“What does it mean to say that a human being is good? What does it mean to say that God is good? How are the two statements similar? How are they different?”

This was the only question in an exhausting theology exam I took last Wednesday. It all revolved around the language we use to speak meaningfully about God - who, in reality, is beyond words and human knowledge.

In my essay, I had to demonstrate the reasonableness of using language and reason when speaking of God by distinguishing between univocal, equivocal, and analogical terms. In true Thomistic fashion, I argued that we can only make sense of divine language by way of analogy. When we say “God is good” and “a person is good,” the value of "goodness" is held in common but in God, it is expressed in the highest possible degree.

But while I was writing my answer, I was sobbing. Sister Mary Joseph had died just past midnight. I wept because, in my lifetime, it was the ridiculous goodness of this Good Shepherd Sister that had most shaped my understanding of what it means to be good.

I first met her in 2016, when I began working with the Good Shepherd Sisters as their grants manager. I was a skinny young man presenting slide after slide to the Board of Trustees about how to sustain the mission, both financially and meaningfully. Looking back, it was harder than any exam I’ve ever taken. Most of the board members had doubt painted across their faces—except for Sister Joseph, who instead fixed me with a piercing gaze.

After everyone had expressed their fears and hesitations, and I was already preparing to look for another employer, she stood up and said, “Let’s might as well be daring and give this boy a chance.”

What followed were years of working with the sisters, both locally and across the region: developing projects, securing grants. I walked the same streets they walked, shared in the problems they worried over. I came to claim their mission as my own. I love them all, but it’s common knowledge that Sister Mary Joseph held a special place in my life, and I in hers. People could only guess at the depth of my bond with this rebellious nun who seemed to read hearts with uncanny clarity.

You see, Sister Mary Joseph never left Tagaytay after encountering God in the lives of mothers and migrants who had come to the tourist city in search of better opportunities. That was twenty years ago. She organized the vendors who gathered outside Maryridge Convent, waiting to sell their pasalubong to retreatants. It was with them that she heard the gentle call within the call from the Good Shepherd: Feed my sheep, tend my lambs.

Armed with a business degree and years of experience in a multinational company before joining religious life, she took out a small loan and began baking buko pie. It was an instant hit. Along with the Tagaytay sisters, she founded Bahay Pastulan. Later, her older sister, Sister Aimee, also a Good Shepherd, joined her.

She then brought in the famous ube jam recipe from the Good Shepherd convent in Baguio and began adding more products. This allowed her to employ more mothers, more school dropouts. Demand grew absurdly high. But Sister Joseph didn’t want to grow the enterprise into a corporate beast. She had a ridiculous idea: resist full automation, because it would mean job losses. From the start, her priority was to create work for those whom the world deemed unemployable and crooked.

To this day, many production steps remain manual. She partnered with farmers all over Luzon, offering them premium prices for raw ingredients, a practice she had learned in Baguio. Their prices couldn't compete with mass-market goods, but that was never the point. For Sister Mary Joseph, dignity was part of the equation. She haggled with Chinese suppliers in Divisoria to manage costs. More hands, more jobs, more people with secure income and a path out of poverty. And many did escape poverty because of her.

She spoke to everyone as an equal. She never simplified her vocabulary for the workers. Instead, she encouraged them to raise their own standards of expression. She was quick to correct but quicker to forgive and give second chances. She taught financial literacy, rotated tasks so workers could learn different skills. One day someone might peel ube, another day run the register.

Her business philosophy was simple: trust them, and mean it.

Then came another ridiculous idea: outsourcing. She encouraged staff to start their own small businesses and become guaranteed suppliers for Bahay Pastulan. Instead of competitors, they became mission partners. And the profits from Bahay Pastulan? They flowed straight back into the Good Shepherd Sisters’ ministries across the country.

One day she shared with me her secret: You can never go wrong by way of generosity. Be generous not only with money, she said, but with love. Give it freely. Never expect it to return in a specific form, time, or shape. With the Good Shepherd, you will never be in want.

Every now and then, I’d drive up to Tagaytay for official work but I always made time for lunch with Sisters Mary Joseph and Aimee. They knew my simple joy: ginisang munggo. Even with just two hours’ notice, I’d arrive to find a steaming pot waiting. It became a ritual.

When the pandemic hit, I worried. With no tourists in Tagaytay, she had to let go of many workers. So I had an idea. I started a small marketing firm and bought all her available stock at the retail price. I also bought products made by mothers in Sariaya, Quezon, supported by another “crazy” nun, the late Sister Zeny.

I named the venture SPEW Organics, after the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare from Harry Potter. I had no customers in mind, just a ridiculous trust in God. I built a website, launched a Facebook page, and posted a sale.

The next morning, I was woken by a flood of inquiries. Thousands of people waited patiently for their orders. News outlets picked up the story. As demand grew, I started hiring mothers (motherpackers, we called them) along with undergrads, jeepney and taxi drivers. I simply mimicked everything I’d learned from watching Sister Joseph. We even started supplying in bulk to companies.

Bahay Pastulan not only survived the pandemic. It retained all its workers during the hardest times.

So when I made the decision to leave everything behind and follow this call to the priesthood, I found myself going up to Tagaytay once again. With just a few words and her trademark laughter, she helped me understand what it means to let go of one’s idea of a fulfilled life... and to surrender it to a God who is ridiculously good. That was five years ago. I’m still here, still studying, still being formed for the priesthood.

“What does it mean to say that a human being is good? What does it mean to say that God is good?”

I ended my theology essay by writing that our understanding of God’s goodness is largely dependent on the kinds and depths of goodness we experience in our own lives. Sister Mary Joseph showed me that par excellence. From how she lived her life, I learned never to retaliate, to restrain myself from returning hatred, and to believe that people are always capable of growth.

But that must begin with forgiving myself. By loving all the versions of me that I used to hide. Because I can only be good to others to the extent that I allow myself to receive goodness.

I once told her she had to stay alive until my ordination because she always joked that she wanted me to bury her. But I can't do that anymore. And now that she’s gone - or rather, gone back to the Father - it breaks me that she won’t be there when I finally become a priest.

Hindi mo na ako nahintay. Another empty chair, perhaps, on ordination day.

