bushes, awesome spiritual experiences, or extraordinary miracles. I am a convinced and passionate Catholic who profoundly respects people who have chosen other Christian denominations, non-Christian religions, or no religion at all. They may be close members of my family, relatives or friends. I unconditionally love them and will never destroy a bridge, build a wall or close a gate that unite us; and I expect to be treated the same way. I am no better or worse than anyone else, and my spiritual journey is no different from other people's journey who were in similar circumstances, such as living in a country where an aggressive, official atheism was an integral part of the political structure and later becoming immigrant in another country, learning a new language, adapting to a new way of life and continuing this earthly pilgrimage. In this journey, I have-now as before-the support and companionship of my loving, compassionate and spiritually correct wife.

Catholic

My Simple Spiritual JourneyBy Ysaac J. Chabo

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Ysaac J. Chabo
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-8701-6

Contents

Introduction......................................ixGod in my childhood...............................1Understanding God.................................7The Scriptures and the Church.....................17God did Provide...................................29Thy Will be done..................................33Changes in the Church.............................41Joyful times......................................45Hard times........................................51In God's hands....................................61God was with us...................................77I was afraid again................................81Final Note........................................91Bibliography......................................95

Chapter One

God in my childhood

God was a spiritual judge somewhere in Heaven, a paradise above the sky, watching us to punish our misdeeds and reward our good deeds; and I was only a child.

I was baptized and given the name Ysaac Jesús at age three when my parents finally decided on who my godparents would be: my godmother, from my mother's side, was my aunt Irene (also known as Carmen or Merí), while my godfather, from my father's side, was my cousin Ramón (also known as Sacuma). The uneducated belief was then that one was "Jew" until he or she was baptized.

Four years passed. Then in the early afternoon of a day that escapes my memory, most probably a Saturday, in the year nineteen forty-six, I heard what I thought was the ringing of a small bell while playing on the front porch of my parents' house. The sound was coming from the square at the center of my hometown—San Antonio de Río Blanco—in the Province of Havana, Cuba. I reacted with the curiosity that any child of that age should have. I stopped playing and looked at the street in the direction where I heard the bell ringing. A few minutes later, an old priest, followed by a few lay people, turned the corner of the square onto the main street and walked towards where I was. He was ringing the bell. As he approached my parents' house, I noticed that someone walking next to him was carrying a basket of candy. The priest, in loud voice, was inviting all children under age seven to follow him to San Antonio de Padua Catholic Church where, after a brief catechism class, candy would be distributed. At that time, my mother came to the front door of the house and I asked for her permission to follow the priest to the Church. She told me, without hesitation, to go. I joined the group and tried to walk as close to the candy as possible, thinking that one or two may fall from the basket.

After walking most of the streets of the small town, we entered through the big double doors of the main entrance to the church. Once inside, we were told to have a seat in the pews at the front making sure that every pew was completely, but comfortably occupied. A lay person distributed the catechisms. The priest welcomed us, and said that, with our parents' approval and support, we would meet every Saturday at the same time and place, and repeated that candy would be distributed at the end of each class. He said that classes would start next Saturday; then he distributed candy and told us to go home.

I told my mother what the priest had said, and she not only gave me permission to attend the catechism classes, but encouraged me to do so. The following Saturday, I went to Church at the established time thinking about what kind of candy and how many I would get. The priest was not there, but the basket full of candy was. I couldn't take my eyes away from the treats. A nun rang a bell and said, "Let's start with a prayer." My eyes began to move from the nun to the basket of candy and vice versa. Then, she asked us to open page one of the catechism book and asked the first question on that page: Who is God? We didn't answer. She repeated the question, but got no response. Then, she said, "God is the most perfect spirit creator of Heaven and Earth" and asked us to repeat it three times which we did while discretely looking at the basket of candy. She asked the next question: "Who created us?" We remained silent. She repeated the question, but we remained silent. Then she read the answer, "God created us" in a loud voice and asked us to repeat it three times. We did it looking at the basket of candy. She then presented us the third question: "Why did God create us?" But this time she asked us to read the answer from the book and we did according to her request. It went as follows: "To love and serve Him in this life, and enjoy His presence forever after this life." That was the end of the first session. Candy was distributed and we went home. The rest of the classes were basically conducted with the same format, but included stories and songs. Candy was always available. We did learn about the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit being three different identities, but only one God. At times, I found it difficult to accept this as a mystery of our faith. We also learned about the history of the Church, the meaning of the different parts of Mass, and the two most frequently recited prayers: The Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary. Everything was adapted to our age. In spite of that, most of the instructions remained just that: instructions recorded in the brain and only in the brain. However, one of the last sentences we heard from the old nun did strike me so hard that I started to put it into practice—not always successfully—through today: "Hate sin but love the sinner." That is the foundation for my motto: Build Bridges, Tear Down Walls, Open Gates.

One day, close to the completion of the program, the priest came to the class and told us that he was going to visit our parents to request their approval and support to prepare us for the next two Sacraments after Baptism: Reconciliation (private confession of sins) and Eucharist (Communion). After two weeks, he informed us that our parents gladly allowed him prepare us for these Sacraments, and said that preparation would start two weeks after catechism classes ended. One of us asked if candy would be distributed during the preparation. The priest smiled and said that candy would be available. Preparation for the First Communion lasted two weeks. The following Saturday we received the Sacrament of Reconciliation. In my case, my "laundry list" of sins was very small and included only venial sins, as expected for a seven year old child. Reconciliation was followed by a rehearsal of what would happen the next day. A lady told us that immediately after the priest had consumed the consecrated bread and drink from the chalice, we must stand up and walk to the kneelers in front of the altar where we would kneel waiting to receive the consecrated bread, now the Body of Christ by transubstantiation. At that time we must open the mouth and project the tong slightly out. After the priest had put the host on our tongues, we must consume it and slowly return to our seats. We practiced with a few blank wafers until everything was correctly done. Probably due to our age, we were told not to chew the host, but roll it a little bit with the tong and then swallow it. We had been attending Mass that was then said in Latin, except for the homily, and were familiar with words and motions. As everybody else, we carried missals where we read the...