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2012-01-27T15:57:00.002+08:00

+ RWS 479 January 29, 2012

4^th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Gospel: Mark 1: 21-28

23 In their synagogue was a man with an unclean spirit; 24 he cried out, "What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?

I know who you are—the Holy One of God!"

Unclean spirits at work

By Bishop Precioso D. Cantillas, SDB, DD

The fearful complaint of the presence of Jesus by the man with an unclean spirit in the gospel incident cited above reminds me of a very common and pervasive situation in the world today and even at the work place and among workers—the lack of awareness of God’s presence and His loving will to save everyone, or, the apparent dominance of temporal and material things over those that are spiritual. There is the so-called “tyranny of relativism” where things are considered not on absolute truths but on what suits personal and/or individual preferences.

Those who consider the workers more like tools and machineries for the production of goods, and who subsequently prefer greater profits than the greater welfare of the workers and their dependents—are like the man with an unclean spirit who fights against what Jesus came to earth for, which is to save mankind from all kinds of bondage, both in body and in spirit. Likewise, the workers who do not see beyond their work and the material benefits thereof and do not make extra effort to inform and form themselves about the reality of God and their dependence on Him, are “silently”, and perhaps, unconsciously objecting to God’s active concern on His creatures and on the world which He has created. Extraordinary sighting of demonic presence at the work place or scary manifestations of the evil spirits’ possession of workers may not be reported, but, there are certainly a lot of situations and things which point to the presence of the evil spirit in the world of work.

I believe that every worker should also beware of the presence of evil in the workplace and the various faces or forms it manifests. Recognizing one’s sins, mistakes and wrongdoings—one’s alliance with evil—is the first step to fearing the Lord and eventually crying for His mercy and forgiveness, thus, perfecting not only one’s work, but also one’s life.

Evil spirits in the workplace

By Teresa R. Tunay, OCDS

Some years back I witnessed an exorcism at a construction site—a big hotel near Roxas Boulevard. The owners of the building asked for it as they believed evil spirits were lurking, victimizing workers in a series of accidents, the worst of which was when a worker walked into a floorless elevator and naturally plunged to a grim death. The exorcism rite was nothing like we see in the movies involving an exorcist battling the devil possessing a person. This was an interreligious thing where “prayer warriors” holed out in a glass walled room on the ground floor prayed the rosary the whole night, while a select group of exorcists conducted a kabbala-based ritual several storeys up.

There to observe and write about the ritual, I was allowed to see the preparation, and was given enough information about what was to happen, but for my own protection I was told to stay with the prayer warriors during the ritual itself. (By the way, the prayer warriors’ room was encircled in salt, a substance believed to shield one against evil spirits, and we inside that room were warned not to look outside the glass walls lest we see someone we know but who’s actually an evil spirit in disguise wanting to come in). So, the exorcists had Latin prayers written inside a huge circle of salt where the exorcists were to sit during the ritual. While kabbala is Jewish, the exorcists used some Catholic saints’ images, the crucifix, holy water, and lots of candles burning.

My point in telling you about this is: we need not wait for workers to die mysterious deaths in order to believe that there are evil spirits in the workplace. Just as benevolent spirits are everywhere, so are malignant ones. We could even be possessed by an unclean spirit, sad to say, without knowing, or admitting, that we are. As long as we refuse to know ourselves to recognize that we could be enslaved by evil spirits, we will be cooperating with them in corrupting the workplace. The spirit of pride, of anger, of lust, of sloth, of envy, et al—are they not present in us? How are we freed from them? As the gospel says—Jesus commands the unclean spirits and they obey Him! Take a hint.

'Ma, keep out of my bed!'

2012-01-17T17:29:00.001+08:00

Quite a number of parents I know who have a good relationship with their children throw their hands up in frustration when it comes to the issue of the RH Bill. A dear friend sounds weary telling me, “Hay naku, that subject is taboo in our home! Mia is pro-RH. She’s 22, studies at UP, and tells me, ‘Ma, you can tell me anything you want except go against RH. Case closed!’ Imagine! It makes me sooo sad!”

Another mother who is so passionately against RH Bill declined my offer of a pro-life car sticker, saying, “We have only one family car; my son will never use that sticker!” She says that her 23-year old single, pro-RH son once and for all squelched her pro-life explanations with, “Ma, keep out of my bed!”

Both mothers are devoted and practising Catholics, faithful to Church teachings, raised their children well, and have the sympathy and support of their husbands—typical of the happy middle class Filipino family. And now, in their frustration, both are asking themselves, “Where did we go wrong? They used to be such nice, obedient kids!”

When a couple of my own nieces, in their late 20s, openly told me they were for the passage of the RH Bill, all I replied was, “Your are intelligent girls. If you knew everything about that bill, you yourselves would fight it.” They countered, “What’s wrong with giving maternal health services to poor people?” Then the husband of one asked, “What else is there to know?” I said, “Just think—if that bill were so perfect, why is it taking years to be passed?” Long story short, he asked that I email him all background information I have about it.

So why would otherwise good and intelligent young people support such a damaging and misleading bill? How do proponents of the bill lure to their camp well-meaning celebrities like Lea Salonga who herself admitted on TV during a debate that she does not contracept because she’d rather “leave it to God”, nor does she take the pill because “it’s bad for my voice”? By the way, she was cut off the air at that point.

Young, supposedly smart people who openly and even loudly support the RH bill’s passage do so because they are misinformed—they are given limited information (usually about the “good side” of the bill) to tug at their heartstrings and make them believe they are doing the Filipino people some service by fighting anti-RH folks.

Others who tolerate RH Bill’s passage merely pick up information from the media—where the louder voices, as we know, are more commonly and easily heard and believed. Few are convinced that the issue is important enough for them to read the bill, to follow the interpellation sessions, or to obtain more information from people in the know.

Worse, there is a malicious misinformation campaign aimed at establishing in the minds of the young that the RH Bill case is simply a Catholic Church vs. State issue: CBCP vs. Noynoy, Old vs. Modern, natural family planning vs. artificial, etc. As a result many anti-Catholics, Catholics but anti-Church, and those who think themselves “cool” and avant-garde automatically judge the RH bill as commendable and put down the Church as a bunch of old fogeys and narrow-minded hypocrites who are woefully out of touch with reality.

Enemies of the truth scheme to discredit the Church in the eyes of the young because the Church is the only institution potent enough to expose lies, defend the truth, and perpetuate the good. The question is: how well are we arming our young people with the love of truth?

UST human cross now Guinness World Records’ largest

2011-08-11T23:57:00.001+08:00

It’s now official! Guinness World Records has certified that indeed, the human cross formed by the Thomasian community at the the University of Santo Tomas (UST) on Ash Wednesday, March 9, 2011, is the largest ever formed in the world.

The letter from Guinness, dated August 8, 2011 and addressed to the UST Office of Public Affairs (OPA) says: “We are pleased to confirm that you have successfully set the new Guinness World Records title for ‘Largest Human Cross’. Guinness World Records congratulates you on your achievement. Enclosed is your official Guinness World Records certificate confirming your title. Details of your achievement have been entered into our Records Database.”

The Guinness World Records Certificate bearing the GWR seal was received by the UST-OPA on August 10, 2011, states: “The largest human cross was achieved by 13,266 participants at an event organised by the University of Santo Tomas (Philippines) in Manila, Philippines, on 9 March 2011.”

The human cross event at the UST was set for Ash Wednesday to highlight the message of the Lenten season, penance—a dramatic offering marking the University’s 400^thfoundation anniversary. Students, faculty members and employees with crosses of ash on their foreheads wore black and white to form the record-breaking human cross—they kept themselves still and in prayerful silence for 15 minutes.

The iconic black and white cross symbolizes the University’s Catholic and Dominican identity which has stamped Philippine history and Christian growth for four centuries now. The Ash Wednesday event was also meant as the University’s affirmation of life, a timely statement wordlessly issued in the midst of the controversy over the Reproductive Health Bill.

The record of a cross made up of 13,266 people praying for the whole country would be hard to beat. The Guinness World Records website places the UST human cross in the “Amazing Feats” and “Mass Participation” categories. This mass participation at the UST parade grounds is an amazing feat, indeed, and it could only happen in the Philippines!

To see the official announcement online, go to www.guinnessworldrecords.com, click “Find a record”, write “Largest human cross” in the search field.

Take 3: Mideo, TBoy, Miriam

2011-08-03T22:12:00.003+08:00

By Teresa R. Tunay, OCDS

What would you say if you were asked for comment on these occasions?

Last July 23, I got three emails from friends. One reacted to a TV coverage of an art exhibit at the CCP where the artist reportedly “disfigured the image of Christ… with obscenities”. Another suggested that the exhibit be stopped. The third one enclosed the video coverage of the contentious exhibit. Coming on the heels of the media-bloated Pajero-bishops brouhaha, this CCP thing understandably infuriated many devout Catholics like my friends who were rallying others to denounce the Church-bashers. I emailed them my take on it:

“I'd leave it to others to ‘do something about it’.

As far as I see it, this particular piece is not art; it is graffiti. Art elevates the soul; graffiti regurgitates all the dirt the artist has swallowed from his environment.

Based on what the artist Mideo Cruz says in the TV interview, it seems his purpose for creating that piece is NOT to elevate the soul but to shock viewers. He doesn't shock me. Nothing anyone can do to disfigure an image of Christ can change THE image of Christ He Himself has revealed to me. Neither can it arouse my indignation towards the vandal. As an artist, he's free to express himself. And those who are offended by his act are free to hit him. Let's hope he learns that he has brought it upon himself due to his less than noble intention.

As for the alleged threats to the artist’s life on account of that work, I wouldn't bite that naively. For all we know it's coming from anti-Church folks, done purposely to make the Church look bad, and knowing media would pick it up. You know how such scandal mongers media can be. A true follower of Christ will never do that (threaten etc...)

I don't know Mideo Cruz from Adam but judging from the handful of his works I have seen online, I think he wants to call attention to his work or to himself (as many artists do) but it could also be his veiled but desperate call for help to understand what the Church teaches. He is a product of poor catechesis, to say the least. So is Celdran. So are the so-called Filipino Free Thinkers. So there. It comes back to us who believe we know better. Do we know better, really? How are we communicating God to our churchgoers? To unbelievers? To "infidels"? If we see nothing amiss with our witness, then let us prepare to see more Mideo Cruzes rising from our present crop of kindergarteners.

That's all I can say, as I imagine Jesus writing in the sand.

Shalom!”

Another instance when my comment was sought involved an article written by Teodoro Locsin, Jr. titled “Damn the bishops for taking it lying down”. The piece extolled Senator Miriam Santiago who at the Senate hearing with the bishops “did what the pathetic bishops had failed to do for themselves, for their Church, and for her dismayed children”.

Allow me to share excerpts from the 1,604-word article: “This shame cannot be wiped away until the Church pays back the government in the same coin it was dealt at the Senate. If it doesn’t go on the attack in every pulpit in the land, then should all true Catholics turn their backs on this ridiculous, faithless and timid religion… God damn the bishops for their timidity and abjectness… may they all go to hell for shaming our religion. In this scandal of lies, the government knocked the crown of glory from the head of the Church; if our bishops will stoop only to bow to their traducers rather than retrieve it, then every right thinking Catholic should pick it up from the gutter and shove it down the throat of the government.”

All I could say to the persons who asked for my comment was, “I don’t personally know Locsin, but I’m imagining Jesus scolding Peter “Get behind me, Satan! You are an obstacle to me. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.”

