The Walking Dead

And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment: Hebrews 9:27

The first day of November is marked here by a great and widely-observed national festivity. The populace pours forth into cemetery grounds, their professed purpose being to offer up prayers for the dear departed. I was myself, for the greater part of my years, a participant in this very gathering. This annual observance, however, bears the appearance of a family re-union, with picnics and temporal cheer being indulged, rather than a solemn contemplation of the mystery of mortality that lies before them.

In my young teenhood, I was charged with the task of erecting the family’s tent upon the ground the very eve of All Souls' Day. The whole atmosphere was more akin to a college fair than an actual vigil for the dearly departed. Young souls walked about, their eyes fixed not upon the heavens, but upon seeking companionship with the opposite sex near their family's tomb. There were the diversions of kite flying, the clamor of worldly music, and the indulgence in feasting, drinking, and light laughter. And, sadly, the petty trespasses of pilfering wax and blossoms intended for remembrance were common. Amidst all this earthly noise, the Rosary was recited—a mechanical ritual which, I can declare with a clear conscience, achieved no demonstrable spiritual good. This feast, intended for the most solemn of reflections, is alas, greatly transformed into a mere earthly spectacle.

Holy Cross Memorial Park, Quirino Highway, Novaliches

Around the ninth hour of the evening, we set forth upon the road, bound for the resting place of my aunt and grandparents, some twenty kilometers distant. Our purpose, however, was not concerned with the silence of the dead, but the urgent salvation of the living souls we hoped to encounter. A heavy rain was upon us, and the traffic near the cemetery vicinity stood horrendously still, a fitting emblem of the spiritual state of the people. The conditions within the burial ground, which were once lamentable, had now become yet more grievous. The sacred field had been utterly profaned, being transformed into one vast fast-food plaza. Great and small enterprises—even those of KFC, Greenwich, and Seattle's Best—had erected their booths directly amidst the very plots of the departed. It was, truly, a deplorable circus of fleshly appetite.

We secured a space for our vehicle near the chapel, which was our intended sanctuary. The rain continued its steady descent, yet I remembered the faithful maxim: rain is oft the street preacher's finest friend. Within the chapel's confines, the people sought dry shelter, doing nothing of spiritual worth save for idle chatter and trifling with their electronic devices.

I took my stand directly before them, and for a full half-hour, I waited in silence beneath the rain, praying and waiting solely upon the Lord. I have never dared to utter a single syllable without a direct nod from the Heavenly King. For though public speech may be easy for the seasoned orator, for a lifelong introvert like myself, the very thought is a thing of true terror. The usual tirade of mocking and teasing commenced, directed at me for appearing as a fool holding up a rough cross of wood. I cried out in prayer, asking the Father what my next step should be. I then received a gentle impression, yet it was one which my fearful flesh desired not to acknowledge. So I made my humble plea: "Father. Please allow me lift up Christ. Please let me lift up Christ."

I received from the Throne not merely a gentle nod, but a clear, authoritative command: "Go near them and speak!" Yet, in that fearsome moment, my frail human will struggled, for my legs seemed utterly disconnected from my mind. In a sudden, glorious surrender, I found myself walking toward the assembly gathered within the chapel. Utterly and entirely overwhelmed by terror, I stood there, offered a humble introduction to that audience of some eighty souls, and began to speak the good news of our Lord. My earthly mind instantly surrendered to a spontaneous outpouring of praise, for my mouth, independent of all conscious thought, began to speak automatically. Indeed, as promised in the Holy Writ, rivers of living water were pouring forth from my very belly!

Here I was, proclaiming the unadulterated Gospel within the confines of a Catholic chapel, speaking to souls gathered for the remembrance of their dead. Oh, how strange and wonderful is the hand of my God in its timing and method! For over forty-five minutes, those people sat, stood, and listened with rapt attention to the gravity of their offense against a Holy God and His unyielding Law. They heard the saving grace of God's providence in Christ Jesus, and the terrifying surety of the judgment that shall soon come upon all the unrepentant dwellers of this earth. I have never been so overwhelmed with holy joy than in those sacred moments, declaring both the goodness and the severity of God revealed fully in Christ Jesus. When the final word was spoken, we dutifully distributed the saving tracts and offered our heartfelt thanks to the multitude for their time and forbearance.

As we made our departure, two young souls—teenagers, followed us out into the street. One of them, named Jeremy, along with his cousin, came to us and testified that they had been mightily blessed and stirred by the evening's message and by our brief encounter. He then drew forth a worn and well-used Gospel tract, confessing that he himself was laboring in the field, quietly sharing the Lord's truth with others, albeit not in the public square. We offered them a word of solemn admonition, instructing them that this humble, private effort was, in its very essence, the Lord's true work! We charged them that serving the Master need not be grand, visible, or magnificent in the eyes of the world; it need only be marked by faithful and simple obedience.

