I have always wondered how different faith would be without the trappings that come along with religion.
See, I was born and raised to be a loyal Catholic. My parents religiously follow the faith. I have been studying at Ateneo—a Jesuit school—from my preparatory to college years. I grew up learning that going to church every Sunday is an obligation I ought not to miss. I wear a scapular that my mother gave me, and always carry with me a rosary that she also gave me. I pray before meals, mostly because I want to say grace, but sometimes I catch myself doing it only so I wouldn’t be reprimanded.
I’m always curious as to how the religion must have been like in Christ’s time, when all these beads, statues and symbols weren’t as popular yet.
One Sunday I went to church with my family, and as is always the routine, we walked to the carriage of the “Poong Nazareno” that is carefully positioned inside the church. I put my palms together, bowed my head, made the sign of the cross, and said a short prayer. Then I approached the carriage, lifted the hem of Christ’s robe, touched his bloody feet, and made the sign of the cross.
As I was doing this, I noticed pieces of paper scattered beneath the statue of Christ. I picked one up and read what was on it. It was a novena prayer to the Black Nazarene. But what struck me most was what was written at the bottom of the paper: an instruction to say the prayer six times a day for nine days and to leave one copy of the prayer every day on the carriage—that is, if the person wanted his/her wish granted immediately, “no matter how impossible.”
Right then I realized why there were so many copies of the prayer beneath the statue of Christ.
But something didn’t make sense, I thought to myself. What would God want better, for me to visit and stand in front of a stone image for nine days and scatter pieces of paper there, or sincerely say my own prayer every day, no matter where I am? Would he prefer that I visit the church every day in case he finally shows me the sign that I need, probably beneath the pews or the altar? Or would it be better if I was out somewhere else, pursuing my dreams and actually doing things to earn the money that I need or get the promotion that I want?
Substance over form—it’s a lesson I have learned in my study of accounting. But it’s also a lesson I’m determined to apply in my life, especially in the practice of my faith. Even in the private recesses of my home, I know that God is with me and that it would not make any difference if I pray there silently on my own, or go to a church and move toward the altar on my knees.
The best prayer I can say is not in the form of words that can easily be read and forgotten, but in the form of genuine deeds that will touch the lives of others—sometimes even surpassing the limits of time and memory.
Paola Migelli Cananea, 20, is a fourth year accountancy student at Ateneo de Zamboanga University.