The third “take” was sought by text a few hours after Sen. Miriam Santiago delivered her sponsorship speech at the Senate yesterday. The texter asked “How will CBCP or the bishops handle this?” I read Miriam’s speech in her blog. My semi-tongue-in-cheek reply was: “Why should CBCP or the bishops ‘handle’ it? This woman totally misses the point. She is so hell-bent on passing the killer bill that her own sound and fury deafens her to what the bishops and the pro-lifers are trying to say. Instead of dignifying her flawed treatise with a response, the bishops should chill it. Let’s pray they focus on inspiring and motivating the priests who would in turn set the pulpits afire with the power of conviction. The fight for life goes on, the enemy’s cacophony notwithstanding. (We can even turn the senator’s argument against her. She insists on primacy of conscience? Why then should the government legislate a bill that violates conscience?) If in the process of conveying The Truth to the faithful the priests happen to mow down the senator, c’est la vie, but let not their moves be dictated by the misguided zeal of some. Rather, let us continue sowing good seeds and doing better deeds. The moral of the story: See what happens when a few units of Theology get into a brilliant student’s head.”

I chuckled as that last sentence came with the image of Jesus telling His disciples, “Let them alone; they are blind guides of the blind…”

See—I may not always satisfy people who ask for comments, but at least I tell the truth. And that’s the truth. (This article first came out in the author's column, AND THAT'S THE TRUTH, in the August 2011 issue of CBCP Monitor, the official publication of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines)

One woman's story, as told to...

2011-07-09T02:47:00.003+08:00

Following is the story of a public school teacher who went with friends to the Batasan to give moral support to the sponsors of the RH Bill. Here’s her account, as told to this writer:

“I am a public school teacher. I grew an interest in the RH Bill because of my friends who work in a Non Government Office (NGO) and are in favor of the bill’s passing. Ever since I learned that we women would have at last a law dedicated to our health and empowerment, I followed the developments in the news. I watched ‘Harapan’ and ‘Grand Debate’ on television. I rooted for the pro-RH side, convinced beyond doubt that I would be among the first to benefit from the RH Bill if passed. I voted online for the bill’s passing, and although I wondered why the anti-RH gathered more votes, I thought people voted against the bill because they did not know what I and my friends knew; or maybe they were nuns and society women who do not experience the same problems we lower class women do.

“I am still of reproductive age, I take the pill, and I am married to a brute. My children are aged 8, 7 and 5. When talking with my friends about the helplessness of women in our society and under the law, I would get mad and think ours is really a male-dominated society. Women who get to the top (like women in politics, business or movie stars) do so because they are born rich or beautiful and therefore have the support of men in power. They have the luck which we other women do not have, but I am not complaining. At least I finished college and have a good job; however, that does not put me in a much better place than my fellow Filipinas who never even got beyond Grade 6.

My NGO friends


The most beautiful shape a woman can have

“I first heard about the RH Bill when my NGO friends invited me to their meetings, and that’s where I became convinced that RH would really be good for me and the poor women in our country, the underdogs in our male-dominated society. I was thankful to have met also big names like Congressman Risa Hontiveros and Janet Garin, and for the first time in my life, I felt those lucky influential women do feel for us ordinary Filipinas after all. Somehow I felt that among my friends and those women of power I would find support in enduring a bad marriage.

“I was thankful that it was school vacation when my friends invited me to join them at the Batasan to give support to our pro-RH Congressmen during interpellations on May 18, 24 and 25 and on June 1 and 7. I met again Cong. Janet Garin who willingly posed for a photograph with us. I saw Congressman Manny Pacquiao but when I suggested we take a snapshot with him, my companions held me back and said ‘sa kabila iyan!’. I was frustrated but I did not mind. I was so excited to be there among valiant women pushing the bill to help our poor sisters.

Nothing prepared me

“On my third time at the Batasan, May 25, something happened in me that up to now I cannot understand. My NGO friends did not notice it but I knew I had begun to be less and less eager to join them, because I realized that nothing in my association or discussions with them prepared me for what I was to hear from ‘sa kabila’, like Congressman Roilo Golez and Pablo Garcia.

“I began to have this feeling that my friends had actually betrayed me although I could not pinpoint how. As I listened intently to the interpellations of the anti-RH Congressmen and the replies of the RH Bill sponsors, and overheard some remarks of the ‘purple people’ in our gallery, so many questions kept popping up inside of me but I did not have the nerve to ask my friends because I felt they would not know the answers themselves. Worse, I suspected that even if they did know the answers, they would not tell me the truth. It was a very strange feeling that came with every discovery. For example, I did not know about a ‘Magna Carta for Women’ until I heard Congressman Mitos Magsaysay interpellating, and I honestly thought she made sense in saying all RH Bill’s concerns about women’s health are already addressed in the Magna Carta for Women, making RH Bill practically a useless carbon copy. I also had that strange feeling when the interpellation revealed that the contraceptives to be dispensed freely by the government would be bought with the people’s money. However, I kept silent and tried to enjoy my time with my NGO friends, the burger meal we would share after each session, and I stuck it out with them up to the last date when the session was suspended.

New knowledge

“When the session resumes in July, I know I will tell them I cannot join them to Batasan anymore since I cannot be absent from my classes. My unasked questions simmered in my head, leading me to reexamine my own personal situation in the light of the new knowledge I have gained from the arguments of the ‘kabilang side’. For my own good and for the sake of my children’s future I believe such new knowledge should not be dismissed as propaganda as my friends believe.

“I take the pill, I told you, but nobody ever told me about the side effects that Congressman Carlo Nograles reported during interpellation. All I knew was what my doctor said when I asked her if I could take the pill. She assured me my monthly period would certainly come every 28 days for as long as I’d take them; I heard nothing about how it could ‘regulate my period’ or what the pill did to my insides. I would recall, however, that my doctor taught me how to examine my own breasts and be alert for lumps or a ‘palpable mass’ but she never mentioned about breast cancer, and I trusted her too much to bother reading the medical literature that came with the pill pack.

With Aling Marcia

“Then I thought, too, about the poor women who hope to benefit from the passing of the RH Bill. In one of those Batasan sessions I sat next to Aling Marcia, a woman from a depressed community in Metro Manila. She said she would welcome the free birth control pills because her common law husband maltreats her and she does not want to add to their three children. We are on the same boat: a brute of a partner, three children, and but I did not tell her. I was too ashamed to. She puts up with her partner because she has nowhere else to go, having reached only Grade 6 and having no skills to be on her own; I stick to my husband because in spite of my college degree I do not know any better.

“On the way home that night, I came upon the truth that yes, I take the pill, but not because I don’t want more children. I love children and am not really against having more, if only my domestic situation were not so bad.

“I realized that through all those five years I have taken the pill, no child has been added, true, but my husband grew even worse. He knows I am on the pill, so when he claims his ‘marital rights’ I cannot use the fear of pregnancy as an excuse to turn him away. He insists on those “marital rights” on demand, and because he has superior strength, I am helpless. Is that not rape? When he comes home way past midnight, his breath reeking of beer and cigarettes combined with a strange perfume, and then robs me of sleep as he forces himself upon me, it is hell! It must be the same hell Aling Marcia goes through, and I seriously doubt now if the RH Bill can really help us women who are poor and powerless and suffering in more ways than its sponsors can ever imagine.

True empowerment for women

‘Do they really believe that just because we’re using contraceptives, it would be right for men to use us when and as long as they want to? That we would enjoy unlimited sex simply because we are not afraid to get pregnant? There are many other reasons we would rather not have sex: when we sense infidelity in a husband, as when he takes his cellphone to the bathroom, comes home with lipstick on his collar, locks his account on the family computer, takes on too much ‘overtime’ without any explanations, so many other things.

“Anyone who wants to really empower women should give us true education, the kind that teaches us how to stand on our own, to esteem ourselves as anybody’s equal. They should implement programs to equip us to help out with family finances or become economically autonomous if need be. They should create more opportunities for our husbands to become better providers, and implement laws that teach them a lesson when they have been bad to their wives. The state should support our efforts at giving our daughters a well-rounded education that will make them explore their potentials and be fulfilled as human beings.

“I have discovered enough from those Batasan sessions to be able to say that life in our country cannot be improved by an extensive sex education program and free contraceptives for the poor. I have to thank my NGO friends who brought me to Batasan, but if I am fortunate enough to hear more interpellations in the next Congress, I plan do so from the side of the people who wear red. I may lose my friends in the process, but at least I will be true to the emerging new me.” (From the author's column, "And that's the truth", in the CBCP Monitor)

Witnessing, Pacquiao Style

2011-05-21T02:39:00.012+08:00

Note: the following article came out in the CBCP Monitor, Feb. 10, 2005. I’m reprinting it here for those who would want to know what makes the Pinoy champ tick. The photos, however, are being published for the first time. That's me with Manny, while in the other photo I'm wearing the robe and holding up the shorts Pacman was to wear for the fight. This was taken at shop of Davao couturier who made the outfit, Boy Guinoo, beside me.—TRT

I'm not a boxing fan. I don't relish fights—cock fights, dog fights, horse fights, salagubang fights—least of all people fights. So I'm not into boxing, really. But it's not everyday one gets the chance to shake hands with a boxer—a world champion at that—who makes the sign of the cross and kisses the rosary before entering the boxing ring. In fact, his posters depict him with arms raised in victory, and proudly wearing a rosary around his neck—so proudly that I'd wish certain priests would do the same with their Roman collar.

So when Manny Pacquiao's path and mine crossed in Davao (where he was to knock out Fahprakof Rakkiatgym and retain the IBF Superbantamweight title in October 2002), I gladly accepted his agent's invitation for me to meet him. My hosts insisted that Pacquiao—or any world champion for that matter—would make good copy anytime. And they're right.

But I wasn't interested in Pacquiao's being a boxer per se, or in his being material for a good story, curious though I was of what makes this diminutive Filipino such a giant in his chosen career. My intent was more "devilish." I was after his soul, so to speak. I aimed to probe his psyche. Why the rosary? Did this world boxing champion know that he's sort of serving the Church by his devotion to it, wearing it in his posters for all the world to see? Or is the rosary something of an amulet for him? I was just curious, dead curious.

And so we met. I was rather disappointed that his handshake was not bone-crushing at all, but a very gentle, almost shy one, like his smile. I had also expected him to be somehow image conscious, taking care what to say to media people, after all he's undoubtedly a celebrity's celebrity now, the Philippines' prime export. But no—this one is not a publicist's creation, and I discovered it doesn't take much to make the guileless Pacquiao open up. Just eyeball-to-eyeball contact and naked goodwill on my part. What I uncovered in my "probe" was an uplifting surprise: boxing can be a very spiritual thing, if done Pacquiao's way. Here, let me share with you a piece of the champion's soul.

TRT: What have been the most important lessons life has taught you?

MP. First, that I should have trust and faith in Him. Una iyan. Tiwala sa kanya, at saka pananalig. Kung wala Siya, wala rin ako. Second, that I must have self-discipline. Boxing is no laughing matter. You never know what awaits you when you climb up the ring. Pagpasok mo sa ring baka mamatay ka na, walang nakakaalam niyan. O kaya malumpo ka. You could come out of it a vegetable, or a corpse. And it calls for intense practice, you cannot take it for granted. Dapat, sa Diyos ka umasa at magtiwala, tapos sabayan mo ng disiplina sa sarili. Always pray. Through my faith in Him, I have been able to lift my family out of poverty.

TRT: What particular areas in life do you most need self-discipline on?

MP: My health. No late nights. Walang puyat-puyat. Walang gimmick. I should be in bed and asleep by 8 or 9; up by 5, rise, run for an hour. I should watch what I eat, too: vegetables, fruits, fish—palagi kong ulam iyan! I hardly eat meat, and when I do it should be fat free, inaalis yung taba bago iluto. Likewise, milk should be low-fat or skimmed. My food should be easy-to-digest because I have to remain alert. I religiously practise at one o'clock noon; I just follow my doctor's advice, he knows best, and I don't cheat. No advice from any expert will work if you don't have self-discipline. Even if somebody's guarding you, if you don't control yourself, all the good advice will amount to nothing.

TRT: Besides food and exercise, where else in your lifestyle would self-discipline prove invaluable?

