“Si Ilyas!” That’s how you always called me. Whenever you see me around, you will never fail to look at me piercingly behind your badly-repaired spectacles then smile, like you know all the mischief and all the secrets I have upon my sleeves. You are a physician by training and it does not take you long to know if we were really sick or if we just really needed some undeserved rest. You could look straight to our hearts and know how to properly take care of us. And despite of my decision not to be a friar like you, you prophesied that I will always be a lesser brother like you. How affectionate, you have always been proud of me.

Oftentimes visitors mistake you as a gardener or a maintenance crew. You are my definition of perfect joy. And up until the end, that’s what you are to me. How do you do it, Brother Hermie? Dying at 63, in a distant shore, only to be doing what you are called to do - to heal in a profoundly simple way with your presence. Or at least try to. 

Smile from heaven and look down on me always, will you?

July 20, 2024
Acacia Hotel
Davao City

Bago magsimula ang panibagong taon sa seminaryo, minabuti kong mag-silent retreat. Palabiro itong Diyos na ito. Sa lahat naman ng pwedeng puntahan ay itong Abbey of Transfiguration ng mga mongheng Benedictine. Tatlong taon ang nakakaraan eh nagpunta na dapat ako dito kaso mo, lango ako noon at hindi nagawang gumising para sa flight. Pero ang Diyos, gagawa ng paraan. 

 

Pagdating sa tuktok ng Malaybalay, sa Bukidnon, iba ang eksena. Simple ang lahat. Malamig at panay ang ulan, ilang beses kong inisip wag maligo. Nagawa kong hindi dumaldal ng ilang araw. Gamit bilang guide ang librong “Becoming Who You Are” ni James Martin, SJ na base sa buhay nila Thomas Merton, Henry Nouwen, at Mother Theresa, sinikap kong kilalaning mabuti ang sarili.

 

Pinilit kong sundan ang schedule ng mga monghe. Gising sa madaling araw para manalangin, uminom ng napakaraming kape na ani nila para magising, nagsulat, nanalangin ulit hanggang bago pumikit. Yung Compline ang pinakapaborito kong sabayan sa schedule nila. Madilim ang buong paligid, ilang ilaw lang ang bukas sapat para maaninag ang itim na birhen sa ibabaw ng altar at ang tabernakulo. Paulit ulit sa utak ko ang unang linya ng kanta ni St. Thomas Aquinas: “Adore te devote, latens Deitas.” Sinasamba kita, nagtatagong Diyos.

 

Sa altar may painting ng eksena ng Transfiguration. Ang Diyos na puting puti ang damit, napagigitnaan nila Moises at Propeta Elias habang nasa bandang paanan ang tatlong apostol na manghang-mangha, ayaw na bumaba ng bundok. “Dito na lang tayo, Lord.”

 

“Anong ginagawa mo rito, Elias?” Yan ang tanong ni Yahweh sa propetang reklamador sa pagbasa ngayong araw. Yan din ang tanong ko buong linggo ko dito sa abbey. Nagpahinga, nag-recharge, kumain ng marami, uminom ng ilang tasang kape. Tumawa rin at nagkaroon ng mga bagong kaibigan. Hinanap ang Diyos na mahilig magtago sa ordinaryo. Pero ang totoo, Diyos ang naghanap sa akin. Handa na ulit bumaba at ituloy ang palabas.

 

Sa huling gabi ko sa abbey, nagpa-iwan ako pagkatapos ng Compline. Maliban sa ilang palaka at ilang uwak na sumilong dahil sa ulan, solo ko ang simbahan. Pagtapos tumunganga sa Blessed Sacrament, naisip kong umakyat sa estatwa ng Mahal na Birhen ng Montserrat. Habang nakatunganga ulit at sinisipat kung totoong ginto ba ang kulay ng birheng maitim, bigla kong naalala na 500 years ago, sa parehas na imaheng ito tumunganga din si San Ignacio de Loyola at inalay ang kanyang espada, simbolo ng dati nyang buhay na kailangang mamatay, paglamayan, at ipagpasa-Diyos. Syempre hindi pwedeng papatalo ako. Wala man akong espadang maialay sa Birhen ng Montserrat, naglitanya ako ang mga hang-ups ko sa buhay at sinabing “Sayo na yan, ‘Nay. Thank you, next na ako.”

