A City On A Hill

"You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house. Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father." (Matthew 5:14-16)

Esther Dorado had an unforgettable Mother's Day this year: she spent the previous nignt and the early morning hours scouring the shore of the Avilon river for her son. Her neighbors thought that she would jump into the churning waters herself, in her hysteria, but her mother's instinct kept drawing her to a spot overgrown with swamp cabbage and water lilies. True enough, there the lifeless body of 14-year old Norman Dorado was eventually found, at 2:00 in the morning, ten hours after he was carried away by the raging river stirred up by Typhoon Caloy.

Norman was one of "our" kids at He Cares, the sixth to pass away since I first started serving in 2004. It seems that death pays far too many visits to the poor, far more frequently, on account of far more trifling causes than most of us are used to. But it is no means less painful. Losing a child is not inconceivable to the poor - Ate Esther had previously lost two infants out of 11 - yet the anguish, albeit abbreviated, is the same as any other parent's.

But grief is not what I choose to write about tonight, although all of us went through our own experiences of heartbreaking loss since we found out about Norman. These last two nights, I've sat with the Montalban community I've grown to love, and taken up their loss. I most often see them in times of rejoicing, when they experience blessing upon blessing and receive the Good News, but these last few days I've been blessed to be with them in their - our - mourning. And yet, despite the sad circumstances, I have great reason to rejoice, and to praise God for how He has reigned triumphantly, even in this poverty-stricken place.

My constant prayer for our Montalban folk, ever since they were relocated from the city, was that they be beacons of light in the midst of their new surroundings, and that others be attracted to the loving warmth of their God-given glow. And indeed, though they have their little differences and petty squabbles and struggle constantly to follow Christ, these beloved children of God have proven that it is truly in the darkest of nights that the stars shine their brightest. No wonder that Ate Esther has borne this crippling loss so beautifully, even managing to smile through her trials.

She told us how her neighbors, her brothers and sisters from He Cares and even perceived "enemies," all came to the rescue in the middle of the night, and until the wee hours, to search for Norman. They all took care - are taking care - of her and her grieving family, sharing what little they have, cooking, entertaining visitors, seeing to the kids, just being there for Esther and Felipe. Shining the light of Christ so brightly, in this dark night of loss, that other people in the huge resettlement area have started to talk - somewhat enviously - about how the Block 17 community members care for each other. Inspiring by example. Being Jesus to each other. And this beautiful display of God's love, despite the devastating tragedy, brings great comfort indeed.

And thus Norman's passing, what seems to be a premature return to his Maker, can be seen, even as early as now, as a purposeful occurrence in God's most perfect plan. Another amazing "side effect" of this spontaneous outpouring of love is the effect it has had on the normally reticent Dorado family (only Ate Esther, Oliver, and Arbie had, and again only after years with He Cares, truly opened up). Every single one of them has started to actually receive the love directed their way, from the littlest ones to the eldest, to their father, Felipe. Dexter and Warren, who have always disinterestedly stayed on the sidelines these last couple of years, even during major outreaches when all the Montalban kids were competing for attention, are suddenly hug-addicts. Warren, who looks like he's three but is actually six years old, even hoarsely demanded to know "Bakit ngayon lang kayo?" when Judith (who'd spent the previous day babysitting the Dorados) and I arrived this evening. And Marvin, the brother closest to age to Norman, who seemed the most affected by his kuya's passing and who had never really said anything to me all these years I've known him and his family, asked, just as we were leaving and I told him we'd be back, "Kailan ka balik, Ate?" Little changes that seem inconsequential, but in fact major developments in our relationship with these beloved children - in God's relationship with them. His city on a hill, one of the hills of Montalban, is, indeed, ablaze tonight.

Praise God.

(Last known photo of Norman - on the left - and his younger brother Oliver. Funny thing, that's me and my phone in the background.)