I had to stop crying because it is exams week. I’m sure Sister Mary Joseph would scold me if she knew I was spending more time crying than reading my theology books or being faithful in my formation.

During the Mass before her cremation, I gave my ugliest sob. Then, full stop. Wipe, wipe. Smile. I grabbed my bag and prepared to head back to the seminary; when they asked me to close her coffin.

I looked at her one last time. Same stern face. Same calm expression. Eighty eight years old. A body that toiled for fifty six years as a nun. She had returned to her Good Master, whom she served so well.

And if anyone ever asks me why, in the Gospel of John, Jesus calls Himself the Good Shepherd, I will think of my memories of a nun who loved me deeply and prayed for me without ceasing.

Sister Mary Joseph, the good.

“Si Ilyas!” That’s how you always called me. Whenever you see me around, you will never fail to look at me piercingly behind your badly-repaired spectacles then smile, like you know all the mischief and all the secrets I have upon my sleeves. You are a physician by training and it does not take you long to know if we were really sick or if we just really needed some undeserved rest. You could look straight to our hearts and know how to properly take care of us. And despite of my decision not to be a friar like you, you prophesied that I will always be a lesser brother like you. How affectionate, you have always been proud of me.

Oftentimes visitors mistake you as a gardener or a maintenance crew. You are my definition of perfect joy. And up until the end, that’s what you are to me. How do you do it, Brother Hermie? Dying at 63, in a distant shore, only to be doing what you are called to do - to heal in a profoundly simple way with your presence. Or at least try to. 

Smile from heaven and look down on me always, will you?

July 20, 2024
Acacia Hotel
Davao City

Bago magsimula ang panibagong taon sa seminaryo, minabuti kong mag-silent retreat. Palabiro itong Diyos na ito. Sa lahat naman ng pwedeng puntahan ay itong Abbey of Transfiguration ng mga mongheng Benedictine. Tatlong taon ang nakakaraan eh nagpunta na dapat ako dito kaso mo, lango ako noon at hindi nagawang gumising para sa flight. Pero ang Diyos, gagawa ng paraan. 

 

Pagdating sa tuktok ng Malaybalay, sa Bukidnon, iba ang eksena. Simple ang lahat. Malamig at panay ang ulan, ilang beses kong inisip wag maligo. Nagawa kong hindi dumaldal ng ilang araw. Gamit bilang guide ang librong “Becoming Who You Are” ni James Martin, SJ na base sa buhay nila Thomas Merton, Henry Nouwen, at Mother Theresa, sinikap kong kilalaning mabuti ang sarili.

 

Pinilit kong sundan ang schedule ng mga monghe. Gising sa madaling araw para manalangin, uminom ng napakaraming kape na ani nila para magising, nagsulat, nanalangin ulit hanggang bago pumikit. Yung Compline ang pinakapaborito kong sabayan sa schedule nila. Madilim ang buong paligid, ilang ilaw lang ang bukas sapat para maaninag ang itim na birhen sa ibabaw ng altar at ang tabernakulo. Paulit ulit sa utak ko ang unang linya ng kanta ni St. Thomas Aquinas: “Adore te devote, latens Deitas.” Sinasamba kita, nagtatagong Diyos.

 

Sa altar may painting ng eksena ng Transfiguration. Ang Diyos na puting puti ang damit, napagigitnaan nila Moises at Propeta Elias habang nasa bandang paanan ang tatlong apostol na manghang-mangha, ayaw na bumaba ng bundok. “Dito na lang tayo, Lord.”

 

“Anong ginagawa mo rito, Elias?” Yan ang tanong ni Yahweh sa propetang reklamador sa pagbasa ngayong araw. Yan din ang tanong ko buong linggo ko dito sa abbey. Nagpahinga, nag-recharge, kumain ng marami, uminom ng ilang tasang kape. Tumawa rin at nagkaroon ng mga bagong kaibigan. Hinanap ang Diyos na mahilig magtago sa ordinaryo. Pero ang totoo, Diyos ang naghanap sa akin. Handa na ulit bumaba at ituloy ang palabas.

 

Sa huling gabi ko sa abbey, nagpa-iwan ako pagkatapos ng Compline. Maliban sa ilang palaka at ilang uwak na sumilong dahil sa ulan, solo ko ang simbahan. Pagtapos tumunganga sa Blessed Sacrament, naisip kong umakyat sa estatwa ng Mahal na Birhen ng Montserrat. Habang nakatunganga ulit at sinisipat kung totoong ginto ba ang kulay ng birheng maitim, bigla kong naalala na 500 years ago, sa parehas na imaheng ito tumunganga din si San Ignacio de Loyola at inalay ang kanyang espada, simbolo ng dati nyang buhay na kailangang mamatay, paglamayan, at ipagpasa-Diyos. Syempre hindi pwedeng papatalo ako. Wala man akong espadang maialay sa Birhen ng Montserrat, naglitanya ako ang mga hang-ups ko sa buhay at sinabing “Sayo na yan, ‘Nay. Thank you, next na ako.”

 

Pwede na siguro yun.

 

 ———

“Dumaan si Yahweh at umihip ang napakalakas na hangin […] ngunit wala sa hangin si Yahweh. Nang tumigil ang hangin ay lumindol, ngunit wala sa lindol si Yahweh. Pagkalipas ng lindol ay kumidlat, ngunit wala rin sa kidlat si Yahweh. Pagkalipas ng kidlat, narinig niya ang isang banayad na tinig.”

Paano ko nga ba nalaman na tinatawag ako ng Diyos? May himala ba, o mga pangitain akong nakita? 

Paano ko masasabi nang may kasiguruhan na ito ang laan na buhay Nya para sa akin?

Di tulad nila Samuel o Jeremias sa mga kwento sa Bibliya, wala akong narinig na boses o napaginipang mga tanda na nag-udyok sa akin na subukin ang buhay relihiyoso. Bagkus, maari kong ihambing ang aking bokasyon sa isang binhing itinanim. Magmula pa sa aking pagkabata, naroon na ang pagkabihag sa Simbahan at sa pananalangin. Tanda ko pa noong mga bata pa kami, hindi maaring hindi kami mag-rosaryo at mag-Angelus pagsapit ng alas-sais ng gabi. Doon ko unang naranasan ang matuto sa kahalagahan ng pananalangin. Sa murang edad, naging aktibo ako sa aming parokya bilang sakristan at kasapi ng youth ministry.

