February 21, 1989
Gunnar’s Faith
Contrary to whatever impression my earlier
pieces have given, I am not, within my own family, the true believer and
defender of the faith. At best I am a born-again but non-Charismatic Catholic.
Truth to tell, the real hardliner at home is a twelve-year old kid, Gunnar.
Gunnar is not his real name, of course. It
is Victor Benedict, Victor because his grandfather on the paternal side carries
that name, as did his maternal great-grandfather, now long-deceased. And
Benedict because he was born on the feast of St. Benedict, the family patron.
Gunnar is half-Chinese, and goes to school
at Xavier. His father describes himself as a Taoist-agnostic, whatever that
means, while his mother is a baptized, though non-practising Catholic.
My sister and brother-in-law stopped going
to Sunday mass and the sacraments long before Gunnar was born. They’ve had him
baptized on their own and let him go to his first communion and confirmation
with his classmates, but that is all. For the rest of his faith life, he is
pretty much on his own.
Such as his family religious upbringing has
been, being Catholic is a big thing with Gunnar. So big, in fact, that he has
been having lively discussions with his father and not a few sleepless nights
over the fundamentalists.
Now Gunnar and I don’t even discuss these
things in great detail, this much I know: his tiff with the born-again's (some
of his classmates and their parents are) stems from the purely personal and
practical, rather than dogmatic grounds.
My nephew, you see, prefers his life
straightforward and uncomplicated. He thinks two dishes on the table is one too
many. If he likes a shirt, he will wear it to death. Most of his friends date
back to first or second grade, and he has been going to the same barber with
the same frequency for nearly as long.
As with his life, so it is with Gunnar’s
faith. For him, being a Catholic is as much a given as being a boy and being
half-Chinese, and he likes the sense of permanence it brings. He is into things
that endure, and what’s lasted all of 2,000 years is good and true enough for
him.
Gunnar thinks, and I completely agree with
him, that all these public debates with fundamentalists will lead nowhere.
We’re right and they’re wrong, so what is there to quarrel about? Let’s not
bother with them and go our own way, he suggests.
Gunnar’s notion of going his own way is
he’ll just continue serving mass in school regularly and saying his prayers on
rising and retiring. Mine, I tell him, is as follows:
I
will hear mass and go to communion daily, and take him and my nieces to church
every Sunday.
We
will resume praying the rosary together before the family altar (which has
three images of the Blessed Virgin) at home every evening.
We
will take turns praying before and after meals.
No
meat will be served at home on Friday, within or outside Lent.
I
will give each member of the household a Catholic bible, a rosary if he or she
doesn’t have one yet, a medal each of the Blessed Mother, St. Benedict and our
Guardian Angel.
We will
bring flowers, light candles and pray at my parents’ tomb at least once a
month.
The
family will tithe to support the following causes: parish projects; the
education of seminarians; a home for the aged; a community of monks in
Malaybalay.
In short, if Gunnar and I have our way, our
family will henceforth do everything that the born-again's say we shouldn’t.
Because if we are right, and they are wrong, we must and will gladly pay the
price in full for our religious convictions, no ifs and buts about it.
Having been sealed with the sign of faith
at baptism, other options are no longer ours to take. Catholic at birth, like
all forebears have been, we will be Catholic until the very end, and so, if we
can help it, will all those who come after us.
And if that be intolerance, we will forever
bless and thank the Lord and His Blessed Mother for it. May they guide us
always on our pilgrimage through this valley of tears, on our way back to the
Father.