MP: Sex. Sex is absolutely a no-no when I'm getting ready for a fight, which could run on for two, three months. Walang siping iyan. That's a regulation in boxing. Sex weakens you. In fact, some boxers are done in by their opponents' camp by using women as bait. Pinapainan sila ng kampo ng kalaban ng magandang babae bago sila lumaban They send you an irresistible woman the night before the fight—if you have no self-discipline, if you are weak, kakagat ka sa pain, you'll be easily tempted, and that's the end of you.

TRT: But how can you endure that?

MP: In whatever matter, when sacrifice is called for, one has to be patient. If it's food, I just don't look at it anymore. Our eyes are our Number One source of temptation. Lechon, masarap yun! Rich food? Of course, they all taste good, but if looking at them will just make me drool over them—pag tiningnan ko pa sila, maglalaway lang ako—so why should I look? So I refuse to look. Ganon din sa babae. Sino bang lalaki ang ayaw ng babae? (Same thing with women. What man would not want a woman?) But if looking at them would just make me long for sex, why should I look? Self-control is necessary; I just cover my eyes with blinders, parang sa kabayo. Kaya pag sinabi ng trainer ko, masama, masama. Hindi ko na kinukwestyon yun. Masunurin ako eh. Hindi ko na iniisip yung masarap na mawawala sa akin, dahil magapapahirap lang sa akin dun sa mabuting gusto kong gawin. (If my trainer says it's bad, then it's bad. I don't question that anymore. I'm obedient. I don't think anymore of the pleasure that I'll miss, because it will only make it harder for me to do the good I want to do).

TRT: You're trying to say that when you have a goal in life, you should take care not to put anything between you and that goal. But what about your wife? You're not alone in this, and she's still young…

MP: My wife understands that and is supportive when it comes to sacrifices. She knows that my foremost concern is to excel at what I'm doing. She knows it's for her and my kids that I do it. Para sa pamilya ko. And she sees the results of discipline—it is love in action. Love should be proven with action, not just with words, especially in marriage; actions must be constant proofs of love through years of togetherness. I must admit that sometimes my wife gets jealous of my work, but I'm patient, we both persevere, for our children, the family. I want my family to be proud of me, for my wife and my children to be able to say that I am a good husband and father.

TRT: Now that you've lifted your family comfortably out of poverty and provided for their secure future, is there anybody else you would want to help out?

MP: Oh yes! I help support sports in general, not just boxing. We conduct regular tournaments, like National Manny Pacquiao Cup for billiards… We have "pa-boxing" too, usually on my birthday, in Gen San where we invite boxers from Davao, for example, to participate. There is also the Manny Pacquiao Sports Foundation, established four years ago, to develop youth boxers, to give benefits to retired boxers iyung mga nalaos na tulad ni Navarrete, etc; to provide scholarships to boxers' children; to build a sports center not only for boxing but also for tennis, bowling, track and field, swimming, basketball.

TRT: With all those things you want to do for others, have you considered entering politics?

MP: No, not yet…. I'm not thinking of politics at all. I just want to help, to support sports, because that could help solve the country's problems like drugs, etc. Young people turn to vices because they are not given direction, they are not productively engaged. It's a waste of energy—sayang ang lakas nila, naliligaw sila! In sports you'll definitely forget about vices because your energy will be redirected. When you need to get up early in the morning to run, you'll go to bed early, you will not smoke or drink or do whatever will endanger your health and your life.

TRT: You seem so determined to help your kababayans. Are you that generous?

MP: I just want to help. I support sports because I do not want people to say, upon my retirement, "Ganon lang? Nagpayaman lang?" (That's all? Just made himself rich?) I pray to have the strength to continue being the best until I retire. I want to be able to continue helping even when I am retired. That may not be very far away... You have to be realistic. Boxers don't last very long; They're done at 30…

TRT: I've had glimpses of some of your fights on TV. You make the sign of the cross before each round... Do you do this to conquer some fear? To calm you down? Or do you really trust God that much? You also wear the rosary when you're proclaimed the winner—and this is for all the world to see on TV. You could be setting an example of faith to your fans—are you aware of this?

MP: (Smiling shyly). I have a deep faith in God. I fear no one. Natatakot lang ako kapag may kasalanan ako. (I feel afraid only when I’ve sinned). I practise and pray hard because I want to win to make my countrymen happy. I’m happy to make them happy, but I know I can’t do it on my own. I need God.

Reading between the lies

2011-05-05T16:53:00.006+08:00

An open letter to my Congressman

Dear Congressman: you had for so long given us the impression that you were against the RH Bill until one day when you were identified in the papers as one of its supporters. We were shocked; we could hardly believe someone we had trusted and respected could actually espouse what this RH Bill stands for.

Sir, I have tried several times to get through to your office to express concerns aired by some of your constituents, mostly women. I say “some” because we cannot show you a million signatures opposing your stand. We are ordinary mothers, grandmothers, maiden aunts, sisters, professionals and plain housewives who only want the best for our families. And we voted for you. We had simply wanted your ear for a few minutes, but we have not been fortunate, so please understand why we are instead writing this open letter to you. We have a fair knowledge of what the RH Bill is about but none of us is a lawyer, a philosopher, a politician or a theologian, so please bear with us if our thoughts are not as organized we would want them to be. We are merely speaking from our guts.

Sir, we are not aiming to convert you for we still would like to believe that you mean well, but we do pray that the RH Bill may never be passed.

We reject the RH Bill because it is based on the premise that we do not need God to live fruitful lives. To us God-fearing, God-loving Filipinos, that is a lie. Being rooted in a paradigm that takes God out of the equation, how can the RH Bill be good for anyone? It is studded with half-truths, pseudo-truths and truthisms cleverly formulated to mimic the truth. Reading between the lies, we get this picture of the RH Bill:

• It wants us to think that human reason and human intelligence are all we need for everything to be right with the world.

• It coerces everybody else to think that way, and rejects the truth that the God who created and loves us will never abandon us.

• It is maka-hayop, not maka-tao, promoting pleasure without pain, irresponsible sex, dangerous couplings, and a hedonistic mentality that will eventually drag future generations downward to moral incoherence.

• It undermines the worth of human beings by implying that they are what their genitalia define, nothing more.

• It ridicules our faith by offering overly pragmatic solutions to perceived problems.

• It tramples upon the life-giving values—family, sacrifice, hope, compassion—that have kept our nation afloat in spite of history’s tyranny, human greed and natural calamities.

• It intends to mislead people and then uses commendable phrases such as “reproductive health” and “responsible parenthood” to disguise its dark intentions.

• It dishonors fathers and mothers by robbing them of the right and the responsibility to rear their children according to their deeply held religious convictions.

• It reduces the question of reproductive health into a simplistic choice between natural family planning and artificial family planning, labeling natural as unnatural and stupid and equating artificial with modern and smart.

• It spits upon the Constitution—pity that many of our lawmakers themselves would violate the Constitution by pushing this bill! Where are they leading this country to?

• It seduces young people by instilling in them a false sense of independence and sophistication in knowing their parents will be legally helpless about their sex life.

• It anaesthetizes the conscience of the young, saying it’s perfectly okay to experiment with sex as long as they are “protected”; this is contrary to what we teach our children.

• It corrupts children by infusing in them a contraceptive mentality, giving them “sex education” too early in order to abort their maturing in the love of God.

• It deceives the women it claims to inform and empower, praising only the convenience that
contraception offers but not its deadly side effects.

• It is oppressive, maintaining the First World myth of overpopulation at the expense of our poor.

• It imposes an alien lifestyle on Filipinos, seeing children as mere mouths to feed, treating pregnancy as a sickness and unbridled sex as a human right.

• It steals from the people by using tax payers’ money to buy contraceptive devices for people who can’t and won’t control their sexual appetites.

• It tramples upon not only our freedom now, but also the freedom of future generations to raise their children according to their cherished beliefs.

• It wants to scratch out the cross from Christianity, scoffing at self-discipline, the beauty of abstinence, sacrifice for family’s sake, and fidelity to one’s spouse.

• It belittles the capacity of the Filipinos to tap their inner resources, to turn to the God within, to
transcend want and misfortune and become what God wants them to be.

Dear Congressman, this is what saddens us about your support of the RH Bill. You do not seem to see that it is not just a question of Pro-RH vs. Pro-Life, State vs. Church, Antiquated vs. Modern as your media friends would have people believe.

Do you know why we pray hard for you, sir? Because you seem unaware that you yourself are a victim in this battle between good and evil, being used as a pawn by the rich against the poor, by world powers against the impoverished nations—yes, against your own people! They are the authors of the depopulation agenda that is behind the RH Bill. Brilliant decision makers who think they know everything and therefore do not need God. They do not wish to be nudged out of the comfort zones their genius has built. (Or have you never heard of a depopulation agenda?)

Why do the rich and powerful blame us and our children for their imagined shortage in our planet’s resources? Do our poor squander fuel on automobile races, speed boats, air shows, war craft and heaven-knows-what other adult toys they invent in the name of progress? We are the great majority who do not have swimming pools in our backyards and golf lawns to water. Why don’t they turn their guns and golf clubs into ploughshares and pruning hooks for a change?

Sir, we voted for you believing you would protect our interests. Please do not betray us by endorsing a culture of death that will lead us to a national suicide. Your fellow Congressmen look up to you; please enjoin them to have faith in the Filipino, not in those predators posing as our altruistic Big Brothers when all they covet is our land. The RH Bill is coming from a place of fear, the fear of losing their worldly power and wealth. Filipinos have nothing to fear, because we have faith. In our simplicity we believe we are children of a loving Father who knows our needs and guides us to meet them—in His way.

Thank you for having read this far. We assure you of our prayers. And with all due respect, we wish to let you know that we will be giving your mother and your wife a copy of this letter.

___________________________________________

This article by Teresa R. Tunay, OCDS,
came out in the author's column, And that's the truth,
CBCP Monitor, the official publication
of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines,
April 25-May 8, 2011 issue, page 5

Is truth red or white?

2011-04-22T18:44:00.003+08:00

When I was about to finish high school, one of the courses I wanted to take up at college was Law. Being young, I wanted to be many things—doctor, nurse, painter, ballet dancer, writer, and lawyer. To all of those I felt I wanted to become, my father had objections, but the strongest was against Law. He would say, “Yang mga abugado, magaling magsinungaling ang mga iyan! Ang puti, ginagawang pula, at ang pula, ginagawang puti!” (Lawyers are good at telling lies. They make red, white, and white, red!) Naïve as I was, I didn’t get what he meant, nor did I bother to understand what it implied. I was barely 15 then.

Now, 50 years later, the controversy over when human life begins reminds me of my father’s words about lawyers then. I beg your pardon, but for the life of me, I cannot understand why supposedly learned men now deny that human life begins at fertilization. Congressmen and senators are supposedly learned, right? So why would a number of them—now that the controversy over the RH Bill is seething hot—prolong the controversy by clinging to this silly argument that human life begins only when the fertilized egg latches on to the uterine wall? Doesn’t our Constitution say that the life of the unborn begins at the moment of conception—that is, when the sperm and the ovum meet and produce a new entity? I cannot believe that lawmakers are ignorant of the Constitution. Having done some sleuthing into this issue I’m more inclined to suspect there is another reason they espouse a strange point of view.

Even a grade schooler who’s been through biology class knows the truth about the beginning of human life, so how could sophisticated adults be blind to such glaring truth? Just for the record, I engaged Autumn, my 10-year old grandniece, a Grade 5 pupil, in a casual chat to find out what she thinks of this issue. Her verdict: human life begins at fertilization.

How could she be so sure it’s human? “Because it is humans that produced the embryo.” And how could she say the embryo has life? “Because if it’s dead it will stop growing.” Bravo! She readily agreed that if “that thing” were dead, it cannot move anymore, much less travel to attach itself to the uterine wall. Smart girl. Over a “high five”, we declared the embryo is human and not canine or feline or anything else, and it definitely possesses life because it is growing. Ergo, human life begins at fertilization.

