In the Name of Confession
It was a quiet and cozy Thursday afternoon as I strolled my way to the church grounds. Perfect, I told myself. Just the way I like it. The sky was magnificent as it was dressed in majestic blue peppered with cotton candy looking clouds. The birds were oblivious to the heat of the sun as they continued to serenade and flirt at each other with their melodious voices. I smiled. I was in a happy mood.
As I entered the billowing entrance of the church, I was engulfed with a feeling of serenity and peace. I eased my way to the aisle and rows of holy saints that looked like silent sentinels of its devoted flock. The intricate patterns at the ceiling fascinated me as I quietly walked my way inside. Suddenly, I stopped dead on my tracks. I stood and looked at the sign posted just below the image and statue of Jesus Christ on the cross. I contemplated whether I should light the candle in my hand.
The sign read, “Only candles bought from the church cooperative are allowed to be lighted here. Please support our cooperative.” I was wondering whether something happened at the bat of my eyelash like I was suddenly transported back to the Spanish period in the Philippines. I was expecting Padre Damaso and Padre Salvi to appear nowhere and start their sermons of fire and brimstones to poor hapless sinners like me. I cringed.
I lighted my candle anyway.
It looked different from the rest. I was unmindful of the stare of an elderly lady who was standing beside me. I nod and smiled at her, acknowledging her presence. I closed my eyes and began talking to Him. I have to be honest. I can’t concentrate. Somewhere at the back of my mind, those words seem to haunt me. This might be the reason why, I have always valued praying inside my room or somewhere far away from temptations of the human senses.
As much as possible I refrain from writing something about religion because it generates so much discussion that sometimes, out of academic discussion you earn resentment from other people. Unconsciously, of course. I respect other people's opinions, regardless of their race, color or religion. I have no qualms with those who are vocal about their faith and the values they uphold. I bestow them great respect. Not everyone can do that. Not everyone can go to the street and preach about things that they truly believe in. Not everyone can actually sit down and ask you if you want to talk about God. The only amusing thing is that we seem to get the impression that those who professed great faith in God are only dressed in white robes with halos on their heads. Or much worst only those who hold the bible everyday of their lives deserve a place in heaven. I have to say that I have met some people who don't looked like angels at all but they have a big heart. Theirs is a quiet devotion seen in acts rather than words.
They are ordinary people with extra ordinary hearts.
My childhood years were spent watching Flying House and Magic Book. My mornings were spent trying to digest the idea of Moses parting the Red Sea. It doesnt help too that it was called Red Sea when in fact it was not red. So I sat there trying to problematize everything. In my young mind, I wish I was an Israelite, I bet it would be fun to take a walk like that. Imagine yourself getting stuck in the mud, trying to look for Nemo and Dory. Not to mention you get to encounter the 44 species of shark that can be found in the Red Sea. It's going to be one cool awesome adventure of a lifetime!
I was transfixed in front of the TV as I imagined myself travelling through space and time and getting up close and personal with Judas Iscariot. I wondered why nobody seemed to like him that much. In my book, nobodys’ are as much as important as somebodys’. So no doubt, Judas Iscariot is on my to do list.
I grew up with parents who came from differing religions. My mother is a devout Catholic. My father is a Protestant. They were able to settle their differences when it comes to faith. My Dad goes to church on occasions of death and baptism.
Was he bad because of that?
I never saw him as such. He was one of the kindest and most generous persons I have ever seen in my lifetime. I never saw him holding the bible but today as a grown-up I realized he exemplified more than that. He didn’t preach but he practiced it to the fullest. My mom was the one who answered our questions about angels and demons, God and the concepts of eschatology. She grew up from a spiritual family. My dad is a soldier of fortune. So I think I have the best of both worlds.
I attended Sunday school. My elder sister told me it was fun. You get to use your crayons to color Jesus in any fashion that you want. In my imaginative mind, it was encouraging so I went. Turns out, our next door neighbor was a pastor from Doane Baptist Church. He encouraged my parents to send us every Sunday. I can still vividly recall Pastor Ariel. He would laugh as I would race to him and showed him my work of art. Jesus Christ feeding the multitude with five loaves of bread and two fish. Only that Jesus Christ looked like Sponge Bob and the multitude of people looked like dots because unlike my gifted sister, I don’t have much talent in drawing and painting. Nevertheless, in my eyes it was a work of art.
Abstract to be exact.
