CATALYST LITERATURE

    It is the most anticipated date of the year. Almost everyone smiles
when they know that this date is near. In fact, everyone keeps a
countdown. December 25. People’s responses vary from the sweetest to
the sourest. Businessmen hear the sound of the cashier’s register and
the sound made by counting pieces of paper. Workmen looks up to bonuses
and a week or two from work. Students rejoice because there would
surely be no classes, but at the same time get upset at the lots of
back to school stuff that needs to be taken cared of before school
resumes. And children will get to stretch those vocal chords and make
money at the same time by singing songs to strangers. Now talk about no
talking (or singing for that matter) to strangers.
    You would
surely know what people celebrate on the 25th of December unless of
course, you are living somewhere aside from planet Earth! Christmas is
indeed an event to look up to every year, and it is just so fitting to
schedule it at the last week of the year, when everyone’s getting weary
from the year that it has been and prepare themselves for another year
of existence in this world.
    In the Philippines, Christmas is
celebrated as early as the last week of September. Maybe some Christmas
lights, some Christmas objects being displayed in the malls and other
things related to Christmas. "Only in the Philippines!", as the famous
one-liner would say.
    But I noticed something, and in fact this keeps on happening every single year people celebrate Christmas.
  First is the extravagance. Compared to the past years, this year’s
Christmas is a bit silent. I can still hear the sound of fireworks
every now and then, but not as numerous compared to last year. Perhaps
this has something to do with the moderation on the sale of fireworks,
but if it really is part of the tradition of people to do such, they
would certainly push the limit to continue the tradition and not break
it. Most Filipinos are bound to such tradition. So it comes as a bit of
surprise for me.
    Second is the "Christmas feel". There is such
thing as "Christmas air". And using my senses I came to realize that
there is indeed a huge difference between the "Christmas air" of this
year and that of last year. In fact, I feel it getting gloomy at a very
alarming rate. Five years back I recalled people here in our
neighborhood hosting house parties for kids, teenagers and adults. But
now, I didn’t noticed any house parties. What I noticed is a
karaoke-jukebox with different people singing, sharing alcohol. And
another thing is, people are drinking a lot of alcohol compared to
those of the past years!
    The things I stated above surely are
the results of the economic crisis taking over the Philippines. It not
only produced more holes on the pockets of Filipinos, it produced holes
in the physical and spiritual aspects as well.
    The Philippines
takes its distinction in Asia as the only "Christian" country. But the
people’s lives are stating things that are contrary to what should be
evident in a  "Christian" country.
    Instead of being joyful and
merry in the most important celebration in a Christian setting, most
people feel remorse, anguish, stress and other negative emotions and
feelings. People think more on what should be prepared for the Noche
Buena, what clothes to wear for the Church services, and what gifts to
buy for the people that matters, and the people who asked.
   
Because of this exterior things, people tend to forget that December 25
is a celebration because it is the day we remember Jesus’ birth. The
greatest gift of all that God could give. His Son. Sent to our planet
to live the way we live and experience everything a human being
experiences in his/her lifetime. His life could be summarized into
three short but stirring words, "Lived to Die."
    I just hope that
next year, instead of bringing down the "Christmas air", we learn to
lift it up and sustain it at the level of contagious joy, knowing that
we celebrate Christmas because of JC’s birth and not because there will
be presents under the Christmas tree. Christmas is more than just
receiving presents from people like us, it is about receiving the gift
that only God can give to us.
    Merry Christmas and a Joyful New Year to you all!

by Ruvs

Hey guys!

- by Abby

    In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index-card files.
    They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different heading. As I drew near the walls of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
    And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match.
    A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their contents. Some brought joy and sweet memories, others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A files named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed."
    The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird: "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I’ve Yelled At My Brothers." Others I couldn’t laugh at: "Things I Have Done In Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath At My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes there were fewer than I hoped.
    I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my twenty years to write each of these thousands, possibly millions, of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
    When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
    When I came to the file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed contents. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
    Suddenly I felt an almost animal rage. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took the file at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
    Defeated and utterly hopeless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared The Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, never, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
    And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
    But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No please, not Him. Not here. Oh anyone but Jesus.
    I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at his face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
    Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands, and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arms around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me.
    Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Staring at one end of the room, He took out a file and one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
    "No!" I shouted, rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.
    He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and continued to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."
    I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written…

Joshua Harris, I Kissed Dating Goodbye (Multnomah Press, April 2002), 104-106