While somewhat subdued in Manila, Edwin grew more animated as he showed us around the property, pointing out each detail. He had grown up nearby, and this mountainous area was a popular spot for wealthy Filipinos to build vacation homes. So, the satisfaction of rising out of poverty to become the right-hand man of the Center’s founder and then returning home to build a dream was not lost on me. He was proud of every feature of the place, showing off such mundane details as European-styled toilets in one of the completed dormitories–making sure to point out that each room had its own private bathroom. When completed, the three conference centers would be able to house over five hundred people, who if they wanted to could spend their days in the conference halls and evenings packed into the massive amphitheater for singing and devotion. As we passed from the dormitory section to the rest of the completed building, I wondered who would drive the two hours down here and use these facilities. With the question hovering in my mind the answer came around the corner as we stumbled on a small gathering of people seated in a circle inside an atrium lit up by skylights, the sun beaming down on them. It was a group of businessmen from Korea, who I suppose took advantage of the bargain prices offered during the construction phase.
“Edwin, you said the families of the pavement dwellers lived in those huts down there,” I asked him when we arrived at the crest of the hill, taking in a full view of the entire site. “Where are the children?”
“They are not here at the moment.” His hands rose up and he sighed, turning to consider my eyes. “We didn’t want them to get hurt from the construction, and they also need to stay in school. So, we are housing them at one of our orphanages just thirty minutes’ drive away. They come to stay on the weekends. It is not perfect yet, but once the construction is finished we hope to find permanent jobs for the men now that they have more construction experience. They are learning many new skills here. So, then perhaps the entire family can be reunited and stay together, God willing.”
“Hmm….” He caught my curiousness.
“Would you like to visit them? Go to the orphanage?”
“Is it out of the way?”
“Of course not. We should go there. I think you will like to see it.”
“Wonderful. Thank you.”
Adept at reading people, Edwin gave my forearm a gentle tap, stopping me from walking away. “Is there something else? Another question perhaps?”
“Only that I wonder how much of this… all of this, could be financed through that microfinance engine you talked about. Is this whole operation here and the orphanage and giving out water to people, all of this done through interest earned off thousands of two-hundred-dollar loans?”
“No. I wish we were completely sustainable. When this retreat center is up and running, we hope it will be our main source of revenue. For now, we must also rely on grants and a few loans from social investors.”
“Social investors?”
“Yes, these are people who don’t mind loaning money out at a lower interest rate to help organizations like ours. They earn a smaller financial return on their investment, but the social return is much higher, if you understand me. It has been a long road realizing Ms. Luisa’s dream of running social businesses that employ people and generate profits that can be used to help even more people and to serve God.”
“Well, it’s astounding. Simply astounding.”
Sarah and Mark bumped into someone they knew from Manila, another Center worker, and began chatting with her. Their conversation receded into the background. Edwin and I shifted to a shady spot under a mango tree. In fact, it was the only tree saved from the clear cutting they performed on the hill. A few plastic buckets lay scattered about underneath it, and we turned two over and made seats out of them. He and I each took in a deep breath and let out a long sigh.
“It’s very hot in your country, Edwin.”
“Ah yes, and humid. So humid.” He faced me, arms resting on his thighs and fingers intertwined as though at any moment he might drop to his knees and pray. “Tell me, Mr. Harry. Are you a Christian?”
“I was raised Catholic, but I don’t go to church anymore.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, I guess I grew out of it. Didn’t make sense anymore and all that business with the young boys just turned me off for good.”
“I am the same, you know? I was raised Catholic, but for some of us it is not the way anymore. So, we have become Protestant. The poor need hope, not charity.”
“But you do offer them charity, no?”
“I am oversimplifying, I know, but yes, only the most desperate need charity… but not for long. As you can see, they play a part too. Everyone works here. We all have a calling. If we have strong faith and work hard, the money and blessings will come from God. This is not about greed, you understand, but about rising up out of poverty. No longer are we bound to the station in life we are born into. We can spread our wings through our faith in Jesus Christ. I loved growing up Catholic, but I was never taught this by the priests.”
“It all sounds good, but can I be frank with you, Edwin?”
“Of course.”
“Why do you need Jesus in the picture? Can’t you just help the poor and go on about your business? Jesus may have said ‘help the poor’, but do people really need to follow him and pray to him and all that? I’m sorry if this is rude, but I don’t see the connection between some man in the Middle East two thousand years ago and a bunch of people here helping one another. If it’s about people just being good and needing a set of rules to keep them from messing up with one another, do we really need all these churches and prayers and everything?”
“That is the precise reason why I am no longer a Catholic. I now have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ–not through some priest–and through that relationship I am forgiven my sins.”
“That’s another thing. What’s all this focus on sins, as though they are bad? Isn’t that a pessimistic view of humanity?”
“Do you know the Greek word for sin is amartia, which literally means missing the mark?”
“Hmm, I’ve never heard that before.”
