By Chester Lastica

My first awareness of religion was when my grandmother brought me, together with my cousins, to hear Mass. We were already late and it was a very disappointing experience to watch people be driven away from the pew where the name of our family was deeply engraved so as to accommodate us comfortably in a jam-packed church. It so happened that one of those driven away from that pew was my friend.

From then on many questions cropped up in my mind, starting from the Latin prayers I didn’t understand to be the sermons I though were uncalled for. Why I w as a Catholic in the first place? We had already given our contribution, so why should the priest still go on scolding? These and other questions pilled up in my mind and I never asked anybody for answers.

As I grew up these unanswered questions became stones to throw against the faith to which I belonged. In the end I concluded: “Today there are no early Christians, therefore this faith is dead.”

Church Wedding

At the age of 26, I got married. Quarrels started when my wife ask me to get married in church. For seven years she asked the same nagging question and I finally ran out of excuses. So I told her to find another man who would go along with her intentions. But then a few months later I decided to give in to her plans. We got married in the church with my two children as our ring bearers and a very much younger couple as our proxy godparents. But still, I continued to practice the freedom I believed in. I brought my family to church every Sunday and fetched them after Mass.

Rallies vs Martial Law

War was still raging in my head and the protest against the martial rule was gaining ground. After office hours I would join protest rallies, most of them bone-cracking ones, confrontational and very angry. Later I joined a group in the municipality were I live and we orchestrated our delegation to bigger rallies in Manila. One day my wife told me that the parish priest wanted to meet me. When she introduced me to him, this was what he told me: “Your wife always comes to Mass together with the children. She looks more like a widow. Why can’t you come along with your family?” This was like a slap on my face that made me silent. Upon reaching home I ordered them not to attend Mass at the church any longer. Thus my life was divided between rallies and work, but being a Christian father was not a part of it.

Statue of Fatima

One day my wife informed me about the visiting international statue of Fatima. I remembered that image from the time I was a first year student at Fatima High School in Isabela, Basilan City. Now, attracted to that statue in the parish like a magnet, I sat in the font pew and stared right into her eyes. Like a miracle, I felt the motherly love of Mary.

That day I had to be in a rally, but before going I visited her in the church and before I knew it I was praying the rosary with my fingers. I knew that the rally would be very confrontational, and perhaps that was why I was praying. I kept white silhouette of her image in my mind as we proceeded to Mendiola Bridge for a vigil. During the early morning mass, just after consecration, the military attacked the crowd with there water canons, followed by a rushing flank of soldiers with their truncheons and guns. I was up front and saw the agonized nuns being beaten, there wimples flying up in the air. Some were thrown a distance after being hit directly by the water canon. Because of a traffic light post, I was spared and I only experienced broken ribs and swollen eyes, inflicted by those water canons. It then looked as if everyone had been washed away and the only remaining target nearest the soldiers was myself, behind that traffic light post. As they ran out of water a company of young marines came and passed me as if I was not there. I was then praying the rosary and thinking of the silhouette of the Virgin of Fatima.

Motherly protection

Back home, I immediately went to the church to thank our Mother for her protection. I was so happy when the new parish priest embraced me and said that they had offered the morning Mass for us. There were many more rallies to attend after that. I eventually found myself active in parish work. In this new environment and with my involvement in the BCC (Basic Christian Communities) life seemed different, but I did not yet know the joy of living the Word of God. I was living Christianity only in the parish or when performing some assignments. I still had this desire for the early Christian way of life that I could not discover in the petty quarrels among church workers. I hungered for what they call total human development through our faith in the church.

Invited to Focolare

Then one day the parish priest introduced us to this life of unity inviting us to a Focolare gathering. At first I was skeptical about its origins, thinking here was another kind of Italian indoctrination, similar to what the Spaniards used to conquer our country to Christianity. But I had second thoughts; they didn’t come with the sword or guns to convince us. Besides there were other Asians, Europeans and other races represented in this community. These people were all smiling and talking about the love of God and sharing their experiences. This was something new, for all I had heard about before was the wrath of God when we fail Him and sin was synonymous to hell. But this time was different – they were talking of their experiences which I could neither debate nor contradict.

Early Christians in modern times

They were living of the new commandments of Jesus: “Love one another as I have loved you.” On my part, I could only recall the Ten Commandments and not even in their right order. After listening to personal life experiences of loving God by seeing Jesus in every neighbor, I was also challenged to start with little acts of love, like arranging the seats, picking up the garbage and putting it in the bins, helping in the food distribution or cleaning the hall, sharing my food when rations were small and listening to others or to talks on stage, even though I felt sometimes drowsy in the afternoon. I felt God’s immense love for He had opened a door through which I could enter His house through the Sacrament of Penance. Those three days taught me to smile and be happy. It seems a miracle how a simple authentic smile can erase the bitterness and hatred inside oneself – a smile that expresses the love of God for me and my neighbor. In my heart, his was what I had always been looking for the reality of the early Christian community lived in modern times.

Locally we formed groups in our community that meet to share how we live Jesus’s Word. My family too is embracing this way of life, which has brought us much closer to one another because of God who is love, now very much present in our family and in our community.