 

Isa sa mga naging mabuting halimbawa ko habang lumalaki ay ang aking lola. Lagi nya akong bit-bit sa pagdalo sa bukluran o Bible study. Kadalasan, ang mga dumadalo sa bahay-bahay na pagpupulong na ito ay mga nanay o matatandang babae at lalaki. Ako ang pinaka-batang kasali sa kanilang pag-babahaginan. Sa murang edad, natuto akong magbasa ng Bibliya. Nakatulong ang karanasan na iyon upang mas lalo kong mahalin ang aking relihiyon. Mula sa paulit-ulit ng parehas na dasal, nadiskubre ko sa bukluran ang pag-aaral ng Salita ng Diyos bilang mahalagang sangkap ng buhay panalanagin. Noong ako ay nasa ika-anim na baiting naman, ang aking adviser at guro sa English ay isang Protestante. Bilang bahagi ng aming mga aralin, pinapabasa nya kami ng mga akda mula sa Bibliya at pinakakabisado nya kami ng mga talata. 

 

Kaya hindi ako magtataka kung bakit sa murang edad, ang “binhi” ng bokasyon ay nagkaroon ng ugat at magkadahon. Noong nagtapos ako ng highschool, pinagpasyahan kong pumasok sa seminaryo. Malapit lamang ang seminaryo sa aming bahay. Tuwang tuwa ang aking ina sa aking desisyon. Sa hindi inaasahang pagkakataon, namatay si Mama kung kaya pagkatapos ng isang taon sa seminaryo, pinagpasyahan kong lumabas upang tumulong sa aking pamilya. Nagtrabaho, nagsikap, at gumawa ng ibang pangarap.

 

Ngunit iba ang Diyos umibig at manuyo. Habang wala na sa isip ko ang bumalik pa, sa edad na dalawampu’t lima ay nakita ko na naman ang sarili kong pumapasok sa seminaryo. Parang may kung anong uri ng pagkabihag na lagging nagtutulak sa akin na bumalik sa kabila ng mga bagay na aking natamo sa buhay.

 

Ngunit lumabas muli ako. Ang lola ko naman ang dahilan sa pagkakataong ito. Wala na kasing mag-aalaga sa kanya at may kakayanang suportahan ang kanyang mga pangangalingan. Kaya naman inilaan ko ang mga nakaraang taon sap ag-aalaga sa kanya. Maraming nangyari sa mga panahong iyon. Sa aking pagsisikap na rin, bahagyang umunlad ang aming pamumuhay. Ngunit hindi pa rin nawawala ang pagnanais na maging par isa lahat ng panahon na iyon.

 

Matapos ang apat na taon, sumakabilang buhay na rin ang aking lola. Isang taon pagtapos ay sumunod naman ang aking ama. Opisyal na wala na akong kailangang suportahan. Parang sinasabi ng Diyos sa akin, may idadahilan ka pa ba para hindi Ako sundan? Kaya naman agad akong naghanap ng mapapasukang seminary sa edad na tatlumpu’t-isa. Dinala ako ng aking mga panalangin at pangarap sa seminaryo ng mga Pranksiskano.

 

Tapos na ba ang kwento ko, ngayon na narito ako sa loob ng seminaryo at tinutukoy kung ang buhay Pransiskano nga ba ang buhay na angkop at laan para sa akin? Hindi ko masisiguro sapagkat nasa simula pa lamang ako. Dito ba ko tinatawag upang maging banal? Hindi ko alam ang sagot sa mga ito sa ngayon.

 

Ngunit makakasiguro ako sa grasya ng Diyos na Siyang tumawag at unang umibig sa akin.

 

Yun lang ay sapat na sa akin sa ngayon.

I am a huge fan of the musical Les Miserables. When I was in elementary, I read a short version of the novel written by Victor Hugo and a full version in college and I quite enjoyed it, but it was the musical that made me fall in love with the story. I consider Les Miserables an epic, spanning decades and interweaving dozens of plots to point towards the narrative of Jean Valjean, the man who spent years in prison for stealing food. He could have been jailed for a short while, but he frequently attempted to escape thus his sentence prolonged. When he finally got his parole and desperate to start his life again, he resorted to stealing silver candlesticks from a bishop, the only person who looked on him and treated him like a normal person.

 

I cannot help but remember the story of Jean Valjean during the discussion of the philosophy of encounter of Emmanuel Levinas. Going above ethical principles, Levinas worked out his ideas of relationship and personhood based on encounters with other people. For Levinas, encountering another person places him to a spontaneous act of responsibility. In fact, he argued that it is the encounter with other people that marks the start of true ethics. In ways grand and minute, I agree with Levinas on this based on an observation and personal experience of treating people differently depending on many factors. For example, there were times when several people will ask to borrow something from me, but I respond differently to each depending on how close they to me are, their credibility, and many other factors. But regardless, the situation compelled me to act and, in the process, challenged my convictions and values.

 

Here, Levinas challenged us to look into the face of the Other to genuinely engage with them, to make a response. And regardless of what the response will be, it is an evidence that we are obligated in some way and some form towards the other.

 

Going back, I relate this encounter with the face to the story of the bishop and Jean Valjean. Too many a time, Jean Valjean was looked down by the society. An ex-convict seemed to have no place in the French society. Yet here is an old and wise man who showed Jean Valjean that since they have encountered each other, he is responsible for Valjean’s soul. In simple gestures and very few words, the bishop showed Valjean that he is a good man despite all the negative things that others told him otherwise. The kindness of the bishop was the impetus for Valjean to live an honest life, carrying with him the silver candlesticks across time as a visible reminder of his duty towards others. Thus, circling back to what ethics is – the quest for the good for the other.

 

What do we owe to each other? In my life, I have always striven to insist that I should treat everyone the same with equal dignity and respect. While I only learned much of it from things I read and from observing others, I can say that I am (more or less) consistent in applying good behavior towards others. For example, I make sure to call waiters and salesladies by their names as a sign that he or she matters to me and just some transactional entity. In a world that is cruel and relationships are reduced to give and take, the least that I can do is to be kind.