“Yes, I like the image of an archer shooting his arrow and not hitting the target. Most of my life I’ve committed these sins somewhere along a spectrum–missed the mark, so to speak. That mark is the true path for me in all things. That is the hole in which I strive to fit myself and for me that hole is Jesus Christ. That is my path, but even when I miss the mark, it’s okay because it is teaching me humility. That is what God wants for me, to become humble… to serve others and not let my ego take over and run my life, ruin it. I already did enough of that before I was saved, so I am quite an expert on sinning.” I detected a wistful smile cross his face.
“Interesting, what is it you did before the Center?”
“I was very lucky to get the opportunity to go to school and there I studied finance. I then worked for a large bank for several years, mostly operational stuff. The more I worked my way up, the more depressed I became.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, when I was young, and my family did not have much money. All I wanted to do was to grow up and earn a good living and support the family. So, I focused on the most successful path I could and when I started to make a little money I was so happy and so was my family. I could buy what I wanted and do what I wanted. It was total freedom. Or so I thought. Then, I realized that I was making enough money and didn’t need any more. So that hole was filled, but there was an even bigger hole in me I could not fill. I also realized that my bank was not serving people like the family I grew up in. There was no connection to the work I was doing and my own past–which is what I initially wanted anyway. So, for many years that was just okay. However, that is no way to break from the past. Over time I became aware that God gave me that childhood for a reason and it was to find a way up the ladder and then help others to climb out. I began to realize that I had abandoned the ladder and was not helping anyone else
besides myself and my family. So, over time I became more and more miserable. I started to drink and to stay out late with my friends and soon became lost in my own wilderness. It is a dark place, you know? I became like an automaton, just going through the motions of life.
“But one day I saw a child begging in the street and something about her spoke to me. I still cannot tell you or anyone else what it was, because I’ve seen thousands of children begging. But in her eyes, I saw the eyes of Christ looking on me and begging me to help her and everyone else like her. I cannot explain more than that, but from that day forward I started to change my life over to one where I was serving that girl–serving God. Of course, it took a while because I was very resistant to the change. It was a slow battle to gain control over my soul, and eventually I started to see Christ in everyone’s eyes. So, after many false starts, I got my life back–a life I never knew I even had. Now I am rich in what matters to God. Everyone who comes into my life is a gift and God is never beyond embrace. He is ready for my embrace whenever I am ready. I must always be preparing myself for it.”
“Interesting way to put it,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“I have also learned something very special about money.”
“What is that?”
“That money can become an instrument in the search for self-knowledge. You can learn a lot about yourself and others when it comes to money.”
“How so?”
“I once lent five thousand pesos, about a hundred dollars U.S., to a friend of mine–a good friend. I never saw him again. I’ve also lent half that to thousands of people I barely know and most all of them have paid it back. Money can be a bellwether for testing one’s character.”
“I know what you mean. So, Edwin, with all this work that you are doing, I have one question. Are you happy now? Really happy?”
“Yes and no, to be honest. My life has much more meaning now, and I am very happy with the work that I am doing to serve Christ through helping the poor. I still have days, just like anyone else, where I am not so happy and even lonely at times. Those are just normal things like coffee spilling on me or the traffic in Manila, but that is to be expected. So, in some ways my life is reversed. I am no longer always happy on the surface, but that is just like a sliver of an iceberg, and everything else below is connected to God and I am truly happy on a deeper level than ever before. It took me many years to get over my attachment to money, but in my case Jesus was speaking to me in his parable of the rich man. Like him, I needed to sell everything and give it to the poor in order to be happy. Now I am free from that burden.”
“Do you think everyone needs to do that? That is, give their worldly possessions away?”
“Actually, no. In that parable, the rich man comes to Jesus and he is miserable and Jesus sees that the source of his misery is indeed his attachment to his wealth. I don’t think it is like this for everyone. Maybe everyone has to figure out what it is that stands between them and God and give up that attachment.”
“Attachments… that sounds a little Buddhist to me.”
“Well, I don’t know. Many paths lead to the same mountain peak. I just happen to be living here where most of those paths are Christian-based. I’m not so sure I’d be Christian if I were living in Saudi Arabia, but I’d like to think I’d still be walking a path to God.”
“You know, Edwin, I have to say that you’re quite an interesting man. Have you thought about being a preacher yourself?”
“Yes, but that is one of my failings too. I like to talk too much, as I have done just now. Whenever I’ve preached in my church community I find I lose a bit of my humility. So, until I’ve given up that attachment I suppose I will have to stay in the background. We all have our own hills to climb and pits to avoid. I seem to find new ones every day.” He said this with a slight chuckle.
As we stood up, Mark and Sarah said goodbyes to their colleague and then gradually approached us. They seemed to be keeping a safe physical distance from one another, something I noticed the day we met at the Center and a contrast to back in Mongolia where they often appeared attached at the hip. I wondered if the Christian community had rules around the behavior of unmarried couples, though I still wasn’t sure whether they had coupled up in the traditional sense. Unlike Elena, who was filled with fire and constantly setting and resetting boundaries based on the forces competing inside her, Sarah’s savoir faire spoke of unconditional love. She seemed to be brimming with love for all life, and Mark’s proximity meant he felt the same light, just a little brighter. Who knows, perhaps they walked the line during the day and found ways to sneak out of their gender-separated dormitories for late-night trysts. I thought it interesting that all the junior staff lived in these dormitories, where meals and prayers took place in a communal setting. I could never see myself getting roped into a situation like that.
