Rosary in Chinese
Yesterday after Mass I was in a seven-passenger minivan loaded up with thirteen people on our way to a funeral. A member of the Nantou parish, the father of two of my friends, passed away last week. His funeral was scheduled for yesterday. Even though I was scheduled to take the parish bus, the priest graciously offered to let me ride with him. And 11 other people.
On the way the women in the van prayed on their rosaries. The first prayers were much too fast for Hail Marys and Our Fathers. One of the women who speaks excellent English told me that they were praying Mercy prayers. Oh, the Divine Mercy Chaplet! I must confess I don't know these prayers by heart in English, but most of those 10 women in the van knew them in Mandarin (and about half of them are native Cantonese speakers at that!). Then the conventional rosary was prayed, in that same wonderful prayer chant I had only heard a few weeks before.
During the rosary itself something odd happened. I started to smell roses. Please God, I asked, I really don't want a mystical experience. I was hoping I was only getting a whiff of someone's perfume. It turned out it was one of rosaries. One woman had bought hers in Hong Kong for HK$40. It had wooden beads carved into roses, stained a deep pink, and rose-scented.
Another woman showed us her rosary. It had been a gift from her husband. For a long time her husband was not happy about her becoming a Cathollic. He took a business trip to Rome. When he returned, he presented her with a beautiful glass-bead rosary, and while he himself hadn't become Catholic, he became much more supportive of her.
I'll blog more about the funeral later. This is all the time I have now.
On the way the women in the van prayed on their rosaries. The first prayers were much too fast for Hail Marys and Our Fathers. One of the women who speaks excellent English told me that they were praying Mercy prayers. Oh, the Divine Mercy Chaplet! I must confess I don't know these prayers by heart in English, but most of those 10 women in the van knew them in Mandarin (and about half of them are native Cantonese speakers at that!). Then the conventional rosary was prayed, in that same wonderful prayer chant I had only heard a few weeks before.
During the rosary itself something odd happened. I started to smell roses. Please God, I asked, I really don't want a mystical experience. I was hoping I was only getting a whiff of someone's perfume. It turned out it was one of rosaries. One woman had bought hers in Hong Kong for HK$40. It had wooden beads carved into roses, stained a deep pink, and rose-scented.
Another woman showed us her rosary. It had been a gift from her husband. For a long time her husband was not happy about her becoming a Cathollic. He took a business trip to Rome. When he returned, he presented her with a beautiful glass-bead rosary, and while he himself hadn't become Catholic, he became much more supportive of her.
I'll blog more about the funeral later. This is all the time I have now.
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