On Wings Of Faith

In 1948 I was part of the Great Exodus of U.P. from Padre Faura to Diliman. I was in the first year, College of Law, then housed in what is now the Court of Appeals. How downcast we were – my mother and I – when we heard that U.P. was moving to Diliman, wherever that may be! They would tell us nonchalantly: “Oh, near Balara.” But Balara was a filtration plant, better known as an excursion place of urbanites who occasionally yearned to get far away from the “madding crowd.”

We were in a dilemma! My family was a family of UP diehards. Mother and father were both UP alumni. There was never a doubt in our minds that I would take up my law in UP. What now? Shall I follow all the way to that Dark Kingdom called “Dilim-an” and convert to a Dark Knight?

To give UP a chance, my mother and I decided to go there and take a look. So we took one of those yellow Halili buses. I looked out of the window of the bus watching city sights give way to provincial haunts and fields of talahib. “When shall we ever get there?” I asked my mother, whose knitted brows showed that she was getting anxious, too. It was taking far too long.

When we finally arrived at our destination, we saw a broad expanse of land and a few quonset huts. After that ocular inspection, the UP spirit won. “Let’s give it a try,” was our verdict.

The College of Law was to be housed in one of those quonset huts left by the Liberation GI Joes. Pock-marked concrete floors below a roof of rusty galvanized iron. An oven in summer. And during the rainy season, we could not hear our voices above the clatter on the roof and the howling winds.

It was answered prayer when we moved to one of two concrete buildings, the present College of Law near the Sunken Garden. Because of the distance, I had to arrange for board and lodging with a faculty member’s cottage in Area 5, across the street from Malcolm Hall, now the site of the Asian Center. Weekends, I’d go home and attend church services in Manila.

Not long after, I discovered the new Protestant Church in make-shift quarters. The University had provided land for chapels to serve the spiritual needs of its constituents. The first church to be constructed was the Parish of the Holy Sacrifice for the Roman Catholics followed by the Church of the Risen Lord for the Protestants, although later, it embraced other ecumenical groups as well.

As for me, I became active in the UP Christian Youth Movement (UPCYM) with my Law classmates Froilan M. Bacungan, Hugo Gutierrez and Augusto Caesar Espiritu. Unwittingly, I got involved in the UPCYM’s “politics.” In the meantime, when my widowed mother had to study for her Ed.D. degree in Indiana University on a scholarship from the Philippine Association of University Women, I wondered whether and how I could continue my studies. But my mother, a deeply spiritual lady, brushed aside my doubts and reassured me, “Don’t worry. Just go regularly to Bookman Publishing Co. to get the royalties from my books.” She was, aside from being an educator, an author of children’s books. I also feared that I could not concentrate on my studies for I knew I’d miss my mother terribly. To assuage my anxieties, however, she kept up a stream of advice and sermonettes in her letters.

Once she wrote me about the “miracle” of her passing her final examinations. It was to include Statistics, a subject which she never took as a student. Undaunted, she prayed in the examination room. Taking up her pen, she said under her breath, “Lord, here we go.” When the results came out, she not only passed but topped it! A lesson in faith, indeed!

On hindsight, I think her unshakeable faith in the Lord was transmitted to me by any or all of these means: “osmosis,” her genes, the advice she constantly gave me from my childhood on, along with bedtime stories, but more forcefully, the template of her own life.

During those years when I lived alone on campus, I clung to my faith in God. I never doubted that He would protect and guide me. To understand my situation, you will have to know that I grew up in a conservative, protective, middle-class family. Within the close-knit circle of friends I made, we were all innocent and ignorant in the ways of the world. No wonder my classmates in the College of Law, most of whom were boys, often twitted me for being knowledgeable only in the law – even as they tugged at my pigtails.

My faith sustained me through all those years of growing up in stature and in wisdom. His promises accompanied me in the bus while commuting, in school and in our cottage. I kept on repeating to myself: “Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest” (Joshua 1:9).

“I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness” (Isaiah 41:10).

At times, I wondered: Is this belief I have in the Lord Jesus the faith which can move mountains? For didn’t he promise: “If ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea, it shall be done” (Matthew 21:21)? But that is, “if ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed” (Matthew 17:20). What if I cannot move this mountain, will he then rebuke me: “O ye of little faith” (Matthew 16:8)?

Would it be too much if I asked Him for proof to make manifest His good works? I surmised that this proof through the senses would be presumptuous or irrelevant. For did he not say, “Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed” (John 20:29)?

Then there is the classic Biblical definition: “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). From another perspective, the Quaker scholar Elton Trueblood wrote: “Faith is not belief without proof, but trust without reservations.”

Another question I had to struggle with: Is it enough to have faith alone? Apparently not, even if that faith sufficed to move mountains.

