Mass Excursions in Sabah

Two American sailors rode bicycles yesterday from Sepanggar Naval Base to Kota Kinabalu, State of Sabah, Malaysia, on the Island of Borneo. One was a tall black man, early forties, wearing a black shirt. We'll call him Singo. The other was somewhat shorter, a bit rounder, and definitely older. He wore a cream-colored cycling jersey and red helmet. We'll call him Doc. The 30 mile round-trip ride was uneventful, save maybe for a brief rain shower in the middle third of the return trip. Well, that and the Naval Base gate guard's questions to Doc as the pair stopped at the checkpoint on their return:

"How far you ride? Maybe one, two miles?"

"More like 29 - 30."

"Really? How old are you?"

"Forty-three."

"Same age as my father..."

"No actually, I'm 64."

"And you are crazy." This was a look, not a voiced comment. But it was very clear.


Later in the day 25 mackerel snappers joined Father Sal on a bus ride through a raging thunderstorm to celebrate Easter Mass at a local KK parish. The pastor, Father Cosmas Lee, is an engaging and holy man of God. "We never understood the power of Americans," he said as he welcomed us sitting in reserved seats at the front of hundreds of his local congregation. "We have needed this rain for a long time, and it finally came when you did." I don't believe he was totally joking. We were the first American sailors to ever visit this church. He went on to reassure us that because of being with his congreation, for this moment we should believe that we were home.


Father Lee's impressive supporting cast included Father Sal as concelebrant, 2 lectors, 2 seminarians, and 5 altar servers lined up from tallest/oldest to shortest /youngest...like those five bars on a TV mobile network commercial. Fully decked out in traditional robes, the choir of about 30 men and women was singularly impressive. The Mass and the music were all in English.


Father Sal's typically laconic homily struck a major chord. He referenced the Sartre play "No Exit," depicting Hell as a place where people with lost hope torture each other for eternity. Hell on earth, then, is simply a life without hope. Many people, says Sal, are stuck in Good Friday and refuse to hope for the joy of Easter Sunday. Reflecting during communion on Father Sal's simple homily I found some solace from the tragedy that has recently beset my extended family. We have always been a family of hope. In this unique land far from home and family, hope exists. Not war. Not murder. Not drugs. At least not today, and hopefully not tomorrow either. Hope brings the promise of eternal life, and that gives meaning to events beyond our mortal ken.


After Mass we were treated to delicious Malaysian cuisine at  local restaurant owned by one of Father Lee's parishioners. I enjoyed sitting with Father Lee and learning more about him. (A future blog post in that.) He learned a bit about me too. Seems that earlier in the day he had noticed two "crazy foreigners" riding bikes along the road on which he was driving. One was a tall black man, early forties, wearing a black shirt. The other was somewhat shorter, a bit rounder, and definitely older. He wore a cream-colored cycling jersey and red helmet...

I hope to ride again tomorrow.