On our way back from lunch somewhere in Bicutan today, I got a surprise phone call from one of my good friends in the US. As we exhanged bits on each other's lives, she told me about her recent exploits, trying with best effort to get her son into a Catholic private school.

"Back there, you only had to pass the entrance test, have money for tuition, behave so that you don't get kicked out, and that's it," she said. "Out here, you have to be a listed, contributing parishioner and an active member of church committees of the parish running the school before you can apply for admission." So she did just that, registering, contributing and doing commitee work.

And yet, because she was a new parishioner and the school had limited slots, her son wasn't among the seven (from a total of 60 applicants) admitted. "When I got the rejection letter, para akong luka-luka, I was so depressed," she told me.

"Why all that trouble, " I asked, "aren't the public pre-schools any good?"

"I want my son to have Catholic education like we had," she said. Then, wanly:

"My bigger issue about the public schools here is that there is no reference at all to God in the education -- no prayer, no discussion of God at all! They said it's because not everybody believes in God, and that that (attitude) should be respected."

"And you know what else?" she continued. "Our state seal has a cross, and they had it removed, for the same reason-- that not all people here believe in the existence of God. Gusto pa ngang alisin ang 'In God We Trust' sa likod ng money! May building dito na ang harap niya may nakalagay na Ten Commandments -- ipinatanggal din yun!"

"You know," I replied, "all this American pride about freedom of expression, the Bill of Rights guarantees the freedom of religion, bakit nila ipapatanggal 'yung Ten Commandments for example, eh kung that's your building naman, and the Ten Commandments is part of what you believe in, then putting that on your building is your prerogative, part of your freedom of expression and religion... "

"Eh yung building daw is in a public place, so whatever your personal rights, (they) have to be subjugated by public rights," she explained. "Di daw puede yung freedom of expression ng religion mo kasi may iba kang freedom na inaapakan."

"What?!" I gasped, "bawal apakan ang freedom nila kaya yung freedom ko na lang ang aapakan?"

Incredible. Marginalizing. BS.

I suddenly understood why she was adamant for a sectarian education. And I suddenly appreciated the kind of freedom we enjoy here in 'Pinas -- live and let live.

A Liberal Believer, I am
I am a liberal in the sense that while I am Catholic, I am tolerant of religious orientations. For me, religion and religious practices are secondary; what is essential is that you believe that there is someone, something far mighty and supreme than any of us. If we can believe the existence of galaxies we haven't even seen, of air we can only breathe but not see, if we can get excited about the possibilities of nuclear fission, traveling in the speed of light, or the existence of anti-matter, how can we simply stand by our arrogant willfulness and simply refuse to believe that there is a God?


Here's a story I got in the mail from another good friend-- a story Rev. John Powell, a professor at Loyola University in Chicago, shared about a student in his Theology of Faith class:

Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith.

That was the day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind both blinked. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches below his shoulders. It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that long. I guess it was just coming into fashion then.

I know in my mind that it isn't what's on your head but what's in it that counts; but on that day, I was unprepared and my emotions flipped I immediately filed Tommy under "S" for strange... very strange.

Tommy turned out to be the "atheist in residence" in my Theology of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at, or whined about the possibility of an unconditionally Loving Father/God.

We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the back pew. When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final exam, he asked in a cynical tone, "Do you think I'll ever find God?"

I decided instantly on a little shock therapy. "No!" I said very emphatically.

"Why not?" he responded, "I thought that was the product you were pushing."

I let him get five steps from the classroom door and then called out, "Tommy! I don't think you'll ever find Him, but I am absolutely certain that He will find you!"

He shrugged a little and left my class and my life. I felt slightly disappointed at the thought that he had missed my clever line: "He will find you!" At least I thought it was clever.

Later, I heard that Tommy had graduated and I was duly grateful. Then a sad report came. I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer.

Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into my office, his body was very badly wasted and the long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy. But his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first time, I believe.

"Tommy, I've thought about you so often--I hear you are sick", I blurted out.

"Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It's a matter of weeks."

"Can you talk about it, Tom?", I asked.

"Sure, what would you like to know?" he replied.

"What's it like to be only twenty-four and dying?", I asked.

"Well, it could be worse." he replied.

"Like what?", I asked. "Well, like being fifty and having no values or ideals; like being fifty and thinking that booze, seducing women, and making money are the real biggies in life." he replied.