See how simple it is? The truth, unadorned and undistorted by human manipulation, seen without the help of a microscope. Or of people who make red, white, and white, red. And that’s the truth. (This article first came out in the author's column in the CBCP Monitor, "And that's the truth" early this year.)

Small talk, big issue

2011-03-16T15:44:00.004+08:00

A smiley sticker the size of a saucer in the back of my car proclaims: I AM PRO-LIFE. I AM ANTI-RH BILL.

I don’t allow unnecessary stickers on my car—not even religious ones—but this one is an exception. I even applied it myself and only much later did I realize I had broken my own no-sticker rule. It was an act-now-think-later thing but the reason that surfaced later was as clear as a newborn baby’s eyes.

I wanted it to be a voice for the voiceless—the voiceless unborn that the clanging of the RH bill supporters’ cymbals is programmed to annihilate. A colleague gave me that sticker at the Filipinos United for Life Interfaith Rally held at the PICC grounds in Manila last February 13—the only rally I have ever attended in my whole life. Since I can’t attend pro-life rallies as much as I’d want to, I take to the streets everyday with this sticker as my megaphone. Instead of marching in the streets for life with a placard, I drive around fighting death with a smile(y).

I was happy when one morning, at a filling station along E. Rodriguez Ave. in Quezon City, a gasoline boy asked me, “Ma’am, ano ba yang RH bill?” He was appreciating the sticker, preparing to inflate my tires. I replied, “Ay naku, mapang-api sa mahihirap yan,” and then proceeded to tell him why I think it should not become a law. I said the bill sees a human being as just another mouth to feed, which is contrary to the Filipinos’ belief that children are the wealth of the family.

It usurps parents’ right to educate and look after their own children when it comes to sex in Tagalog. If that bill is passed, I told him, parents can be jailed for trying to stop their daughter from having an abortion. They can’t even object when their grade-school kids are taught how to use a condom! “Biruin mo, magulang ka, hindi ka na puwedeng magturo ng tama at mali sa anak mo, dahil pakikialam daw yon?!” (It’s no joke that you’re a parent but you’re not allowed to tell your child what’s right or wrong, because that would be taken as meddling!)

Anyone speaking against it will also automatically be judged as malicious and can be thrown into jail, I continued. “Imadyin mo, pag nagsalita ka ng nasasa loob mo, ikukulong ka, tama ba yon?” (Imagine you could be imprisoned for speaking your mind out—is that right?) The gasoline boy quipped, “Patay! Sino na mag-aalalay sa mga anak natin, gobyerno?” (Shucks! Who will guide our kids then, the government?)

That’s what’s so sad about it, I told him, the institution that’s supposed to protect our life seems hell-bent on endangering it. “Mukhang desidido gobyerno eh. Hindi pa nga batas yan ipinatutupad na nila nang patago eh” (The government seems determined; even now they’re clandestinely implementing parts of the bill), I said and recalled for him a story told by a friend whose labandera gave birth at a government facility. Because she’s enlisted as an indigent patient, she was apparently entitled to a maternity benefit of some 3,000 pesos, but she was told she could avail of it only if she would agree to undergo tubal ligation. “Kung hindi siya magpapatali, hindi niya makukuha ang pera. O, ganon ba ang paggalang sa karapatan ng tao? Hindi ba pangbabastos yung iniipit nila yung mahirap?”

We ended at that. How much could one say, after all, in the time it takes to inflate four little car tires? But the incident made me grateful because one gasoline boy noticed my message, and asked about it. I hope I satisfied his curiosity; I pray he heard more than what I said. Small talk on a big issue, totally unplanned, absolutely unexpected. Truly, God never sleeps. And that’s the truth.

Looking forward to Year 2036?

2011-03-07T17:05:00.000+08:00

It’s been 25 years since the “bloodless revolution” that amazed the whole world and glorified this tiny archipelago “somewhere in Asia.” Each year we’d celebrate the “restoration of democracy” in the country, and the rest of each year the headlines in this poverty-stricken third world country would continue to reek of crime and corruption—and of late, of kidnappings, terrorism, abuse of power, political patronage, etc.

After a quarter of a century celebrating that supposedly life-changing event, where are we now? I’m not being cynical, just reflecting reality. Especially since I’m rereading a 25-year old article published shortly after “EDSA 1” which, I honestly believe, is a sobering reminder particularly for our leaders at this point in history. The following article is titled “What miracle? What glory?” by Magdalena Torres.

It is interesting to note that in spite of the “miracle at EDSA” the people of this only Christian nation in Asia have remained loyal to anyone but Christ. Note the various factions we are thanking for the so called “bloodless revolution.” Believers in the US supremacy maintain that it is the American intervention in Philippine affairs that saved the Filipinos from a bloodbath. Fans of the Enrile-Ramos block insist that the “bloodless revolution” would not have happened without their heroes’ crucial change of heart. Marcos sympathizers assert that there surely would have been bloodshed had it not been for Marcos’ love for his people. A foreign correspondent writes that the television cameras (notably those which recorded for worldwide viewing the Marcos-Ver “debate”) are to be credited for actually having prevented carnage among our people. And advocates of “people’s power,” led by the involved clergy, of course, are just as quick in claiming it is “our rosaries” that brought about the “miracle.”

While each may be valid in its own right, all these claims, however, have one thing in common; they all attribute the almost bloodless revolution to human cause, thus further dividing this Christian nation into segments none of which seems to have absorbed the message of Christ from the “miracle.”

I recently bumped into a priest I had not seen for months. To my smiling “How are you?” he exclaimed, “We’ve won! We’ve won! It’s over! All efforts didn’t go to waste! Marcos is out!”

I must admit it struck me dumb, but only because I was asking inside, “Lord, where is this country headed to if all the evils our priests cared to fight are those outside of ourselves?” But I quickly rode along and asked him, “We’ve won? You mean, we’re now all on the side of God?”

The priest, unsmiling now, blurted out, “What do you mean we’re now on the side of God? We won because God has always been on our side, right from the start!”

I switched to another topic, but the brief encounter was to flash on and on in my mind, like a yellow traffic light that wouldn’t be turned off.

I view the “miracle at EDSA” as an act of Divine Mercy, a blanket absolution granted to an unrepentant nation of blind followers and blind leaders.

Imagine what would have happened had events pursued the logical conclusion our human actions were leading them to. We had sown so much hatred around us then that we deserved nothing less than a national tragedy to make us learn our lesson, yet God chose to send us His love instead, and like the proverbial rain that falls on both the just and the unjust, His forgiving hand came to preserve a whole nation bent on destroying itself. In that momentous event that nobody expected, Jesus Christ— with knuckles swollen from knocking on the door of our hearts—once more cried, “Let me in!” And He is still weeping, because our hearts have remained shut.

We are back in the rat race, and human folly may yet reduce the “miracle at EDSA” into just another tool for attracting tourists’ dollars to our shores. In the euphoria following this Christian nation’s miraculous escape from a bloody confrontation, Christ is all but forgotten. Our idolatry goes on. A lady president is deified as “a goddess in the Pantheon of democracy,” lionized as a “Joan of Arc in a yellow tunic.” We’re still groveling before our colonizers as the true guardian of our welfare. We’re still counting on men with guns to bring us peace. We continue to take the word of the media—especially foreign media—as gospel truth. In a mad play for power we threaten to draw the blood we claim our fallen idol refused to shed. And we are in greater danger than ever of clinging to our pagan ways to bring about Utopia. How thankless can we be, that even in “gratitude” we must grab the glory for ourselves?

“But we thanked God for the miracle, didn’t we?” Perhaps a million of us would cry thus, citing one impassioned celebration at the park where we flew balloons and shamelessly hailed Cory with much greater zeal than we’ve ever done for Mary. And we go on “thanking God,” here and abroad, all the while betraying our lack of consideration for Christ by discarding the season’s liturgical purple in favor of a political color. Feverish with false joys and unexamined victories we come to our houses of worship burning with politics instead of prayer. We call this thanksgiving?

How much longer must we remain deaf to Christ? How can God’s kingdom come when we do not want to dethrone ourselves in our hearts? The “miracle at EDSA” is not a reward for our efforts. It is part of a Divine Plan for this only Christian nation in Asia: God allowed the evil in us to drag us down to such depths so that we may finally see that only He can lift us up again. How can it be a reward when all our efforts were leading us to hatred and divisiveness?

Let us be humble and admit that we did not cause the miracle—it was God who willed to save us from ourselves in spite of the self-serving prayers we uttered when we found our necks stuck on the chopping block. How dare we say our actions, our prayers, prevented bloodshed? Who moved us to pray when blood threatened to rain on our picnic?

What a shame that the face of Christ continues to be spat upon in a Christian nation! We are not thanking God at all—we are merely using His gift to puff up our egos. Since the “miracle” we’ve been boasting: I was there. I’m proud to be a Filipino. Look at these pictures―that’s me in front of the tank. Galing, ano? Two days ago, at a movie house, I sat next to man wearing a yellow shirt with a picture of a tank that says “I WAS A HUMAN BARRICADE” in big bold red letters. I found it ironic that someone who could stop advancing tanks could not stop himself from littering his surroundings with butong-pakwan shells.

It is saddening to think that in spite of the miracle we have remained slaves of sin and habit―look around, the danger signs are everywhere. Did this Christian nation merely change her dress for the benefit of the foreign media? Thanking God for a miracle means acknowledging God as the only Power in our lives. This Power deserves more than just token gratitude. What is a miracle for if it comes into our eyes and our ears and goes out of our mouths without touching our hearts? Did God give us this gift only so we could slap His face with it? Or only so we could brag to the rest of the world that we are special children of God?

If we sincerely want to thank God we will make Him “Number One” in our hearts. We will make an honest effort towards change through individual conversion. The “miracle at EDSA” is Christ’s invitation for us to expand as Christians. Let us raise the quality of our worship, deepen our faith, heighten the levels of our prayer, and pray for a constant awareness of God’s presence, so that one day when each of us will have enthroned the Christ in our hearts, we may know what we mean when we say “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…”

The article ends there.

I can’t claim political savvy, but I think that as a blatantly Christian people we ought to examine our use of the word “revolution.” As it has come to be popularly linked to “EDSA 1”, writer Ambrose Bierce would be spot-on correct in saying “Revolution is an abrupt change in the form of misgovernment.”

Pity that we have to count on political icons, slogans and symbols to better our lives! The teachings of our Lord Jesus are as revolutionary today as they were when He walked the earth, but in overlooking their relevance we have failed to use them to revolutionize our hearts. So, dear countrymen, unless and until we take Jesus seriously, we can expect more of the same headlines in year 2036, the 50^th anniversary of the “bloodless revolution.” And that’s the truth.

17 seconds

2010-09-10T15:56:00.000+08:00

One thing blows the mind when reading about and pondering Jesus teaching His disciples how to pray. The prayer He taught them is what is now popularly known to us as the “Our Father”. As we all know it was not invented by a medieval saint or by theologians, not even by a pope. That’s what’s mind-blowing about it: it was taught by Jesus Himself, over two thousand years ago, in the open air (we imagine), while sitting upon a rock and surrounded by so many followers hungry for the truth.

Now, two thousand years later, perhaps it’s worth looking into the truth about the place of the “Our Father” in our life. How many times a day, or a week, do we pray it? And how do we pray it—fast, slow, sung, said aloud, meditated on? Does praying it make us better human beings, or does it only make us think we’re better than others? Does singing it lead us closer to Jesus? And does this closeness to Jesus make us more like Him?

You’ve probably observed that even during the Mass, people pray the Our Father using many “styles”—holding hands (which by the way is not called for), or arms outstretched in imitation of the priest (another no-no), raising the arms and the voices high at “…for the kingdom, the power and the glory are Yours…”, etc.—but after that, when we leave the church, how much of that prayer remains with us to guide us through the day?

In the family or in our places of work, does this prayer make us more ready to forgive our loved ones or our offending co-workers? Does it increase our faith in God’s goodness, our tolerance in dealing with strangers we meet on the streets? Does it encourage us to do right even when everybody else says “Hindi na uso ang mabait”? (It’s no longer “in” to be righteous.)