 

I think perhaps this is the reason why God became man just like us. He wanted to encounter us in the level that is very humane and very ordinary so that each encounter with another person will have depth and holiness. Our God is a god of encounters. What you do to the least of your brethren, you do to Me. In this season of advent, I am challenged to make more genuine encounters by looking at the face of the others and choose to act in love and compassion. Any philosophizing will not matter if it does not make my heart grow fonder.

This was the question I was pondering for quite some time now over the years. Consider this: Never in the history of mankind that people have the freedom to choose the kind of life they want to live. Compared to throughout history until some 70 years ago, there is no virtual stumbling block any more for anyone to have a career of his or her choice. We cannot deny the fact that before, people have a limited career or passions to pursue. Options for women were very limited. For example, in the Middle Ages when an intelligent woman wants to have a career and not get married, the only option was to hone her skills by entering the convent. Today, women can be anything and everything all at the same time. In a world where there is an unprecedented emancipation, we see a declining trend in religious life. Every year, there are more priests and religious men and women who die than those who enter. In many parts like in Europe and North America, religious life is in decline. Which brings me back to the question “Does God still call people to live this way of life?”

 

For to become a religious these days is an absurdity. Taking from Camus, absurd means illogical or unreasonable. The world is absurd because there is value whether we do good or evil, or if one decides to become a lawyer or a businessman. The world is indifferent to our lives and is not personally involved in anything about each individual person. To Camus, an absurd world is utterly meaningless. Applying the principle, so why would someone who is perfectly full of potential give up everything to enter the seminary or the convent where in fact, one can perfectly serve God (should one insist there is one at all) in equal respect as a married or a single person? Vatican II has made it perfectly clear that all states of life are equal in holiness. One can reach heaven without being a priest or a nun. (And I may add, it may just as well be easier to enter heaven as a lay person given the number of scandals Catholic Church face right now).

 

According to Camus, there are two ways to confront absurdity. First, he suggested suicide or ending one’s life since it is meaningless anyway. We were not consulted by the universe should we want to be humans in the first place! But the alternative way to escape meaninglessness is by doing another absurdity: by insisting a value and a purpose to one’s life. That resistance to accept meaninglessness is itself the antidote. It reminds me a famous line from the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas:

 

“Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

 

I had three friends who were some of the most passionate, intelligent, and courageous women I ever got acquainted with professionally. One is a social worker, another a professor, and another a youth minister. I have been teasing them for many years that maybe they would like to consider becoming a Good Shepherd Sister since they have been actively involved as lay mission partners. They kept on giving me the same excuse I used before – they can still serve the Lord as lay people, without necessarily becoming a religious.

 

But lo. Few days ago, I learned that they all entered the postulancy. How absurd.

 

Does God still invite people to become religious? Asked about the relevance of religious life these days, Sr. Sandra Scheiders had this answer:

 

“The vocation to the single-hearted, lifelong, exclusive-of-all-alternatives quest for God above and beyond and through and for all that one human life has to offer will continue to arise and to reverberate in some hearts. And that some will be enough — not, perhaps, to run a countrywide school system or even a diocese or to socially transform the world or society, much less the church — but to witness in this world to the absolute intimate transcendence of a God who delights to be among humans and needs humans whose incandescent love of that God will manifest God in the world.”

 

I look at my three friends and I see hope. They remind me to keep going myself.

 

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Sr. Fidelis is one hundred years old. I never knew her personally but as how it was, she used to be a young sister assigned to take care of young girls in Baguio. She probably have experienced those furious drives up and down that mountain city in a brake-less car to go to the market just to gather vegetable scraps so that girls under her care could eat. Probably out of frustration, she knew the ministry could not go on that way and something had to be done. Seeing the abundance of ube crops, she made the ube jam. Perfected inside the convent with other nuns, the famous ube jam sent thousands of Cordillera youth to school and Sr. Fidelis went on to go to other mission stations she was sent. The infirmary is her last mission station, just like most of her predecessors.

It was midday and raining. While all the world around her runs frantically doing about a thousand and one things at the same time, there she was at the infirmary's oratory, sitting in silence, doing what she is supposed to do. Seeing her I remember the words of the psalm: "From the rising of the sun to its setting, may the name of the Lord be praised." Day in and day out, her single act of devotion to be with her Good Shepherd and the Love of her life transcends both duty and habit.

Those long hours of communion. No one else was there but I know she wasn't alone. In solitude the same zeal consumes her. In that moment, I could clearly see that her mission and identity are the same.

Fidelis. Her name means faithful in Latin. I can't think of any name more fit than that.

What is courage but a total surrender to God and a deliberate abandonment of your own will. May when your selves break it will be so that many will find tiny reflections of God in your lives. May when darkness falls on your weary souls it will be so that you seek Him who throughout the history is the true Light. May when your hands feel weary it will be so that you remember what toils are essential for the magis.

And may this magis that you seek find clarity in the person of Jesus whom you wish to be companions. Go and break your hearts to million pieces only for God to make whole again.

Happy entrance day.

"I see you always recognize me in the streets
and you have been doing it to me for so many instances.
I know you are tired,
I feel the rough edges of your soles.

"Would you, would you
would you let me wash your feet this time?"

Holy Thursday 2018

In my most honest conclusion, I think that there are very few people in this world who by the simplest fact that they walk on this earth, make everything around them more beautiful. I'd like to believe that such is the case with these two nuns, Sisters Joseph and Michelle.

Looking at them and listening to their stories, I know that no amount of bypass surgeries or periods of desolation that can take away the love that has become the meaning and motivation of all their radical toil: that singular and undivided love to Jesus, master and shepherd.

I'm reminded of a quote I read somewhere: "What is more disturbing to the status quo than an experienced elderly religious who cannot be controlled, cannot be threatened, cannot be punished, who is obscenely alive."

Sisters Joseph and Michelle. How obscenely alive before my eyes.

Nil magnum nisi bonum. Nothing is great unless good.

Happy Easter, everyone.