 

Pwede na siguro yun.

 

 ———

“Dumaan si Yahweh at umihip ang napakalakas na hangin […] ngunit wala sa hangin si Yahweh. Nang tumigil ang hangin ay lumindol, ngunit wala sa lindol si Yahweh. Pagkalipas ng lindol ay kumidlat, ngunit wala rin sa kidlat si Yahweh. Pagkalipas ng kidlat, narinig niya ang isang banayad na tinig.”

 

July 18, 2024

Abbey of Transfiguration

Malaybalay, Bukidnon

Dear S,

It was a decade ago when I first met you. I still remember it clearly. You were coming down the attic stairs, wearing the same clothes from the night before. I had just arrived early that morning from an assignment in Mindanao. While I was away, the housemates had moved my things to a new place. So from the airport, I took a taxi straight to a new address forever leaving behind that Mahabagin Street warehouse we used to call home.

You were wearing a white undershirt, and at the time, you were still with my best friend. You had stayed the night at our new place. I remember how you’d play the cello while he played the violin. You were both artists, creative souls. I kept my feelings buried in a place so deep I didn’t even know it existed—at least not until a few years ago.

We met again after a few years. I reached out because I knew you were working at an offshore bank in BGC, and I had just tried my hand at corporate work there. I landed a job at a forex company. Back then, BGC was just a patchwork of scattered buildings surrounded by empty lots. On my first day, we met up for a quick lunch. We kept meeting now and then until I left that job. Corporate life wasn’t for me, and by then, you and my best friend had already broken up.

The next time we saw each other would be years later.

Fast forward to 2021. That was the year I told my live-in partner that perhaps God was still calling me to be a priest. I saw you on social media and decided to reach out. We met for a meal, and afterward, you insisted on bringing me back to the little store I was about to open. It was a July afternoon. The rain played with the light, painting everything in soft colors. When I was left alone afterward, I felt something, something like a spark. Did you feel it too? Did I ever tell you I was discerning a calling?

From that point on, we became inseparable. Maybe it was me who insisted we spend almost every weekend together. We tried new things. You introduced me to the art of coffee. We explored hidden spots: run-down Chinese restaurants, old bakeries that stopped selling bread by midday, and this old Japanese resto in Timog where I could gorge on unlimited sashimi and oysters. You were crazy enough to drive me to my errands: meeting old nuns in Tagaytay, chatting with rural women who made coco jam in Quezon, walking around unsafe neighborhoods for the sake of my penchant for less-touristy spots. And when I was away for weeks trying to find God in the waves and watering holes of Siargao, it was you who picked me up at the airport, excited to hear my stories. I told you I found God there. But the truth is, God found me.

“Let’s try the mountains this time,” you said. So a few weeks before your birthday, we went to Baguio. At the hotel, we shared the same bed. You didn’t mind. Sex was never on the table. But that week, sleeping beside you, I could feel something shifting. First, my labored breathing. Then, the awkward way I’d position myself so I wouldn’t have to look you in the eye. Then, at night, when we said goodnight, my heartbeat would finally slow down, and I’d fall asleep next to you. You looked incredibly beautiful in the golden light of sunset. Your smile glowed. I’ve never looked at sunsets the same since those afternoons in that mountain city.

I knew how much you loved the stars, especially at night. But it was always cloudy. So on our last night, I had an idea. We drove through Pinewoods to look at the city lights of Baguio, like a manmade galaxy of a hundred million stars. We stood there in silence, as close as two friends could be, staring at that artificial constellation of lightbulbs, streetlights, and headlights.