Seventeen seconds is all it takes to pray the Our Father with the lips, but look how praying it with all our being can change our 24 hours. At once the prayer puts us in touch with the Holy One, a Father who has given us life, and whom we’re asking to bring His Kingdom down here to where we stand. Empowered by that, how can we fear, how can we lose, how can we fail when we are asking for that which He Himself longs to give us?

Praying the Our Father with the lips touches our mind, praying it with attention opens our heart to mystery. Let us embrace the mystery, carry it around with us, and we will see the world transformed. And that’s the truth.

Truth today

2008-07-03T10:42:00.000+08:00

By Teresa R. Tunay, OCDS

(The author writes the column, "And that's the truth", in The CBCP Monitor, the official newspaper of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines).

“Don’t believe everything you read in the papers!” seems an odd piece of advice coming from a media person, but that is exactly what I say whenever I’m asked to give media education seminars anywhere, anytime.

My audiences include students, professionals, seminarians, workers (from janitors to managers), cloistered nuns, parishioners, etc., but the two segments that I try to handle with extra care are the students and the cloistered nuns. The students—because they are young, idealistic and impressionable; and the nuns—because they have very limited contact with the outside world they are called upon to pray for. I base my observations on the questions they ask, the comments they make, their reactions to stimulus during our interaction.

Students would by their very youth tend to be naïve and unconcerned and yet, upon peer pressure, would “take a stand” on issues, parroting arguments and wisecracks picked up in media. “Taking a stand” and sounding knowledgeable give students the veneer of sophistication they sincerely think impresses others.

By their very calling, cloistered nuns are allowed only very little exposure to media, and yet, a number of them would sincerely take sides on any current political issue, emboldened by the information ingested as truth from people who come to them to ask for prayers.

Innocent and trusting, both young people and sheltered women of God could be in danger of being misled and used by unscrupulous entities with hidden agenda. These entities could take advantage of the students’ idealism, and use the latter as pawns in their power games by feeding them with “the truth” and spurring them into action outside of the school’s walls. These unscrupulous entities could also use their friendship with the nuns to lend credibility to their cause and shield their selfish intentions from public scrutiny—for, indeed, who would question the petitions of these guileless, prayerful women?

The thing is—the students and the cloistered nuns are not that aware of the fact that media agencies are there primarily for business, and that media’s zeal in exposing the truth could be powered by vested interests. They are not in a position to know the inside story, nor are they trained to read between the lines. More often than not, they are swayed by what they read in the papers.

What is more saddening to note is that people in general seem to have become less and less conscientious in seeking the truth; we do not want to bother, to investigate, to dig into the motives beneath the truth being told—or sold—by media. We simply lap it up. Advertisers use appealing visuals and their brand of truth to lure consumers into buying their stuff. Reporters chasing after scoops could file stories filled with half-truths—sensational and saleable half-truths. Columnists and radio-tv commentators could pontificate about the truth when in fact they are merely being truthy—because truthiness lends them an air of authority and omniscience.

“Truthy” and “truthiness” are relatively new words coined by our times, and both appear in the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) with “truthiness” being defined as a derivative of “truthy” which OED first came up with in 1800. “Truthiness”, popularized by American comedian Stephen Colbert, was even honored as “Word of the Year” in 2006 by Merriam Webster Dictionary which gives it two definitions: “truth that comes from the guts, not books” and “the quality of preferring concepts or facts one wishes to be true, rather than concepts of facts known to be true.” In the same year, Canadian Parliamentarian Ken Dryden in a speech delivered in the House of Commons captured the meaning of “truthiness” when he defined it as “something that is spoken as if true that one wants others to believe is true, that said often enough with enough voices orchestrated behind it might even sound true, but is not true.”

It is with such truthiness that we are daily being bombarded by media—celebrities’ amorous or amorphous philosophies; politicians’ peculiar perspectives; half-baked activists’ platitudes; rebellious bloggers’ devil-may-care assertions; literary best-sellers’ pronouncements and popular entertainers’ endorsements. Everyone has his or her own brand of “truth” to peddle, media agents continue to rake in the profits, while fence sitters—apparently stunned by overpowering “truths”—are unwittingly dragged into the descent toward moral incoherence.

That is the sad fact about truth today. It is being reduced by media to truthism. Worse, they are elevating truthism to the level of truth.

Nowadays, anyone with media access can manipulate facts and espouse the concepts he sees or wishes to be true until he gets others to believe it as truth. When truth today is simply a press release from Malacanang, what a pregnant actress utters with conviction about her ex-lover actor, the viewpoint a Senator or a Congressman states with a clenched fist, or the venom godless militants sputter about bishops who would rather keep silent—and no one questions the loud, the self-righteous and the shameless—we all suffer. The truth as revealed in, by, and through Jesus Christ gets buried under an avalanche of half-truths and relativism.

The power of media is almost immeasurable. The power of misused media is devastating. We only have to open our eyes to its influence on our little children and we will see how far-reaching its harmful effects can be on society. What other institution can stand up to media and annihilate the insidious evil therein? The government? The military? The schools? No, but the Church can—because the Church is in government, in military, in education, everywhere, and it is the body of Christ. Are we doing enough—enough—to use media to make the immutable, absolute and discoverable Truth overpower the truthism in our midst? Yes? Or No? Indeed, the truth(ism) hurts. And that’s the truth.

Teresa on Mother Teresa

2008-01-18T08:14:00.002+08:00

(A note from the author: The following article was published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer a week before Mother Teresa [Blessed Teresa of Calcutta] was beatified, thus it may seem dated now, but I am including it here on the request of readers who found the lessons therein timeless and of universal value. I'd appreciate your feedback. Thank you.)

By Teresa Reyes Tunay

ROME, ITALY, October 12, 2003—The first time I read about Mother Teresa, in the early 80s, I got curious. Why would a nun—already safe, saved and fulfilled in her vocation—still want to leave her Congregation in order to carry a heavier cross? She was outstanding as a missionary nun assigned as teacher in India when from the window of her relatively comfortable room she would see sick old people dying unwanted in the streets and be moved by a desire to ease their pain. While retaining her religious name “Teresa”—after the Carmelite saint Therese of the Child Jesus—she shed her old Loreto habit and donned the white sari symbolizing her oneness with the poorest of the poor around her.

In God’s own time Mother Teresa founded the Missionaries of Charity: together with her Sisters they would pick up the sore-infested old folks practically rotting away in Calcutta’s streets, bring them home, and care for them until death so they would know the love of Christ and die with dignity.

When I heard that Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity had reached the Philippines, I wasted no time to serve as a volunteer at their Home for the Dying Destitute, that place in Tayuman where the Sisters would load their pick-up with the old, sick and homeless old people gathered from Manila’s streets. I knew that I would be enriched by the experience as volunteer, cleaning toilets, hanging laundry, feeding and bathing patients, trimming their hair or nails, giving them a backrub, talking to them, cheering them up, trying to give them the love their own families would not give. Thus, I was no longer a stranger to the Sisters when they announced that Mother Teresa was coming to visit the Philippines.

“I must meet this person,” I promised myself, although I must admit that half my eagerness was out of journalistic curiosity—in this day and age someone like Mother Teresa would be a rarity and make a good story. But most of all I had hoped I would be given a peek into the soul of this diminutive Albanian nun whose name I could not even pronounce the same way twice: Gonxha Agnes Bojaxhiu.

And it came to pass. As fate would have it, the interview that I had wanted turned into more of an intimate exchange between two Teresas. I never imagined, however, that Mother Teresa would leave such a deep and lasting impression on me more than any other human alive, nor cared that she would one day be elevated to the altar of the blessed in the Vatican, as she will be on Sunday, October 19.

Upon seeing Mother Teresa, I almost forgot about journalism. I heard and saw her speak to the crowd—she impressed me. But I didn’t want to interview or photograph her, write a story, whatnot. I just wanted to listen on and on. I sensed that she would be more than just a scoop for me, so I simply asked to be blessed by her (“Mano po!”). She obliged and then gave me much, much more: she held my hand, and as we walked she spoke to me as though nobody else mattered at the moment but me. I got hooked.

Her intensity amazed me. Since then I wanted to see and listen to her again and again, wherever and whenever possible, so I could dissect her mind—how could this busybody be so focused on and loving towards a stranger like me? Having been inspired and touched by her, I even wrote her Calcutta house to apply as a month-long volunteer there. My application was politely declined, with a handwritten note that I stay and continue to volunteer in Manila where I was needed more. The Calcutta house was already crowded with volunteers from all over the world, while there were not enough in Manila. I was disappointed for a while but as time passed, as I read and heard more about her work, I slowly understood why I was turned down—it had to be so.

There was no need to meet Mother Teresa another time, after all, in order for her to live on in me. That first impression was to last, forever offering me new insights and inspiration in my own journey to God. In Tayuman, not once did I take my eyes off her as she addressed the crowd. It was simply a marvel how that little nun, physically unattractive by any standard, could hold her audience spellbound by simply talking about Jesus.

Mother Teresa wasn’t pretty as some nuns I’d remember from childhood who appealed to me because they resembled the Virgin Mary in my imagination. Small and slightly hunched, Mother Teresa had a face so badly creased, a peasant’s hands, and a nose so big it could be a caricaturist’s delight, yet when I was with her there was nothing else I’d rather look at but her—there was nobody else more beautiful. She was so saturated with Jesus’ presence that when she’d speak, Jesus would come alive through her words—Jesus, Jesus, only Jesus, as though even she herself did not exist at all.

As she spoke to her audience, her blue eyes which were simply out of this world would be focused most of the time on some distant horizon, as though their blue was but a reflection of the sea and the sky. Those eyes were piercing, her gaze was penetrating in its purity, like a laser beam cutting through your flesh and bone to expose your very marrow. I did not want those eyes to gaze at me because they possessed a meekness that seemed to strip my soul bare—it seemed impossible to hide anything from them.

That fateful meeting where she held my hand and spoke to me like an intimate friend uncovered for me a kinship between us that was to go beyond a celebrity-journalist connection. Knowing Mother Teresa further by the witness of people whose lives she had touched—notably the British journalist and agnostic Malcolm Muggeridge who asked to be baptized into the Catholic religion after a momentous encounter with Mother Teresa—all the more convinced me that we shared something more than just our name. I was to realize soon enough that that my fascination with Mother Teresa was rooted in the fact that we had been wooed by the same Lover. There was a great difference, though—Mother Teresa’s heart was already totally His, while half of this Teresa’s heart was still inhabited by lesser loves.

Although we were both “world citizens” our world citizenship diverged where heaven began. As she would say, “By blood, I am Albanian; by citizenship, an Indian. By faith, I am a Catholic nun. As to my calling, I belong to the world. As to my heart, I belong entirely to the Heart of Jesus.” There she was when we met, already strolling with Jesus while I was still attempting to rise, on wobbly knees, from crawling. Thus I looked up to Mother Teresa and appointed her my “spiritual nanny.” Of course, she was not aware that she was one of those teaching me how to walk. By her witness and example conveyed to the whole world by media, I gradually absorbed lessons on walking with Jesus.

On detachment from worldly goods: Mother Teresa and her Sisters had only rickety pickups serving as ambulance. A wealthy man took note of this and gifted Mother Teresa with a limousine for her personal use. The humble nun raffled the limo off and with the proceeds bought ambulances. The raffle winner in turn raffled it off again and donated the proceeds to Mother Teresa’s poor. We ordinary mortals would have jumped with joy and thought how loved we are by God that He made us win a car.

On seeing Jesus in every person: Mother Teresa saw, respected and loved Jesus in each of them; thus it was easy for her to embrace the poorest of the poor, the filthiest of society’s unwanted. She felt privileged to dress their wounds and clean up their mess because she was doing it for Jesus. No doubt inspired by St. Therese, a spiritual daughter of St. John of the Cross who taught that if we want to love Jesus we must expose ourselves to the smelly, the ignorant, the ugly in our midst. By doing so, Mother Teresa was being Jesus who was surrounded by lepers and attending to the sick. How many of us—polished and perfumed people of the world—would bother to look for Jesus outside of our comfort zones?

