Faith

About two weeks ago, I went to Simala, the Blessed Mother’s Shrine in Sibonga, south of Cebu. I had gone to accompany a friend, someone who was from out of town. She had several petitions to ask for. I had my usual: good health for my family, work, friends, students… nothing that I felt quite merited a pilgrimage. But I went anyway. And when I got to the shrine, I lit some candles. And lined up to pray before the image of the Blessed Mother.

It was quite a surprise, therefore, when I felt large tears welling up in my eyes, as I gazed at the image of the Blessed Mother. The words that I had rehearsed as I waited in line were replaced by the undeniable cry of my heart. I did not even understand what it was that I was feeling: Gratitude? Love? Sorrow? Regret? Compassion? Suddenly, I could no longer understand what was going on. I only knew that the prayer I uttered that day was deeper than any other I had uttered in a long time.

I remember reading one spiritual writer who said that when in the middle of prayer, one cries and without really knowing why, it is when one’s soul is conversing with God… one’s soul is conversing with God…

Sometimes, when I am at prayer, I can say many things, even to the point of giving God a sermon. It is one way for me to clarify my thoughts and to verbalize my feelings. But at other times, it merely creates more noise in my already confused thoughts. I often forget, that in any meaningful conversation, listening is as important as speaking. It is only when we listen that we are able to have a true relationship with anyone. Why should our relationship with God be any different?

When I was done with my prayers, I looked around me and saw the couple who was taking photos of each other with the statue of the Blessed Mother in the background, saw the mother who was dragging her young child behind her, saw the tourists who looked a little bit lost (which made me wonder, what do non-believers think of all this?)… So many people asking for so many things. Could God answer us all? Could the Blessed Mother really intercede for us all as our faith teaches?

There was no clear answer, no solid physical evidence that pointed to the fact that we would all be answered, that the candles sent our prayers directly up to the ears of God. The only thing there were whispered words, silent tears, longing hearts.

Right before a pilgrim can line up to see the statue of the Blessed Mother is a gallery of crutches and wheel chairs on display, letters and photos attesting to the fact that prayers had been, in fact, answered. That there were all these people who had been where the pilgrims were, not too long ago, with a prayer on their lips and faith in their hearts.

There was no guarantee that we would be answered like they were. But there was hope.  As I left the shrine, I realized that I was not at all certain that my prayers would all be answered. What I had, though, was the “assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” What I had was faith. And even if I did not yet know the outcome, I was deeply grateful knowing that, at that point, faith was what I needed. Faith was the answer. Faith was the gift I got.