“Paalam sa Pagka-Bathala,” a maikling kwento (short story) by Genoveva Edroza Matute, was one of the literary pieces we read in first year high school that left an impact on me. To be honest, I do not even remember the names of its main characters, but I remember the story.
It was about a little girl who idolized her father. To her, her father was “bathala,” god, a deity.
One day, her baby brother, whom she loved dearly, fell ill. As his condition worsened, the little girl drew strength from her faith in her father. She was certain her father would make her brother well.
The baby brother died. The girl and her father were in grief. They felt pain saying goodbye to their beloved little boy, saying goodbye to the illusion of having a deity around. Paalam sa pagka-bathala—farewell to deity!
Today, Father’s Day, the 11th Sunday in ordinary time, we can reflect on the rhythm of the Kingdom of God as described in the two images in the Sunday’s Gospel, Mark 4: 26-34: the rhythm of the seed that bears fruit in its own hour and through its innate process and the paradox of the mustard seed.
I would like to reflect on this bearing in mind my two fathers: my biological father and my grandfather.
Broken family
As I have written in previous articles, mine is a broken family. In the ’60s, my paternal grandfather refused to hear of separation. My grandfather was a traditional patriarch, a classic. Brilliant and accomplished as a lawyer and public servant, he was in the mold of the patriotic patrician that emerged in the early 20th century and on to the postwar era.
Too much too soon
My father was his favorite, being the eldest and the most brilliant of his four children, all sons. But the tragedy of my father was he had too much, too soon. He was already an established corporate and trial lawyer before he turned 40. He lived the good life, but his relationships suffered.
I will not dwell on the dysfunction of our family. Suffice it to say, though still healing, we survived.
I’ve always known my grandfather’s influence on me. I grew up with him and my grandmother—the grandchild who’d spend weekends, summers and all holidays with them. He was my idol, my “bathala.”
I looked up to him and after my initial dream to be a doctor faded, I wanted to be in government service like he was. When I passed the entrance exam at the University of the Philippines, I wanted to take up foreign service. But, of course, Ateneo was the first choice.
Without doubt, it was my grandfather who planted in me the seeds of nationalism, egalitarianism and social justice.
My father in me
As I grew older, I realized how much I also had my father in me. He had many faults, and believe me, they were quite amazing faults. But beneath all these, he was kind and generous—and battled his demons.
He hurt a lot of people, but he also struggled.
I remember one conversation with my brothers. We were comparing notes on our experiences with our father, that no matter how strained and conflicted his relationship with us was, we did feel how he struggled to be a good father.
I will admit, with humility, that I could have “inherited” his patterns of behavior. But somehow, being conscious of these at an early age and seeing and feeling the pain caused by such behavior, I made a conscious decision to break the pattern.
I think this choice led me to grow outside of my immediate family, staying with my grandparents more and later in college, with my second family in their home called “the German House.” This conscious choice was key in my decision to become a priest.
Thanks to my seminary formation and my grace-filled spiritual director, I slowly healed—and continue to heal.
Favorite
There is much to share about my grandfather and his influence on me. For our Sunday reflection, let me share a story.
My father was the black sheep of the family, but my grandfather always bailed him out and favored him in family meetings. A classic line in meetings with his four sons was, “Tumahimik kayo. Tama si Rudy (my father)!” (“Discussion over. Rudy is correct!”)
My grandfather always had the last say. But one time when his three other sons begged him not to spoil my father, he said, “When you have your own children, you will understand why I am like this to your brother.”
“Paalam sa pagka-bathala.” Farewell to deity. My grandfather, the patriarch and patrician that he was, showed what, I still believe, is best about being human—the love that forgives and is unconditional. He showed the chink in the armor and expressed a father’s love, pained but forgiving and hopeful.
I can only think of the forgiving or merciful father in the Parable of the Prodigal Son.
As my brothers and I were growing up and after my mother’s death, we developed a more relaxed and affectionate relationship with my father. I became closest to him in my seminary days and more so after I was ordained.
In 2004, he became terminally ill. I had a talk with him. He was in the hospital, I had to be gone for a little over a week to pack up my stuff for the Jesuit House in Gonzaga University in Spokane, Washington State. I was to do my dissertation in the US in the summer of 2004, but my superiors at Ateneo asked me to postpone it.
I said goodbye to my father in the hospital. I knew he would be discharged in a few days, so I said I’d see him upon my return.
A few days after my departure, I got a call from my brothers who said that father had taken a turn for the worse. I flew back home.
Rest
I arrived close to midnight on a Thursday, July 15, 2004, went straight to the hospital where the entire family was waiting. I went to his room by myself. We were alone. My father was awake although his breathing was labored.
He was happy to see me. I kissed him, caressed his head and held his hand. Then I asked, “Pa, are you tired already?” He nodded. I told him, “Pa, rest. Go ahead. We will be okay. We promise to take care of each other. Go ahead and rest if you are tired.”
I had to hold back my tears because I didn’t want him to see me cry; I didn’t want him to be anxious. Then I told him I’d be back the next day—it was already Friday then—to celebrate Mass for him, on the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, the “titular” feast day of his mother, my grandmother, as well as mine, my uncle, and my nephew. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.
“Paalam sa pagka-bathala.” In that short conversation with my father, we said goodbye to the “deity” of machismo and to the pain we’d caused one another. We forgave one another. We simply cared for one another, as a father to a son and a son to a father.
My trip turned out to be a blessing. The week I was gone, my brothers managed to spend quality time with my father, to say their goodbyes—their forgiveness.
Friday, July 16, we had a very prayerful and peaceful Mass in his hospital room. We stayed with him.
Early morning of July 17, I got a call from my brother. My father had peacefully passed on around 5 a.m.
Carrying the seeds
Now I find myself carrying the seeds of my father, as well as of my grandfather. I carry the good ones and pray I have nurtured them to bear fruit. I also carry the “bad” ones and have struggled with them.
I had made a conscious choice to avoid the pitfalls. I have learned from my father’s journey. I hope I have fared better and will continue to try to do so.
I say without arrogance or self-righteousness, but with a sense of gratitude, that in his own way, he had taught me important lessons.
The Gospel tells us that God’s seed will grow and bear fruit in its own hour and according to its innate process, time and rhythm. Such is our life.
Farewell to deity—the fullness of the true God, the Father of all may come to life in us, in our relationships and God the Father’s love bear fruit in its fullness.
Like the mustard seed, the seemingly small and insignificant things may yet grow to be a big factor in our life and serve us well in living a meaningful life of love and service. This is the paradox of life and love.
No accidents
The Parables of the Kingdom in this Sunday’s Gospel, Father’s Day, tell us that in the love and wisdom of Our Heavenly Father there are no accidents. Everything, in His time, falls into place and we then shall see the whole, the beauty of His plan for us—“that rooted and grounded in love, may have the strength to comprehend with all the holy ones what is the breadth and length and height and depth and to know the love of Christ which surpasses all knowledge so that we may be filled with all the fullness of God.” (Ephesians 3: 16-19)
