Why I believe in God part 1 (Patreon)

"Why do I still believe in God?" This is an important question to answer as I prepare to work on Album IV, an album of reflections and prayers. As I bare my soul to my listeners, I need to ensure that the songs they will hear are real and genuine, tested by fire and proven to be true. It would be unfair to give them songs that are half-baked. The words have been written; it's my job to ensure that I mean them while I sing.

For as long as I can remember, I've believed in God. My mother was a devout Christian who made sure her religious fervor was passed on to me by bringing me to church every Sunday, reminding me to read the Bible every morning, introducing me to Christian media, and encouraging me to be involved in church activities. Let me jump ahead and say that I do none of those things consistently now, and yet I still strongly believe. Maybe the strength of one's belief in God is not determined by his commitment to a born-again church. We'll get to that.

My father is a stoic, intellectual man who expressed his faith in more private and personal ways that I understood later on as I grew older. Rather than being active in church, he showed his faith by living a good life, being excellent in his work and providing for his family without complaining. Occasionally, he would talk to me about God and faith. This happened maybe four or five times in my whole life, and yet those few times were impactful.

And yet I can't say that this is why I believe in God. My parents are ordinary laymen whose faith, though strong, is just as strong as others'. I know of some friends who do not believe in God anymore despite growing up with more devout parents. I know of others who believe in God despite having parents who did not believe. What's more, the faith experience is totally different from my parents', and I will talk about that later on in this entry. I can't say that my belief in God is a direct result of my parents' faith.

Neither can I say it was a result of my church's stellar example. You see, I was part of a megachurch, where I was made to feel that in order to be a true disciple of Christ, I had to be part of their movement. To be part of this movement, I had to honor God by "making disciples," which meant going out into the world, preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and starting groups where I would "mentor" others to be like Christ. In order to do this, I had to be "mentored" by someone, so that I would be equipped to "mentor" other people. While I believe that Jesus is truly beautiful and must be shared, I hated how the message of the Gospel was treated like a product to be peddled in a kind of pyramid scheme. It just didn't feel genuine to me.

I will never forget the training where I was taught to "move with the movers," which means only spending time with people who can also contribute to the movement. Yet Christ Himself did not move with the movers; He spent time with a variety of people: some rich, some poor; some simple, some stately; some more free-spirited, some more organized; some rabbis, some prostitutes; and yet all the people He spent time with knew they were sinful, broken people who needed Him. Jesus spent time with them, not because they were strategic, key leaders who could advance His new religion, but simply because they needed Him.

My faith in God was not handed to me by my megachurch. I refuse to give them that credit. Yes, I learned good things about God through them, and during my stay with them. Today, I still pray that God would lead them, because I'm sure that there will be many like me who will be ministered to despite their imperfect system. But knowing what I know now, and experiencing what I've experienced, I cannot, in good conscience, continue my own spiritual journey with them. I have faith that God Himself will correct their errors, the same way He corrects mine. I am not above them. They are still my brothers. But brothers don't always have to see eye-to-eye, and maybe praying for them from afar is the best way for me to keep loving them.

I digress; let me digress further. Though I was part of a megachurch, I was part of a smaller local church in Katipunan led by a pastor named Pastor Tony. Despite all my issues with the bigger system, I had no complaints about Pastor Tony. Let me tell you his story.

Pastor Tony would always joke that he came from showbiz. Show-biz. Biz-show. Bisyo. He made people laugh with that joke to distract them from the fact that his past was dark. For years, he struggled with drug addiction, destroying relationships and ruining his own life by chasing after the high. But one day, when our megachurch was still a small church, someone invited him to one of the church's Bible studies, where he understood who Jesus was. He gave his life to Christ, quit drugs, and stayed thirty-plus years sober ever since. And if that wasn't enough of a miracle, Pastor Tony, as we know now, went on to be a pastor, guiding souls who were just as lost as he was. Not only was he my pastor for ten years; he was also the director of a drug rehab center called Penuel home, where he dealt with recovering drug addicts every day, journeying through life with them and pleading with them to see light in Christ. Pastor Tony is a good man, and a great example of what it means to be a Christian. Truth be told, he might have been the only reason why I put up with the megachurch.

Is Pastor Tony the reason why I believe in God? If he was, then I should stop believing now, because I lost him just two weeks ago. If he was the sole reason, then I should cease to believe now. In this period of grieving, I feel God's presence more, because God is close to the brokenhearted. Believe me.

So why do I believe in God? It's not because of my good parents. It's definitely not because of my church. It's not because of my pastor, even if he was a great example of Christlikeness. I have an answer, but I'll have to save it for another time because my wife is sleepy and I would like to go to bed with her. (Spoiler alert: It's not because of her either.)

End of part 1.