Every night we parted, we’d hug tightly. I’d wait until you got home, and our goodbyes would continue in the chat. I spent holidays with your family. Your mom and I would spend long afternoons talking about everything and nothing. We said “I love you” to each other in ways we never defined, but we were deliberate in saying them. Maybe to you, it meant something else. And to me, it meant… something. Before you, I never knew intimacy could look like this. This fine, fine line between platonic and romantic. To me, and perhaps more truly to you, it was enough.

You knew my deepest desires. My darkest secrets. Even the ones I hadn’t yet dared to name. You saw how I wrestled with a string of lovers, inebriated sexcapades, family baggage, and ego-driven rants about work. Through it all, you looked at me with tenderness. Maybe that’s why I was - am - so drawn to you. Why did I meet you again in the strangest of times? God, are You somewhere in all of this?

Perhaps it was your understanding of the universe that made me fall for you. While I talked of faith and religion, you spoke of the cosmos and the human condition. Yet somehow, we always arrived at the same truth. Elegantly, and without disagreement. We talked about the universe in ways that stirred our souls. Consider this: we all came from a single point. That the stars had to die and explode. That our atoms have been traveling together through time and space, only to become you and me, at this moment in the history of humankind. I often wonder: what did it take for you to become this gentlest, wisest, kindest soul I’ve ever known?

In one of my medieval philosophy classes, I learned about two kinds of time. One is nunc transiens, the “now that passes.” That’s the time we all know, a chronological sequence of moments. But the other is nunc stans, the “now that stands.” It’s time as God sees it: one eternal moment where everything, everyone, everywhere exists all at once. Looking back on our years of shared moments: meeting and parting, finding and losing. I begin to understand this eternal now.

I could’ve told you, with courage, that I wanted you. That I could walk away from this calling I’ve obsessed over my whole life. But I let time pass. I was foolish. I stayed silent. Not because I feared you’d run away. No, it was something else that held me back.

But there comes a time when a man must choose. I didn’t want to keep sitting on the fence, keeping every door open. So one day, I told you: I wanted to try this call to priesthood one last time. Try . That was the word. Going back to the seminary doesn’t guarantee anything. You knew that. But what was clear to me was this: I needed to find out, once and for all, if my desires were God’s desires too.

You congratulated me. You affirmed my decision. You said you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The last time we saw each other, you picked me up and drove me to the seminary. You waited until I was indeed, inside the hallowed walls I will call home for many years. Then you drove away and never looked back. That was three years ago. No calls. No messages. Almost no trace of the time we once shared.

S, did you really give me away to God?

——————————

From the right perspective (and yes, unfortunately one that three-dimensional creatures like us can’t see), all of time would be laid out before you, every instant that has ever existed or ever will exist.

There’s really nothing more real about this moment right now than moments that are billions of years in the future or millions of years in what we think of as the past. Not only am I made of life and death, but I am, individually, all those things at once. The earth has not formed yet. The sun has died and all the stars gone dark for uncountable trillions of years. Now.

I think of that when contemplating love and loss; it helps me, honestly just a little, but it does help me, to deal with the fear and loneliness that are as much a part of my life as breath. I’ve said to my husband, “When the universe began, I was holding your hand, and when the universe ends, I’ll be holding your hand.” And we actually believe that to be literally true.

Michelle Thaller, Finding meaning in the vastness of the universe

——————————

July 15, 2024

Abbey of Transfiguration

Malaybalay, Bukidnon 

I never devoted specific moment before to analyze where the ardent attraction to my faith comes from. It has never occurred to me to examine the sources of such attraction and how I came to appreciate my Catholic faith with a deep and profound reverence. But reading the short sketch of Merton’s life, I resonate with his way to conversion through various ways - he came to know Christ and decided to convert to the Catholic faith through his intellect, through art, through his emotional life, and through the example of the few Catholics he knew. 

