What is Jesuit material? The former General of the Society of Jesus had this to say to someone who wished to be a Jesuit: “Stay at home if this idea makes you unsettled or nervous…Come if serving Christ is at the very centre of your life. Come if you have sufficiently broad shoulders, come if you have an open spirit, a reasonably open mind and a heart larger than the world.”

Old friends and family whom I have seen after our six-week foray into the mountains of Bukidnon are eager to know about how I lost weight or why my skin is as dark as the earth. Words betray the depth and breadth of this extraordinary journey known as the mission trials. Pausing, smiling, coupled with a look of pregnant bewilderment would be more apt. But though I know I will fall short, I write this to tell my part of the story, and to humbly offer my piece of Jesuit material.

The mission trial is the first exposure we have outside the novitiate. After being cooped up in Sacred Heart for close to eight months, the first year novices are sent to the Jesuit mission areas in the south. I was assigned to the Bukidnon mission district with two of my brothers for obvious reasons. I have never been to Mindanao, did not know how to speak in Cebuano, and my supposedly urbane background (not true) would be perfect for the experience to be, as the name suggests, a real trial.

We spent 25 days in Miarayon, 7 in Zamboanguita, and 6 in Cabanglasan to live with Jesuit missionaries and, at times, Lumad communities. Each place was distinct in the experience it offered, and the work of the Jesuits there as varied as their personalities. Trials as such are supposed to test one’s vocation to religious life, and if we have what it takes to be Jesuits.

Come if you have sufficiently broad shoulders. People say I have broad shoulders. Experience tells me though that my shoulders are not only weak, they are extremely fragile. I was reminded of this in cold and picturesque Miarayon. We were asked to help build a chapel on the peak of Kaulayanan, a much colder place with no electricity nor running water. Being novice mountaineers we decided to stuff as much “essentials” in our backpacks in the hopes of keeping dry on a rainy day. Midway through the amazingly steep trail I felt my broad shoulders crumbling under the weight of my bag. At one point, when we made a pit stop for the nth time, someone asked me, “Ano gusto mo pang mag Heswita?” Spurred by this comment, I lifted my lead bag and, together with my injured pride, continued along. I did make it on top, but my shoulders felt like rubber for a number of days. And when I had finally recovered it was time for the trek down. Different trail but same heavyweight bag.

The same thing happened when we had to make the return trip from a Lumad community in the mountains back to our home base in Cabanglasan. It took us 7.5 hours to complete what is, by far and bar none, the toughest walk of my life. It would be another story to narrate the entire experience. But what made it all the more challenging was having to walk on foot during the toughest part since my sandals broke down (and so did another pair I borrowed). Doing so was tolerable in the knee-deep mud, but it was impossible on the pebble-littered paths. It was so painful that I wanted so much just to stop, not to rest, but to cry.

Of course my backpack still bothered me. That’s saying much considering it weighed only a third of the load I carried up Kaulayanan. But if ever there was any consolation it was that my shoulders did not bother me as much as my feet. My feet—-muddied and bloodied, just plodded along waiting to succumb at any time. When I got home, with my shoulders and feet ready to retire, I learned that I also had a weak and fragile stomach. Diarrhea kept me awake the entire night together with the incessant question ringing in my head, “Ano gusto mo pang mag Heswita?”

The mission trial was very much a physical trial. Pushed to the brink, my body would nudge my soul to ask, “Why am I doing this?” At gustuhin ko man, ni minsan hindi ko ito nasagot. Many times I would trudge along just because I was too proud to quit. As I look back and remember the battering my body had to endure, I realize though that my great pride would have wilted on its own. Surely what fueled me was more than my pride. Surely, even if my shoulders are broad and strong, it would not have mattered.

What matters is not that one can carry the world on his shoulders, as many people think Jesuits can and do. What matters is if my shoulders can endure not only my own pain and suffering, but that of the world. Thus the requirement for broad shoulders, wide enough to cast the burdens of all the peoples of God on one’s shoulders and offer this up to Him who promises to make all things well. Shoulders that could not only carry heavy loads but endure through the treacherous journeys in life and offer hope to many who are tired and just about ready to give up. Shoulders, and yes even feet, that persevere when the head asks questions that baffle, and when the heart grows weary and doubtful.

Come if you have an open spirit, a reasonably open mind. It is no secret that my dream has always been to be a rock star. Fortunately for my potential listeners, I never really made any headway in singing or playing any instrument. As a Jesuit, even if but a novice, you learn that you are a public figure. And even if you can’t sing a tune, you are welcomed and treated like a rock star.

I felt like a rock star in Bukidnon. Mostly my fans were high school students ten to fourteen years younger. They would not scream and tug at my shirt nor would they shout “Group hug!” each time my brothers and I would pass by. But the attention, curiosity, and, dare I say it, reverence that they gave me, they gave us, was nothing short of overwhelming. The immediate feeling was not even of appreciation. I felt ashamed of it all. Nakakahiya. Eventually I told myself that I would just have to learn to live with it so I did. The danger was that I got so used to the attention that I craved for it. And I could not determine if my actions were just to increase my “fan base” or simply to do things, as Ignatius would say, for the greater glory of God.

