Parable of the Letter of God

By: Juan Flavier

From: Parables of the Barrio

During the last typhoon, Lencho lost all his rice crop because of a severe flood. The whole barrio was affected so he had no one to turn to for help. In sheer desperation, Lencho wrote a letter to God:

“Dear God:

The typhoon devastated my whole crop. We have nothing left. I have seven children. Please, God, send me one hundred pesos to tide us over.

Sincerely Yours,

Lencho”

He actually placed the letter in an envelope, stuck a stamp on it, and mailed it to “God in Heaven.”

The letter reached the post office but it could not be delivered. However, the postmen had the time of their life laughing at the oddity of a man actually writing to God. Some people said God was dead, but here was a farmer writing to God out of sheer faith. The postmen decided to show the odd letter to their postmaster.

“Do you want to laugh today, sir?” the postmen asked their boss.

“Why, yes,” answered the postmaster eagerly.

And so the letter was handed to the postmaster who read the letter to God. But he did not laugh. Instead he reread the letter in all seriousness and then faced the postmen.

“We talk of social action,” he said. “We all speak of the brotherhood of all men. Yet here is a man in dire need and you think it is funny? Shouldn’t we pool our resources instead and help Lencho?”

The postmen were embarrassed by the truth of the postmaster’s remarks. So the group decided to pass the hat around and raise money among them to assist Lencho.

But they were few and money was difficult to come by, so all the post office personnel could raise was eighty pesos. Nevertheless that was better than doing nothing.

They also decided to play the game with Lencho, so they placed the money in an envelope, put a stamp complete with stamp mark, and wrote on the upper left-hand corner: “From God in Heaven.”

A postman personally hand carried the letter with the money to Lencho in the barrio, who was ecstatic with joy. “I knew God would answer my plea,” he exclaimed. “God did not forget to send the money!”

Lencho quickly counted the paper bills and found only eighty pesos, instead of one hundred he had asked for. So he wrote another letter.

“Dear God:

Thank you for answering my prayer, God. But, please, next time, do not send the money through the post office, because the people there are thieves.

Sincerely Yours,

Lencho”

The Book of Salamat

Author Unknown

Our story begins with two neighbors. Although they were poor, they took pride in their gardens. Their yards bloomed with different kinds of vegetables all year round.

The first gardener would sell his harvest and keep the money all to himself, while his next-door neighbor would give away most of his vegetables and was happy when his friends would say, "Salamat." 

"Fool!" his selfish neighbor told him one day, "You work so hard under the sun to grow your vegetables. If I were you, I'd sell then and build and keep the money. Look at me, I will be able to build a big house next year with my money." 

The generous gardener just smiled and continued working on his yard. He was actually having difficulty saving money for repairing his home for the rainy season, but, he found this word of thanks more precious than money. Salamat, salamat, salamat... he noted each line of thanks in a book every night.

The greedy man soon earned enough money to build a large house made of stone and wood. He looked from his window his neighbor's tiny nipa hut. He heard about the good man's book and laughed. 

"Let's see that crazy old fool eat his book of salamat," he said to himself. He then called out to his neighbor... "Hey there, friend, don't you wish you had a house as beautiful as mine?" he asked, "I've even hired a gardener to care for my plants!" "You have quite a big house," his humble neighbor answered, "but I'm happy enough here." 

Months passed and the rains came. It was then the good man realized he truly needed money to fix his hut. He spotted his book of salamat and had a bright idea. The next morning...

"Salamat for sale! Who wants to buy my book of salamat?" 

The townsfolk saw the gardener selling his book and thought he had gone crazy. Yet, he went all around the village offering his book of salamat to any buyer. Word spread and reached the sultan's palace.

