I decided to attend the Midnight Mass one Christmas Eve. I went alone; the rest of my family stayed at home, or one of my sisters probably went to the earlier mass in another church, my mother was cooking, or my other siblings were probably getting drunk and partying somewhere. See, I am not really the kind who likes going to mass, but I still do (sometimes); I have to admit though that there are times I like going to church more when there's not much happening, just to sit inside and absorb the calmness. And religiosity is not, well, forced in our family: there are times we find ourselves going to church together, there are times we go our separate ways, and above all that, there are times I don't give a feck. See, faith is very personal to us... as individuals.
Anyway.
So I went to this church in another village. It was my first time to go there; looking back, I think this itch in me to attend the Midnight Mass that night was some kind of, quite ironically, divine intervention. The mass started: the priest went about the usual rituals. And then, came the homily.
I was expecting something meaningful that night; heck, Christmas Day would be a couple of hours away. I was expecting something along the lines of hope and joy, about the coming of Christ, about the cycle of life, that usual drift about birth and family and tradition. Well, I am not exactly the Mary Poppins kind, but I didn't really mind listening to these kinds of things with the spirit of Christmas upon you, ya know?
Then the priest started talking about his visit to the bookstore.
He said he was aghast to see books that had titles like, "Is there a God?" or "The Atheist's Manual" or "The God Particle"... and all those books that make you think. See, his argument wasn't out of offense; it wasn't because there were publications that dare to explore God's existence (or non-existence, whatever). He was disgusted that people now have access to these thoughts, thoughts that challenge Christianity, thoughts that are outside what he believes what the world should be.
And then he said, "I am glad that Filipinos are not a reading race".
True story.
Yes, the RH Bill can be a moral issue and I think the bill is also beyond the issue of choice. It is setting a framework of what the country is going to be like in the years to come. It is going to be a source of corruption, some say. Others express that it is another means to control the population. For some, it is a Pandora's Box that encourages people to do the sexy dance in manner of Saturday Night Live's "Dick in a Box"... and you know what comes next, winkwink.
I've read the debates: pro and anti, morality, allocation of resources, opportunities for corruption, the health of women, the importance of responsible parenting. It's tiring because let's face it: nobody really knows what's right or wrong. I agree that we should control the population and that we need to be progressive in these modern realities... but can we trust us, uh, "non-reading" Filipinos in the hands of --- gasp --- worldly knowledge that may --- gasp --- contest what is supposed to be Christian wisdom?
But my stand really is based on this memory, that particular Christmas Eve inside a Catholic Church that was supposed to be jinggly-janggling as Santa Claus made his way around the world. When the priest started praising us Filipinos for being ignorant, that we didn't like to read, and that we are not supposed to know certain things and that we should rely on the Church what we need to know, I did what I had to do.
I walked out of his fucking mass.
And now I leave you with "Dick in a Box"... just in case you're curious and want to step outside the box. Heh.
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