Biglaan ang dahilan ng pagpasok ko ng seminaryo, biniro ko ang Diyos na kung may bukas na seminaryo na tatanggap sa akin kahit Hunyo na ay dali dali akong papasok. Sa pagkaka-alam ko ay wala nang tumatanggap sa ganung buwan pero nagkamali ako at tinotoo ng Diyos ang kanyang biro. Naka-karton na ang mga dadalhin, nakabili na rin ng ticket na magdadala sa akin sa Baguio. Doon, magsisimula muli. Baka sakaling doon ay makakaunawa.

Lolokohin ko ang sarili ko kung hindi muna ako magpapaalam kaya lakas-loob kitang tinawagan, niyaya lumabas. Sa loob ng apat na taong naghiwalay tayo ay ako lagi ang nangungunang kumausap sa’yo. Laging ako ang una, ang laging nangungulila na kausapin ka. Kaya siguro minabuti ko na sunduin kita at maghintay. Akala ko di mo na ako sisiputin pero pagdating mo pakshet eto na, magpapaalam na ako talaga.

Dinala kita sa Intramuros, sa tuktok ng gusaling kita ang paghahalo ng ganda at yagit ng Maynila, parang feelings ko nang sinabi mo na wala kang iniibig. Pakshet again, noon din ay gusto kong punitin ang bus ticket ko at iwan lahat ng pangako ko sa Diyos. Maghunos-dili ka, Elias. Pagkatapos uminom ng isang basong tubig, naglakas-loob akong itikom ang puso ko. Hindi na pwede.

Pumayag kang ihatid kita sa inyo, katuparan sa anim taon kong hiling na malaman saan ka nakatira. Hindi mo alam na tatlong taon akong dumadaan sa Mandaluyong sa pagbabakasakaling makita kitang naglalakad. Lihim kong ikinasisiya ang maipit sa traffic sa Mandaluyong. Baka ngayon makikita ko sya. Hala tingin sa harap, tingin sa gilid, tingin sa likod. Isang beses, muntik pa akong maubusan ng gasolina. Pero sa wakas nalaman ko kung saan ka nakatira, malayong malayo sa mga dinadaanan ko. Natapos ang gabi na nahugot ang tinik na kasing haba ng tatlong taon mong pagkawala. Tinitigan ko ang mga mata mo at pawang pag-ibig na lamang ang nakikita ko dun. Pag-ibig na nagpapaubaya. Wala na ang pangungulila at pangangarap na maging tayo muli. Dun ko naramdaman na lumaya na ako. Sa haba ng pagmu-move  on ko ay narating ko rin ang dulo, ang wakas.

Kaya sa seminaryo, nagawa kong ialay ang sarili nang bukas palad, lahat lahat, todo todo. Hindi ako pumasok dahil may tinatalikuran o iniiwasan sa labas. Nemo quod non habet. Hindi mo maibibigay ang wala ka. Pumasok akong puno ng pag-ibig para maglingkod. Pero mapagbiro muli ang Diyos. Hindi ko nakita ang sarili ko na magtatagal sa seminaryo sa Baguio, kailangan kong lumipat kung gusto kong mahubog ng tama. May isa pang biro ang Diyos, May pangangailangang tugunan bilang nakatatanda sa pamilya. Ang pagpasok ko ng seminaryo na nag-iwan ng lahat lahat, eto at kailangang pulutin ko muli ang mga tinalikuran upang magtaguyod ng mga kapatid, ng pangarap ng iba, ang kumayod para sa pangarap ng iba. Hindi ba, yun din naman ang ibig ko, ang maging tao-para-sa-iba? May tunggalian sa isip ko kung ang paglabas ko ba ng seminaryo ay dahil sa responsibilidad o dahil sa pag-ibig. Paglabas ko, ang pag-ibig at responsibilidad ay may iisang mukha.

Kaya ito, nandito muli. Nandito muli sa pagsisimula. Babalik ba ako pagkatapos ng mga responsibilidad? O hahayaan ang sariling anurin ang pag-ibig kung saan man ito dumaloy at tumahan? Saka na lamang iisipin.

Sa ngayon, maghihintay, iibig.

My favorite animal is the salmon. Salmon spend their early life in rivers, and then swim out to sea where they live their adult lives and gain most of their body mass. When they have matured, they return with uncanny precision to the natal river where they were born, and even to the very spawning ground of their birth. This phenomenon is called “salmon run”. Most salmons are anadromous, a term which comes from the Greek anadromos, meaning "running upward". From ocean they swim and flip and flop and swoosh in waterfalls and streams just to return to their river.  All that they want to “go home”. It’s as if the salmon which grew up in the sea has become tired of the sea and its wonders, and at some point of its adult life, when it is at its peak condition, began to follow the voice within and went on the task of swimming against the current and back to where its life has started. No snack breaks, no half-way rests. With single devotion, it swims back. Back to its origin of life. A kind of homecoming. A kind of fulfillment of its purpose.

I have known the Lord from childhood. My mother, a Catholic, raised us in the beautiful traditions of the Church. My father, a Protestant convert, stimulated my aptitude for reasoning. Growing up in a myriad of different rules and living set-ups, with good role models to follow and a handful of people I swore never to be like, I have been exposed to many ideas, often times conflicting, that I need to take and digest, sift and weight. After high school, I followed my mother’s wish for me to try religious life despite my determination to study in University of the Philippines. On 2007, I entered the seminary of Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate in Quezon City. A year after, the prefect informed that I could not continue with formation as the seminary is to be transferred in Cotabato City. I went home with angst and regret but Mama assured me that God has plans. Few weeks after, she passed away. It’s thoughtful that she let her eldest son come home first before leaving this world.

At an early age I left home and went to live on my own. I enrolled in University of the Philippines. I have worked in a handful of industries to pay the bills and sustain my lifestyle but it was my entrance to the development sector that made  all the difference and impact in my life. I become a humanitarian worker, responding to crises, disasters, and conflicts mostly here in the country. I worked my way through various organizations and have progressed in my career. I worked in at least five major disasters in the region. At 23, I was the youngest in a management role in a large international NGO. At 24, I was already leading a team in Tacloban to respond to the affected populations of typhoon Haiyan. I’ve helped restore livelihoods, schools, bridges, health centers and homes in hundreds of communities. I have slept in tents and service vehicles, eaten Christmas meals on tin cans and celebrated birthdays in airplane, a fishing boat, and a ten-wheeler truck. I have spoken to ambassadors and purok leaders, dined with politicians and communists, and shared ideas with leading thinkers and children with disabilities. Some of the organizations I have been involved are IBON International, ACCORD, Center for Disaster Preparedness, CARE Nederland, Caritas Philippines, Handicap International, and the Good Shepherd Sisters’ Mission Office.

