A Tale Twice Told

At the start of our high school years, the reading and understanding of English literature was so impressed upon us by our educators as to become an integral part of our daily living even to this day. In so doing we also unconsciously developed our own ways and styles in the use of the medium in our regular interactions with the rest of the world. And in this age of virtual reality and social networking we bring to the fore the styles that we have developed over the years of constant usage and practice. Thus, in our regular forays into, for example, Facebook, we encounter bits and pieces of literature submitted by our friends and acquaintances in the short and cryptic snippets of writings they use to describe their day, to ask about somebody else’s health, to describe the highlights of memorable trips made, to honor family members, etc. Long live, English Literature, for showing us how!

Now, as a kid fresh from grade school and being introduced to high school, our initial English Literature class was about short stories, the easily digestible form of literature that appealed to our then equally short attention span. The initial textbook for that introduction to the subject has stayed with me all these years. A thin book of about 200 pages, chock-full of short stories, to interest and regale our then young impressionable minds.

The finale selection was very memorable for its utter simplicity and taken-for-granted familiarity brought by our Christian upbringing. It was entitled A Legend of Christ. Still so memorable and emotion-stirring to this day, it deserves a repost in its entirety. Let us see if this little tale will not moisten your eyes as you ascend its climactic end. Enjoy!

A LEGEND OF CHRIST

It was a night of wondrous stars and soft sighing winds. Echoes of nature’s harmony drifted over plain and hill while the white radiance of virgin snow ermined the listening trees.

All day the roads leading into the little town of Bethlehem had been thick with travelers. It was enrollment time by order of the Emperor and so they flocked from near and far to do his bidding.

Every wayside inn was bright and alive with the jovial laughter of men – men whose pockets bulged with money – men who hadn’t a care in the world.

It was along this road that a tired and poorly clad couple jostled through the milling crowds. The man was tall and strong of frame, but his eyes were shadowed with weariness and worry. The woman – she was but a girl – was mounted on the back of a bedraggled beast of burden. She wore over her head and shoulders a dark veil, but her eyes shone with a radiance brighter than that of the brightest star.

The man spoke, “This must be the place, Mary, this must be Bethlehem. Here we will find food and a warm shelter for the night.”

Her eyes smiled in reply – a sad, yet beautiful smile – but she spoke no word. Could it be she knew the rebuffs that would be theirs at the hands of the money-crazed landlords? Could it be she knew there not be place for her and the precious Little One Who this night would be born into the world? They had come to a halt now and Joseph was speaking.

“This is a seemly place,” he said. “We shall stay here” he strode up the path to the inn door, the light from the winging arch lamp brightening his face. Mary waited at the gate in the shadows – a woman wrapped in silence. Joseph returned quickly – his step was heavy now and he showed his disappointment in the sag of his shoulders.

“They have no room for us here, Mary,” he said. He did not tell her the landlord appraising his impoverished appearance, rebuked him as a beggar and a vagrant and ordered him off the premises. Although these things gnawed at his heart and inflamed his mind, he could not worry her. Mary must not know.

“The next one will have room,” he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. “It’s not far, just down the road a little.” In the shadows, he saw Mary’s eyes; in them there was no reproach, only patient tenderness; on her lips was the same sweet smile.

“No place for Him; no place for the Christ Child – the King of Kings” – this was the thought that burned into her heart as once more they moved into the darkness.

It was growing colder now. The winds swirled along the bleak road. Mary pulled her tattered shawl closer around her weary frame. But they were approaching another inn, this one larger and brighter than the first. Gales of boisterous laughter drifted to them across the night.

“What shall I do, if they won’t take us here,” he thought. “The night grows colder and Mary is not well. She must have warmth and rest.” They were outside the gate now and, just as before, Joseph made his way up the path. Mary waited in silence and quietly prayed in the darkness.

“Please, sir,” he said to the host at the inn door, “my wife and I must have quarters for the night. She is not well and we have no place to …” He did not finish the sentence, for the landlord cut in sharply.

“What do you want with us – you – you beggar. This is not a charity house. We cater only to gentlemen here. Away with you and be quick.”

A little child, half hidden in a nearby doorway, heard the landlord’s abuse and saw Joseph turn dejectedly away. She had been watching Mary too, drawn by some mysterious force to the silent lady whose face she could see like a star in the darkness.

“Dear Lady,” she said, running to her and wrapping her own thin shawl about Mary’s stooped shoulders, “this will keep the cold away ‘till we get to my house. You both can stay there. My father will let you.”

