Of Coincidence, Chroniclers, Divine Providence and the Ant Under God's Magnifying Glass

CHAPTER 1: THE COINCIDENCE

There are no such things as coincidences, they say.

Coincidences are merely God's way of discretely answering our questions. His way of prodding us on to the right path or warning us from the wrong ones.

Last year, a person I truly care about stopped going to church. He would stand and sit and kneel down at all the right cues. He would look like he's listening, but he was somewhere else. I knew it. Until slowly, he found reasons to avoid altars altogether. He said, God only listens to a select few, and that when He does finally notice you, you are like an ant, and God is a child, scrutinizing the ant, holding a magnifying glass against the sun, wondering distractedly why the ant is burning and writhing in pain...

I know that it's wrong. But why did he have to be so philosophically profound and convincingly steadfast about his grudges, even when he was, in fact, begging to be disputed?

And why was I such at a loss for words at a time when I felt the need to make a remarkable come back? All I could say was: "I OBJECT, YOUR HONOR!"

And we laughed about it to make the awkward silence go away.

But it hurts us, doesn't it, when the people we love lose touch with their God?

And I knew that at the moment that no amount of preaching or intellectual discussions or any sort of catechism would work. Not on someone who seemed to be looking for a different kind of answer.

And it so happened that he was going through one of the toughest trials of his life and he felt like he was failing miserably...

Coincidentally.


CHAPTER 2: THE CHRONICLER

They say that Anne Rice did a complete three hundred and sixty degrees turn from writing vampire novels to writing chronicles about Jesus. She wrote of the vampire Lestat as though she was in love with him. Beautiful and vain like a woman. Strong and immortal, like a superhero. Even to other vampires who could not survive the sun, Lestat verily was a Superman.

Then Anne Rice discovers Jesus.

And, they say, she fell in love again.

He is not a fictional character of her own making like Lestat. But she writes of Him with the same passion. The same vigor. The same music in her words. The same hands that wrote the lines elevating Lestat into something like a god, spurned the sentences that made Jesus, a God, as profoundly and as beautifully human as you and me.


CHAPTER 3: DIVINE PROVIDENCE


I've been searching for a copy for a while now and it's been such a quest. I've actually given it up. But last week, my brother Johnny found a paperback edition in (guess where?) a bookstore in downtown Quiapo. The place where I buy cheap jewelry and imitation clothes (hehe!). I'm beginning to wonder if my brother is normal. I'm not sure if it would occur to a normal person to be looking for books in downtown Quiapo. Pirated DVD's, surely. Maybe even some pins-and-needles voodoo and hex-able hexes (50% off para sa mga suki!), ironically, or perhaps sacrilegiously, right next to the Church of the Black Nazarene.

But they say even miracles and prayers are for sale there.

So, on second thought, maybe I'm just naive.

Or maybe it's Divine Providence in the guise of my not-so-normal brother finding books in Quiapo.


CHAPTER 4: THE ANT UNDER GOD'S MAGNIFYING GLASS


"Christ, The Lord: Out of Egypt"

Anne Rice's title.

And my downfall.

"Sa title palang, you're trying to get me to go to church again. It's not going to work."

"It's not the Bible. It's a novel. From the same person who gave us Interview with the Vampire and Queen of the Damned." I retort.

"I didn't like either of those movies."

It's not gonna work.

"You say God sends us little messages everyday. Well, wala pang anghel na dumalaw sa panaginip ko. Wala pang pinapakitang karatula si God na nagsasabing dapat ko basahin ang librong to." And he put it back on the table in front of me.

"I'm not forcing you to do anything. I'll read it anyway even if you won't. But, yes, I got it for you."

Lo and behold.

I stood up for the bathroom and when I came back, his nose was glued to Anne Rice.

"Kala ko ba ayaw mo?"

And he turned to show me the page.

Right before the title page, where anybody else would've given us a litany of the names of their spouses or their children or their publishers, written in tiny, quiet but reverberating letters was Anne Rice's single dedication:

"For Christopher"

Mr. Ant Under God's Magnifying Glass.

Gave me the shivers...