While studying for the Franciscan religious order in the seminary in the United States, he lived with a brother named Harry. He had been ordained a priest that year and came to the community to study for his doctorate in theology. He was a well-built, handsome Franciscan from New York who loved hiking and was a good piano player.
However, he was too introverted to converse deeply with a foreign seminary student like the columnist. To him, he was just an ordinary person. He was remembered for getting annoyed when someone put the toilet paper roll the wrong way in the monastery's communal bathroom.
After living together for a few months, Harry was diagnosed with colon cancer. He had been complaining of stomach pain for a few days. Then, he went to the hospital and told the community of the diagnosis.
Everyone was surprised. Harry must have been the most surprised. He said he had never been seriously ill before. He joked that we shouldn't worry too much about health and that he had been meticulous about taking care of his health, but he had cancer.
His life of fighting illness and his quiet last steps were awe-inspiring. After his colon cancer surgery, he had a colostomy bag attached to his stomach to collect the waste. Consequently, his upper garment always bulged out, and he would often sit with his back slightly bent. He rarely went out but participated in community prayers and Mass. He soon stopped coming to classes, but other than that, his daily life was not much different from that of his brothers.
The columnist's English was poor then, so he couldn't figure out how his illness was progressing even after hearing the explanation. It must have been a difficult time, but as his body grew thinner, his expression became more peaceful. When he occasionally celebrated Mass, he would talk about the resurrection. After living like that for about a year, he passed away quietly one night in his monastery room.
Last week, on Tuesday evening during the Advent season, the columnist witnessed the noisiness in our country that seemed straight out of a third-rate movie. While pondering its significance, he recalled Brother Harry's humble final moments. Was it because he saw the greed of a top leader who should have stepped down? Or was it because of the vanity and shallowness of the thinking of those who claim to represent the nation? Or the realization that what we call happiness, our desires, and our longings can be valueless and vain.
It may be foolish to mention the world's affairs, which could turn in any direction, even tomorrow, to those reading this a week later. However, it is small and insignificant in the big picture, whether it turns this way or that way. No matter how much we— "love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and with all your strength,"— if our steps are directed towards the vain goal of satisfying desires, our lives will be filled with emptiness and without meaning.
In every corner of the country, we are all taking steps with hearts united. For our steps to have meaning, they must start from the most straightforward principle: "All power comes from the people," they must be directed toward the One who is truly good, not the satisfaction of temporary desires.
Only the power entrusted to us by each and every citizen will have meaning and weight, and all other noisy fake powers will be weeded out. In this time of waiting for the birth of the Savior, let us reflect on the meaning and direction of life contained in the humble last steps of Harry and all those who face death with the same kind of peace.
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