Mary’s eyes found the anxious little face and smiled. The child had never seen such a heavenly smile, she held out her hand.

“Come, dear Lady,” she said, “I will lead the way.”

They had gone but a few paces when a man strode out of the darkness. The child saw him first.

“It’s father,” she cried. “He’s come to fetch me home and you shall come too.”

The father’s voice was loud and angered. “Where have you been child? Go to your home at one, or I will….”

“Father,” the little one interrupted, “I have brought these two poor people with me. There is no place for them to stay…and the night is so cold…say they can stay with us.”

Anger crept into the man’s face and he would have struck the child, but something in Mary’s eyes stayed his hand. He spoke and wrath flared in his voice. “I’m not in the habit of inviting beggars to stay under my roof. You shall be punished for this. Go home at once!”

Yet the child was not subdued. “But, father,” she pleaded tearfully, they’re not beggars. They’re strangers, worn and weary from the road. All they ask is one night’s shelter. Please don’t refuse.”

The irate parent turned his back and walked off into the night fouling the stillness with a muttered oath.

The little one looked hopelessly first at Mary and then at Joseph. Bitter disappointment and embarrassment burned her cheeks. She searched for words and finally stammered:

“Dear Lady, I’m sorry, sorry I could not keep my promise to you, sorry my father’s nature is sometimes cruel and unreasonable. But I will help you find shelter. I know a stable in a cave on this hill. Maybe I can build a fire there for you. It will be warm at least and you will be out of the chill damp of the night.” Her eyes pleaded as she spoke. “Do you want me to lead the way?”

Wearily, Joseph nodded assent. Mary said no word, but, as they trudged toward the hillside, the little one’s eyes never left the sweet radiance that shone on Mary’s face. They found the cave quickly. Joseph and the child made a resting place of straw and rags for Mary. The Queen of Heaven unwanted by a forgetful world lay at peace in a deserted stable in Bethlehem. The child was standing now beside Joseph. And, though the atmosphere was damp and chilly, where Mary lay was haloed with a warm, almost heavenly radiance. Her face was beautiful beyond compare. The child spoke:

“You will forgive me, dear Lady, for not finding a better place. You could have had my bed, if my father had so allowed.” She paused momentarily. “You are so beautiful, dear Lady, so like a Queen.” Rapture shone in her eyes. “I must go now lest my father whip me. I will pray God to watch over you both tonight.”

“Child,” answered Mary, “God will bless you for your kindness and He will watch over us all – tonight and always. Go to your home now and have no fear; your father will not harm you.” Then she smiled and the cave was a glory of heavenly light.

The child was gone now. As she ran down the hillside, her heart was filled with a joy greater than she had ever known before. She even fancied as she ran that she could hear music, heavenly music and voices from the land beyond the stars. But it wasn’t fancy, it was fact, for at that very hour, back in the little stable, Mary had brought forth a Son…Jesus, the Prince of Peace and Love was born and there was music everywhere in the world…


* * *

More than thirty years had passed since that night in Bethlehem….

“And it came to pass that He came nigh to the city called Naim…and when he came nigh to the city, behold a dead man was carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.” Christ looked at the lifeless body of the young man for a while, and at the young widowed mother, weeping nearby. He lifted His hand in blessing over the mother and said:

“Weep not, woman. Your son is not dead. He but sleeps.” Then, drawing near, He commanded those who carried the bier to place it on the ground. He took the young boy by the hand, and in a voice of authority, cried out:

“Young man, I say to you, arise.”

Amazed, the people watched the boy rise up and clasp his joyous mother into his arms. She fell on her knees in thanksgiving before the Master and her tears bathed His feet. Christ lifted her tenderly and said very gently:

“It was not I who gave you back your son, but my Mother whom you befriended one night many years ago in a little town called Bethlehem.”

A Rhetorical Question on Self-Identity

It is still what you do that defines you, not what you were born to be or what you think you are. That is my belief.

In our HS email group, I posed the following after lazily toying around with it in my befuddled mind:

“Please allow me to ask a rhetorical question. This came to me after hearing many long-time expats declare that they will never forget their being Filipino regardless of their long absence from the old homeland.

Here goes.

Should one still consider oneself Filipino in spite of the fact that not only is one living outside of the old homeland, but also because one has no desire at all to return and live in the old homeland?

If the answer is positive, what could be the qualifications or reasons why one would think so?”

Now I had premised that it was a rhetorical question for two reasons. Because then it would not require any answers from those who may find it uneasy or queasy to be answering such a personal question. And secondly, because a rhetorical question is also a device used or proffered as proof of the negative.