Do you remember this passage: “Though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2)? Again, “And now abideth faith, hope, charity these three; but the greatest of these is charity” (1 Corinthians 13:13). Here charity is equated with love.

Aside from charity, what else is the ingredient of faith? “Faith without works is dead” (James 2:20). In other words, our good works, meaning our acts of mercy, compassion and love, should match our faith. So “Let us not be weary in well doing. We walk by faith and not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). Anything else? Yes, the Good Word also declared: “Add to your faith virtue; and to virtue knowledge” (2 Peter 1:5).

As I hugged my faith close to my breast, often would I reflect and meditate: What is the nature of this faith that can move mountains? The answer came: It is that faith which a little child possesses, hence the expression “child-like faith.” For a child is not concerned with external appearances. His goodness shines through reflecting the Divinity within. His clear eyes and innocent ways portray an unblemished soul that is completely disarming.

This is a faith that transcends logic. Where reason or science fails, faith takes over. One should not wonder, therefore, that too often, faith is invoked in extremis – when medical science fails to heal; when past passion is no longer adequate to restore shattered relationships; where one is beyond consolation in the face of bereavement or loss, whether material or emotional, or in case of frustration.

But faith is not to be invoked only when all else fails. Our hearts should constantly march in step with the drumbeat of the Divine Presence within. Beyond belief, it touches the hem of the Infinite with inexplicable, inexpressible grace. It takes a poet to express what is in their innermost being for which we ordinary mortals are at a loss for words.

As Wordsworth, the poet put it: “One in whom persuasion and belief had ripened into faith and faith became a passionate intuition.” Now intuition is an attribute of the soul, unlike reason which resides solely in the mind and is the handmaiden of intellect. It is this intuition which whispers to us in our quiet, unguarded moments, sometimes masquerading as conscience.

That the spiritual life in a community is the leaven that sustains the collective moral values, the attitudes and the temper of its people is evident. This is more pronounced in a university like the UP which has acquired the reputation of being liberal, militant and a free-thinkers’ haven. It is not a secret that many a parent deliberately keeps his children away from what they consider the baneful influence of the State University.

The spiritual moorings of the student populace of UP were soon enough tested with the onset of Martial Law. Protest demonstrations, including the First Quarter Storm, were held. At times, the rebellious spirit would brook no restraint when student leaders would suddenly disappear without leaving any traces. As for me, I sought refuge in the cloistered walls of the College of Law with my nose buried in my books.

I was all too keenly aware that UP had a long tradition of being the breeding ground of the leaders of the country – from the village or barangay – to the national level. Would these future leaders nurtured in the free intellectual atmosphere of UP be equal to the challenge of the times? Would their faith sustain them in times of trial and temptations? Yes, faith communities, such as those spawned in Diliman, should lead to changed lives. In the deep recesses of my heart and the farthest reaches of my mind, I wondered: How far would the idealism bred in the UP student last?

From the micro level of the individual student to the macro level of the leader of the nation, could the changed lives blossom into a changed nation? This is the challenge and only time will tell.

By the time I graduated from law school and passed the Bar Examination, my mind was conditioned to work for my Master of Laws under a fellowship at Indiana University where my mother and sister were winding up their respective graduate studies. Undecided on what field to specialize in, my mother and I decided to choose a field where I could render service to the deprived and the uneducated instead of the more lucrative fields which enticingly beckoned. So I chose, as my major field, Labor and Industrial Relations.

Alone again on the IU Bloomington campus, I devoted all my time to my studies and going to church to fight off homesickness. Knowing that my folks back home were praying for me fortified my faith backbone.

Misgivings assailed me when I started job-hunting. Is there anybody out there who could use a young, inexperienced Law graduate with a Masteral diploma in Labor Relations? We prayed for an opening where my expertise would matter. We found it, or rather, it found us, in church one fine Sunday morning. That day, we decided to attend church services, not in our home church, but at Ellinwood Church where we met Mr. Cipriano Malonzo, father of Ibarra Malonzo, our fellow UPCYMian, who was a respected and well-known labor leader. Upon learning of my field of specialization, he suggested that I contact Director Cicero D. Calderon of the newly-opened Labor Education Center, a joint pilot project of the U.S. and Philippine governments. Dr. Calderon, a staunch Methodist and a lay preacher, took me in to complement his lean staff of labor leaders. So I found myself back in my dear UP campus.

After a decade of labor education work, I was guided to teach in my very own College of Law. When I look back, I see clearly how my path was being directed by an Unseen Hand. He was preparing me mentally and spiritually, giving strength to my wings of faith so I could soar to heights unimagined. For how explain the fact that without any plans aforethought, I found doors of opportunity opening before me at the proper time.

Call me not an aimless wanderer in the School of Life. I may not have drawn up a timetable that stretched well into the future or a PERT-CPM chart that was the in thing at the time, just like my ambitious classmates, but one thing I did with all my heart – I followed where He led me.