But God seems to put a vacuum in every man’s heart which only He could fill.

I drove my own car, I lived comfortably, I gained many friends from many parts of the globe. My work and my penchant for adventure brought me to strange cities and villages around the world. For someone who is barely starting to fill to the brim the love for life in a quarter of a century, I suddenly felt there must be something more than these. I was restless.

A turning point in my life was my involvement in the  Good Shepherd Sisters’ Mission Office. My work consisted of developing resources and grants for the sisters’ work on human trafficking, women and girls, and ecology. Everyday I see dozens of sisters, most of them in their seventies, all occupied with zeal to do their mission assignment despite meager resources, impossible energy requirement, and advanced age. All their energy is spent in taking care of women and girls and in working towards a more just society. It was June this year, Feast of the Sacred Heart, when I drove to their Tagaytay convent to conduct business even if it was my birthday. I did not want to disturb them in their retreat Mass so I sneaked in and found them in the chapel. About sixty nuns, some of them in wheelchairs, canes, and hearing aids, a sea of white hairs and wobbling knees, taking their time to greet each other with the sign of peace. It was the noisiest group of nuns I have ever seen and it hit me. I want whatever that which makes these women and thousands of other missionaries go on with their ministry despite everything. Right there I gave in to the Lord. I let Him catch me in the middle of my busy life. I did not hesitate and looked for a seminary right away. It was providential that school year in Casiciaco starts on August. I had few weeks to settle my affairs.

In his message to the youth gathered in a university in Rome in 2000, Saint John Paul II concretely describes that restlessness I have been feeling, the feeling that there is a vacuum in my life despite the life I was enjoying:

“It is Jesus in fact that you seek when you dream of happiness; he is waiting for you when nothing else you find satisfies you; he is the beauty to which you are so attracted; it is he who provokes you with that thirst for fullness that will not let you settle for compromise; it is he who urges you to shed the masks of a false life; it is he who reads in your hearts your most genuine choices, the choices that others try to stifle. It is Jesus who stirs in you the desire to do something great with your lives, the will to follow an ideal, the refusal to allow yourselves to be grounded down by mediocrity, the courage to commit yourselves humbly and patiently to improving yourselves and society, making the world more human and more fraternal.”

Salmon run teaches something profound to me. Salmons that survive fishermen, poachers and pollution may still have to scale large dams built across rivers before eventually finding refuge in lakes and deep pools. Nevertheless they go. Some studies reveal that some very strong willed salmon even do it more than once in their lifetime. A life in religious formation, a life dedicated to discovering God’s purpose to me, is my own salmon run. While the salmon had to survive impossible ordeals, my challenge is not simply to survive but to thrive in the formation. To thrive means to find meaning in every detail of my life’s up and downs, to discover hidden lines of God’s love story in every pitfalls and trials, to search the poetry concealed in people I meet and places I go. To thrive does not only mean to remain alive after successive challenges in formation. To thrive means to grow vigorously in the process.

Nine years after my first attempt to try religious life, here I am again in the bottom of the formation process. Late that I realized that my mother’s wish has always been the life I, too, want. Often I would feel undeserving, or caught by temporal problems at home but I trust that the true, good, and beautiful God would allow me to try again one more time. That this time, despite numerous imperfections He can find something in me to use. That my scattered thoughts may find unity in His love, my doubts may find certainty in His truths, my depravities may find mercy in His goodness, and my deficiencies may find completeness in His beauty.

Lord, I've been through many days when I feel like I was only moving on autopilot. Those days when problems at home and in the seminary seemed overwhelming. On those moments, I would think of quitting right away. There were days too when I would think that I was a better Christian when I was still outside. At this early, I already have doubts if I am really where you want me to be. I have listed in my head the long list of things I don't like about the seminary and the imperfections I have witnessed: the lack of vibrancy in academic formation, the values and inconsistencies of the formators, the overall feeling that we are being formed out of fear instead of to be formed in love. Lord, I have listed it all in my mind.

Some days come when I do not feel like participating in the seminary schedule. Yet, I would find myself dragging my way out of my room, with just enough faith to go on for the next schedule. Yet days will come when I am vibrant and full of life. In days that I feel otherwise, Lord please send me an ounce of fortitude. I do not ask for a perpetual supply but a daily ration of Your love. Baka mapanis kasi.

I am resolved to ask You daily for faith, that even when I do not understand the way things happen in my life, you are there to give me just a little more to go on. Just enough to start my engine again.

Then in my own accord, do Your will as I ought to. Amen.

At 23, I became the youngest manager in an international development organization. At 24, I was already managing a whole team responding to disasters and building resilient communities. I drive my own car, I live by myself, and I can eat as many sashimis that I want. I have traveled to many countries and cities, worked with the state and in international bodies, seen hundreds of sunsets and woke up in hundred beds that are not mine. I partied, I traveled, I drank to my limits. At 25, I'm having the best time of my life.

It was not enough. People closest to me know I never stick to one thing for a long period. I would always go for something better, something higher. I am restless.

Somewhere in my heart, I know I'm not only made to be like this person. I knew I could take this love for life to a higher level. My decision was a product of uncomfortable experiences and intense prayers. I had one month to say good bye to everyone and everything. It was difficult and very tiring to squeeze dozens of goodbye meetups while rendering extra hours at work, boxing up possessions and sending them away to different addresses, drinking and merrying and enjoying my last days as a secular man.

