Shavi Perera
I grew up hearing about Jesus at every meal. He was like a distant uncle who would piggyback His way into every conversation. However, I never really bought into why He mattered so much. I grew up in Pickering, very different from my loving immigrant family who had already inhabited Jesus into their way of living. We would go to Mass every Sunday but that was about it. I heard about Him at home but didn’t really care. Eventually, my parents forced me to become an altar server, which only furthered my relationship with Him.
As a self-righteous teenager, I thought I knew everything. I had mastered the masks in my life. I knew exactly which ones to choose from and when. At school, I knew how to get people to like me and how to avoid trouble. At church, I knew the words to say and the actions to perform to make it seem to everyone else like I was invested. I would feed myself with compliments and that’s how I remained confident. By this time in my life, I had built a very hard, brittle corpse around my heart. I had managed to hurt many different people along the way with my words, my actions and my disoriented desires and in all honesty, there was no end in sight, I was truly full of myself. But thanks be to God because it made me an easy target for His pursuit.
One day I faked it too hard and got myself involved in the parish float at the Christmas parade. There I met the youth minister of the neighbouring parish. She was good at her job and knew how to quickly insert her spiel into conversation; she asked my name and managed to invite me to volunteer at the parish youth group. I went for a couple reasons; community service hours, free food and girls. Never did the thought cross my mind that any source of actual truth, beauty or goodness would be found within the walls of a church. It started off slowly.
First I was trusted, without the need to prove myself, it was a new experience. I went to help out and met people who were down to earth, relatable and actually wanted to know me. Again, a super new experience. They had something in their hearts that motivated them more than compliments motivated me. The entire team at the parish, but especially the youth minister never relented. She kept trying to get to know me in all my goofiness and jokes, and in all my faults and sins. She kept pursuing me and one by one I dropped those masks. She introduced me to other amazing Catholics like her, who had this zeal and joy that was absolutely illuminating. I had to know the truth, I was on a mission to figure out what was so good about these people. The more I would attend these youth groups, develop friendships, go to Mass, experience the sacraments, develop fraternity and serve in the community, the more I shed the old, dead layers that had bogged down my heart.
I had finally met Him, Jesus. I wanted to give my whole life to Him. So I joined missionary work for a year and grew in prayer and leadership. After I came back home, however, I had to learn what it was like to not only journey with the Lord through the miracles and through the transfigurations. I had to learn what it looked like to walk with Him through the temptations in the desert and through the loneliness.
He has become my companion, my walking guide. He in whom I entrust all my desires, my fears and my doubts. It’s a daily battle, nothing about this is permanent. I make mistakes every day and every day I have to reorient myself and entrust myself to Him again. The reality is that at any time I can fall back into the same old lifestyle that made my heart so bitter. I have faith I won't because the Lord is my stronghold. I have to depend on Him, but if not i’ll end up closed off, never caring about the man named Jesus they always talk about.
“I HAVE FOUGHT THE GOOD FIGHT, I HAVE FINISHED THE RACE, I HAVE KEPT THE FAITH.”
“PRAY, HOPE AND DON’T WORRY.”