On the value of discomfort: in all of Mother Teresa’s houses, the words “I thirst” are written close to the crucifix. Chapels have no pews or comfortable seats; instead, the floor is lined with native mats where the Sisters would sit or kneel on at prayer. That is how they stay awake with Jesus, to offer their discomfort as their share in His suffering, to quench His great thirst for the love of people who have all but forgotten Him.

On trusting in Divine Providence: one day, the Calcutta community’s coffers were empty, and so was the pantry. There wasn’t even enough bread for the day’s last meal, and they were sure the morrow would be a bigger headache. Undaunted, Mother Teresa calmly led the Sisters to pray that the next day might be better so as not to starve the patients. That very night, a truckload of bread arrived, an unsolicited donation from a bakery chain. Little miracles like this have become commonplace in Mother Teresa’s houses that you can’t help being reminded of the day Jesus fed over 5,000 people from five loaves and two fish. Her example shone in a world where Christians worshipped Christ on Sundays and worried to death for bread the rest of the week.

On simplicity and contentment: Mother Teresa’s Sisters wear no shoes, only cheap rubber thong sandals, but they are by far the happiest community of nuns I have seen in my whole life. They want for nothing—what the poor can’t have, they do not want to have. Sometimes I wish the rich and famous women in the Philippines would realize that they could help solve our country’s problems if they would only give up at least one pair of their Manolo Blahniks for Jesus’ sake!

On time management: with the demands of her work among the needy, you would think Mother Teresa would have no more time to waste on “doing nothing”. On the contrary, this “idle time” is Mother Teresa’s trysting time with God, and she would exhort her nuns to faithfully keep their appointments with Jesus day and night. Sitting still and emptying themselves at prayer time is fundamental to their mission. It is when they fill themselves with Jesus, that they may in turn pour out His love on thirsting humanity.

On joy being the fruit of the Spirit: in all the years I have served as a Mother Teresa volunteer, I have yet to see a Sister lose her cool. No matter how difficult a patient is—and unwanted, sick and old people can be unnerving, mind you—the Sisters would be not only calm and collected but cheerful as well. Not a trace of impatience or irritation in their countenance—an enviable fruit of unceasing surrender to Jesus that forms a vital part of Mother Teresa’s legacy to her daughters and to the world.

Over 18 years have passed since Mother Teresa held my hand and whispered to my soul. Did she see the leper or the bleeding woman in me? I’m sure she did, but she also saw Jesus, and that was what brought tears to my eyes, tears that only Mother Teresa saw.

On October 19, I am supposed to be there, at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, to witness Mother Teresa’s elevation to the altar of the Blessed. Although I had at one point vaguely wished I could be bodily present on that joyous occasion, a reality check prevented me from wanting to be there—it is a luxury a simple writer like me can ill afford.

But as circumstances would have it, a previously planned working trip to Rome was cancelled on the 11th hour, leaving me with a Schengen visa with nowhere to go. And whether it was fate, luck, coincidence or Mother Teresa responsible for my assignment, I do not really care to know. Until I’m there—I surmised—right before the altar when it happens, I can not believe I’m going. It didn’t really matter whether I go or not—if for some reason my trip didn’t push through, I promised to be with Mother Teresa’s poor in Tayuman on Oct. 19.

But I am here now, in Rome, awaiting that day, and I know that wherever Mother Teresa finds me on Sunday, her piercing blue eyes will smile at me.

END

The Secular Carmelite in the Media Profession

2007-11-27T22:11:00.005+08:00

By Teresa R. Tunay, OCDS

NOTE: The following article was written with Secular Carmelites in mind, for the Jubilee Publication marking the Diamond Anniversary on July 16, 2006 of the St. Teresa of Jesus Community of Manila (STJC), the oldest Secular Order of Discalced Carmelites' community in the Philippines.

I am a Carmelite, and a media person. After my profession as a journalist has fed me, clothed me, paid my bills, etc. for nearly four decades, I can now say: this is where God wants me to be. Nay—intended me to be, long before I was a glint in my father’s eye.

Long before I “became a Carmelite”, even prior to college, I had what you might call a “private consecration.” I would “tell God” at prayer: “My teachers say I can write, but tatay says writing won’t feed me. If it’s true that I have a ‘gift’, only You could have given me that. So I want to use it for the good. I consecrate my pen to You. Use me.”

I said it, then forgot about it. I wasn’t even particularly zealous—and I doubt if by then I had already memorized the Ten Commandments. What would you expect from a teenager who couldn’t even decide what college course to take? But I did become a journalist in due time, and 25 years after that I became a Secular Carmelite—to the amazement of incredulous college mates who would hear of it.

But my life story is not the point of this exercise, although the above flashback gives me leverage to publicly thank God for—well, having led me to become what I am: a writer, journalist, editor, et al, who “happens to be” a Carmelite as well.

A Carmelite in the media profession—being one and the other dovetails perfectly. A Carmelite is supposed to be a prophet, a role that doubles its strength when the Carmelite is also in media. Mass media multiply the prophet’s voice millions of times over—radio, tv, print. Can you imagine the impact that could create? And the responsibility placed upon the prophet’s shoulder?

A writer should always be hungry

It is both challenging and frustrating to champion The Word in an industry that trades and thrives on words. I have always believed that a writer—a wordsmith—should never ever be “satisfied.” In order to bear good fruit for humanity, a writer should always be hungry, literally and figuratively hungry. Hungry for truth. Hungry for justice. Hungry for the good. Hungry for life. There should always be a thirst burning somewhere within him, a “lack” in his life that would spur the writer on to aspire for the highest ideals. He should never be content with the way things are, never be self-indulgent, never be the rich young man in the Bible—or he will lose his salt.

Media is one of the professions where being a Carmelite is put to acid test. For how else could one better grapple with the forces of darkness permeating every nook and cranny of the industry if not through a vigorous interior life? What forces of darkness? Why, the gifts, the payola, the bribes, the power trip, the ego massage, the applause, the subtle whoring going on “in the pursuit of truth”! Because the Carmelite prays, he knows that The Enemy of Truth is not the Abu Sayyaf, nor the government, the NPA, GMA, the military, overzealous clergymen or whoever else media points its finger at in today’s headlines—it is the Prince of Lies himself who worms his way into our hearts and minds to sow confusion, to deceive and mislead, to divide us, to spread evil in the guise of good through mass media. Because the Carmelite prays, he is given the grace to resist temptation and to fight these forces of darkness. But let a reporter tell that to his editor and he’ll be dismissed as stupid—and maybe transferred to the obituary page.

Technical skills, praying skills

Thus, the Carmelite in media would do well to water down his “Repent! Repent!” script and learn to package The Word in a language acceptable both to the masses and to the editors. Sometimes he even has to use gutter talk in order to link man with God, to "de-bone" theology and make it palatable for the masses. Doing this takes much more than technical skills; it’s not just a matter of using the right language for a certain audience, or the right words on the right occasions. It is enveloping the right ideas with the right words on the right occasions—somewhat like sugarcoating a bitter pill. To arm oneself for that, one needs “praying skills” as well. Opening up and listening to God, and hanging on even when God refuses to talk. How else would one know the right ideas if one does not listen to God?

It is said that one who doesn’t listen to God can have nothing worthwhile to say to man. This truth, a Carmelite media person knows by heart, just as he knows that his boss is not the publisher, the editor-in-chief, the show’s producer or the advertisers—his boss is Jesus. His superiors may be human, but his boss is the carpenter from Nazareth. By believing and living this truth, the Carmelite media person preserves his integrity and freedom as servant of The Word. But to walk your talk here, again, calls for a deep connectedness to the Beloved Master who admonishes His followers to “Seek first the kingdom of God…” This is easier said than done.

It is tempting to think that Jesus does reign in your heart simply because you say so. Your public can see through your lip service. And even when they don’t, your conscience will disturb you if you’re a true Carmelite. Allow me to cite two concrete examples, my own trials.

The two trials by fire

First, when I left my post as Editor of Mabuhay, the inflight magazine of Philippine Airlines. Everybody said I was stupid for resigning because it was a plum position, something that some colleagues might have clung to until death for the glamour and the perks it gave: salary in US dollars, international travel every other month for free (with $250 per diem to boot), a gold American Express Credit Card for unlimited representational expenses (which I never needed to use because others were always footing the bill), etc. The reason I resigned? I was enjoying it so much I was beginning to neglect my own “baby”, Blue Collar, a value-formation magazine for marginalized youth which didn’t give me money but which fulfilled me as His servant. To keep me, the Mabuhay management offered to hire a Managing Editor for Blue Collar at their expense, but my conscience wouldn’t allow it—it was my presence that Blue Collar needed to survive, and so I resigned. This happened four years before I joined Carmel.

Nine years after I joined Carmel, something similar took place. I resigned as Editor-in-Chief of Woman Today, then the strongest women’s weekly magazine in the country, turning my back on the Three Ps—Prestige, Power, Perks. I was enjoying a hefty salary, a company car for my personal use, a vibrant social life, gifts overflowing—but I saw the signs, the writing on the wall, and resigned, again, causing everybody to think I was stupid. If I didn’t let go when I did, I would have fallen, ensnared by worldly glitter, serving the gods of consumerism and fattening my own ego. Where would God be in my life then?

In both instances, I made my choice after much agonizing over an uncertain future. But each time brought me calm after the storm, a peace that is beyond words. I know Carmel sustained me, for though I was “not yet a Carmelite” while in Mabuhay, Teresa de Avila and Juan de la Cruz were already my "idols" (since college days). At Woman Today, I as a professed Carmelite was by then aware of the solidarity we enjoy with Carmel’s saints and the graces obtained by the intense desire to be united with God.

How our Carmelite Saints inspire me

Now these two great saints Teresa of Jesus and John of the Cross continue to be my inspiration and guide as a media person. On light moments I imagine our Holy Mother Teresa to be the ultimate 21st century Carmelite journalist with her uncommon common sense, self-confidence, scintillating personality, devil-may-care ways that disguise her holiness. Street-smart but docile to the Spirit, St. Teresa of Jesus stands witness to the truth—so sorely needed today—that yes, it is possible to be one with God without looking or behaving like a sour-faced, wilting medieval nun. Her social savvy and a Christ-centered pragmatism would get things done, perhaps in unorthodox ways at times, but no one could find fault with her for she is, in her heart of hearts, of Jesus, living up to her name.

Our Holy Father John is my quiet strength, particularly when I’m making ethical or moral decisions. His asceticism, capacity for suffering in times of trial, and unassailable love for God are there to goad me until I am empowered to enter the silence of nada and emerge from it free to be nothing and nobody. When faced with a choice between two morally-correct paths, St. John of the Cross inspires me to take the one that is more difficult to tread. And that is perhaps why my abovementioned crucial decisions in my media career made me look stupid: the world can not embrace John of the Cross. People tend to avoid the rough road—sacrifices, sufferings, anonymity—especially in media where many practitioners can be vicious in their pursuit of power and influence. This frail-looking saint who suffered in the hands of his brother priests is a giant in my eyes, a model of steadfastness and detachment.

Media work is never “ordinary”. By its very nature it makes of the media practitioner a special person. Whether or not the media person deserves being seen as special is beside the point; the fact remains that he or she stands to be intoxicated by the attention or esteem the public tends to reserve for media people. In order not to succumb to such temptations to vanity, I look to St. Therese of the Child Jesus who was perfectly content being unknown, loving God and enduring neighbor through the myriad trials of ordinary life. Moved by her example, I occasionally drop all deadlines, leave all “important concerns” behind, put on my grimiest sneakers and nondescript clothes so I can be lost in places like Quiapo, Baclaran and Divisoria. It is so good to rub elbows with the masses—to eat lugaw with the tricycle drivers, chat with the tinderas, hear of their woes or joys, to do something nice to people who can’t give me anything in return. For me, this down-time—a break from a world where relationships are mostly utilitarian—is both humbling and elating, keeping me attuned to the public pulse, and therefore to the heartbeat of God.