I am not a convert like Merton. I grew up Catholic in a household that put primacy on piety and service in the parish. I remember the afternoons when my Amma would gather us siblings and cousins to pray the Angelus and to say the Rosary. We knew better than to hurry back home from playing after the first stars appear in the sky. Whoever is late in the orasyon will earn an earful. Looking back, it was my first exposure to the faith my Amma would hold so dear until the very end of her life.

But I grew up and became more critical of things around me. At the very young age, I know I will not be satisfied by simply obeying.  I have to know why and I had the itch to find out for myself what is this living a certain faith must be like. I joined Bible studies or bukluran where I would always be the youngest attendee carrying the biggest Bible. I can find the correct verse rapidly. I knew all the songs. My reflections were very adult. Everyone in the neighborhood would want that their children would be just like me. But it wasn’t simply enough. So I found myself getting active in the parish as an altar boy. Then a lector. Then a member of the youth ministry. Then a close aid of the parish priest. Those years serving in the Nativity of Our Lady Parish were the most formative of my life. I learned to love the human aspect of my Catholic faith. I learned that gossip and friendship can come hand in hand, that friends and foes can have common grounds, that parish life is exciting and thrilling if you have the knack for it. My friends come from both poor streets and gated villages of the parish. I never felt different from the other teens my age and we all treated each other despite knowing some of us are effeminate. Old people would suspect and talk in hushed voices but among those of my age and those who knew better, our sexuality was never a hindrance in our participation in the parish life. Despite all its imperfections, I found my parish life a strong foundation for a deep sense of who I am. In God’s eyes, I was made as fearfully and wonderfully like the others.

As I finish high school, I developed a deeper sense of social involvement. I had classmates in Quirino High School who often get into trouble with the admin for organizing students and attending rallies. Two of them, Carlo and Hiyas Laya, were some of the most eloquent speakers I ever encountered. They had passion in their speech and even greater passion in their deeds. Add to the fact that they are extremely intelligent students, going to class is never their priority but can always catch up quickly. They never recruited me to join the movement, but they opened my eyes to look at life in the eyes of the oppressed and disadvantaged. Later on, I would come to know that Hiyas and her cousin went to the countryside and joined the armed struggle. I don’t know if she is still alive these days. When my first year in the Oblate seminary came to an end after a year, the same summer my mother died, I was suddenly a grown up. Everything turned messy at home from then on. Even when we are used to poverty, it was different this time because my mother seemed to make everything around her light and now she has gone. At seventeen years old, I left home and took the courage to raise myself. I faked my birth certificate so I can work in a call center company. I shared a room with several officemates and random strangers I met online, tried my best to be an adult despite all the evidences that I am just a child. After few years, I enrolled in the University of the Philippines. It was there that fate would allow me to meet a new set of friends - a collection of artistic, courageous, and joyful souls. Leroy (who is my classmate originally in Oblate seminary), and Jerome became my constants along with a series and parade of film and music majors, activists of every kind of causes, lovers, hookups, mentors, and villains - mostly gays and lesbians of all sorts.

My early twenties was a time of intellectual awakening for me. But it is as if somehow I looked for God in everything, I had an awareness of everything I consumed during those years as a faith experience. What I read, what I watch, what I devote much of my thinking, are done in the lense of my Catholic faith. Thanks to my teenage years, I looked and participated into the world of artistic freedom, existential crises, countless booze and cigarettes, perennial hunger, and revolutionary angst with my senses sensitive to anything that can mean spiritual. “There is mercy here somewhere, if I look hard enough.” I even approached relationships as an experience of finding God. Or at the very least, a learning experience. I always liked the words from Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables: “To love another person is to see the face of God.” I saw God too in my emotional and sexual encounters. I cannot help but spiritualize my experiences such that even these days, I look at every experience of my life - good and bad, carnal and sacred, mundane and profound - as God’s gentle and ever loving presence.