"What's that man selling?" the Sultan asked his guards. He had never heard of anyone selling such and thought that he must have heard wrong; that the gardener was selling salabat -- ginger tea, or samat -- betel leaf. "Bring him to me, " His Majesty commanded. And the gardener was summoned. "I'm selling a book of salamat, Your Majesty," the man explained. He opened his book and the Sultan saw the word salamat written all over. The words were written in clear, fine and honest handwriting. "This man is no fool!" the Sultan said to himself.

"How much do you want for this book, my good man?" the Sultan finally asked. "I shall sell my book for whatever it will weigh in gold," the gardener answered humbly. His Majesty then told his court attendants to bring forth his weighing scale. The Sultan placed the bool on one scale and a piece of gold on the other. The book was heavier. He placed another piece of gold, but, the book was still heavier. No matter how much gold the Sultan placed upon the scale, the book still weighed heavier! Until the Sultan brought out a bag of gold and said, "There, old man, take your money and leave me in peace!"

And the gardener happily left and was able to build himself a bigger house than his neighbor's in several days' time. His neighbor got so jealous! He thought of a plan to get richer.

After learning about his neighbor's good fortune, he immediately bought a thicker and heavier book and hurriedly filled it with the word salamat. Following what his good neighbor did, the greedy man asked to be paid as much as the book will weigh in gold. The Sultan placed a bag of gold on the scale but, the bag was heavier. He then removed half of the gold. The bag was still heavier. Finally, some gold dust was left on the bag. Alas! it was still heavier. 

"How can that be?" the gardener said, "My book is gigantic! And I labored for two weeks writing that word salamat over and over again!" 

"Aha!" exclaimed His Majesty, "Poor man, you may spend a lifetime writing down the word, but if it doesn't come straight from the hearts of grateful men, it is meaningless." And to the dismay of the selfish man, the wise Sultan ordered his guards to take him outside to be punished in front of the people.

The Parable of the Wise Farmer

By: Juan Flavier

From: Parables of the Barrio

The farmer was known in the barrio and in the whole kingdom as a wise man. In time, he earned the appellation as the wise farmer. He never

went to school but he had a native wisdom. His reasoning and logic were

much admired.

One day, the wise farmer accidentally found a ruby stone as big as a cashew nut. He did not know where to return it so he decided to hold on

to the precious stone. He knew the matter of the loss would soon be

publicized.

True enough, a proclamation was made announcing the loss of the ruby of the Emperor. The stone was part of the royal crown.The decree included

a handsome reward if the finder returned the stone within 30 days. Beyond

that period, the holder would be beheaded.

The wise farmer heard the decree but decided to return the stone on the 31st day. Facing the Emperor, the wise farmer bowed his head and

handed the ruby to its rightful owner. "Did you not hear my decree

limiting the return within thirty days for the handsome reward?'' roared

the Emperor.

 "And that beyond that period meant death?''

"Yes, your Highness,'' answered the wise farmer meekly. "I heard the proclamation on the first day. But I decided to return the ruby on the

thirty-first day for a definite reason. If I returned it within the thirty-day period, you may say I did so out of fear. I returned it today and I did so because of my God who taught me to be honest.''

"Blessed be your God,'' exclaimed the Emperor. "Now you have to show me your God otherwise I am compelled to execute you.''

"Very well,'' said the wise farmer, "I will do it at high noon tomorrow, your Highness.'' At exactly midday at the palace porch, the Emperor and his court summoned the wise farmer. "Now show me your God,'' he commanded. "Your Highness please gaze directly at the sun above for

five minutes and you will see my God.''

The Emperor and the whole court looked up. But after a few seconds, everyone's eyes smarted with great pain.

"I cannot do it!'' exclaimed the Emperor. "In that case, you cannot see my God,'' explained the wise farmer. "If you cannot gaze at the brilliance of the sun, then you cannot look to the splendor of God.''

The Emperor was insulted by the words of the wise farmer. "For this I should have you beheaded immediately. But for returning the ruby I will

give you a fair chance to be saved by your God. I will put two pieces of paper in a box. On one will be written the word Guilty' and on the other,

' Innocent.' Whichever you pick is your verdict.''