The fire of Elijah

And when even John of the Cross can’t help me, there’s one more great saint to count on—Elijah. Yes, I do get moments of exasperation especially now that my work as a media officer at the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines exposes me to vulnerabilities and eccentricities of men of the cloth. It’s tough dealing with tri-media reporters and their demands and prejudices on a daily basis, to be there to facilitate understanding between two parties (media and Church) who sing a tune and speak a language different from each other's. Specifically on days when media men misrepresent bishops’ thoughts or misquote them, put words in the latter’s mouth, I feel like throwing in the towel. My inner devil would nudge me, Why bother? Why the heck can’t you just take off and enjoy life?

So I sometimes waver, not from lack of conviction but from the thought that no matter how hard I kcik and scream, my voice will just be drowned by the booming and screeching noises of The Enemy anyway. This job no longer occupies me with travel, celebrities and the frothy elements of living, but The Enemy is even more ferocious here as Truth itself is at stake and the fight throws me directly into the arena with the false prophets of our day. And let me tell you false prophets abound in both media and Church. I question myself, "Am I up to the job? " and I get cold feet. Then, Elijah’s fire heats me up—the fire God sent upon the prophet’s water-drenched sacrifice on Mount Carmel. I enter the fire and let the flame surround me—I should not even think of myself, whether or not I’m up to the job, I should just do it like a real descendant of the zealous Lolo Elijah and leave the rest to God!

For the Carmelite in the media profession, the only surrender must be the surrender of self to God in order to be used as a channel of His love for man. Here I am, Lord, use me. Long long before I discovered Carmel, in that “private consecration,” I offered my pen to God and asked Him to use me. Now that I’m in Carmel—scapular, pin, mantle and all—it’s no longer a “private” thing. I ask you now, fellow Carmelites: In the practice of my media profession, am I being a true Carmelite?

Light from the empty tomb

2007-06-12T17:02:00.000+08:00

“May mga penitensya pa ba sa Pilipinas?” emailed a friend, an Ateneo graduate, living abroad for many years now. As a child she used to gawk at them in her hometown in Pampanga. She commented that these “masochistic flagellants” reflect a pervasive sense of worthlessness that infects the national consciousness which in turn keeps the country in stagnation. This friend (who has a yen for psychoanalysis) thinks Filipinos are “used to suffering” and enjoy being victims, thus they have endured centuries of injustice to their own detriment. She sees poverty and ignorance as the main culprits in the country’s state of affairs and thinks the solution lies in educating the people and eradicating graft and corruption. Of course, I emailed her a piece of my mind as well. It follows:

I observe that the flagellants come from the lower socio-economic echelons and would not be in a position to analyze their penchant for blood-letting in the same way an Atenean probably would. Yes, they looked at the forsaken Jesus and probably identified with the man on the cross but—I would venture a guess—not out of a deep sense of victimhood as a people. Their horizon is within arm’s reach, or baranggay-wide in some cases, and they wouldn’t be bothered by history, let alone link their present condition to a past of indignities the colonizers subjected their great great great grandparents to.

As a growing girl and later on as mainstream media person I myself had been privileged to get acquainted with a handful of them. That’s practically all I’m basing my observations on—person to person contact. Most, if not all of them, live a notch above or below poverty line. They can barely make both ends meet but they can always persuade Aling Belay at the corner sari-sari store to spare them a bottle of “lapad” or “quatro cantos” (read “ Marka Dimonyo ”) at the end of each harrowing day. And for them every godforsaken day is harrowing. When you are poor and ignorant, it is hard to believe you have any choice.

But their self-immolation is a choice, their choice— Vatican pronouncements notwithstanding. They flagellate themselves because it’s a panata, a vow to be honored year after year as their way of expressing remorse for their sins. They are happy that way. They may feel worthless in their sinfulness but not hopeless in their blood-letting. Being whipped and nailed on the cross is for them reliving the pasyon ni Hesus— peculiar, perhaps, but it is their imitation of Christ .

These Holy Week “masochists” are by no means the sole barometer of our national spiritual climate. It would be myopic—not to mention unjust—to say that Filipinos bear in their collective psyche the “sense of worthlessness that has made them endure centuries of injustice … and that keeps the country in a perpetual state of stagnation.”

Let me ask you: How many flagellants do we have every year? Hundreds? How many get “crucified”? Two? Three? For every penitent bleeding himself clean during semana santa, how many pleasure-seekers troop to the beaches oblivious of the pasyon? If we have “masochists”, we also have “hedonists” by the thousands; is it a feeling of worthlessness that drives them to escape the dour Holy Week spirit? For every dozen who choose holiday over holy week, how many hundreds of thousands of Filipinos stay put in the city—flocking to the churches for the Seven Last Words, going on a visita iglesia with families and friends, attending the Easter vigil vibrating with anticipation, as though awaiting the very birth of Christ itself? Can you honestly say that we as a people have in our core this “sense of worthlessness”? Is progress elusive because we are “used to suffering”? Gotcha!

As a people, we are where we are—and no president or Poncio Pilato can save us—not because we are used to suffering but because we are afraid to suffer for Christ ’s sake! Sa totoo lang, tita, we run away from the Cross! Those who are already suffering from poverty and ignorance are caught in a rut because those who are in a position to help them out are unwilling to suffer with them. Our concept and practice of charity even tends to perpetuate the status quo when do-gooders help the poor to placate their conscience while the poor use their poverty as an excuse for their slothfulness. That’s the real picture: rich and poor alike, educated or not, refuse to walk the extra mile to unite and improve things for the country! People are too comfortable in their own little worlds to bother looking at the big picture, much as less to work towards building the Kingdom of God !

So you see, even though poverty and ignorance is our problem, it is a mistake to think that money and education alone can liberate us from these twin evils. We still find in all economic levels people who are never satisfied with the money they are making—they feel impoverished if they cannot have more, more, more. We have more and supposedly better schools now than our grandfathers who were raised on caton ever did, and yet we still encounter soul-searing ignorance even among our Ph Ds.

Thanks to Lea Salonga and Manny Pacquiao, our masses can now proclaim they are “proud to be Pinoy”—we’ve come a long way from “feeling worthless,” haven’t we?—and yet our flagellants have remained with us for centuries now, like indelible footprints of a bygone era. And in our collective ignorance we blame anything but ourselves for the moribund state our country is in.

We are in the dark and we do not know it. The solution to the problem of poverty and ignorance is not a flawless political system, a better economy or even more education. What we need is: illumination. Illumination to dispel the darkness of ignorance and to enable us to see the divine behind our material poverty. We need illumination from the empty tomb to see our own sins before those of others.

Easter is upon us. We say Allelujah! to the Risen Christ but do we really believe in Him? Believe in Him enough to want to make ourselves channels of His light and love? We say “Peace be with you!” but are we willing to wage war on our inner demons, to mean what we mouth in order to spread the peace of Christ all over our land?

In this “only Christian nation in Asia ,” there are poor people among the moneyed, ignorant ones among the schooled, and greedy ones from rich and poor alike. Which reminds me of Jeremiah 6:13-14, For from the least to the greatest of them, everyone is greedy for unjust gain, and from prophet to priest, everyone deals falsely. They have treated the wound of my people carelessly, saying ‘Peace, peace’, when there is no peace.

Peace will come upon our land when the illuminati—those to whom more is given—take up their Cross, follow their Master, and bring the light of the Risen Christ to the people not by the words they are saying but by the life they are living. It may appear that hoi polloi are still in flagellation mode, stuck on the level of the pasyon, but the true illuminati know in their hearts that whatever is happening is the best that can happen at the moment, for nothing escapes the compassionate eye of God. And that’s the truth. END

(NOTE: The above article first came out in the author's column, "And that's the truth", which comes out regularly in The CBCP Monitor, the official publication of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines. It is written by a Filipino for a Filipino audience)

Split-level Marianity

2007-06-12T16:51:00.000+08:00

“The Filipinos have a split level Christianity.” Over the decades this claim has been repeated so loudly and so often that its message now seems taken for granted. Briefly, it means Filipino Christians wear one mask inside the church and another outside of it, exhibit one type of behavior on Sunday and a different one from Monday to Saturday.

Now, the month of May and traditionally of Mary, another facet of our split-level Christianity surfaces: our irrespressible veneration of the Blessed Virgin Mary, back to back with our appalling disregard of the virtues she embodies.

It behooves me to think there must be thousands of Marian organizations in the Philippines and yet… how authentically “Marian” have we become? We remember her every six hours in the Angelus or Regina Coeli, every day in the rosary, every week in novenas, every month in her myriad manifestations. And every year over the centuries we have celebrated countless fiestas, held congresses, dedicated shrines, and organized jubilees—all for Mary. We release balloons on her birthday, and in Intramuros we hold processions of favorite and cherished Marian images every year.

This month, in churches all over the country—up to the humblest kapilya in far flung barangays—we honor Mary with flowers offered each day, culminating in two popular events in our calendar: the Santacruzan and the Flores de Mayo. After more than 400 years of all that show of love and devotion for our Blessed Mother, one would imagine the Filipinos to be by now a shining model of Christian discipleship. But are we?

How attentive have we grown to the writing on the wall, to the warning signs enveloped in images we are exposed to daily? Do we remember Mary when we watch those scantily clad “bombs” and “babes” gyrating on noontime TV shows? (Mary who?) Do we care that advertising billboards studding our highways reduce women to the level of sex objects? (Aw, come on!) Are we aware of the standards some of our magazines are setting to determine the value of a woman? (Yes, now you may text your votes for the sexiest cover girl in XXX Men’s Magazine). How are the women in these media clad? (Definitely not Mary-like!) What are they selling? (Worldly goodies.) What thoughts, desires, and emotions do they spawn in us? (The stuff of which confessions are made.)

Are we concerned about the values our showbiz “goddesses” are transmitting to our young women by their example? How do we reconcile these images (of Filipino women) with our fervor for Mary? How does this nonstop image-barrage by media affect our devotion to Mary? Shouldn’t our devotion to Mary somehow influence the public depiction of women in our midst?

Sometimes it’s embarrassing to realize that “non-Marian” countries or cultures are even more Marian in their regard for certain virtues we Catholics are supposed to uphold, such as modesty, for one. Buddhist temples in Thailand, for example, do not let in women visitors wearing shorts, sleeveless dresses or plunging necklines. Temple guards at the Islamic al-Aqsa shrine or Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem cover such improperly dressed tourists with gowns made for the purpose. (In contrast, note what some of our women wear to Mass in this “only Catholic nation in Asia.”) Newspapers and magazines in Islamic countries—even the more “liberal” or “progressive” ones like Egypt—do not carry photos of women exposing their bodies, such as fashion models in revealing clothes and beauty contestants in swimsuits. Here in our Mary-loving land, those beauties always get front page exposure in print media, and certainly, even jeepney-riding Filipinas are getting bolder and bolder in fashion, flaunting their navels and tattooed hips for all the world to see.

What ought to concern us is the effect of this “split-level Marianity” on young girls today—who will be tomorrow’s women and mothers. Show two images of woman to your 5-year old daughter—one of Our Lady and the other of a noontime TV dancer—and see which of the two will put a sparkle in her eye. Your guess is as good as mine. Attend a fiesta night in a remote barrio and you’ll find that live entertainment will most likely be provided by young girls dancing “Itaktak mo!”

We hope this split-level Marianity is but a passing thing, and that there are more true-blue Marian devotees than are apparent among us. It is laudable to give Mary a special place in our celebrations, but we also wish for everyone to savor the company of Mary in contemplation. With the Filipinos’ penchant for celebrations we sometimes forget about the long-range effects of our actions, like when we release balloons on Mother Mary’s birthday and choke Mother Earth in the process. With child-like and typical ningas-cogon glee we watch the balloons fly to the skies, not knowing that next day the deflated balloons could land in the ocean and cause death to marine creatures that ingest them.