When I decided to quit college indefinitely to focus on building a career in development, my faith took another turn. I was a secretly a very proud young man then because I knew I am smart and capable of many things. I built my professional credential by making my way up the ladder in many non-profits and development agencies until I saw myself taking leadership and representative roles, seating on the table with people much older than myself. Despite my pride, I always find myself attracted to working with Catholic and faith-based organizations. The best spiritual and professional formation I had was with the Good Shepherd Sisters. I don’t know what they saw in me but I flourished in wisdom and in faith because of the trust they gave to me to participate in their mission. Whenever I have the opportunity to slip it into conversations, I would always declare that I am raised well by the Good Shepherd Sisters.

Even when I was no longer active in the parish, I would see to it to attend Mass and spend quiet time in front of the Blessed Sacrament wherever I find myself assigned. And even when I was in a relationship with other men, faith always precedes everything. All my exes could sense there is something deeply wired in me that despite what many calls an abomination or contrary to faith, I never had difficulty navigating through my emotional life and that of my faith. This God of mine permeates everything and I am not afraid that He will stop loving me for something I did or just being my authentic self.

The image of a water lily comes into mind. Despite how dirty the water around it, the lily plant produces the whitest flower undefiled. The lily knows its nature, purpose, and design - to give glory to God despite the harshness and impossibility of the situation.

The lily’s white flower is a silent revolt to the world around it. A dissent to everyone saying it cannot be done. I like that imagery very much.

Hi, Sam. Tanda mo ang ilang Pasko at Bagong Taon na pare-parehas tayong ulila sa Katipunan? Mga panahong idolo kita dahil parang alam na alam mo na ang life project mo. Ang husay mo, yung tipong lowkey pero kapag nagkwentuhan na, pucha mapa-Hogwarts man yan or Economics eh napapanganga ako. Sagrado man o karnal, malaliman o mababaw na usapan, kaibig-ibig ka lagi pakinggan. At marunong ka rin makinig gamit ang puso mo.

Sa lipunang maari kang maging kahit sino, pinili mo ang maging guro. Kasi sabi mo, sino ang hahamon sa mga susunod na henerasyon na magmahal at magsuri? Kaya nagturo ka sa Pisay.

Pagpasok ko ng seminaryo, isa lang ang bilin mo: Pangatawanan mo yang hayop ka.; maging mabuti kang Father Elias. Naging mas madalang ang usap natin, nung birthday ko, ikaw ang humingi ng pabor - panalangin. Ambilis, dati covid covid lang usapan natin ngayon, Stage 3 agad. Napakadaya, ang tapang mo.

Umiinom ng gawa mong lemonda, sa pagitan ng mga upos ng sigarilyo, habang matingkad ang kulay ng langit sa balkonahe mo. "Elias, paano ba mag-start ng devotion?" Dun ko naramdaman na dinadala ka ng tapang mo palapit sa Diyos. Sa totoo naman, hindi ka lumayo kahit kaylanman. Minsan, walang pangalan ang Diyos sayo. Madalas, sigurado kang sya ang tumawag at umiibig sayo.

Kaya pala nitong mga nakaraang mga araw, bukambibig ko ang kantang "Stay With Me, Lord" eh hindi naman ako deboto ni Padre Pio. With matching teary eyes pa minsan kapag kinakanta ko habang naka-upo sa inodoro. Paulit-ulit, ilang araw na ganun. Sabi ng kanta:

Stay with me Lord, that I may never forget you.

Stay with me Lord, because I'm weak.

Yun pala ang mga araw na hinang-hina ka na. Hindi ko man lingid noon, naiintindihan ko ngayon na hinehele ka ng mga panalangin ko kasi hindi biro ang kirot ng sanlibong karayom. Bisperas ng pista ni Padre Pio, sinundo ka nya pabalik sa Bathala ng mga bahaghari, ng mga bituin, ng mga kalupaan, ang ng lahat ng mga nasa pagitan. Salamat naman, tapos na ang mga pasakit.

