The Sign of the Cross

Late last Tuesday, November 1, I boarded a jeepney but wasn't sure where I wanted to go. I was unusually bored that day after lingering in bed for hours, and wanted some semblance of activity to fill my time.

Whatever could be done in the house had already been done days before. I had rearranged my room thrice in the past two days. My narrow front yard was well swept and sparkling clean; you could see an ant walking five meters away. I had played all the music CDs I have, from Freddie Mercury to Sarah Brightman. My eyes hurt from continuously watching DVD movies, I was afraid I'd go blind if I watched one more.

The pack of cigarettes from the day before was almost empty, my second pack in three days, and I was beginning to cough badly. I am no smoker but there was just nothing else to do, and no one to hang around with. All my friends had gone somewhere, mostly to their provinces. The neighborhood was as deserted as a graveyard on an ordinary day. I realized I should have had gone home myself.

The jeepney I took was downtown-bound. Aboard were a group of bleary-looking teenage boys and some elderly women. The young ones smelt of liquor and were acting rather rowdily. The older passengers smirked at the youngsters' behavior but I didn't mind. I sat about two feet away from the boys, so they were in my full view.

One of the women was obviously annoyed. She would glower now and then at the noisy boys. But the brats were oblivious to the rest of us. Looking around for other reactions, my eyes were drawn to another woman who-perhaps to divert her attention-busied herself checking two small wreaths on her lap. That gave me an idea. A public cemetery was along the jeepney route. I thought, "Yes, that's where I'm going."

As we were passing by a church, the driver slowed down and handed coins to a girl selling candles by the roadside. At that point the rowdy youngsters suddenly went quiet, turned in the direction of the church, and together made a sign of the cross. "Wow!" I mumbled, stunned at the spontaneity of the act and the abrupt change of conduct. I was completely overwhelmed that I remember nothing of what happened after that.

Maybe making the sign of the cross was simply a course of habit with those boys. You see, even alcohol could not suppress what had become automatic behavior in people. Yet, if we think about it, before any behavior becomes automatic it had first to be deeply ingrained through constant and conscious practice. Those teenagers clearly had some fundamental anchor of religious belief.

My personal philosophy was shaken, bringing to light some things about myself. My faith is not automatic. To me worship should be a conscious act, a solemn manifestation of faith that is not to be relegated to mere automatic behavior. I believe that any act of prayer calls for profound meditative disposition. I am always careful in my exercise of my faith, always thoughtful of whether I am doing it in the right way. My attitude in life is generally one of caution and restraint. I have a habit of first ascertaining the necessity of anything-in my job, in my relationships, in my faith-before considering whether or not to devote time and effort on it. I tend to philosophize a lot that, in the end, there is often too little left to do after many things are ruled out as either impractical or unnecessary.

As All Saints' Day was yet approaching, I couldn't decide whether to go home to the province or just stay put in the city. Going home was surely to be much of an inconvenience considering the number of people taking advantage of the long holiday.

The buses would be filled to overflowing, and the probability of road accidents was high, with bus drivers going at hell's speed in order to quickly get back to the hordes of travelers waiting at the bus terminal.

On the other hand, perhaps any amount of inconvenience-the risk of a road accident included-would be all worth it. The reunion with family and friends was a precious opportunity for maintaining essential ties and basking in familiar affection. Many relatives from other places, whom I had not seen for ages, were coming. Besides, my conspicuous absence would surely court sour remarks from family elders.

Visiting the graves of departed loved ones on the day set especially for the purpose is a treasured tradition among Catholics. But going home for the occasion just seemed too much of a trouble for me. My hesitation found an excuse in the words of our religion teacher back in grade school: "What ultimately matters is our act of remembering the dead and our thoughtful prayers for them."

It is easy to find a quiet place anywhere for praying. And keeping in touch with loved ones is now in the palm of our hand, given today's cellular communications technology. I thought physical proximity has become less necessary. So I decided to stay behind.

Something about those boys in the jeepney has moved me profoundly. There seemed to be a power that caused the instantaneous suspension of their wild youthful nature-something that held them back for a moment in deference to their faith. I reflected on myself, on how my own sense of reason and practicality could be holding me back. It might have been keeping me apart from the people I love, or limiting my relationship with God within the narrow confines of my own intellect. Could it be the reason why I am often lonely, why many times God seems to be a vague and distant idea to me?

I believe in God, that I swear, although I am not a very religious person. My family and friends know that I love them, although they don't see me very often. I am one of many who are content in simply feeling affection and in having good intentions, those who always find alibis for our lack of expression or participation.

I have realized that if we don't make the effort of taking action, of making ourselves available, we will eventually become a stranger to the people we love. Nothing has yet been invented to take the place of a physical handshake or an affectionate embrace. And a faith that does not find vigorous expression may not be faith at all but a mere idea. It is not only what's in our hearts but our outward actions as well that defines who we are.

It's amazing how, for some, a simple gesture like making the sign of the cross can shine as a bold proclamation of faith and, for others, as a catalyst for soul-searching.