Thirty days ago, I made my way to Baguio. This city set in mountain ranges has a certain charm that I always like so when I was informed that the formation years will be spent in Baguio, I knew my decision was right. In exchange, my life became smaller and I don't have the remote control to everything anymore. I have to wake up daily at five in the morning, spend at least five hours in prayer, eight in studies, and the rest of the day to community activities. The food is tolerable, the accommodation minimum. I had to obey younger people and submit myself to the scrutiny of formators who may or may not decide that I shall become one of them. During the first week I had a crisis and deeply considered backing out. I don't seem to fit. I still have not fulfilled my duties to my sisters and brothers. I have big dreams and I have this insatiable proclivity to discover the world. While praying, I came across a passage that assured me. My grace is enough for you. For in your weakness, power reaches perfection. So here I am, persevering.

When Jesus asked his first disciples "follow me", sequere me, they left everything behind. Their response was radical and total. I left friends, families, possessions, a possible version of my life where I am a family man with six kids and a partner to spend the rest of my life, my little collection of everything. So now my life is being rewritten and I'm not it's author. Pray for me.

I'm happy.

Hayaan mong bihagin
ka ng kanilang karukhaan
ng kanilang kakapusan.

Sila ang ibigin mo.
Tahimik mong iaalay sa kanila
ang iyong buntong hininga
ang iyong dismaya
bawat galit at poot
ialay mo ang bawat ngiti na mayroon
isang ngiti para sa manang na magaspang ang kamay
sa paslit na uhugin
sa lolang walang ngipin.

Ipunin ang galit sa lahat ng nakikitang
pagkaganid
pagkabigo
at sa pagkarami ng balakid.

At pagka-ipon,
masahin
haluan ng sariling pagkabagabag
saka ipasok sa hurno
upang maging pag-ibig.

Kung iibig ka,
ibigin ang sila
na hindi makapagbabalik ng parehong pag-ibig
sapagkat sapat na ang ngiti ng isang maralita
upang ibalik ka ng Dyos sa langit
o ibalik ang mga piraso mong nawala.

Kung iibig ka, ikaw talaga ang iniibig.*


Pasintabi sa katha ni P. Villarin



-------------------------------------
Sumpa ng trabaho ko ang mabagabag. At biyaya.

Narinig ko kahapon sa isang sermon: "Ang Katoliko, buhay kapag patay ang Dyos at kapag buhay ang Dyos, sila naman ang patay. Tuwing Byernes Santo, punong puno ng tao ang simbahan, naghahanap ng misa. Wala hong misa tuwing Byernes Santo. Ang Katoliko, gustong magsimba kapag walang misa at tuwing may misa, hindi nagsisimba."

Sumakit ang migraine ko kay father. Nakakatawa pero sapul na sapul. Marami sa atin, seasonal ang relihiyon; pana-panahon. Parang mangga.


Ito raw ang pinakaboring na panahon sa kalendaryo ng simbahan kaya ang marami, nasa beach o nasa bahay nagd-dvd marathon. Napakaboring dahil patay ang Dyos.

 At sarado ang malls.

 ---------------------------

Nung Hwebes, yumukod ang paring tulad ng kay Kristo upang hugasan ang paa ng mga mangingisda at magbubuwis; in short, mga ordinaryong tao. Sa mga panahong iyon, ang paghuhugas ng paa ang pinakamababang uri ng pagsisilbi. Sa parehas na paraan, itinuro ni Hesus ang pinakadakilang paraan ng paglilingkod- ang maging mababa at iaalay ang buhay para sa iba.

--------------------------

At dinugtong pa ng dominikano: "Hindi natatapos ang kwento ng Dyos sa mahal na araw pero tayo, hanggang sa libingan lang natin sinamahan ang Dyos. Tandaan natin na pagkatapos ng tatlong araw ay hinamak nya ang kamatayan at nagbagong anyo't hindi natin kaagad nakilala. Bilin sa atin ng misteryong ito na pagkatapos ng pagluluksa, MOVE ON. Wala sa libingan ang Dyos bagkus ay naglakbay at nakasalubong ng mga alagad sa daan patungong Galilea. Ang Dyos wala sa isang lugar. Sya ay nasa daan, kasama nating sugatan, nagugutom, dinadaya, pinapangakuan na iaahon sa dagat na basura. Hindi natin makita ang Dyos dahil nung Byernes Santo, inilibing nating kasama nya ang ating paniniwala. Wag sanang magtapos sa Byernes Santo ang paniniwala natin. MOVE ON."
 
 
 
+AMDG

Four days after rendering my resignation and setting my mind that I will be leaving the group, I received a message from him telling me that my resignation was denied and that we need to talk the soonest. I thought I would stand on my conviction never to return whatever his response may be. So I am eating my words up for the second time (the first is work related). I remain.

Plans were concrete in my mind. Quit serving, focus on work and get back to school. Quitting youth ministry does not mean I do not want to get involved with my parish because I love every bit of it. Working so that I can help my sister meeting our family's needs is my noblest responsibility. Isama mo pa dyan ang pagbalik ko sa skwela. My body begins to show signs of having a hard time coping with all of these. See, hindi ako pinanganak na si superman. I cannot wear too many hats.

So plans didn't materialize. Epic fail. Then yesterday taught me that some truths are greater than ourselves. Because the more I distance my self to the responsibility, the greater the load and pressure becomes.

When running away from his duty to convert Nineveh, Jonah was swallowed by a big whale. Elijah sought refuge on the mountains when persecuted by Jezebel only to find out that on where he exactly was, his god was there too. Actually, I wrote my resignation with a heavy heart. I didn't know that I was losing the point but on the time that I became lost, I stayed where I was until He found me. I admit that I am weak in saying no to Him but I also know that in my weakest point, the beauty of life unfolds. I may sound too spiritual in here but sometimes, things are just like that. I accepted the invitation to lead the group full time for one more year along with the kolboy and studyante roles that I play. Find this being proud, I consider it as a duty to myself and to the young people whom God has entrusted to me. Naks. Anyabang. Haha.

Epekto siguro ito ng pagbabasa ng Harry Potter ng paulit-ulit.

Next time na ang mas maayos na post. Sa lahat ng nagtatanong, okay ako. Super okay. :D

Katulad ng lagi kong sinasabi.

Ordination to the Sacred Order of Deacons of Rev. Irvin Morastil, OMI

Nalala ko nung una tayong nag-usap. Asteg. Makulay ang buhay mo. Hindi ko nga akalaing sisiryosohin mo ang seminaryo. Akala ng marami di ka na babalik.