I began to look through my mental file cabinet under 'S' where I had filed Tommy as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by classification, God sends back into my life to educate me.)

"But what I really came to see you about", Tom said, "is something you said to me on the last day of class." (He remembered!)

He continued, "I asked you if you thought I would ever find God and you said, No!' which surprised me. Then you said, 'But He will find you.' I thought about that a lot, even though my search for God was hardly intense at that time."

(My clever line. He thought about that a lot!)

"But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me that it was malignant, that's when I got serious about locating God. And when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven. "But God did not come out. In fact, nothing happened. Did you ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with trying. And then you quit."

"Well, one day I woke up, and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there, I just quit.. I decided that I didn't really care about God, about an after life, or anything like that. I decided to spend what time I had left doing something more profitable..."

"I thought about you and your class and I remembered something else you had said: 'The essential sadness is to go through life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them.'"

"So, I began with the hardest one, my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him. "Dad,"

"Yes, what?" he asked without lowering the newspaper.

"Dad, I would like to talk with you."

"Well, talk."

"I mean... It's really important". The newspaper came down three slow inches. "What is it?"

"Dad, I love you--I just wanted you to know that."

Tom smiled at me and said it with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and secret joy flowing inside of him.

"The newspaper fluttered to the floor. Then my father did two things I could never remember him ever doing before. He cried and he hugged me. We talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me."

"It was easier with my mother and little brother. They cried with me, too, and we hugged each other, and started saying real nice things to each other. We shared the things we had been keeping secret for so many ! years. I was only sorry about one thing --- that I had waited so long. Here I was, just beginning to open up to all the people I had actually been close to."

"Then, one day I turned around and God was there. He didn't come to me when I pleaded with Him. I guess I was like an animal trainer holding out a hoop:" 'C'mon, jump through. C'mon, I'll give You three days, three weeks.'

"Apparently God does things in His own way and at His own hour. But the important thing is that He was there. He found me! You were right. He found me even after I stopped looking for Him."

"Tommy", I practically gasped: "I think you are saying something very important and much more universal than you realize. To me, at least, you are saying that the surest way to find God is not to make Him a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant consolation in time of need, but rather by opening to love. You know, the Apostle John said that. He said: 'God is love, and anyone who lives in love is living with God and God is living in him.'"

"Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you in class you were a real pain. But (laughingly) you can make it all up to me now. Would you come into my present Theology of Faith course and tell them what you have just told me? If I told them the same thing it! wouldn't be half as effective as if you were to tell it."

"Ooh I was ready for you, but I don't know if I'm ready for your class."

"Tom, think about it. If and when you are ready, give me a call." In a few days, Tom called, said he was ready for the class, that he wanted to do that for God and for me. So we scheduled a date.

However, he never made it. He had another appointment, far more important than the one with me and my class. Of course, his life was not really ended by his death, only changed. He made the great step from faith into vision. He found a life far more beautiful than the eye of man has ever seen or the ear of man has ever heard or the mind of man has ever imagined.

Before he died, we talked one last time. "I'm not going to make it to your class", he said. "I know, Tom."

"Will you tell them for me? Will you tell the whole world for me?"

"I will, Tom. I'll tell them. I'll do my best."

So, to all of you who have been kind enough to read this simple story about God's love, thank you for listening. And to you, Tommy, somewhere in the sunlit, verdant hills of heaven --- I told them, Tommy, as best I could.

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olbjoy said...

i had a catholic education too, but i was southern baptist through and through. i must say, the catholics know how to teach virtue and i guess that's why your friends went through all that trouble.
the benedictine priests drilled very important things into my head, call it brainwashing, undemocratic indoctrination, whatever...but it helped.


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Why AnneThology?

Anthology means a collection of poems, short stories, plays, songs, or excerpts. My name is Anne, and this blog contains a collection of my thoughts, musings and writings (poems, short stories), some songs I like, plus a sprinkling of excerpts I find worth sharing --hence, AnneThology.

Did you know?

Anthology derives from the Greek word ἀνθολογία (anthologia; literally “flower-gathering”) for garland — or bouquet of flowers — which was the title of the earliest surviving anthology, assembled by Meleager of Gadara.

Look, what I have -- these are all for you.