Quiapo

Once upon a time, when I was sick, really sick, my grandmother dedicated me to the Black Nazarene of Quiapo. She promised that, one day, I myself would make the pilgrimages she used to make every Friday. It took more than 30 years for that particular vow to finally be taken seriously - and not just because God had saved my life and I was thankful for it. It's a much longer story than that. Then again, come to think of it, I go to Quiapo precisely because God has saved my life, and I will be ever grateful for it...and then some.

I go on Tuesdays now, because my usual Wednesday Quiapo mornings are presently occupied by the classes I teach (and will finally stop teaching on Friday, thank goodness). My Mom likes to tag along, but she tends to always be in a hurry to get back to work so that's not really the perfect set-up. AG's gone with me a few times, as well as some friends on occasion, but for the most part, I make the trip alone. I like the solitude sometimes, because I have more time to myself for prayer, for shopping, for exploration without worrying about another person's preferences, for a change. I like having company, for the most part, but there are those days when I just need to go on a date with the Lord (not just a prayer date, but a date date!).

I even have my "own" parking space (I once attempted to FX it, but I had too many stopovers to make en route and back). For the grand sum of 40 pesos, I can park my beloved chariot safe and soundly and leave it in the care of the parking attendant of - how ironic - the Ang Dating Daan building. And then Mass at the Basilica at 12:15 noon. More often than not, I make it on time - if not, I spend the hour before the Blessed Sacrament instead. God, indeed, is everywhere, and His Real Presence may be adored at the nearest Church, but the element of sacrifice is what finds me at this place.

If my diet allows (or if I'm in the mood to cheat), lunch is a short walk away at the dingy "air-cooled" Ma Mon Luk. You have to understand my love affair with this place: this was the McDonald's of my childhood. I adored this restaurant so much that when I was knee-high, I swore they would cater my wedding reception (hmmm...still not a bad idea). No one, but no one, makes mami and siopao that can compare with theirs. You know right away if a customer is an old regular - they know exactly what they want (in my case, regular mami, regular siopao - the specials are much too big for my appetite) without having to look at any menu. And I appreciate the fact that I usually dine alone (with only an envious Amats, a fellow Quiapo/Ma Mon Luk groupie, to text as I slurp away) because of my semi-disgusting habit of adulterating my mami with half a bottle of siopao sauce (bakit ba!). Someone I know once used Ma Mon Luk as a litmus test for his dates - he would take them there, and if they so much as cringed at the peculiar aroma pervading the place (it smells suspiciously of simmering week-old gym socks), they were "elimidated." I admire his methods; I should probably adopt them.

Every so often, I drop by the Salonga store on Raon to stock up on "number 4" nylon strings for Ney's guitar, which has been put to very good use at He Cares. Three for P100, where else can you get a better deal? The only trick is trying to walk the streets of P. Paterno and Raon with horse blinders - to avoid the pirated video sleaze that seems to be on sale on every square inch of the road. And then back towards Carriedo for my weekly fix of earrings - at 10 to 30 pesos a pop, who can resist? But I'm giving away too many of my shopping secrets, enough of that for now...

One of my favorite things to do when Mom's not around is cross over to the Muslim side of Quiapo - Hortaleza for henna and other kikay stuff not just for kikay women, and DVDVDVDVDVD central. This Tuesday, they were selling certain titles at three for P100. But I was more than happy to walk away with half a dozen foreign art films - Almodovar, Hirschbiegel, Mandoki, etc., you really have to dig deep and keep an eye out for these treasures - for the exorbitant amount of P50 each. If that doesn't put a smile on your face, I don't know what would (unless you're from the Videogram Regulatory Board...)

Quiapo, in all its chaotic color, always makes me feel better. The visit to the Church is always the main highlight, but I thank God for the myriad sidetrips every Tuesday has to offer. I was going to attempt the walk towards Binondo - couldn't be that far, really - but I decided against it and chariot'ed away instead (the smells and sounds of Chinatown are another story for another blog). Perhaps next time. Because when it comes to Quiapo, there will always be a next time.

