Caleb Van

my job required me to attend Caleb Van's funeral mass a couple of months ago in 2005. he was 25 and i was 26. it was not the first funeral mass i attended and i am sure it won't be the last.

he was a Cambodian, arrested in Singapore 2-3 years ago while he was on transit. he had held drugs that he planned to traffick for his twin brother. in the course of his time in prison, he found God, was baptised, and went on to meet God way ahead of his time when his fate was sealed with the Death Penalty.

i had refrained from reading the generously distributed articles about him from various sources of both secular newspapers and Catholic ones. reason being that i felt strongly that there was too much political debate surrounding his case, none of which were really concerned about his situation.

so it was that i had to cover this story out of sheer coincidence and off i went to Marymount Convent Chapel, armed with my notepad, a camera that i did not plan to use for i was not about to aggravate the grieving family and friends just to get a story, and a baggage of fear and trepidation.

i don't take well to Death, despite my having come face to face with God's assurance many times. there is still a fear that i might fall over the edge in my bid to grasp this unfathomable concept of what-happens-after?

to say that the Funeral Mass was sorrowful is to put it mildly. i arrived at a scene where reporters and camera crew were not allowed to enter the gates of the Convent. there were australians (i presume they were Van's friends or fellow countrymen) waiting by the gates to greet him when his casket arrives. i hesitated, knowing that it will be great if i can get some comments from them but which my conscience prevents me from pursuing. well, i don't think the good angel won the bad one. more likely, my Devil Survival Instinct took over and i didn't approach any of them because i didn't want to be embroiled in a situation where i have to listen to angry lamentations or embittered emotions that i have no way of putting right.

i trudged my way up to the gate and explained where i came from. naturally, my paper is sympathetic to Van's plight and they quietly acknowledged that as they admitted me and kindly pointed out where i should head.

that in itself, was humbling. i had come on a job and the guardians of that gate had extended their hand to me. in that one gesture, i was bonded in unity with the rest of my Catholic family, those whom i know and those whom i know not of their existence.

i stepped into such an emotionally-charged atmosphere that i instantly felt like breaking into tears. there was so much grief. above all, there was so much solidarity in the people who knew him personally and those who knew him only from the many reports in the news, but who all had come to stand in support for his family and to bid him a final farewell.

his mum arrived hugging her stomach as she prepared to say another goodbye. to leave the memories of when she cradled him in her arms as he was born, the memories of his first crawl, first word, first walk, first fall... their first fight, first tears... so many firsts that she had to let go of in the same way that she let go of him.

does that remind you of anyone else?

Father Paul Pang did remind her and the congregation that Mary would understand, having stood at the foot of the cross and watched her son's life snuffed out... and for what? for a whole world of sinners that was and is to come. little sense that made and much pain it caused. who, other than her, would be able to understand that piercing sorrow?

i cried many tears throughout the mass. every kind word that was uttered was like a soft tissue being tenderly rubbed against an open wound. yes, it was a caress but painful nevertheless. every song that was sung just brought a giant lump into my throat that i had to ease by letting the tears flow.

Caleb Van's favourite song is "Better Man" by Robbie Williams. the significance was not lost on me and i hope, on others as well. as the words echoed through the hall, "send someone to love me, i need to rest in arms... Lord, i'm doing all i can to be a better man..." the sobs came heavy. yes Lord, your servant had done all he could to be a better man. he did not resist the Death Penalty in the end. rather, he embraced it as a just punishment and he walked to the gallows as you did to your cross, with surrender to the Father's will and with the glowing face of a man who knows he is soon to receive his reward just by being with your Father.

as i made my way to bid him farewell and i saw him lying there in the coffin, it hit me that this man was one year younger than me. a handsome, young man whose life isn't to be anymore. if i were in his position, would i have done the same? most of all, i knew, with twinges of regret for him, that he never had the opportunities i have in my life and he never will have them ever again.

so goodbye, Brother Caleb... i hope to see you sometime in our Father's house. and then, we can spend part of eternity sharing our life stories and you can tell me all about your life that i never got to know about.

to hell with politicians. to hell with them using your life as a means for them to attain their personal ambitions. to hell with the endless debates on the Death Penalty that stemmed from selfish desires to pit one government against another.

but thank you for giving us this story to share with others, for bringing to light the debate on the Death Penalty that Catholics will begin to arrive at a just stand.

Father Paul said that it is a mystery of our faith that we can mourn and rejoice at the same time. we mourn in the flesh at our brother's departure and we rejoice that he has gone home. indeed, indeed.

i left that funeral mass with swollen eyes and a throbbing head, with unresolved questions and more that had arisen. at the same time, i left with a feeling that the world is as it should be, that there can be beauty amidst ugliness and light radiating through the shadows.

and i thank God that i felt as much as i did. and i prayed that never will a day come when i attend a funeral mass and come out with dry eyes and an unfeeling heart.