Grade three. Age, nine. We had few books in the house during those times, as far as I could remember. We only had a copy of a New Testament Bible in Tagalog and textbooks from school. I'm quite amazed of my childhood days every time I remember that I never grew tired reading those over and over again, especially the Bible, though I focused more on the vivid stories told in the four Gospels and the Book of Revelation. With my imaginative mind, the era of early Christians as well as the apocalyptic prophesy appeared to me as if they were happening around me. I was a kid then, and of course, I looked at the Bible as a thick storybook and I thought that everything that I had read had no other connotation.
Grade four. Age, ten. When the school year began, Catholic Catechism subject was included in our curriculum. Everyday, right after lunch break, a middle-aged woman whom we call Ate Tess gives us lessons on Catholic teachings. She taught us the Lord’s prayer, as well as the prayers used during the mass. She also taught us the sacraments, the basic doctrines of the Church and everything that we have to know about Catholicism and how to become a good follower of Christ in a Catholic point of view. We’ve been told that if we do good, we will go to Heaven and we will be sent to Hell if we do bad things. I was terrified with such ideas on my head so I memorized every prayer and lessons she was teaching us to to become ‘the good person’ that I could ever be and be spared of the fires of hell. I was not expecting it, but at the end of the 2nd quarter (that was the time we finished our Catechism subject) I was given the award of best student in Catechism. It was ironic though, I didn’t practice the teachings at home, like praying all the memorized prayers. It was as if I was thinking that when I’m home, it is okay not to say the prayers, but at school, I definitely have to recite them. The recital at school would give me relief knowing that I would be spared of Hell, with the compliments and continuous coaxing of Ate Tess to study what she had been teaching us. At home, it would be fine. Nobody tells me that I should pray the Lord’s prayer fervently, and my parents(who seemed not to care what I have learned at school) were always away anyway.
Still in Grade four. Age, ten. Weekend. It was Saturday morning. Since we didn’t have any classes, me and my two younger sisters went to hangout on a small hut next to our house, owned by my grandparents. Nobody was there during that time, so we decided to play, taking our toys, and even our books. We were doing some role-playing; it was not the usual mock parenting but the portrayal of classroom instructions. I was the teacher and my two sisters together with a bunch of make-believe student toys listened to me as I lectured on a particular subject that I believe was something about plants. Our small kiddie discussion suddenly stopped when a man, in his early twenties dropped by and asked to be included in the class. Me and my sisters were silent for the moment, but burst into laughter few seconds later. When we were already done, the man was still smiling then introduced himself to us. He told us that we can call him Kuya Jonas. He showed us some books, with colorful pictures depicting Bible scenes. I was really amazed by those books that I asked him if he could give me some. Without any hesitation, he gave me three books, with a Bible (both Old and New Testaments) included. He then asked me if he could come again next Saturday, to teach me something about the Bible. I answered that he could, but he have to bring more books next time. He agreed, and the succeeding weeks turned to be the most exciting time of my childhood. I kept on asking questions, he answered them with Bible verses. Through that I have learned a lot. I also continued reading the Bible he gave me, starting from the book of Genesis up to the Book of Daniel. In no time, I was able to identify most of the major Old Testament characters. Our Bible study lasted until I was in grade six. I didn’t want to stop, but as I grow older and become more immersed at school, things were becoming more and more complicated.
Grade five. Age, eleven. My mother told me that our aunt would be staying at home from Manila for a week-long vacation. When she arrived, I learned that she was a member of Iglesia Ni Cristo. I told her that I’ve been studying the Bible for sometime. She was quite surprised, but told me that I could learn more because she would be inviting their pastor at our house on the following week.
Wednesday. The INC pastor came with two other women whom my aunt referred to as ‘diaconesas.’ The term sounded funny for me so as their facial expressions. They seemed to be trying hard to project a smile every time the pastor looked at them. My aunt was the one who welcomed them, telling the pastor that I am quite knowledgeable about the Bible. The pastor was not impressed, so he started asking me questions that I couldn’t answer. Finally, the question was something about the Bible itself. I answered something relating to Dead Sea Scrolls. He retaliated with codices, raising his voice every now and then. I didn’t know if he just sounded sarcastic or angry during that time, but I burst into tears. Right before the pastor left, I heard him telling my aunt, “akala ko ba marunong sa Bibliya?”