An Eternal Instant In Montalban

Max Lucado has a beautiful term for it: the eternal instant. Those moments that remind us that everything is okay, that the King is still on the throne and life is still worth living. That love is still the greatest possession and the future is nothing to fear.

Under the warm November sun, shoulder-to-shoulder with children and adults alike, in the midst of the beloved community that has become such a big part of my life over the last year, I experienced one such eternal instant. The magnitude of God’s love suddenly overwhelmed and welled up from within and couldn’t be contained as it (as usual, much to my consternation) flooded out of my tearducts. The kids are used to my waterworks by now, but Ronalyn and Jean Rose still stared curiously – my joy in the presence of God’s people and the very privilege of witnessing His hand move in their lives over the last year left me at a loss for words.

I remember my first house visit to the shanties of Culiat, just off Visayas Avenue, more than a year ago. I had never been inside a more depressing hovel than the Valenzuela household – it wasn’t fit to house animals, much less schoolchildren! The Villarin’s little “home” was at a marked improvement – at least they had spread linoleum matting on the floor and kept it clean – but a 12 square meter box cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, be considered suitable accomodations for a family of eight. But at least it was home. Soon it wouldn’t even be that.

One day, all too suddenly, the demolition crews came and herded the whole stretch of a hundred or so families off to the hills of Montalban, to a government relocation site. The lives of “our” kids and their families were upended in an instant, as if a whirlwind had come and carried everything familiar out of sight. It was an agonizing experience just to watch. One day, I walked over to the area where the houses used to be, to find the Dorado family – Ate Ester and her eight children (here goes – Junjun, Michelle, Norman, Marvin, Oliver, Warren, Arbie, and the new baby) in limbo at the cramped barangay chapel, all their worldly possessions strewn about them. Oliver, the youngest mangangalakal who was rescued from an unfortunate Selecta ice cream cart accident and nursed to recovery by Kuya Greg, was suspicious and distant. So was his mother. Couldn’t blame them; after all, everything and everyone they knew was in transit. Their futures were uncertain. Little did I know that, because it was apparently intertwined with theirs, so was my own.

We followed them to Montalban. What other choice did we have? God had entrusted this little flock to He Cares, and we could not leave them for lost even if they had been transported to such a remote and distant place. The first few months were excruciating – so much so that, despite now having “real” concrete homes they could call their own, some families returned to the city they had been removed from. Many children, unused to the scorching Montalban heat, broke out in water and pus-filled heat boils that quickly turned into crusty sores. So far removed from the “commerce” and garbage scavenging areas of Project 6, many found it difficult to put food on the table. There were illnesses, a death, crimes, many moments of darkness – but just as the night seemed pitch black, God’s light sparked and began to burn brightly, illuminating the little community and drawing others into the welcoming warmth.

God always provides! And indeed, He did, in this little community in Montalban. Slowly, but surely, He channeled His blessings through many Christians – through the handful of committed He Cares volunteers from near and far, including three elderly trainors who generously shared their time, talents, and resources with the Montalban parents. He brought in friends from both the local government offices and other Christian communities, who are now working to make the village a better place to live. He planted the seeds of His love in the hearts of the devoted prayer meeting attendees, who began to receive weekly spiritual nourishment and experience opportunities to share their faith. He brought a smile to Oliver’s face, and put trust back into the heart of Ate Ester, and all the many other mothers who (thankfully) also weep with me when remembering His goodness over the last year. All in a year. And He’s been unstinting in His continued generosity.

Life in Montalban is worlds apart from what it used to be a year ago. The lives of the villagers are worlds different from what they used to be, in Culiat, and in the early days in Montalban. And my life is worlds away from what it used to be before Montalban was presented to me as a mission – the privilege of witnessing His abundant grace and His faithfulness over the span of a single year is more than reason enough for blessed thanksgiving and for me to look forward to more years of serving Him in this way, in Montalban or wherever He may take me. All for the greater glory of the One who has given us so much of Himself, all for the blessing of one more eternal instant.

Amen.