Pero malakas ang tawag. Di ka nakatanggi.

Ilang araw mula ngayon, sa bwan na ito ng Nobyembre, magiging Kanya ka muli- magpakailanman. Salamat sa mga naituro at napatunayan mo. Marami akong natutunan sa mga itinuro at ipinakita mo. Ang layo na ng assignment mo eh. Pero alam ko Cotabato talaga ang tinitibok ng puso mo- kasama ng mga kabundukan at mga katutubo. Pipilitin kong sumunod sa yapak. Maski hindi sa ngayon. Maski hindi Oblate. Basta. Paglaki ko, ganun din. Misyonero. Oxa, Yay! Galingan mo, Rev!

“His calling is a declaration of love.”

Your response is commitment, friendship, and love manifested in the gift of your own life as a definitive following and as a permanent sharing in his mission and in his consecrations. To make up your mind is to love him with all of your soul and all of your heart in such a way that this love becomes the standard and motive of all your actions.- Pope John Paul II

(credit to http://bonistation.wordpress.com/)

Kahapon, pagkatapos ng pagwawalis ng sobrang laking bakurang napapalibutan ng mga pasaway na mga puno ng sampalok, kaymito at narra, sumali ako sa laro ng mga seminaristang alam kong walang balak akong isali. No choice sila. Kulang ng isa. Woaah! Ang galing ko, nakasali ako sa volleyball bilang isang estatwa. Ayos na rin kesa makita na naman ng aking rector at mabigyan ng 74 sa NSTP.

Laro. Hingal. Dumarating ang bola. Titira. Matatakot sa spike. Yuyuko. IN!!! sigaw ng referee. Ako? Patalo. Ahehehe Pero wag ka, naka-iskor ako ng dalawa (pero kung ikukumpara sa mga kapalpakan ko, -10 ang score ko...)

Pagkatapos ng laro, 20 mins pa para magmeryenda. kaya nagpahinga ako sa damuhan. Maririnig naman mula sa seminaryo ang tunog ng mga tambol at trumpeta ng kaharian ng ateneo. May praktis ata sila ng post-chinese new year celebration. Mahangin kaya naisip kong magpalipas ng pagod at magpatuyo ng pawis. At sa isang ekstraordinaryong sandali, may sumigaw na bisayang seminarista,

"GID, SARANGGOLA DIDTO SA LANGIT!!"(yan ay with matching excitement.)

Makikita sa mata nila ang katuwaan at pagkamangha. Hwuuaawh! Isang saranggola! Eh ano naman? Para namang mga tanga to. Saranggola lang, parang nakakita ng anghel mula sa langit. Pero sa loob-loob ko...HHWUUUAAHW! SARANGGOLA!!! Pero di ko sa kanila pinakita ang kasiyahan ko....alam mo na, baka mapagkamalan akong ignorante rin. Kaya nainggit kami at nagpalipad din ng instant-made kite.

Saranggola.

Eto yung laruang pang himpapawirin. Gawa sa pinagtagpi-tagping plastik, papel, scotch tape, tingting at sinulid. Pinalilipad sa pamamagitan ng determinasyon ng naglalaro. Nung bata ako, gumawa ako ng saranggola. Yung una kong saranggola ay gawa sa tabloid na idinikit sa walis ting-ting ng lola kong chismosa. Gumawa ako nuon kasi sobrang inggit ko sa mga pinsan at mga kababata ko. Kaya ayun, nagsikap akong mag-disenyo ng sarili kong saranggola. Nakalipad naman yung saranggolang ginawa ko. Yung nga lang, di mataas at di nagtagal. Nalagas kasi yung gawa ko sa ere. Nawalan na kasi ng will power yung maskin tape na ginamit ko. Umuwi ako kasama ang mga natitirang parte ng una kong imbensyon. Pag-uwi, kumuha ako ng plastic bag ng SM supermarket (yellow), hinati sa gitna at sinimulang humabi ulit ng isang saranggola pero this time, angat ng konte ang level...plastic! Pagkatapos, lumabas at buong giting kong pinalipad ang obra kong nilagyan ko ng tatlong metrong buntot. Ang saya ng feeling!! Biro mo, nakapagpalipad ako ng isang saranggola. Achievement yun para sa akin.

[...]

Saranggola. Kite yan sa english. Yung saranggolang nakita namin kahapon eh pinalilipad sa malamang sa ateneo. Kulang asul. Hugis agila. Ang taas! Nakakatuwang tingalain. Nakapg-isip tuloy ako ng senti.

Pangarap.

Naalala ko yung patalastas ng STI... yung song na may lyrics na "...so hold on to your dreams 'cause you can make it happen..." Nakakainspire. Nakaka-astig ng feeling.

Ang pangarap, parang saranggola lang yan. Ikaw ang may hawak ng kapalaran ng laruan mo. Nasa 'yo ang pisi at nasa 'yo ang kapangyarihang magpalipad at magpatayog ng taas. Minsan mahirap magpalipad kasi walang hangin, mahangin, masikip, di ka marunong. It's just a matter of holding on. Hanggat matibay ang hawak mo sa sinulid na nag-uugnay sayo at sa saranggola mo, wala kang dapat ipagpangamba. Siguradong kontrolado mo ang manipulasyon kahit na minsan mukhang bumabagsak ang pinalilipad mo, ala mong sa konting hila-hila method na gagawin mo, aangat at aangat muli ang saranggola. Parang buhay lang. Maski sa una mahirap at parang susuko ka na, amppss di mo rin mapipigilan ang pakiramdam mong katuwaan kapag nasa taas na ang laruan mong ikaw ang gumawa at nagpalipad. Nasa sa iyo ang kapalaran ng saranggola. Ikaw ang magpapalipad. Ikaw din ang mamamangha. It's just a matter of holding on.

[...]

Pinahawak sa akin ang matayog naming laruan. Naka-nganga ako habang namamangha sa napalipad kong saranggola. At sa bawat pagkamangha ko, di ko namalayang oras na pala upang magmeryenda. Ayun, naubusan ako ng hopya.

(buntong-hininga...)

[yas]