Pahapon na ngayon, katulad noong huli nating pagkikita. Salamat sa kakaibang pagkakaibigang nabuo sa Katipunan. Hindi mo man akalain, kasama ka sa mga humubog sa akin. Natuto akong umibig nang lubos at maglaan ng buhay sa makabuluhang bokasyon.

Samahan ka nawa ng mga pusa sa langit. Isang mataas na pagpupugay sa'yo.

Paano ko nga ba nalaman na tinatawag ako ng Diyos? May himala ba, o mga pangitain akong nakita? 

Paano ko masasabi nang may kasiguruhan na ito ang laan na buhay Nya para sa akin?

Di tulad nila Samuel o Jeremias sa mga kwento sa Bibliya, wala akong narinig na boses o napaginipang mga tanda na nag-udyok sa akin na subukin ang buhay relihiyoso. Bagkus, maari kong ihambing ang aking bokasyon sa isang binhing itinanim. Magmula pa sa aking pagkabata, naroon na ang pagkabihag sa Simbahan at sa pananalangin. Tanda ko pa noong mga bata pa kami, hindi maaring hindi kami mag-rosaryo at mag-Angelus pagsapit ng alas-sais ng gabi. Doon ko unang naranasan ang matuto sa kahalagahan ng pananalangin. Sa murang edad, naging aktibo ako sa aming parokya bilang sakristan at kasapi ng youth ministry.

 

Isa sa mga naging mabuting halimbawa ko habang lumalaki ay ang aking lola. Lagi nya akong bit-bit sa pagdalo sa bukluran o Bible study. Kadalasan, ang mga dumadalo sa bahay-bahay na pagpupulong na ito ay mga nanay o matatandang babae at lalaki. Ako ang pinaka-batang kasali sa kanilang pag-babahaginan. Sa murang edad, natuto akong magbasa ng Bibliya. Nakatulong ang karanasan na iyon upang mas lalo kong mahalin ang aking relihiyon. Mula sa paulit-ulit ng parehas na dasal, nadiskubre ko sa bukluran ang pag-aaral ng Salita ng Diyos bilang mahalagang sangkap ng buhay panalanagin. Noong ako ay nasa ika-anim na baiting naman, ang aking adviser at guro sa English ay isang Protestante. Bilang bahagi ng aming mga aralin, pinapabasa nya kami ng mga akda mula sa Bibliya at pinakakabisado nya kami ng mga talata. 

 

Kaya hindi ako magtataka kung bakit sa murang edad, ang “binhi” ng bokasyon ay nagkaroon ng ugat at magkadahon. Noong nagtapos ako ng highschool, pinagpasyahan kong pumasok sa seminaryo. Malapit lamang ang seminaryo sa aming bahay. Tuwang tuwa ang aking ina sa aking desisyon. Sa hindi inaasahang pagkakataon, namatay si Mama kung kaya pagkatapos ng isang taon sa seminaryo, pinagpasyahan kong lumabas upang tumulong sa aking pamilya. Nagtrabaho, nagsikap, at gumawa ng ibang pangarap.

 

Ngunit iba ang Diyos umibig at manuyo. Habang wala na sa isip ko ang bumalik pa, sa edad na dalawampu’t lima ay nakita ko na naman ang sarili kong pumapasok sa seminaryo. Parang may kung anong uri ng pagkabihag na lagging nagtutulak sa akin na bumalik sa kabila ng mga bagay na aking natamo sa buhay.

 

Ngunit lumabas muli ako. Ang lola ko naman ang dahilan sa pagkakataong ito. Wala na kasing mag-aalaga sa kanya at may kakayanang suportahan ang kanyang mga pangangalingan. Kaya naman inilaan ko ang mga nakaraang taon sap ag-aalaga sa kanya. Maraming nangyari sa mga panahong iyon. Sa aking pagsisikap na rin, bahagyang umunlad ang aming pamumuhay. Ngunit hindi pa rin nawawala ang pagnanais na maging par isa lahat ng panahon na iyon.