I thank God for He Cares – Kuya Joe Dean and Ate Ardis for inspiring and guiding and instructing by example, and for the trust in carrying out this mission; for AG and those who share this mission with us – Judith, Norman, Mike, and the Montalban boys’ household; for our faithful doctors Darleth, Mia, Bevs, and Chris Rayala; for our foreign volunteers Vince, Carol, Roy, Bert, Pia, Daniel, and Father Steve; for friends who have shared in the Montalban mission in one way or another – Weng, Melanie, Joann, Johanna, Lex, Gari, Kristin, Boyet, Ojaye – hope I didn’t forget anyone; for Bo Sanchez and Kerygma and Gawad Kalinga; for the people – children, mothers, fathers, families - God has brought into my life to love and be loved in return. My Montalban – we’ve come a long way, through God’s grace. Happy anniversary.

Questions

One early Visayan morning, God presented me with a persimmon sunrise, and in return, I presented Him three questions.

Two questions He answered categorically; one, I'm still a little uncertain of, but then again, I can be so dense about listening for His answers that He has to knock me over the head with them. Short of spelling out the words in flashing neon lights, is more like it.

The God of gentle mornings and violent thunderstorms answered my question about continuing to serve Him in mission by leading me to read Matthew 25:31-40, which I mistakenly thought was the day's Gospel (it was only a Tuesday, and maybe waking up too early had me reading Friday's Good News): "'Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.' Then the righteous will answer him and say, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?' And the king will say to them in reply, 'Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.' (35-40)" Couldn't get a better or more "neon light" answer than that.

My God, who knows the deepest desires of my heart, and who has cleared away most of those that are incompatible with His own desires for my life, then answered my next question. Lord, I still want to see a lot more of this world that You've created. Will you continue to take me to distant shores and the islands to see Your light? And He answered me even before I'd finished asking, by speaking into my heart just as the horizon struck gold and tangerine hues started to bleed from the seas into the heavens: I will give you all this...there's a lot more where that came from. It's an old theme song really, that right now I'm hearing in head: "You and I will travel far together; we'll pursue our little star together..."

Question number three, still a little iffy - and maybe needs more time for me to listen more. Seems like God was not "ready" to have His answer known yet. Or perhaps I wasn't ready to hear it? Then again, as I think about it now, He answered this question a while back, but I probably just have too little faith in Him to take Him at His word (sorry, Lord). Today, His answer is still a little cryptic, but He speaks through Oswald Chambers as He tells me to trust, be faithful and consistent, and for heaven's sake Honey, believe!

November 14
Discovering Divine Design

As for me, being on the way, the Lord led me . . .
—Genesis 24:27

We should be so one with God that we don’t need to ask continually for guidance. Sanctification means that we are made the children of God. A child’s life is normally obedient, until he chooses disobedience. But as soon as he chooses to disobey, an inherent inner conflict is produced. On the spiritual level, inner conflict is the warning of the Spirit of God. When He warns us in this way, we must stop at once and be renewed in the spirit of our mind to discern God’s will (see Romans 12:2 ). If we are born again by the Spirit of God, our devotion to Him is hindered, or even stopped, by continually asking Him to guide us here and there. ". . . the Lord led me . . ." and on looking back we see the presence of an amazing design. If we are born of God we will see His guiding hand and give Him the credit.

We can all see God in exceptional things, but it requires the growth of spiritual discipline to see God in every detail. Never believe that the so-called random events of life are anything less than God’s appointed order. Be ready to discover His divine designs anywhere and everywhere.

Beware of being obsessed with consistency to your own convictions instead of being devoted to God. If you are a saint and say, "I will never do this or that," in all probability this will be exactly what God will require of you. There was never a more inconsistent being on this earth than our Lord, but He was never inconsistent with His Father. The important consistency in a saint is not to a principle but to the divine life. It is the divine life that continually makes more and more discoveries about the divine mind. It is easier to be an excessive fanatic than it is to be consistently faithful, because God causes an amazing humbling of our religious conceit when we are faithful to Him.

