creature (dis)comforts. (Navotas Pt. II)

Bayside, Barangay Daanhari, Navotas.

A few day ago we as Church celebrated & remembered the great 16th c. theologian & mystic St. Teresa of Avila, who famously stated that

...more tears are shed over answered prayers than over unanswered prayers.

Indeed, indeed. Be careful what you pray for - you're gonna get it. And it ain't gonna be on your own terms, brother & sisters. Somebody else is in charge of the gig.

If you recall (or simply cursor down), a few weeks ago I passionately & piously mentioned Ignatius' words regarding himself during his conversation at Manresa in which he saw God

dealing with him(self) in the same way as a schoolteacher deals with a child, teaching him....

Ignatius understood himself in the schoolteacher-child simile by stating that God dealt with him in such a way possibly

on account of his courseness or his dense intelligence...

File me under the latter, my friends.

So... a few rather important lessons learnt by this not-quite humble schoolchild during my brief stay in Navotas:

1. Always, ALWAYS, remember to zip up your toiletry bag - no matter how briefly it may opened. Otherwise, there is a VERY strong possibility that when reaching into it mere minutes later to grab a razor, a cockroach the size of an eggplant may lovingly lumber up your arm (yes, such cockroaches lumber, not scurry).
2. There is indeed an expression that crosses a rat's face just moments before it tumbles from the wooden beam a metre above the mat upon which you're resting and lands on your chest. I cannot say precisely the emotion behind the expression is (fear? delight?), but it's quite an expression. Ditto for the landing. For all parties involved.

I can read your minds right now. Fish-outta-water American Jesuit finds himself absolutley uncomfortable with the heat, crowds, language barrier (I had ONE PHRASE in Tagalog under my belt upon entering Navotas), novel bathing conditions, and now creatures in rather too-close-for-comfort settings. 

Waaaaaaa.

I mention all of this not to elicit your pity, nor simply for your amusement (tho' that may indeed be a bonus gift). Stay with me.

What I would come to realize is that all of this displeasure & discomfort was quite external, superficial. It spoke to something moving deeper within me. Something far more disconcerting & uncomfortable.

And it was this: I had absolutely no control over anything that was going on around me. I was feeling powerless.

Add to this equation my two host families, the Bohols and the Pugays. Both families unconditionally provided everything for me - from the best (if not only) private sleeping situation, to a seemingly ceaseless flow of food (made more disconcerting given mighty financial struggles), to (in spite of the language barricade) extraordinary companionship.

The feelings of powerlessness only deepened. I was unable to help anybody, to fix any situation. The only ministry I was capable of was to just be present.

And THAT, dear friends, was the grace that was emerging. To recognize myself, however minutely & fleetingly, poor & humble amidst the poor & humble.

A sliver of what my families & friends in Navotas experience each day.

And THAT, dear friends, is solidarity with the poor - a well-worn term so often misunderstood. Solidarity is not simply acknowledging the poor, nor is it even walking close to/with the poor. It is unity with, deep & authentic relationship, with all men & women, but especially the powerless. It is, in Egide van Broeckhoven's words (yes, he continues on this journey with me) the

...deep experience of impotence, as a mark of solidarity.

It's acknowledging that, in the words of Esprel (cousin to my first host mother Nora), we are all Lazaro (check out Luke 16:19-31). We are all impotent, helpless, forlorn. And loved.

So... Day Two in Navotas... it had been so hot that even Satan had taken the day off. I had been consuming large quantities to water so as to stay hydrated. Cut to 2:30 a.m. in my tiny little sleeping loft in the Bohol home. Drinking that much water has certain biological results. I  soon realize that rolling over & waiting 'til morning to use the comfort room (the term for bathroom here in the Philippines) was NOT gonna happen, I angrily get up, made my way down the ladder and quietly stepped over three generations of the Bohol family (eight members sleeping in the 15' x 10' single room home - I'm up in the tiny loft where Abby, Joel & four-moth-old A.C. usually sleep). Having accomplished my task, I step out of the comfort room and BAM, manage to slam my noggin on the cinderblock corner of the doorway. Muffling any maledictions while mopping blood from my forehead, I quietly step over Abby, Joel and A.C. again... only to glance down to see baby A.C. wide awake, staring up at me.

A.C. (four months), Bohol family home, Barangay San Roque, Navotas.

Totally dependent. Totally helpless. Completely powerless on her own.

And those eyes burning with that wonder & awe.

And smiling. In the midst of the dependence, the impotence, the powerlessness.

While by NO MEANS romanticizing economic poverty, nor equating my miniscule experience of feel powerless to the crushing realities, there is (as previously mentioned) paradoxically an incredible dignity, wonder, awe... in the midst of it all. Stemming, I maintain, from a certain honesty & transparency that may come with feeling impotent to what goes on around you. Spiritual freedom, even.

Yet along with the honesty, transparency that may be afforded to being poor in spirit, there is also the invitation to unabashed delight & elation. JOY, even.

You just need to find the right excuse for a raucous bacchanal.

Like a religious feast...

It begins: Fatima festival, Barangay Daanghari, Navotas.