Breaking the silence of God
Much has been said and written about the death of Kian delos Santos and the spate of violence and hatred that our country is suffering today, the excesses of those in power, and the cries of helplessness of the poor and marginalized. We feel their anger and despair, understand the assertion of their rights, and conform with the blame thrown at the government. We also sense the turmoil that is burning, which may erupt anytime if the situation does not change. But we still believe in divine intervention.
Those directly affected by the violence may lose their sanity or end up doubting their faith. Why these incidents happened is the question they ask God, challenging Him to show His justice.
I feel blessed by God as a senior. I can’t do anything big to change the things around me, though I try. Daily at 6 p.m. after work, I collect my wife at home and attend Mass where I do my church service. In my prayers, I don’t forget to ask God to be in our midst, heal the wounds of those in pain, and touch the hearts of leaders who are remiss in their duties.
I belong to a group — mostly seniors, between 60 and 80 years old — that is always praying. We are in our sunset years and ready for God’s call any time. We are lacking in physical strength and in much of our hours we are on bent knees, asking for God’s mercy and compassion. We rely on God’s teaching that in prayer we can move things. Our time is spent in churches and prayer rooms, doing meditation and singing psalms in the middle of the night. We are happy praising God with angels and spirits joining us.
Aside from prayer and adoration, we are tasked to do apostolic work with members and those in need. We spread God’s love by sharing our meager resources with poor people, visiting the sick, going to prison to console the lost souls, and teaching everyone to be good Christians.
Like the rest, we weep when a mother loses a child or when a wife loses a husband due to the war on drugs. We protest in silence when rights are trampled and when evil triumphs over good. We also blaspheme God when we can’t feel His justice, ask why He is silent when tears have to be dried or when there are abuses by those in power. As we visit prison cells and hospitals, we ask why they are beset with anguish, why there are no smiling children in evacuation centers and no laughing babies in orphanages. Why is there darkness around, and streets splattered with blood, and why are homes filled with fear?
We keep wondering as we pray and pay Him homage. As seniors, we want His glory and justice to be seen everywhere before we lose our breath.
In the Bible we read Moses’ encounter with God as he saw Him face to face after a strong wind, an earthquake, and a big fire. He came on a whimper, on a soft whisper of a breeze. God also met the prophet Elijah near a cave, and called Samuel in the middle of the night. His spirit guided Solomon in his kingdom, and bade Joseph to go to Egypt with Mary and the baby Jesus.
Today, we want God in our lives just like in the days of old—touching the hardened hearts, converting the timid souls, and humbling the arrogant. We want our leaders to be awakened in the night by His righteousness, and His glory to be seen by the poor. We need His love, His peace.
But our faith tells us that God, Emmanuel, is already with us in our midst. What we need only is to believe…
Believe that His power is now working on all of us, on soldiers and policemen, and on leaders, striking our hearts, converting our souls. Believe that our dark alleys are illumined by His light, and that He is there in hospitals, prison cells and orphanages. Believe that He is in our homes, in our families, in our communities, and that His spirit becomes our spirit, His power our power, enabling us to be brave, to be faithful, to serve and to love.
And it is in believing that we live and survive.
* * *
Mario D. Dalangin, 62, is a past grand knight of the Knights of Columbus and a member of the Special Minister of the Eucharist and of Adoracion Nocturna Filipina at Fatima Parish, Las Piñas City.