Back from Bohol

Back from Bohol. Early mornings, persimmon sunrises, and the ocean, always the ocean...

Conversations with God. Another entry in the travel journal of my life. Can't wait to start writing again.

Remembering Rendell

Don't know why I suddenly thought of him, but I'm sure God has His reasons.

On June 9, 2004, I was an emotional wreck. Spiritually, God was sustaining me as I found myself flung overboard into the strange waters of the deep, but the crisis was something I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined I'd be experiencing. Talk about going out - being shoved, albeit lovingly, is more like it - out of one's comfort zone. For the first time in my young life as a Christian, God presented me with an overwhelming choice: commitment to something that had become the central focus of my life or submission to the call of conscience. He was insistent, I responded to what I prayed was His calling, and now I know it was His direction all along, and His blueprint that was unfolding.

On June 9, 2004, despite two years in the renewal, I did not know a single priest personally - except for my Tito Father Dante Venus, SVD and Father Steve Tynan, mgl who I hadn't even said ten words to (that's changed much since then!). And in this time of turmoil (you can call it spiritual, but even then I knew that the Lord had His hand firmly on the rudder), a priest was the one person I needed to talk to! Priests used to terrify me (I wasn't a very good Catholic - I'm still not, but this time at least I'm actually trying), just like dentists still terrify me: you know that they're there to help and that visiting them is for your own good, but there's the stigma of shame that comes with baring the dark cavities of your life, and there is always some amount of pain involved before the relief comes. So anyway, on June 9, 2004 - my youngest sister's birthday - I was supposed to meet Rhia, one of my oldest and best friends, to "cry" on her shoulder (although, for some strange reason, I didn't shed any tears until very much later when my favorite brother-in-Christ started the waterworks over the phone!) and perhaps have some lunch. By some uncanny twist of faith, Mia's birthday luncheon (which was previously scheduled to be a birthday dinner) was held at the very same restaurant where I was supposed to meet Rhia, and so I didn't have to cancel on anyone. Good thing I didn't, because on June 9, 2004, I met my very first priest-friend. Well, OK, future priest-friend (he's taking Philosophy and Theology classes for the next year or so and living in a discernment house before entering seminary proper). After I'd unloaded my sorrows on Rhia, I apologized to him for being so rude and burdening them (him, especially, an unwitting lunch companion!) with my troubles. And he had this to say, which I shall never forget, because God spoke through this stranger at this turbulent point of my life: "I desire mercy, not sacrifice." (Hosea 6:6)

And mercy was what God was calling me to offer at that point in time, to give Him mercy through the least of our brothers: to feed the hungry and give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, welcome the stranger, comfort the ill and visit the imprisoned. On June 9, 2004, I met Neil's cousin Rendell, the future Father Rendell, and through Him God gave the confirmation I most desperately needed. And, in the evening of June 9, 2004, with Rhia, Mia, and Rendell, I visited for the first time a place where I received - and continue to receive - God's mercy: He Cares. My life has never been the same since, praise God!

More than a year later, I find myself a lay missionary (and still training very hard at it), serving God through He Cares. I'm no longer in active legal practice (although our managing partner Kenneth is in denial). My writing is just something that puts a little money (very little) in the bank, and once again I've taken up teaching the law on the side as well (ah Honey, ye of little trust in God's Providence!). I've given up most everything that used to preoccupy my life, or at least I'm in the process of giving it up - and most people tell me what a shame it is for me to waste my career and education and experience!

Well, I'm in good company, I think. Aside from the people I work with in the mission, who have traded in their careers to continue the Lord's ministry on earth, I present to you as Exhibit "A" Dr. Rendell Torres, Ph.D., M.S., B.S.. Professor, acoustic architect, civil engineer, concert cellist. Man of God. The son-in-law my father will never have (ha ha - my Dad fell in love with him 10 seconds after meeting him!). I know he'll be one extraordinary priest someday, because he gave up an already extraordinary life to pursue one that's truly out of this world. God bless you, Father Rendell - may His light continue to shine through you in this life!