A few minutes later, we bid farewell to the crew, meeting a few of them, who shook our hands and hung their heads in peace and humility. Being surrounded by such politeness and respect, both in Mongolia and the Philippines, at first unnerved me as my cynical side kept expecting the other shoe to drop, but it never did. Was this niceness a third-world thing or had I just stumbled upon good people?
I endured a bumpy 45-minute drive down to the orphanage over an older road weaving through a less affluent area, most of it thick jungle and with the occasional wooden shack tucked back off the road. The orphanage itself covered a few acres of palm and other tropical plants, with several clearings that housed pigs, chickens, and other livestock roaming about within a tall bamboo fence surrounding the perimeter. The grounds contained two buildings: an open-air school and a small dormitory, both constructed from local bamboo and looking worn out. The compound drew a sharp contrast to the modern construction we’d just come from, and I wondered how the Center could have done a better job keeping families together.
As soon as we climbed out of the minivan, a pile of children came tumbling out of the school and leapt onto us, laughing with joy. They drowned Edwin in little hugs, and the smile on his face left me with the impression that every one of those children was in some way his own. He said a few things to them in a language I didn’t understand, arms fanning out to touch as many of their heads as possible. I caught Sarah out of the corner of my eye, laughing, smiling, and integrated. Mark seemed engaged too, though from his usual silent distance. I felt awkward as usual, always magnified in the company of children.
“They want to sing us a song,” Edwin said to Sarah, and she pumped her arms like an overzealous cheerleader.
“That would be wonderful. Let’s hear it!”
The children fell silent, falling into a square of six rows of six. One of the teachers, a young woman who herself looked to be just out of high school, stood in front of them, faces gazing up at her and little eyes darting back and forth to watch us as she gave them a serious look and clapped her hands to start them off. I did not recognize the song, but its tune hung in the air and over us like sweet honey. The youngest child looked to be about four and the oldest somewhere around eleven. They were dressed in clean kid clothes and not the uniforms I’d seen on the many schoolchildren since I landed. They sang with smiles, looking up at the teacher’s conducting hands, struggling to concentrate despite the four distractions in front of them. A brood of hens trotted by and skittered through the kids’ legs and I caught sight of one of the boys, about eight years old, in the back staring at me, mouthing the words and looking as if this were the last place he’d like to be. When they were finished singing, we burst into applause, and I saw a flash of pride on Edwin’s face as he searched my own for a reaction.
“Just lovely,” I said, following Sarah into the children, who leapt and climbed all over us. All of them except for the boy in the back I’d seen before, who slid out away from the pack and planted himself next to the fence, sitting down with one knee jutting up into the sky. He watched on with curiosity, but there was no mistaking the sadness in his
eyes. It hurt to look at him, yet I could not peel my eyes away, like watching some grim accident on the side of the road. Even when I cast my glances down to the other kids, I continued to observe him through my peripheral vision. I’m not sure how I knew it, but I grasped that among this group of orphans and non-orphans he was of the former group. When this hit me, I put all other thoughts aside, and my body shifted to face him. The rest of the children fell away in my mind, as he sat there regarding me. Underneath the slight curiosity was a look of sorrow, complete resignation. True or not, his story flashed into my mind. It didn’t matter where his life would go from that point onward; he had lost his family, and along with it a deep connection to the world. I knew that look quite well and my heart went out to him. A van full of happy people could not bring his life back to normal, nor could the love of others close to him. No, he was adrift for life, and would always have that hole that could only ever be filled by something else–and so young to feel that!
“We have to go. Need to head back to Manila before the end-of-day traffic,” Edwin said to us and we bid our goodbyes. I fell asleep on the ride back, my head leaning against the window, exhausted. I dreamt part of the day again:
We arrived at the orphanage in the minivan. Only I came with other people, people with an evil streak. They rushed out of the car, and like ogres began scooping up children. I could hear their cries of pain and anxiety. I slid out of the car, heavy feet pulling through thick mud as I made my way to the school. Once inside, I recognized that same little boy, whose face looked odd, but it was still him. He hid in the corner, and I reached out to help him, but he pushed me away. The more I tried to convince him I was good, the more he cried and covered his face. He suddenly screamed the kind of scream that breaks windows, and in the dream, some of them did break, glass shattered across the floor in fragments. One of my companions heard the screams and ducked his head into the room, telling me to forget about him. “Leave him, he’s of no use to us!” he shouted, pulling me out of the room. When I looked back, I noticed the boy vomiting green bile and then morphing into an old man dressed in rags, clutching gold coins. He was dying, and I was leaving him.
Crossing Allenby Bridge Page 11