The wise farmer knew that both pieces of paper would bear the word "Guilty.'' It was the Emperor's way to make sure he was beheaded. It was

also a way to discredit his God. The court attendant brought the box to the wise farmer who picked one piece of paper. Quickly he placed the

paper in his mouth and swallowed it.

"Why did you do that?'' screamed the court attendant. "Now how can we determine your verdict?''

"Very easy,'' replied the wise farmer. "Just look at the other piece of paper remaining in the box. Whatever it says is the opposite of what I picked and swallowed earlier.''

The court attendant retrieved the slip of paper from the box and read out, "Guilty!''

Which proved that the wise farmer was indeed innocent.

Parable of the Cross

By: Juan Flavier

From: Parables of the Barrio

     The farmer had a series of misfortunes in fairly close succession.  He was uttterly dejected and filled with self-pity.  He truly felt like it was the end of the world for he could no longer bear the heaviness in his heart and mind.

     It started with the loss of his work animal-one of the best carabaos in the barrio and the envy of many farmers.  The carabao-nappers even added insult to injury for the animal was never sold as a prime beast for farming.  Instead it was ruthlessly and recklessly butchered.  But the thieves only got the thighs.  The body was left to decay and was eventually found due to the foul smell-a fate more befitting useless and sick carabaos.

     This caused the farmer's yield in his rice farm to dwindle drastically as he had to make do by borrowing carabaos from other farmers.  To top it off, a bad drought completely wiped out his already meager crop.

    At midyear, his only son was caught in possession of prohibited drugs.  The boy was alsom confirmed to be a drug dependent.

     His daughter eloped with the son of his archenemy.  "Anyone except that family," he moaned to himself.

     And as if to inflict the unkindest cost of all, his wife ran away with the town policeman.

     The man knelt in quiet desperation and prayed in his small nipa hut.  "LOrd, I have had it.  I cannot take it anymore.  This is just too much for me.  I can no longer carry my cross."

     A blinding light blazed upon the farmer and a kindly voice boomed.  "I understand how you feel, my son.  If you cannot bear your cross anymore, then come enter the room of crosses and select one whose weight you feel you can bear."

     Immediately the farmer saw a door open before him.  He dutifully entered the brightly lit room and left his cross by the door.  He saw before him all sorts of bulky crosses-all much bigger and heavier than his.  There was a bloodied cross which towered so high he could not discern its top.  One after another, he tried but could barely lift the crosses.

     Finally, he saw a small cross, which appeared manageable.  He heaved it upon his shoulders where it rested comfortably.  "Lord, I like this one," the farmer announced.

     "THAT IS THE VERY SAME CROSS YOU BROUGHT IN, MY SON.  Take it and go in peace," said the Lord.

The Parable of Love's Definition

By Juan Flavier

From: Parables of the Barrio

The Farmer sat on the upturned wooden mortar in the front yard. His left foot dangled on the ground. His right foot rested on the mortar with his bended knee supporting his chin. Both hands manipulated a fishing net being repaired of holes.

His twelve-year old son sat on a small stool beside him. His position approximated his father;s except the body whittled a piece of guava wood forming a turumpo (top).

As the top began to form, the boy blurted out. " This toy top is in the form of a heart. I know what a top is. The heart has the same shape but, come to think of it, I do not know exactly what love is!"

The father smiled knowingly and responded, " I do not know either but my grandfather once told me this account. An angel was sent to find out how the world defined love.

"The angel went to the sea and asked the question. The sea answered that love was the river sending water.

" The angel visited the shore and inquired of the definition of love. The shore said love was the tide that rose and fell each day.

"The angel soared to the mountain and queried the imposing peak. The mountain replied that love is the multitude of stars that shone at night,

:The angel stopped by the trees to find out their thoughts about love. The grains answered that love was the gentle rains that nourished them.