 

Matapos ang apat na taon, sumakabilang buhay na rin ang aking lola. Isang taon pagtapos ay sumunod naman ang aking ama. Opisyal na wala na akong kailangang suportahan. Parang sinasabi ng Diyos sa akin, may idadahilan ka pa ba para hindi Ako sundan? Kaya naman agad akong naghanap ng mapapasukang seminary sa edad na tatlumpu’t-isa. Dinala ako ng aking mga panalangin at pangarap sa seminaryo ng mga Pranksiskano.

 

Tapos na ba ang kwento ko, ngayon na narito ako sa loob ng seminaryo at tinutukoy kung ang buhay Pransiskano nga ba ang buhay na angkop at laan para sa akin? Hindi ko masisiguro sapagkat nasa simula pa lamang ako. Dito ba ko tinatawag upang maging banal? Hindi ko alam ang sagot sa mga ito sa ngayon.

 

Ngunit makakasiguro ako sa grasya ng Diyos na Siyang tumawag at unang umibig sa akin.

 

Yun lang ay sapat na sa akin sa ngayon.

I am a huge fan of the musical Les Miserables. When I was in elementary, I read a short version of the novel written by Victor Hugo and a full version in college and I quite enjoyed it, but it was the musical that made me fall in love with the story. I consider Les Miserables an epic, spanning decades and interweaving dozens of plots to point towards the narrative of Jean Valjean, the man who spent years in prison for stealing food. He could have been jailed for a short while, but he frequently attempted to escape thus his sentence prolonged. When he finally got his parole and desperate to start his life again, he resorted to stealing silver candlesticks from a bishop, the only person who looked on him and treated him like a normal person.

 

I cannot help but remember the story of Jean Valjean during the discussion of the philosophy of encounter of Emmanuel Levinas. Going above ethical principles, Levinas worked out his ideas of relationship and personhood based on encounters with other people. For Levinas, encountering another person places him to a spontaneous act of responsibility. In fact, he argued that it is the encounter with other people that marks the start of true ethics. In ways grand and minute, I agree with Levinas on this based on an observation and personal experience of treating people differently depending on many factors. For example, there were times when several people will ask to borrow something from me, but I respond differently to each depending on how close they to me are, their credibility, and many other factors. But regardless, the situation compelled me to act and, in the process, challenged my convictions and values.

 

Here, Levinas challenged us to look into the face of the Other to genuinely engage with them, to make a response. And regardless of what the response will be, it is an evidence that we are obligated in some way and some form towards the other.

 

Going back, I relate this encounter with the face to the story of the bishop and Jean Valjean. Too many a time, Jean Valjean was looked down by the society. An ex-convict seemed to have no place in the French society. Yet here is an old and wise man who showed Jean Valjean that since they have encountered each other, he is responsible for Valjean’s soul. In simple gestures and very few words, the bishop showed Valjean that he is a good man despite all the negative things that others told him otherwise. The kindness of the bishop was the impetus for Valjean to live an honest life, carrying with him the silver candlesticks across time as a visible reminder of his duty towards others. Thus, circling back to what ethics is – the quest for the good for the other.

 

What do we owe to each other? In my life, I have always striven to insist that I should treat everyone the same with equal dignity and respect. While I only learned much of it from things I read and from observing others, I can say that I am (more or less) consistent in applying good behavior towards others. For example, I make sure to call waiters and salesladies by their names as a sign that he or she matters to me and just some transactional entity. In a world that is cruel and relationships are reduced to give and take, the least that I can do is to be kind.

 

I think perhaps this is the reason why God became man just like us. He wanted to encounter us in the level that is very humane and very ordinary so that each encounter with another person will have depth and holiness. Our God is a god of encounters. What you do to the least of your brethren, you do to Me. In this season of advent, I am challenged to make more genuine encounters by looking at the face of the others and choose to act in love and compassion. Any philosophizing will not matter if it does not make my heart grow fonder.