There’s a good reason why messages can be sent via text. Apart from that it hastens communication at the command of the fingers, it also allows for immediate responses. Or that is so when the receiver has phone credits at the most, or is willing to reply at the least. But some prefer classic ways to do so, chief of them Father Amado Picardal who chose to bike his way across mountains and roads if only to deliver the message of the people in Davao
and parts of the southern regions of the nation all the way to Malacañang.
Perhaps the least that one can expect from a priest is to literally pedal his way right before the citadel of deaf executives and trumpet the wretchedness of the people, that wretchedness being relentless and refuses to die. What can I say? This nation truly has its own means to make the least of our expectations manifest themselves, although rarely do we see them. Armed with a bicycle to steer, Picardal did not only send a message. He took it with him, that message being the corollary of a swollen mass of sentiments of people who eat for breakfast the struggles in life and the scent of death.
Picardal went beyond what is expected of him by his flock. True to a democracy, he might have also irked the fanatics of religion who swear by their breaths that the morality being propounded by the church does not warrant its herders to sow the moral seeds of it on famished grounds. Or for those who do not like metaphors, Picardal might have also angered the religious who believe in the separation of the church and state. Like Father Roberto Reyes, the running priest, who to this day continues to reap a bitter harvest from his critics who pin his actions down ever so fiercely. Like Archbishop Oscar Cruz, the priest who abhors giving Gloria a taste of the body of God, who to this day continues to receive sharp criticisms for his positions. Indeed, one can ask, what ‘church morality’? But we have a day for that story, and it is one which is worth telling.
The “biking priest’s” sojourns hinted at preaching the “good news of life and peace in a land where the culture of death, violence, and corruption prevails.” Indeed, even at the height—and, quite literally, the lack thereof—of tempests storming this nation like mad, there remains the good news of life and peace crouched low yet eager to unfold and make its presence surge through the very skins of the people. Amid the swirling madness, hope lingers and teases the grip of our palms for every thorn flailing our senses and sensibilities. With life comes death, and with death comes life. Oftentimes, too, both death and life appear before us, in both form and substance, like inseparable twins. The same goes with peace, much as it goes with war.
But the concreteness of that good news of life and peace stands erected on the fertile soils of the imagination, or of wishful thinking, if not both. That news remains cuffed and strangled on the cellars of the mind, barely getting a taste of concrete existence in wronged places plagued by the monsters of death, violence and corruption. It has substance yet it wants in form. That is the point where the news of life and peace need harder nailing. That is the vantage point from whence one is called upon to seize the chance of life in lieu of the greater risks of death, if not one in terms of the death of the spirit. The death of the spirit is truly alarming. That the death of the spirit is truly alarming is one which foretells a death larger than life and this nation. That is apathy at its horrendous form. That is the death of all the reasons in this world to continue being a democracy and beg for autocracy. And that is what Picardal appears to trample by conviction, the mess apathy has fed to monumental proportions, stimulated by the impetus of change, of doing something instead of nothing, and of making use of the life and limbs instead of allowing them to rot with time and befriend the maggots.
Unlike text messages, Picardal, it seems, won’t be receiving a quick response from Gloria. Unlike text messages, the letter reaching the presidential table remains in the realm of the imagination for some reasons other than a no signal and an emptied power supply. Which are, of course, on the contrary because signals and powers seem to emanate from that executive room, that power being illegitimate and that signal being wrong and wronged in ways which are yet to be explained by the cabals of the regime. Patent for growing a blind eye for justice while seeing everything else as investment, the Garcified leadership has reasons of its own to turn yet another blind eye. So much so for the gargoyles that they have become.
But given the benefit of the doubt, there may be a grain of possibility that the letter delivered by Picardal might eventually find its way atop the desk of Gloria. That being said, though, the next question would be: will she even dare touch that parchment containing the voices of the people in print?
Truly indeed, there’s a good reason why messages can be sent via text. But to deliver it personally is to stamp the message with a pounding force that only the numbest person on economic steroids can resist.
and parts of the southern regions of the nation all the way to Malacañang.
Perhaps the least that one can expect from a priest is to literally pedal his way right before the citadel of deaf executives and trumpet the wretchedness of the people, that wretchedness being relentless and refuses to die. What can I say? This nation truly has its own means to make the least of our expectations manifest themselves, although rarely do we see them. Armed with a bicycle to steer, Picardal did not only send a message. He took it with him, that message being the corollary of a swollen mass of sentiments of people who eat for breakfast the struggles in life and the scent of death.
Picardal went beyond what is expected of him by his flock. True to a democracy, he might have also irked the fanatics of religion who swear by their breaths that the morality being propounded by the church does not warrant its herders to sow the moral seeds of it on famished grounds. Or for those who do not like metaphors, Picardal might have also angered the religious who believe in the separation of the church and state. Like Father Roberto Reyes, the running priest, who to this day continues to reap a bitter harvest from his critics who pin his actions down ever so fiercely. Like Archbishop Oscar Cruz, the priest who abhors giving Gloria a taste of the body of God, who to this day continues to receive sharp criticisms for his positions. Indeed, one can ask, what ‘church morality’? But we have a day for that story, and it is one which is worth telling.
The “biking priest’s” sojourns hinted at preaching the “good news of life and peace in a land where the culture of death, violence, and corruption prevails.” Indeed, even at the height—and, quite literally, the lack thereof—of tempests storming this nation like mad, there remains the good news of life and peace crouched low yet eager to unfold and make its presence surge through the very skins of the people. Amid the swirling madness, hope lingers and teases the grip of our palms for every thorn flailing our senses and sensibilities. With life comes death, and with death comes life. Oftentimes, too, both death and life appear before us, in both form and substance, like inseparable twins. The same goes with peace, much as it goes with war.
But the concreteness of that good news of life and peace stands erected on the fertile soils of the imagination, or of wishful thinking, if not both. That news remains cuffed and strangled on the cellars of the mind, barely getting a taste of concrete existence in wronged places plagued by the monsters of death, violence and corruption. It has substance yet it wants in form. That is the point where the news of life and peace need harder nailing. That is the vantage point from whence one is called upon to seize the chance of life in lieu of the greater risks of death, if not one in terms of the death of the spirit. The death of the spirit is truly alarming. That the death of the spirit is truly alarming is one which foretells a death larger than life and this nation. That is apathy at its horrendous form. That is the death of all the reasons in this world to continue being a democracy and beg for autocracy. And that is what Picardal appears to trample by conviction, the mess apathy has fed to monumental proportions, stimulated by the impetus of change, of doing something instead of nothing, and of making use of the life and limbs instead of allowing them to rot with time and befriend the maggots.
Unlike text messages, Picardal, it seems, won’t be receiving a quick response from Gloria. Unlike text messages, the letter reaching the presidential table remains in the realm of the imagination for some reasons other than a no signal and an emptied power supply. Which are, of course, on the contrary because signals and powers seem to emanate from that executive room, that power being illegitimate and that signal being wrong and wronged in ways which are yet to be explained by the cabals of the regime. Patent for growing a blind eye for justice while seeing everything else as investment, the Garcified leadership has reasons of its own to turn yet another blind eye. So much so for the gargoyles that they have become.
But given the benefit of the doubt, there may be a grain of possibility that the letter delivered by Picardal might eventually find its way atop the desk of Gloria. That being said, though, the next question would be: will she even dare touch that parchment containing the voices of the people in print?
Truly indeed, there’s a good reason why messages can be sent via text. But to deliver it personally is to stamp the message with a pounding force that only the numbest person on economic steroids can resist.
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