What did my Life Path look like?

After teaching in the College of Law for over 20 years and concurrently being Director of the Law Center which was its research and training arm for the last six, I was ready for a sabbatical leave. But it was not to be.

The EDSA People Power Revolution exploded in l986. In its aftermath, the lady who was catapulted to the position of President decided to amend or revise the existing Constitution so that never again shall a dictator rule the people under a Martial Law regime.

While she was serving as both the Chief Executive and the Legislature, she organized a 48-man Constitutional Commission (ConCom) for which she needed a Secretary-General. How did my name crop up at the last minute when she did not know me from Eve? Here I was, all set to return to the peaceful groves of the academe as a full-time law professor when the unexpected call came.

“Lord,” I asked, “Where are you leading me?” It was not for me to question, but for me to obey. As Secretary-General of the ConCom, I did not spare myself for we had a deadline to meet. I was on hand during all the sessions. Avidly, I absorbed the brilliant debates and exchange of opinions interspersed with stinging barbs or, on the other hand, entertaining repartees. Some years later, I thanked God for the marvelous way He was preparing me eventually for a seat in the highest court of the land. Many a time, in the course of crafting decisions in my eight years’ stint in the Supreme Court, I would fall back on the discussions in the ConCom as recorded in the journals we had prepared. That was indeed delving into the legislative intent behind constitutional provisions. It was at this time that I was invited to run a column in the Journal entitled “Legally Speaking” and later, in The Philippine STAR, called “Take It Or Live It.”

With the l987 people-backed Constitution tucked under her belt as she faced six years of the Presidency, Cory Aquino invited me to be her special assistant. With alacrity, I accepted the post and bade goodbye for the nonce to UP. The next five years, I would hold office in the guest house of Malacañang with my own staff. Here was an apolitical creature suddenly thrust into the mainstream of statecraft and governance. Having a pipeline direct to the Office of the President, I had a chance to observe the Chief Executive at work and her art of decision-making. No longer did I have to rely on the media for current events for this time, I was privy to the news behind the headlines.

Throughout seven unforgettable coups, earthquakes, typhoons and Mt. Pinatubo eruptions, we gave unstinted support to President Aquino. In those trying moments, one could feel the inner strength and abiding faith of the President in God. Never did she break down or waver, but she wielded tightly the reins of leadership thrust into her capable hands by the people.

Towards the end of President Cory’s term, I looked forward again to resuming my academic life. But no, the Lord had other plans. All those years of toiling in His vineyard in various capacities were leading to the Judiciary. I felt sad to leave the Office of the President and my dear friends in 1991, but time and tide move on. As the Good Word states: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

A former classmate, Marcelo B. Fernan, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court at the time, welcomed me as the 14th Justice and the 3rd lady member of the highest court of the land.

The Sunday after my appointment to the High Tribunal, my son Chally and I knelt at the altar with hearts filled with gratitude and thanksgiving. Before my mind’s eye, the Biblical passage in the small publication “Upper Room” flashed: “The Lord says: I can never forget you. I have written your name on the palms of my hands.” As I contemplated the sea change in my life, the choir sang a benediction, my favorite Irish prayer with the touching words: “The Lord shall hold you in the palm of His hands.”

I was commencing a new chapter in my life which never figured in my plans nor in my dreams. I realized there was much adjusting to be done both in my personal and professional life. By myself, it would be tough tackling the daunting, even awesome, job but I had always placed my trust in the Lord. With utmost faith, I draw courage and strength from Him. He has never failed me and I felt He would not fail me now.

When I retired in 1999 after eight years in the Supreme Court, again I felt I would enjoy endless pleasurable moments with my family. But the Lord immediately beckoned. I obeyed His call to be Judge of the Administrative Tribunal of the International Labor Tribunal in Geneva and almost simultaneously, Judge of the same Tribunal at the Asian Development Bank in Manila. For six years, I served with colleagues of different nationalities, finding time in between to act as arbitrator of international commercial disputes and learning new skills, such as studying French and getting initiated into the mysteries of cyberspace.

Having discharged my magisterial tasks in these Administrative Tribunals, I harkened to the call of my beloved Supreme Court. I was appointed Member of its Committee on the Revision of the Rules of Court and, more recently, member of the panel tasked with the investigation of improper conduct and bribery in the Court of Appeals. I have always responded positively to these calls of a Higher Power knowing that He has never ceased to bestow upon me good health, a clear mind and deepening spiritual insights. My Faith has always looked up to Him and always will.

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This article is excerpted from a speech delivered by Justice Romero at the First International Conference, “Faith and the University” sponsored by the U.P. Christian Youth Movement (UPCYM ACTS) on Aug. 15, 2008.