My heart was immediately lifted in prayer: I beseech the Lord that He would be pleased to keep and encourage these young ones, to sustain their fragile faith, and to uphold them as they continue steadfastly upon the Lord's path. We then entrusted to them a tract bearing our contact information and, with a final farewell, committed them to God’s care before parting ways. Let us now join our earnest intercession for souls such as these, that our Divine Master would be pleased to raise up yet more laborers to enter into His great and waiting harvest field.

After a late night meal along the way, the Lord blessed us with a safe drive home. We retired around 2 A.M. bracing ourselves for yet the coming work tomorrow.

St. Joseph Public Cemetery, M. Villarica Road, SJDM, Bulacan

It was our initial desire to join with our dear brethren from the WCF in Bocaue for their day's outreach, and thereafter to proceed to our own local cemetery in San Jose Del Monte, Bulacan. Yet, it became manifestly clear that the Lord saw fit to sway the tide, guiding our spirits to dedicate our labors solely to the field of ministry He had placed within our own immediate locality.

The road itself, known as M. Villarica Road, is notoriously narrow, yet is constantly traversed by the great public conveyances. This location is peculiar, for here lie two burial grounds side-by-side upon the same plot of earth, thus accounting for the frenzy and sheer press of souls walking toward the two separate entrances. I could not but reflect that this great gathering would surely have been doubled in its intensity had the heavens been more amiable and the weather more conducive to ease. Thus, even in the smallest details of our changing plans and the geography of the place, we discern the wise ordering of the Lord's hand.

Having fulfilled our sacred duty of visiting the tomb of my father-in-law, we then set about to scout the field , moving our post twice in search of a better vantage point, where the drove of incoming and outgoing souls was most dense and steady. My eye fell upon a certain canvas dwelling—a tent managed by youths belonging to an infamous local fraternity. These young men were engaged in their own form of "outreach," seeking to entice the throng by passing out free drinks, coffee, and sweets , thereby offering temporal comfort in place of eternal truth.

By the manifest ordering of Providence, the lot directly adjacent to theirs stood empty and unclaimed. Immediately, I felt this to be the perfect opportunity—a divine placement!—to finally reach out and minister both to this particular group of misguided, young men, and to all the continuous stream of wayfaring souls who passed by.

The Lord, in His great and sustaining mercy, mightily helped this unworthy vessel to deliver the Word, not for a fleeting moment, but for the full, precious space of an entire hour. Yet, my focus was chiefly drawn to the group situated so near us—those very young men of the fraternity—who noticeably turned their gaze and attention in our direction.

Midway through the sermon, a true sign of the Spirit's drawing was witnessed: some among them, moved by a desire they could not name, pulled their chairs away from the confines of their own tent, and came to sit closer to the very fount of Truth, even as they indulged their worldly habit of smoke.

Tracts were faithfully dispersed, but of infinitely greater moment, Christ was preached! Hurtful, piercing truth was spoken, revealing the inner sin, but so too were the healing promises of the Gospel delivered. The solemn certainty of Judgment was heard by their ears, but so too was Salvation preached as the only sure refuge. The grim reality of Death was realized, but so was the glorious power of God in calling poor souls to His Christ fervently emphasized. The divine balance of Law and Grace was maintained, and in the very midst of their distraction, the seed of the eternal Word was sown.

All in all the day ended far more than I can ever hope for. I pleaded urgently with the people till I lost my voice. I was advised before to rely on my lapel speaker instead and not to strain my voice too much, but I could not help thinking to myself this may be the only good news one precious soul standing far away would ever hear. The name of Jesus Christ should ring loudly over all nations that are upon the whole earth, far and wide.

All in all, the day closed with a bounty far surpassing any poor, earthly hope that I could ever entertain. I confess, I pleaded with the assembled multitude with such urgent and fervent intensity that my natural voice was utterly spent. Though I had received counsel to rely solely upon my electronic amplification, to preserve this fragile instrument of the flesh, I could not restrain the impulse. My heart cried out with the thought that this may be the only good news one single, precious soul, standing far off and unseen, would ever hear in this life!

Oh, that the Name of Jesus Christ, our Glorious King, might ring forth with unceasing power, heard loudly over all the nations that dwell upon the face of the whole earth, from the nearest corner to the farthest shore! The strain upon this body is a small price to pay for the chance that His Sovereign Name should be thus exalted and His message of salvation carried wide.

My heart gives humble and unceasing thanks to our God for the dear saints who upheld our unworthy mission with their intercessions before we even set forth. I declare this truth to all who would hear: Prayer is not merely an aid, but the invaluable and essential tool upon which my very life, and this sacred work, is utterly dependent .

Furthermore, I am now earnestly contemplating the acquisition of an amplifying instrument—a megaphone—not with the selfish intention of making my proclamation easy, or to preserve the frailty of my own voice. Nay. My purpose is this: that I might still exhaust my voice in the service of the King, but with the fervent, joyful hope that double the number of precious souls might be enabled to hear the saving name of Christ proclaimed! The only sound that truly matters is the sound of the Gospel, carried far and wide.