A Question of Faith

As a child, whenever my mother forces me to attend bible studies in our friendly neighborhood, I'll feel a strong dislike. What happens is, I'll go to the first session just to stop my mother from talking too much. Then on the next meetings, I'm gone. The story goes like that until my mother felt tired in convincing me. 


Maybe, by then, she have foreseen that I am not much of the Catholic she believed I'll be when the Holy Water streamed down my infant's head. When I came at the right age to hear a Holy Mass, the willingness did not last long. 


During my primary school, there was a special children's mass offered at our parochial church. I would amusingly listen to the Kura Paroko as he talked to us like his children. I would say that my basic knowledge on how Christ sacrificed his life for us came from him. I thank the Kura Paroko because it was him who imprinted the goodness of Christ in me. But since I started growing up and the said priest was involved in different scandals on expending the Church's money, my Church days started fluctuating. 


In high school, there was the so-called LICS (La Immaculada Concepcion School) Sunday Mass. It was part of the grade computation for the subject Values Education. It required me to wake up early and get a smiley cutout as a proof that I heard the mass. If we fail to present the smiley cutout on the next Values Education class, a "valid" excuse had to be presented. Our teacher would always remind us to be honest in giving the excuses. So one time I was too lazy to wake up that early for the day, I skipped the mass. On the next meeting, I told the teacher that I was too lazy to wake up that's why I didn't hear mass. She was bitterly disappointed by my reason. At the very least I had been honest. I believed that should account for a better grade, after all, honesty, is a value! 


When college came, it was official. I'm a Zero-Sunday-Mass person, except for Christmas, or New Year, either one of the two. I just don't hear mass. I still do enter church to pray alone. That's the only time I get a divine feeling inside a church. 


In better words, the Church, does not exude enough power to me. I don't need a body like it to strengthen my faith, or to run to every time I need somewhere to go. I have a strong faith in God and God alone. And my faith resides in my heart, not in the Church. I may not know all the sins the Church tells not to commit but I know when I have done bad things. I commit a sin every time I hurt someone. That sums it up. To equal that, I must do good to others. By that, I show love. That too, sums it up. 


God is watching me. And I fear Him. God is guiding me. And I thank Him. God is with me, even if I stop being a Catholic. And I love Him.