"The angel then asked the soul about love. The soul replied that love is the heart or anything that giveth  is love

. For love is sharing and sharing is love. And love is GOD.While GOD is love"

The Parable of the Sabungero

By: Juan Flavier
From: Parables of the Barrio

THE farmer had one obsessive vice. Every Sunday, he just had to go to the sabungan (cockpit) and bet in the sabung. He was willing to forego eating. He even agreed to stop smoking. But going to the sabungan was something else. It was a severe case of gambling addiction. 

His wife pleaded because their meager income from the farm could barely support the family. Every Sunday, the farmer wound up on the losing end. After a dozen or so pairings of roosters, all his money was gone. 

"How can I stop?" he rationalized. "Sabung is in my blood. I will die if I do not go to the sabungan." 

True enough, in a quirk of coincidence, the farmer got severely ill. He was unable to go to the sabungan that Sunday. By nightfall, he was dead. 

The whole village concluded that he died, not of any illness, but because of his first-ever absence from the sabungan. 

In the life beyond, the sabungero faced Saint Peter. The farmer was nervous but he recalled that the good Saint had a rooster. That made him a sabungero. 

"I see here you were an avid sabungero," Saint Peter muttered as he reviewed the Book of Records. "What can you say?" 

"Well, that is true," the farmer answered meekly. "But if you read on, you will find I really loved my family. I worked hard in the fields. I never stole from anyone. I had no other vices. I even stopped smoking." 

"That counts," declared Saint Peter. "But still, you were an incorrigible sabungero." 

The farmer froze with fear as a chill crept down his spine. It was as though he heard a clear condemnation. 

"Still, I will let you enter heaven," continued the good Saint. "In fact, I will even assign you to Cloud Nine where there is a sabungan." 

"Wow! This is unbelievable!" exclaimed the farmer. "I wish my wife and children were here to witness my great and final vindication. Honestly, I knew you were a sabungero yourself and would definitely understand." And in he ran. 

The man next in line could not help overhearing. "That was not fair," the kibitzer complained. 

Saint Peter smiled and replied simply, "Don't worry, there are no roosters in our sabungan." 

"So?" inquired the man. 

"Well, that is the hell of it!" assured Saint Peter.

The Parable of Becoming an Eagle

By Juan Flavier
From Parables of the Barrio

The old farmer was known all over the barrio and the whole town for his wisdom even though he was unschooled. He gained fame for his way of talking. He often spoke in proverbs and through parables.

Being a dirt farmer, he extolled hard work. He would say on appropriate occasions, “God gives every bird its food but He does not throw it into the nest. I do not like the wheelbarrow because nothing ever happens to it until it is pushed. I like the chicken for it always scratches for what it gets.”

One time he defended various criticisms about farmers by saying simply, “You may have some valid points but do not complain about the tillers of the soil if you mouth is full.’’

Being unusually short, he would say in a deprecating tone, “I do not aim that high. You see I am only four feet eleven inches but in the end, it’s not the flagpole that counts but the flag that it carries.”

The old man heard a rather high-sounding and complicated speech by a politician. When asked for his comment, he said, “One should put the hay where the carabao can reach it.”

But of all his pronouncements, one baffled barrio folks the most. He would say and smile without explaining, “Become an eagle in life and death.” The people would implore him to annotate. He would only answer with an air of mystery, “When I reach the age of ninety I will tell you if, by then, you still have not unravelled the meaning.”

Eagerly, the people waited for the much sought after interpretation. Villagers had their own thoughts but no one was sure.

Finally, the day came and the old farmer explained by asking, “What do you notice about the eagle in life?  Do you see it fly in flock? Never. It is almost always alone. So, in our lives, let us be like an eagle. Unafraid to be alone in our beliefs and our convictions.”

“How about the eagle in death?” the villagers chorused.

“Have you seen an eagle die? No matter in what position it falls to the ground, by the time it breathes its last, the eagle has turned around to face upward. To the very end, look up to your God, for that is the beginning and the end.”