I studied in a Chinese school where there was no subject of religion or whatsoever. When Dad died, my mom transferred from the city to their ancestral home at the province. My high school years were basically spent with my elder sister. Together, we toughed it out in the real world. We remained at the city to pursue our studies. There was nobody to teach us the regiments of a true blooded Christian. Whatever that means. I learned to pray Hail Mary's and Our Father on my own. I guess when you are ready to learn, everything comes easy. Until now, I still pray in English and I know God don’t mind at all.
I went to a university where ideas get to be challenged when the occasion calls for it. I was far away from my family. Completely on my own, I met a few real life friends who introduced me to Students For Christ. I became a member of SFC for some years and at the same time was also an active member of the radical student org, The League of Filipino Students. Some people just couldnt reconcile the idea. In their eyes it’s like mixing oil and water. I don’t know why.
There are things that I don’t get with the church and the teachings in the Bible. I have always thought that religion is a personal thing. It is between me and my God. Through the years, I have been searching like the rest of us, for the truth, the light and the way. I read. Enlightened myself. I joined religious groups. Drifted in and out. Was in fact, disillusioned by some. The social scientist in me tells me that the bible is written by humans who are supposedly under the divine inspiration of God. But as humans, aren’t we all susceptible to bringing our own biases into writing? The bible has been interpreted in so many ways by people who claimed that they were divinely appointed and inspired by God.
Forgive me for saying this but I have met a priest recently who acted like he was no priest at all. He got angry with the little kid who was crying inside the church.Instead of carrying on with the sermon for the day, he lectured about parenting and crying kids and all. His voice was scolding and his eyes were blazing. I looked at my mom and asked her, what's the problem? He was clearly wound up so tight he forgot he was supposed to deliver the mass. He was a perfect picture of Padre Damaso that I was at the point of telling him so.
My mother turned to look at me and with her eyes, she was obviously telling me to behave. I have great respect for my mom. I have none for the priest. I have learned through the years that it pays to count from one to ten before you say anything. It helps you ease the tension and gives you space to say something enlightening and wise. I reached number twenty. I inhaled and exhaled many timesIt's like I was being made to choose between human follies and divine attributes. I reminded myself that I am here to worship, not to criticize.
I do recognize the fact that priests are humans, too. Pardon me but I am less forgiving when it comes to these things. If it was only once, twice or even thrice, it's pretty understandable but if they've become a habit, then there's a problem somewhere. If they can't act according to the words they preach , then they don't have any business telling people how to save their souls from the fires of hell.
You walk the talk. Period.
If I question some teachings in the bible, does it make me less of a Christian? Someone told me before that if you have great faith, you wouldn’t even ask. In his perspective maybe that’s the rational thing to do. In my mind, it was not. Isn’t it tantamount to blind obedience? Or yes, maybe even to zealousness and fanaticism?
He told me that I don’t know how to differentiate a bible from a history book. I could go on forever and argue with him but of course, I always keep in mind that much has been done in the name of religion. Lives lost and much bloodshed. It wouldn’t hurt him if he only recognizes the fact that people have different perspectives when it comes to things and should at least respect the fact that we were not born from the same tree. And yes, the flip side of me tells me that it wouldn’t help also if I throw my hard bound huge history books in his face.
I ask because I want to be enlightened. Some would consider it even blasphemy to question some teachings in the bible. But yes, come to think of it. If I don’t give a damn, I wouldn’t care to ask at all. But fact is, I’m interested to know. Isn’t that fair enough? I strongly believe that God gave me rational mind to evaluate things and be able to decide for myself. Be able to discern which is right and what is wrong. It’s a God given gift that I intend to use to the fullest of my human potential.
My candle flickered slowly as it dances in the slow breeze of that one faithful Thursday afternoon. I have a gut feeling that God would still hear my prayers even if I didn’t buy my candle from the church cooperative. I questioned myself whether there must be something wrong with my judgment and conscience that day. I don’t know if I have violated some rules, whether human or divine, I am not sure. But the weird thing is, I wasn’t feeling guilty at all. I only have one thing in mind as I returned the smile of the elderly lady as I was leaving the premises of the church, I am only accountable to Him and nobody else. I am firm with my faith and I know what I want and where I am going.
It’s like being grateful to Him when you’re feeling good and yes, still graceful when you’re feeling bad. Either way, they are the best options you have in hand.