One time I carelessly teased one of the students by commenting on her prom dress. My intention was to make a joke but apparently, since the songs of rock stars are infallible, she took it seriously. And she cried over the entire thing for much of the night. As I sat beside her, waiting for her to calm down before I could talk, I began thinking of excuses and ways to save myself from a guilty verdict. But as she continued crying her eyes out, I felt really, really terrible about myself. This time I was truly ashamed of myself. I was wrong, and I did not want to own up to that. I realized at that time, rock stars could sing off key.

The next morning, when things had settled already, a 14-year old student scolded me in front of the others. He scolded me in the way my mother used to tell me off, minus the spanking. I felt that he had gone too far. After all, things were already fixed between me and the girl, and I was much older than him. I wanted to remind him of who I was and how I deserved some respect. But I realized who I was back then was someone who had made a mistake. And as much as I wanted respect, he deserved some respect from me also.
Our novice master would always tell us, “You can never go wrong with humility.” That was one painful lesson in humility. Pride narrows our perspective; it closes us to the possibilities. Being humble makes us see that even if you are the “in thing” now, your 15 minutes of fame will pass and everything else fades. Being humbled opened me up, and taught me things that I would not have learned if I remained within this self-centered image of myself. To have an open spirit, an open mind, an open self means to know that one simply cannot learn to be a better person on his own, by his own efforts. And that is the reason why Jesuits are respected the world over, they are always open to the possibilities the Lord offers them. They are ready, willing, and always available to the infinite ways to build the Kingdom of God. No work is too small, no task too great for these men who find their life’s meaning in being humbled and surrendering to the grace of God.

Come if you have a heart larger than the world. In Sapang Palay, where we have been going for our weekly apostolate the past year, one of the most consoling experiences has been giving communion. The act just strikes to the core of my reason for entering the novitiate: I want to share Christ to others. Many times I have had to shy away the tears while people line up to receive the body of Christ from me. This was the same experience on my last morning in Miarayon. I realized I had, in some way, shared my Christ to them through the almost month-long stay there. As I gave communion to the students, all of whom were strangers to me before, tears welled up in my eyes. They had become my friends. Not because I knew them already. But because we all shared in knowing the same Jesus Christ.

The trial was the first time my feet touched Mindanao, the great land of promise more known for its armed conflict and kidnapping. I had traveled outside of Manila before, seen different cultures, and heard different languages. But the mission trial was my first time to really see and be in the world. It was the first time I moved out of the comforts not only of home, but of the city, and of the things I had learned to lean on for security and soothing familiarity.

It was more than seeing a greater piece of the greater world though. What amazes me to this day is how my heart was opened up to accommodate this greater world, and the desires, hopes, and joys of the people I have met. The student whose prom night I had almost destroyed ended up my closest friend from the trial. As we got to know each other more, she became more of a sister to me, very much like my own. When she would share about the pain of loss and hopelessness I would hear the voice of my own sister. When she would weep over her past and as her hands would tremble in fear of the future, I would remember the same fragile girl back home in Quezon City. And when she sought the guidance and comfort of the kuya she had lost some years ago, I would hold out my hand and smile. It felt so familiar and right to love a stranger in the same way I love my own flesh and blood.

What brought me overwhelming consolation was realizing I could love others without having to unlove those who have always been in my heart. I always thought I was a loving person, but only to those who are convenient to love. In Bukidnon I saw that the harvest is indeed great, and the laborers few. Yet the laborers have humongous hearts, ready to welcome the world. Loving more does not mean loving anyone any less.

It has been close to a month now since our trials ended. The wounds have healed, and the questions, still unanswered, have settled. But the richness of the experience lingers within still. What a tremendous gift these days were for me. Nothing beats being surprised by the Lord’s generosity, in ways unexpected yet, somehow, never out of place. I do not know if I have fulfilled Arrupe’s “requirements”, but I guess it does not really matter. It does not even matter if I am called to be a Jesuit or a rock star or simply a kuya. Any vocation in life, the invitation is the same: Come if serving Christ is at the very centre of your life. And yes, if coming for the sake of Christ makes you unsettled or nervous better stay at home and enjoy its creature comforts. But believe me, nothing beats traveling far and wide and deep to see the world and what it has to offer you.
– Robbie Paraan, nSJ
Robbie is an Ateneo de Manila alumnus. He was an active member of the Ateneo Christian Life Community during his college days. He worked as a banker before he entered the Society of Jesus in 2008. He is now in his second year of noviceship. As of this posting, he is on pilgrimage to the sanctuary of Our Lady of Manaoag in Pangasinan –traversing McArthur Highway from Bocaue to Pangasinan by foot and with minimum provisions.