And indeed, that possible confusion surfaced as gleaned from this second reply:

“A minor point but I thought a rhetorical question is one that doesn't require an answer. Perhaps rephrase the question. Or do you actually have more than one question? “

My retort to this then revealed my latent position of trying to prove the negative. That indeed, it is difficult to continue to consider oneself a Filipino when not only does one not live in the old homeland, but one has no desire at all to live in the old homeland in the foreseeable future.

But the first response did make a qualification on the last issue:

“As for me, I belong to the second group, no desire to return to live there--under the present conditions: political, sociological, health and safety. I also have my only extended family here. But I would love to return and live there under a different set of circumstances.”

Which qualification could be interpreted as tantamount to having no desire at all to return in his lifetime, since meaningful changes on the factors enumerated could not possibly occur within that time frame.

And I promptly replied:

“That's exactly what I want to find out. What expats mean when they make that statement. Of course, it has to be with things that can change. With ethnicity, there is nothing one can do to change that so that is out of the question. Loyalty could be one, but your actions would belie its veracity if you not only not live there but have no desire either to live there. Your old memories will be Filipino because you can't dismiss those. Love for the old homeland? But how expressed?”

The following came from two of my most astute classmates, who coincidentally are also both in the medical profession and incidentally were also both valedictorian and salutatorian in our HS graduating class:

“To answer your question,” when does one cease being a Filipino or whatever & become another “is when that person actually says so when asked - for whatever reason he /she may have at the time.

BTW, granting when viewed under the microscope your genes may not change per se, your environment, experiences, interactions etc may have affected your general being in such a way that the "gene" factor no longer carries much weight in the equation because different variables have ' diluted ' you.

Further, the point of metamorphosis, if you will, occurs when the resistance to such 'dilution' reaches critical mass & gives way to quiet surrender. How's that? You confused yet?”

“Your having dual citizenship is a practical matter that I myself am considering. It doesn't make you acquire a split personality or being ambivalent about it. Our genetic makeup is always Filipino and that cannot be changed by living abroad. By coming to the US, you have widened your perspective of the different types of cultures that in turn may have caused you to lose focus on your inner self. Listen to your heart and you will get your answer.”

“OK, then you and I are like Chameleons - we change colors depending on what the situation calls for- a practical adaptive mechanism of survival. It doesn't make a Chameleon any different from a Lizard. By way of historical comparison, think of the Japanese-Americans who were interned in California during WW11 because they were considered Japanese when actually their true allegiance was to America. Their true nature was still Japanese; or for that matter, the Japanese Senator from Hawaii who fought as an American soldier in Germany, or the Tuskegee Pilots who were branded as 2nd class citizens while fighting for America. They were Afro-Americans but still their nature and culture were still Blacks and yet their loyalty was as Americans as any Whites. Like I said, what you think you are comes from your inner self, not because of the dual citizenship. Hope these examples put your mind to rest.”

But I had decided to be stubborn and tenacious and thundered forth with this reply:

“One’s actions would not jibe with one’s protestations. Re genetics, I agree we can’t change those but many African Americans have ceased to consider themselves Africans, just Americans – and they do not live in Africa and have no desires to live there. So the question is at what point does one ceases being one and becomes another.”

What do you think?

Our Minority Status In Cagayan de Oro

It is sad to observe how our current situation is yet another grand display of the workings of our frail human nature. In the midst of tremendous human failures in our government, many considered good prayerful people of our community have decided to just sit back and be passive or worse, continue to throw support to a regime that ought to have been driven out so many years ago. Thus, amidst the wholesale chaos in our streets and thereabouts, things appear to be business as usual.

They come from all ranks. Successful businessmen who enjoy good patronage from both the people and government who believe that upsetting the applecart could only derail their successes. Or maybe they couldn’t care less.

School administrators and officials who have decided that what is important for them is that inside their hallowed halls and premises where they reign supreme, things are under control. Never mind what goes on outside their closed gates. Thus, traffic is usually atrocious in and around their vicinities. And yes, never mind that city governance is negatively impacting their abilities to operate their enterprises in the near future.

One could think that even the clergy from all denominations would rather preach religion passionately to their flocks but maintain a detached and silent attitude about the rest of the community which is being royally screwed by government.

And the rest of the politicians, of course, would rather protect their turf and make alliances for the next elections, however objectionable those partnerships may be. After all for most of them, political expediency is the end-all and be-all.

