Of mercy and compassion, faith and diversity, hope and unity: a 12,000-mile personal reflection

I am moved by what’s currently busying my country—the Pope’s visit. I am moved to tears seeing throngs and throngs of people flock to the streets to catch a glimpse of him. I silently cried while I read live updates of his trip, each touching bit of news turned into heart thumping turned into tears flowing. I envied my friends back home as they watched intently his televised visit, as if his sought-after wave of blessings could pass through the TV monitor. Spiritually, yes. They cried. I cried with them.

I am a Catholic and proud of it. Most of its doctrines I embrace, some I ignore, a few I completely disagree with. My religion teaches universality, but it also respects individuality. Perhaps other religions do, too. A priest friend had several times referred to ‘My God’, ‘Your God’. It took me sometime to understand what he meant. This denotes a sense of ownership, of my power to know, feel, understand, and connect with my God the way I want.

I do not hate people who mock my religion. I only withdraw from heated dialogues, however analytical or intellectual they may be, or avoid reading posts that question my faith or the existence of my God, however scientific it may seem. To me, one’s religious faith should be regarded with utmost respect, like one’s inalienable right to life. With a medieval mindset like mine, I would tend to ignore the challenge of a religious debate, divert my attention to other issues even the least interesting, or simply shut these people out from insulting my faith. Sometimes I pray for these religious bashers, for a heart full of wisdom and understanding to accept personal beliefs and respect for diversity. I pray for myself even more, for a heart full of wisdom and understanding to accept personal beliefs and respect for diversity.

My God is everywhere. Religion does not confine my human being, but rather encourage me to grow, wherever, whenever. I live my Catholic teachings as much as I can. I have joined in worships with other Christians. Having lived in Buddhist countries, I frequented temples many times to pray. At the time when my mother was sick, or in my moments of low, I lit incense, offered lotus flowers, and solemnly said my piece to my God. I doubt that Buddha would mind. These acts of prayer had an equal effect on me as when I pray in my church, or when pausing outside a mosque, or when absorbing the peace and quiet in the mountains, under the shady trees or at sea. Now residing in a Muslim country, seriously I feel much safer here than when I was in Papua New Guinea or Sierra Leone, or even in the Philippines. My God is where I need Him/Her/It/Them the most.

The Pope is not God. But he brings God in us, within us. He is a symbol of love, hope, humility, joy, grace, mercy, compassion, respect, forgiveness, charity, and many other virtues that the God of all race, color, age, creed, religion, sexual orientation, appearance, lifestyle, or social status is telling us. He unites the people, particularly my people who are blessed by his presence right now. He is like any other human– the Dalai Lama, Mother Teresa, and great world leaders that have inspired a multitude. Just as I am a symbol of joy, generosity, love, to some of my family and friends.

At 12,00 miles away, I feel elated sharing with the Filipino masses this utter bliss, renewed faith, and reciprocated love so deep and wide it transcends religion, social barriers, and physical distance. Here I am, writing from my heart on the spur of the moment. Posting religious thoughts, which is too personal for me, became quite spontaneous. It was liberating as it was heavy as it was profound. #