We know that the imitation of Mary could provide the solution to our many ills. We fully trust that we shall one day be granted the grace to be “other Marys”—the soul of humility, modesty and compassion—remaining docile to God’s will while defying the judgment of men. Until that day comes we will in good faith just close an eye to our split-level Marianity. We carry on with our processions in her name, flaunting our fantabulous carrozas of her images while overlooking the probability that because we cannot imitate her, we make her imitate us: we can not be poor and simple like Mary, so we dress her up in gold and diamonds like us. The picture borders on the ridiculous, but our sense of humor will see us through. And that’s the truth.

A New Year Story: Signs of the Times

2007-06-12T16:48:00.000+08:00

For a change from New Year’s Resolutions that never seem to resolve anything anyway, let’s begin 2007’s truth-telling in a lighthearted mood.

Travel not only broadens your horizons and expands your waistline—it also brings you funny moments at the most unexpected times and places, especially when you count on signs to find your way around. I for one find some signs so amusing or downright hilarious that I collect them, either jotting them down in a memo pad or photographing them whenever possible. Friends who know of my unusual “collection” contribute to it, too; so, enjoy what I have to show after 30 years of periodic globetrotting. (A word of caution, though: many of the signs here are Strictly For Adults Only).

Let’s start in Paris, where a cozy hotel reminds guests to: PLEASE LEAVE YOUR VALUES AT THE FRONT DESK.

A rather apologetic sign at a hotel lobby in Bucharest says with all good intentions: THE LIFT IS BEING FIXED FOR THE NEXT DAY. DURING THAT TIME WE REGRET THAT YOU WILL BE UNBEARABLE.

Across from a Russian Orthodox monastery in Moscow, a hotel welcomes tourists with this sign in the lobby: YOU ARE WELCOME TO VISIT THE CEMETERY WHERE FAMOUS RUSSIAN AND SOVIET COMPOSERS, ARTISTS, AND WRITERS ARE BURIED DAILY EXCEPT THURSDAY.

Very politely, a hotel in Tokyo has this sign in its rooms: GUESTS ARE REQUESTED NOT TO SMOKE OR DO OTHER DISGUSTING BEHAVIOURS IN BED.

Elsewhere in Japan, a hotel’s Instruction Sheet for using the air conditioner says: COOLES AND HEATES: IF YOU WANT CONDITION OF WARM AIR IN YOUR ROOM, PLEASE CONTROL YOURSELF.

And speaking of self-control, see this reminder in the rooms of a Zurich hotel: BECAUSE OF THE IMPROPRIETY OF ENTERTAINING GUESTS OF THE OPPOSITE SEX IN THE BEDROOM, IT IS SUGGESTED THAT THE LOBBY BE USED FOR THIS PURPOSE.

So as not to tire guests having to iron their own clothing, a hotel in Yugoslavia tacks this warm reminder on the rooms’ door: THE FLATTENING OF UNDERWEAR WITH PLEASURE IS THE JOB OF THE CHAMBERMAID.

With the same concern for guests, a hotel in Japan posts this in the rooms: YOU ARE INVITED TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE CHAMBERMAID.

In case a chambermaid is unavailable, and the guests’ lack of care in ironing their clothes results in fire, this hotel in Vienna shows foresight with this sign: IN CASE OF FIRE, DO YOUR UTMOST TO ALARM THE HOTEL PORTER.

Mindful of its guests’ safety, a notice in the rooms of a Chiang-Mai hotel in Thailand cautions: PLEASE DO NOT BRING SOLICITORS INTO YOUR ROOM.

Solicitors invading the rooms may not be a problem for a hotel catering to skiers in Austria, but some of its rowdy guests might be, thus the warning: NOT TO PERAMBULATE THE CORRIDORS IN THE HOURS OF REPOSE IN THE BOOTS OF ASCENSION.

Sightseeing is made more enjoyable when you’re also “sign-seeing”. Look at this one posted in Germany's Black Forest: IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN ON OUR BLACK FOREST CAMPING SITE THAT PEOPLE OF DIFFERENT SEX, FOR INSTANCE, MEN AND WOMEN, LIVE TOGETHER IN ONE TENT UNLESS THEY ARE MARRIED WITH EACH OTHER FOR THIS PURPOSE.

A zoo in Budapest advises enthusiastic tourists with this sign: PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS. IF YOU HAVE ANY SUITABLE FOOD, GIVE IT TO THE GUARD ON DUTY.

This one in a Third World cemetery is well meaning, but still manages to tickle the imagination: PERSONS ARE PROHIBITED FROM PICKING FLOWERS FROM ANY BUT THEIR OWN GRAVES.

A sign at a Bangkok temple wags its finger at insensitive tourists: IT IS FORBIDDEN TO ENTER A WOMAN EVEN A FOREIGNER IF DRESSED AS A MAN.

Bars and restaurants offer their share of funny bone ticklers. Here’s a nutty one from a Tokyo bar: SPECIAL COCKTAILS FOR THE LADIES WITH NUTS.

A cocktail lounge in Norway, meanwhile, shows such care in protecting the innocent: LADIES ARE REQUESTED NOT TO HAVE CHILDREN IN THE BAR.

In a restaurant in Rome, this sign implies there are 521 days a year: OPEN SEVEN DAYS A WEEK, AND WEEKENDS TOO.

A Nairobi restaurant notice matter-of-factly states: CUSTOMERS WHO FIND OUR WAITRESSES RUDE OUGHT TO SEE THE MANAGER.

Restaurant menus also offer humor besides nourishment: Note this one from a Swiss restaurant in Fribourg: OUR WINES LEAVE YOU NOTHING TO HOPE FOR.

And from a quaint restaurant in Poland’s countryside: SALAD A FIRM'S OWN MAKE; LIMPID RED BEET SOUP WITH CHEESY DUMPLINGS IN THE FORM OF A FINGER; ROASTED DUCK LET LOOSE; BEEF RASHERS BEATEN IN THE COUNTRY PEOPLE'S FASHION.

A new type of omelet seems a specialty in a roadside restaurant in Luxor, Egypt: WE SERVE OMELETTE WITH EGGS.

Roadside reminders are another source of travel fun. Right here at home, a sign cautions motorists in Tagaytay: PLEASE DRIVE SLOWLY. 6 PEOPLE DIED HERE BY ACCIDENT.

To wake up sleepy local tourists on the road to Malolos, a billboard advertising chicken feed boasts: PALAKIHAN NG ITLOG.

While you fill up at a gasoline station in Tarlac, an invitation painted on its wall says: DROP IN. THIS IS A GOOD PLACE TO TAKE A LEAK.

Travel agencies do their part in making your trip mishap-free—as this one from Czechoslovakia: TAKE ONE OF OUR HORSE-DRIVEN CITY TOURS. WE GUARANTEE NO MISCARRIAGES.

Sometimes travel agents’ enthusiasm leads to ambivalence, like this long-winding claim noted at a tourist bureau in Padova, Italy: THIS HOTEL IS RENOWNED FOR ITS PEACE AND SOLITUDE. IN FACT, CROWDS FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD FLOCK HERE TO ENJOY ITS SOLITUDE.

Sometimes, too, airline ticket offices may not be the most helpful of places; see this sign in Copenhagen: WE TAKE YOUR BAGS AND SEND THEM IN ALL DIRECTIONS.

The Japanese countryside is so beautiful even its travel tips can get to be poetic, as this one found in a car rental brochure in Tokyo: WHEN PASSENGER OF FOOT HEAVE IN SIGHT, TOOTLE THE HORN. TRUMPET HIM MELODIOUSLY AT FIRST, BUT IF HE STILL OBSTACLES YOUR PASSAGE THEN TOOTLE HIM WITH VIGOUR.

There’s more on the list, really, but I guess this is enough gasser for the day, lest some extra-sensitive reader ask, “What’s a column like that doing in an august, dignified paper for bishops?” Well, as any honest-to-goodness church person can tell you, bishops wouldn’t be able to endure being bishops if they didn’t know how to be human and laugh once in a while. And that’s the truth.

(NOTE: This article first appeared in the author's column "And that's the truth" which appears regularly in The CBCP Monitor, the official publication of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines.)

Of love and cloud watching

2007-06-12T16:44:00.000+08:00

By Teresa R. Tunay, OCDS

Once upon a time, a little girl aged five was looking out the window watching cloud formations.

Cloud-watching was a game her mother had taught her earlier on; their house, situated on the highest point of the street, afforded them a good view of the town and the city beyond, and, of course, of the huge expanse of the skies above. Mother and daughter would—on late afternoons before sunset—scan the skies for cloud formations that resembled creatures on earth. Her mother would say, “Look for an elephant!” and the little girl who had never been to a zoo would look for the animal as she had seen it in a coloring book. Happy that the girl would quickly find the elephant, the mother would snap, “Very good! Now, look for the bear!” and the little girl would find it fast, too, for she had seen a bear in the flash cards of her teacher-aunt.

Now, that particular afternoon she was cloud-watching alone, the clouds were sparse and the sky was a beautiful blue. There were no “animals” but still, the little girl saw in it a sea, as the clouds looked like foamy waves coming up the shore. She hoped, though, that clouds would thicken and swell so that even a few rabbits would appear, but they did not. Her eyes were getting tired and her eyelids heavy from the long wait, but the little girl did not give up. Then, she noticed images slowly forming from nothing and then moving in the blue sky, as though a movie was playing before her. One of two images was herself, the five-year old girl, wearing a long white tunic, sitting on the lap of Jesus, playing with his beard!

The little girl could identify Jesus from the many stampitas her grandmother kept as markers in her bible, and from the calendars from the lumber company tacked ubiquitously on the walls of their house. This Jesus moving in the sky was the one whose heart was exposed, but his heart was as big as a dinner plate, and the little girl was playfully sticking her finger in it. She noticed that it felt and looked like a pin cushion, being soft and made of red satin. “Why is your heart very big?” she asked Jesus. Came his reply, “Because it has to have room for everyone.” The little girl, still touching and exploring Jesus’ heart, remarked, “It is very soft…” Then, Jesus hugged her tight and she hugged him, too, although she wanted to complain that he was too big for her arms to hug tight.

When Jesus let go, the little girl noticed that her own heart was outside of her chest, too, though it was a regular heart, not as big as Jesus’. She was surprised, however, that it was bleeding although she felt no pain. Jesus read her mind and said, “When you hugged me, your heart was pressed against mine and got wounded by the thorns around my heart.” The little girl looked at Jesus’ heart which was no longer a big pin cushion but already a real heart outside of his chest, ringed with thorns and bleeding, like the one she saw in stampitas and calendars. She glanced at her heart, too, and noticed that the blood was coming from two little wounds. A smiling Jesus continued, “Now you see why you are wounded but you do not feel the pain because I am the one bearing all the pain— because I love you.”

The images slowly faded away and the little girl’s attention returned to her cloud-watching. Did she fall asleep?, she wondered, for what transpired was similar to dreaming. No, she was merely watching, and in fact she noticed that everything seemed to happen in a wink. In fact, the clouds that looked like foamy waves, had not shifted at all! But the little girl had no doubt that the movie-like story she saw was real, not a dream. However, she did not feel a need to tell anyone about it.

Many many many years later, when the little girl had grown into a woman who was to go through a lot in life, the picture of this heart episode wormed its way into her consciousness. Just as the heart has its own memory, it also has its own reason beyond reason, and now, the woman whose heart as a little girl received two wounds from His Heart knows and believes: Jesus is wounded by both those who love Him and those who do not love Him. Knowing He is wounded causes her heart to bleed, too, but He spares her from the pain because in her imperfect love for Him, feeling that pain herself would cripple her in her efforts to love others. Jesus’ love is such that He wants her heart to have room for everyone, too! Behold the Heart that loves all of us!