And we even have the highest executive of our land, if our reports are to be believed, who would rather that we the people make “as much noise” first so he can move. But in the midst of such glaring and blatant disregard of law and order, one would think that not necessary for him to proceed to do his appointed tasks.

And maybe a community so inured to lawlessness, pain, suffering, and inequity and has thus lost the grasp of or ability for change?

Thus, explains our minority status.

Cagayan River: River of All Return

Scores have written paeans about your beauty and grandeur,
While others focused on your awesome powers and nurturing qualities,
Like the plants and trees you make grow and thrive within your reach,
The many colorful fishes that find life and shelter in your bosoms.
But I will do no such thing.

People of old tried in their puny ways to tame your raging tantrums.
Still others tried to dare your isolating paths with bridges of many types.
Kids spent many warm summer afternoons refreshing in your cool waters.
People, from all walks, even desired union with your oneness and eternity.
Building houses in your banks, in the dried-up beds you once traversed in.
But I will do no such thing.

In open defiance of your jealous nature, people tempted their fates.
Usurping precious territory you need to follow an appointed task.
Dumped tons of garbage and debris and called that reclaimed land.
Fit to build their abodes, open season to heap more abuse on your person.
Elected servants conspired to lend credence and legality to such deeds.
But I will do no such thing.

In the pretense of good intentions many harvest your precious jewels.
Like the age-old growth that dot your watershed basins, and deep gullies.
Making empty promises about restoration and proper recompense.
Instead leaving you naked, shamed, ugly, and worst, angry and vengeful.
Anger and vengeance that knows no limits, nor capable of measure.
But I will do no such thing.

I instead whisper my culpable fear of your deadly quiet and simple ways.
I instead keep safe distance from your moods that defy easy detection.
Opting to behold your unrivaled beauty and grandeur beyond your reach.
For you are the jealous lover, born from the same cloth as your Creator.
Demanding the return of all your gifts from your unworthy recipients.
And you will be satisfied with no less.

The Seller/Buyer Conundrum

This week we went through two important transactions where we were the seller parties. I sold a Ford pick-up truck that was sitting in our garage for a good part of 5 years. We also signed papers to sell a rental property that we have had for almost 7 years. Again in both instances we all signed on the dotted lines that designated we were the sellers. Since we went through a barrage of documents to sign, in one instance I had automatically signed on the dotted lines intended for the buyer. I initially had paid no mind thinking I just needed to sign again under the dotted lines for the seller. But was summarily stopped by a staff member of the company, graciously informing me that he had to reprint the whole page because of strict company rules. So except for that little glitch, both transactions went quite smoothly. Until a few days later when I started thinking about it.

Why did I instinctively and reflexively sign on the dotted lines for the buyers? What caused that to be so? After much thought and reflection I came up with these observations, and a conclusion.

Because our personal callings in our lives were that of being employed, most of the transactions that we got into in our lives were that as buyer. We bought things and stuff. We bought clothes, houses, cars, etc. In most instances then where documents were presented and required for signature, we typically signed on the dotted lines for buyers. But don’t we sell our services to our employers? True, but we would rather think of our services as being exchanged for money and benefits. Of course, as employees there are instances where we do become sellers, like selling our old houses or cars to buy new ones. But comparatively speaking, we most likely are buyers in transactions. So by default when people like us sign papers, we instinctively go to the dotted lines for buyers.

But entrepreneurs are different. In many instances they are the sellers. They provide goods and services to be sold to third parties or consumers. They are the store owners, the factory operators, the company owners in their nice offices. In short, they are our employers.

In the scheme of things, are the differences quite marked? I am sure there are many similarities and differences, but here I focus on only one aspect of this distinction. The seller creates or produces some things or provides certain services that they hope people will have need for. They design and devise things to give them value and functionality which hopefully the users will be attracted to.

On the other hand, the buyer is in the position of choosing certain things that would be needed in his life. When he looks at a product for example, he is weighing how the product is going to serve his particular needs, and making judgments on how well the product and its features will perform for him.

The role of seller appears exciting and interesting, bringing to the fore our admirable qualities of ingenuity and resourcefulness so that we can bring out products that people can like. While sellers are also buyers since they are also consumers, it does appear enviable to be essentially a seller and secondarily as a buyer. Rather than simply be a buyer all our lives.

The reason being that a seller obviously is a provider, while a buyer is simply a user.

Is it then instinctively so also that at certain points in any one person’s life, there is the innate desire to be an entrepreneur, and thus be a provider, a seller?