Grade six. Age, twelve. I was almost ready to proceed with an in depth study of the Bible with Kuya Jonas, but due to my parents desire, I had to stop. They told me that it would only hinder my studies and other school activities. My grandfather also told me to stop doing the things he call ‘nonsense.’ He repeatedly stressed out that the Bible was written only by people and that all religion had no intentions but money. Lucky for me, all those things just went through my ears.
I kept asking myself why didn’t my parents realize that studying Bible would also be for my own good. I still got good grades at school and I tried as much as possible to be a responsible son. I would sit for hours alone along a stream near our house when there’s nothing to do and wondered why the had to keep me from studying the Bible. Perhaps because I no longer do the sign of the cross. Or because I no longer eat dinuguan every time my father cooks some. Even if I wanted to study, I still had to follow them. I was in no position to push my beliefs when I was still dependent to my parents.
Second year high school. Age, fourteen. Since I had a background on the Bible, I started to have doubts on Catholic teachings. But still, I went to church. For me, it was more of an extra-curricular thing. I joined the Campus Ministry and we were given schedules to lead the Rosary every six o’clock in the evening during the month of October. The usual arrangement was two students lead the prayers, one would recite the first part and the other would answer with the second part of the prayer. And so it went until we completed the whole cycle of prayers. I remember back then, that when we were already have to say the Hail Mary, I hear myself mispronouncing hail to hell. My co-student would suppress her urge to laugh at me, making squeaky noises that would trigger a chain of chuckle to other students at our back. Meanwhile, I tried not to notice them, but deep in my thoughts, I found the repetition of prayers funny. Setting those thoughts aside, I would mumble ‘sorry Lord!’ silently.
Third year high school. Age, fifteen. We were studying world history. The topics that caught my interest was the time of the Crusades and the Reformation. It was not the actual event of what had happened then that drawn me to do more research, but the involvement of the Church in these two historical events. I learned that the Church during those times held a very strong political power. So strong that some leaders abused the power to rule in different aspects on the lives of the commoners, even those who were considered elite in their social status.
My skepticism heightened as I continued reading more about history. Then I started asking people whom I believed had the authority to supply the most relevant answers for my questions. Why was it that the Church stopped Galileo from continuing his experiments? Why was it that the Church during the late Middle Ages sold indulgences to people to remiss their punishment in purgatory? Would a piece of paper could wash away their sins? Why did the Church prevented some men to publish the Bible in common language during the Reformation? Why did Church leaders got involved in worldly affairs when Christ said that we should not be ‘(part) of this world?’ I wasn’t able to get an answer that would satisfy my wondering mind. Maybe I asked the wrong people, or maybe those people were not keen enough to look deeper into my questions.
I felt as if my third year in high school brought a drastic change in my beliefs. I became more radical, I asked with reason. It was the Renaissance period of my life. I became aware of how some people, religious as they appear, present at the church every Sunday, did the opposite of what the sermon told them to do. Some went to church only to display their expensive clothes or body accessories. Some went there for mere appearance, might it be to make other people believe that they were devout enough to cover for their deplorable lifestyle.
With the similar observation to some church leaders, I felt a sudden drift away from the belief that I had had since childhood. Then the continuous generation of questions inside my head further covered the topics that involve the doctrines of the Catholic Church. The presence of religious icons, the idea of Hell as well as the Purgatory among others made me rethink whether those things were indeed, biblical. Upon looking back of what I had studied in my elementary years, I realized that there’s a lot of things existing within the Catholic dogma that contradicts the Bible. And with that, the Catholic faith that was still in me faltered.
First year college. Age, seventeen. I rarely went to church, only when some of my friends urged me to go. At this point, I already detached myself from my Catholic beliefs. I shared similar sentiments with some of my co-scholar. However, we decided to go to church to hear the sermon one Sunday afternoon.
