The warmth and charm of the people from the land of 7,000 plus islands bid me go the second time, not to rub shoulders with ministers, but to hold the shoulders of the least in its midst.
Fifteen years on, more buildings scrape the clearer skies in Manila. While the rising affluence is also evident in the increasing number of shopping malls, and more cars on the roads, visits with our team of seven to Marikina’s homes housing abandoned young and old, and under-bridge “residents” reminds me that this strata will always be in any society. The difference is really the conditions in which they live, and the love that they can merely hope to receive.
The mounds of new earth, sand and cement on an extended site to the old folks’ home offer promise that there will be more room for the old folks who currently squat in cemented rooms where up to five metal foldable beds are tightly interspersed. Urine stench permeates the corridor between the dormitories. Bony hands wrapped around the steel bars on the doors greet us before we could survey the desolate faces of the residents in the mental ward. Some old persons lay on the skeletal bed unable to clothe themselves; perhaps, it is good that they are unaware.
Joy and hope light up the faces of the old folks when our team starts ministering in songs and sharing. During service, a resident is so hungry for conversation he interrupts time and again to purvey his thoughts to me. Though abandoned, many of these folks exude stoicism or is it numbed pain? The faces of some very elderly women are still heavily covered in make-up; are they expecting special company or living a dream yet to be fulfilled?
The gaunt building of the boys’ home issues silent pleas for a new skin of paint. Broken glass window panes in the boys’ dormitories suggest fights and unlikely force 5 winds. The boys’ enthusiastic response to challenges during ministry is inspiring. Yes, deep within the belly of every human spirit, young or old, rich or poor, are living waters of God given hope and expectation. They are happy to have the two boys on our team for brothers to play with, even for that short span of visit. They are elated to pick the best couple who dance to the beat of Deep Cries Out. Regrettably, the scrawny boys do not seem to have enough from the first helping of fried vermicelli and bread that we prepared and distributed.
At the girls’ home, the new creation story animated with a skit of a caterpillar morphing into a butterfly capture the imagination of the girls. While the younger girls are content with playing the heroine of a morphing caterpillar, the teenagers sit back. There are issues on their hearts. If only their parents knew…
“I was in prison, and you visited me.” Matthew 25:36. This verse that appears in large red fonts at the women’s prison gate is a third confirmation that I am at the right place. If not for the barbed metal fences, one would think one was in a community neighbourhood. Inmates sell handmade crafts. I buy a beaded red tote from a mainland Chinese woman who says she is jailed for human trafficking. Activities of daily living and merchandising on the uneven terrain rouse a Lilliputian likeness. The host of our visit tells us she is looking forward to her release the following year and seeing her grandchild. She has been in prison for the past 18 years. A banner with her much younger visage brings a tinge of regret in my heart. But her quiet joy and tranquil energy assure me that the sweat of Christians has not gone to waste on her and her friends behind bars.
Staying under expressway bridges appears to be a better option for some immigrants seeking a better life in the city than cramping in a squatter hole. I’m almost inclined to agree but for the often wall-less space that children and women have to make do with. What with days of floods and typhoons? MRT (mass rapid transit train) stations would become their temporary refuge; the soiled furniture and utensils are as makeshift as their way of life. For as long as a decade, the bridgers have expressways as their home address; the hinterland is a river that flows under the bridge and the bare ground that becomes arable land to grow produce to sell. Powdery sand is the trampoline little children bounce on. Covered in mismatched garb, the folks lap up the food we brought in no time.
Thanks to Cornerstone Marikina, rays of hope and days of fuller stomachs at the homes, the prison and under bridges come through the hands of dedicated church workers, volunteers, youth leaders and even housewives. The effect of their work will not only be revealed in heaven, but in time, manifested here on earth. “Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these brethren, you did it to Me." Matthew 25:40
The ride to Manila airport evokes a false sense of mission accomplished. Truly, the journey to recovery and restoration of lives has only just begun!
This article is originally published in July 2013.