Prayer: A Buried Treasure

I woke up in the middle of dawn. I didn’t know what had awakened me. Though feeling half-asleep, it hit me that I had forgotten to pray that night. And so, I bowed down my head and talked to God whom I suspect was the culprit for having interrupted my sleep. And then, I felt peace. After I prayed, I dozed off.
When I was young, I was taught by my parents that you could talk to God through prayer. Adding to this, you could also present your wishes to God which had the chance of being granted depending on how you have behaved that day. These ideas gave me the impression that prayer is something that costs quite an effort. It was something that you work for—that you needed to please God in order for your wants and wishes to be granted by him. It didn’t take too long when I was by and by setting aside my prayer life. My eagerness to pray waned. I just thought that God was too demanding. Pleasing anyone even God was just not my forte.
As I grew up, my prayer life changed as the way my image of God changed. There came a time when I experienced God as a loving person who understood and accepted me as I am. During this time, God became my confidante. My prayers were then opportunities of ventilating to God my struggles and problems in life. Most of the time, I was the one talking to him, telling him my thoughts, reflections and inner yearnings in life. From an image of a God who wanted to be pleased, I knew Him now as a friend who listens and journeys along with me in life. This would be then my attitude and understanding of prayer in my early years in the seminary.
Yet there still came a time when I began to lose my habit of praying. This was particularly true when I had a teaching job. Living outside the walls of the seminary meant detachment from a structured prayer life. Before I knew it, my appreciation and love for prayer were then slipping away. In times of being unable to pray, I justified myself that I was either too busy or exhausted from work. I knew for myself that these were half-meant or even not totally true. They were alibis to veil the startling truth that I just refused to talk to God anymore. But even in the times of my “turning away” from God, I still suspected that He was constantly extending Himself, making His presence felt in my seemingly preoccupied and restless life. I would wake up in the middle dawn having forgotten to pray the night before. He wanted to reconnect. It dawned on me that I felt the same.
Recently, I realize that one of the reasons why I came back to the seminary is to befriend again the God who I thought I lost. Just as my relationship with God has its ups and downs, so too is my prayer life. If I am to describe what my prayer life is like at this moment, it will be like this: A young man is digging up a treasure that he has buried before in his earlier years. The digging is quite laborious and is taking long. He begins feeling anxious and worried. The treasure might not be there already. Someone might have stumbled upon it and kept it for himself. He might be digging in a wrong spot. But his hope never fades. His faith tells him to go on. Until he finally finds what he is looking for. He finds the treasure. He is elated, overwhelmed by the feeling of joy. He clutches the treasure with his hand as if it is his most prized possession. He ponders the value of his treasure and savors that very moment.
Prayer for me today means pondering God’s presence. Now, I keep myself still and let myself be in awe and amazement at this great and unfathomable God. Not much talking and thinking is required, only loving. His friendship is the treasure I once buried, but now I so cherish. And somehow, I can’t help myself but to share this treasure to others as well.

“And the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world”

Growing up in high school, my family ran a small bakery shop just beside our house. I remember being greeted every morning with the wonderful smell of freshly baked pan de sal that had just been taken out in the oven. During weekends, I would gaze with curiosity and awe at the minute details of how a dough is made and processed; how it finally ends up in becoming good-tasting bread. Occasionally with the baker’s guidance and instructions, I would participate in the making of the bread; beginning from the mixing of the necessary ingredients, kneading the dough when it is formed, cutting it into the prescribed weight and sizes and finally letting the dough be cooked into the oven. The rest would be putting the bread into display for people to purchase them. There was a special feeling of pride and gladness in seeing people buying and eating the bread on which I had spent some amount of labor.
Situated a stone-throw away from our house was a slum area where most of my childhood playmates and friends reside. One time, I invited some of them to come over at our house. Upon arriving, I pleaded to my mom to give them free bread to eat. I did that because I know for a fact that these guys were always hungry, some who in their houses have barely even something to eat. On that day, there was again that special feeling of pride and gladness in being able to share our bread to the poor of our neighborhood.
Reflecting on the gospel of today wherein Jesus reveals himself to us that He is the bread of life brought back my own memories of making and sharing bread with other people. Yet while pondering God’s word, I noticed that the familiar feeling of pride and gladness that I have felt before are gone. It dawned on me that when I compare my own act of sharing bread to my friends, with that of Jesus giving himself as bread to others, my efforts were of little value. Although I honor that positive sense in me to be thoughtful of others, I am guilty of the fact that that my acts of giving were blemished with impure intentions and immature motivations. In hindsight, part of my being generous was to please my friends. I was giving because I expected something in return. It was certainly convenient for me to give off something that did not really matter that much at that time. In the midst of my attitude of seemingly being generous, was the guilty presence of selfishness.
Jesus is totally otherwise. While I give out of convenience and excess, He gives until it hurts. He has even given his own life just so that others may have life, just so that I may have a true and meaningful life. He lets himself be vulnerable. He has suffered and endured pain. What a great love! I realize that this is what true love really means. It is when I am willing to sacrifice, to be vulnerable, to be helpless, to suffer even to the extent of laying down my own life for the sake of the other, only then will I gain the right to say that I am truly giving—that I am truly loving.
In the initial days of my noviciate journey, I felt displaced and unsecure. The sacrifice of throwing away life’s conveniences, of being away from my loved ones, made no sense. I struggled. I was unsure of how long will I last. I questioned God, “Is this the best way for me to love?” Unknowingly, those doubts, fears and pains were God’s ways of telling what generosity and love truly means. Give up your own self. Love until it hurts. I realize now that I am like a dough in the hands of a baker who kneads, cuts and transforms the dough into bread. God is now the baker. As I see it, Jesus is transforming my life.
The giving of his own life has given me new life. My noviciate life is my way of returning the favor and passing on his example.