I’m driven by optimism and boldness in my pursuit of excellence in my profession. The monetary rewards and pride of authorship give me fulfillment. But that’s only temporal. If failure befalls me, my weakness shows when I’m discouraged.

There’s a different source of fortitude and certitude that’s closely related to our sublime and ultimate sense of purpose. It’s the power of religion, the rituals of faith that transcend optimism in the realm of the spiritual, a different perspective altogether.

I acquired my Catholic faith when I was a 3-year-old boy during mass, at the precise moment of consecrating the host. My mother made me kneel, bow my head, and close my eyes as she said, “God is here, alive in the consecrated host.” That was the first mystery I accepted in my Catechism. That mystery fascinated me all my life. Without the Eucharist, I would not be able to interact with the hope and wonders of Gold’s salvific act.

Church rituals, with their classic design and gestures, are the most ennobling acts ever conceived by man to interact with God. That’s how I felt when I chanced upon the Sunday mass celebrated by the priest at the St. John the Baptist church in Liliw, Laguna. I felt the magic and majesty of worshipping God inside Liliw’s old red brick and stone church.

The priest, garbed in his colorful, thematic liturgical vestments; his acolytes carrying sacred symbols, the crucifix held aloft between two lighted votive candles, the incense burner, the ringing bells; the epistle reader holding up the Holy Book, and the lay ministers—they all performed with old world elegance and solemnity.

They symbolize the antiquity, originality, and durability of our religion. All throughout the mass, reverence becomes the mood of the congregation.

During the consecration amid the ringing of bells and the smell of incense, I became a little boy once more, kneeling down worshipping the mystery of the Eucharist. Solemn rituals suspend the presence of evil in the minds of men, replacing it with innocence and purity of heart.

Daring

Take the rituals of matrimony. I remember my wedding day with delight and freshness. It was so captivating, so dreamlike. And so daring. As groom and bride, our commitment to unite body and soul is a classic act of optimism.

Our wedding ceremony was made in heaven, my bride the most beautiful in the world in her resplendent pearl white gown; the “I do—for poorer or richer, till death do us part”; the ring I placed on her finger; the arras I placed in her hands; the priest’s declaration to the whole world that we are man and wife; the lifting of the veil for our kiss—every detail in the rituals is a shared happiness and triumph felt by everyone.

In remembering my resolve to preserve and enhance, my marriage came into clear focus again, the way it was during the rituals of my wedding day.

For the ritual of baptism, we brought our lovable newborn infant, dressed like a cherubim, to the baptistery. I was filled with pride that this beautiful angel was a creation of my miraculous procreative power and my wife’s mystical fecundity in her womb, nurturing human life, made possible by our acts of love.

I now have a progeny, and the patter of little feet at home constitutes the joy of parenthood. The priest anoints our baby with salt and holy oil, then, pours holy water on his head following the sign of the cross, “Ego te bautismo,” thereby cleansing the infant of original sin and making him the newest member of the flock. I felt the celebratory spirit of the godparents and everyone else who adored our infant, deemed by everyone as born with skills to reach for the stars.

In the future, when “death comes like a thief in the night,” I’ll access the Sacrament of the Last Rites (formerly extreme unction) and I’ll participate in another beautiful ritual, even if I’m half-conscious, my strength half-zapped. A priest of God will come to anoint me with Holy Oils, hear my confession, forgive my sins, “Ego te absolvo…” through the authority given him by God, as I say with all sincerity my act of contrition. Then off I go to my date with immortality.

Robert Fulghum, a parish minister who wrote the bestseller “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten,” had this piece printed in the page right after the title of the book:

“From the beginning to end,

the rituals of our lives shaped each hour, day and year.

Everyone leads a ritualized life:

Rituals are repeated patterns of meaningful acts

If you are mindful of your actions you will see the ritual patterns.

If you see the patterns you may understand them.

If you understand them, you may enrich them.

In this way, the habits of a lifetime become sacred.”

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