We arrived before the mass started so we went to find available seats on the front row to hear the sermon clearly. And when the supposed to be the sermon part commenced, much to our dismay, the priest only read a very long letter regarding the RH Bill, how it violates life, so on and so forth. The letter condemned those people behind the bill, and stated that a member of the Church should not support such bill. My friends and I looked at each other with sarcastic expressions on our faces, as if everyone was thinking about the same thing. Later that afternoon, when we went back to the dormitory, I remembered one of them talking about the separation of the Church and the State.
Second year college. Age, eighteen. I kept myself away from any religious denomination. I was already discouraged by some pastors whom I had seen before doing some debate on the city plaza, raising their voices to one another, one holding a Bible already torn, perhaps due to extensive scanning of pages to denounce the doctrine of the other individual. Why did they keep on saying that his own belief is the absolute truth when it is contrary to their actions? I was cynical. So another alteration came to me and I focused more on living life the way other young people live: no headaches of thinking about doctrines, no restriction on moral standards and no arguments to incite since I didn’t discuss my beliefs with other people.
I noticed that I began to pray less. I had reasoned myself out. Why ask for forgiveness if every now and then I make mistakes? If I already know that I’d been sinful, that I am aware of my wrongdoings? I was thinking that it would be better not to pray if I am going to make the same sin anyway. I found out that it was easy not to follow the doctrines that I once followed, but hard to follow the moral standards set in the Bible. Definitely, it was easy to succumb to urges that would provide gratification than follow strict rules that would inhibit desires. Little by little, I was slowly drawn on the verge of turning into agnostic.
Third year college. Age, nineteen. During Sundays, every cadet was required to attend the PDL or Purpose Driven Life sessions led by our training officer who turned out to be a pastor of the local Christian church. We were given lectures on the scriptures, we did Bible sharing and a lot of jam sessions. It somewhat made me realize that I had been missing a very important part of my life: God. I realized that in the past, my stubbornness made me arrogant that I forgot to acknowledge the Divine Who was the very reason of my existence. I decided to change myself. To become a good person, a follower of Christ. Though I was not eager to join any Christian sect or denomination, I thought that it would be better not to have any religious affiliation as long as I conform to the Bible.
Last year. Age, twenty. It was my first time onboard a commercial vessel. I met different people, with different religious belief. One was a Seventh Day Adventist, he kept on telling me that pork is not supposed to be eaten. The other one was a Croatian. He’d been lecturing some Krishna Consciousness stuff, reincarnation and sacred cows to me. There was also an Indian guy, who was a member of Zoroastrianism (a religion I had only read in history books), who told me something about sacred fires in their religion. So much with the new ideas, I only listened to them, digesting their beliefs, though all didn’t sank in my mind. Having an idea of this and that would be enough so that I could act without offending them and respect what they believe.
Present day. Age, twenty-one. I still don’t eat dinuguan, nor believe in the idea of Hell (how could a loving God create such a place). I don’t do the sign of the cross. I only go to church just to accompany my Ate. I still pray, every night before I go to sleep, but my prayers are not the memorized ones. My parents no longer question my beliefs, nor ask me to go to church with them. Like a freelance believer, I do what I have to do to be good and I believe what I have to believe to be right.
I’ve been into a series of religious journey, and I am expecting that there will be more journeys to come. I recently read the book Man Seeks God, a journey of a man who decided to examine one religion after another, but end up incorporating each belief into himself. I might be able to follow his lead, try searching to find what suits me. I could travel in search of a good religion, settle myself and live according to its system. Or I could be, as I said before, be a freelance believer, play safe, avoid guilt and live life in a belief that’s always win-win for me.
Like someone alone on a boat drifting into the ocean to find his way to dry land, I lost my religion and now I am trying to search for a true one, even if it sounds elusive. I’ve been living with my own beliefs, yet those are not enough to suffice the totality of becoming a true Christian. I know that I believe in God, that everyday, I try to avoid temptations. I’ve been doing good things so as to follow Christ’s example, but would that be enough? I have notion that as long as I am good, I would be fine, or am I?
With a lot of question I am still uncertain of my direction. There should be something to guide me, so that I would be able to find my way towards the light of the Divine. I might be living today with so much adherence to my own beliefs, but still, faith should not exist for my own or other people’s convenience.
Photo: credits to the owner.
