PAID HAND

While I was in Riyadh actively involved in various church leadership assignments, there was no question about how committed everyone involved in clandestine spiritual pursuits was. Notwithstanding the frustrating persecution that tests the faith of the believer, weekends were, without any reservation, set aside for worship.

Let me relive a few of those inspiring moments in my erstwhile colored spiritual past: evangelistic biblical studies to far-flung places outside of the city ring to bring good news and offer spiritual comfort to homesick kababayans; Thursday nights huddled with the other faithful members of the underground church in fellowship; early Friday morning preparations to prepare halls and living rooms for Bible studies and worship preceded by arrangements to transport worshippers and monitor the safety of the places used for the purpose; weekdays used for spiritual feeding and leaders’ meetings. At least four days a week were devoted to exercise the faith at the expense of imprisonment and deportation when caught.

And no one complained. Not even when no single halalah was spent or allotted for what is commonly and euphemistically called “love gift”, (read: suweldo).

Those were lovely times, when all one could think of was to be connected to and with God, to be of service to Him and to be one with the brethren. And work – the very reason for coming to the Middle East in the first place – became incidental.

I have been a church worker ever since I converted to the faith two decades ago. When I decided to come home in 2002, I had my thoughts guarded about asking to work in the church, the reason being that I wanted it to be very clear in my heart that the motivation for asking to work is out of a pure desire to serve, and not to have a paid job. Not that I had ill thoughts about being paid for working in the church. The quandary was in the motivation.

Eight years on, I am still here. Working for the church. And getting paid for it. Does that diminish my commitment? Does that take away something from my service? When I look around my house and the people who depend on me, I cannot help but be amazed at how God has seen us throughout the time I gave up my overseas work and returned home.

Sometimes, when I look back and remember the number of hours I put in for ministerial works in Riyadh – hosting Bible studies and worship services at the Dywidag Village, attending underground classes organized by western Tentmakers, organizing and heading training programs for pastors of various churches, supporting various activities of cell and core groups at the cost of being imprisoned when found out – I miss it if only for the fact that doing those work in the spirit of volunteerism was a refuge from the stress of work. The ministry offered refreshment, relief, rest.

Now – and this is an honest confession – I feel the reversal. While I will not fault myself for getting paid doing church work, I find that as work, the secularism attached to the professionalism expected by it, also induces the same stress and strain that one likes to get away from especially when demands, deadlines and personal discipline take their toll on the mind and body. And when the refuge offered is a couple of days’ spiritual retreat with the same people you work with, I panic. How can you be with the same persons you are with more than 50 hours per week? It stresses me. And this is when I try to break free by embracing aloneness and doing trivial things that bring shallow but comforting joy to the soul: shopping, watching movies, dining.

And sometimes, looking for company.

How paradoxical!