Christian Reflections

It was the time for celebration again. Our sisters who were working in Manila came home after a few years of hard work, brought presents for a family of 10 and shared about their experiences in the big city while we, kids, listened in wonder about stories of big super malls, elevators, traffic, and the “glitter” of urban life. I was 11, we lived in the mountainous parts of Leyte, I’ve never seen a big bus, never been inside an air conditioned building, no idea what escalators were, and what it was like to speak Tagalog everyday.

My sisters’ vacation that time was different. They brought something new with them, something we never had in the house before: a big red Tagalog New Testament Bible with Psalms and Proverbs. It was the Good News version so there were stick drawings in the pages. Back then, it was easier for me to locate verses by just looking at the drawings.

Almost every day for one month, my sisters talked about God, heaven, forgiveness, discipleship, and lots of things about the end of the world. The most fascinating thing about being a kid is that you easily believe things your family would tell you. I believed my sisters ‘stories, got hooked with the Bible- being the nerd that I am- and took it upon myself to be the Bible expert in the house. I then became a Christian when I was in grade 6.

Unfortunately my sisters went back to Manila after a month. My brothers and I, on different occasions without telling each other, prayed that God would send someone to teach us the Bible. On the day my sisters left for Manila, Louie (about 18 at that time) overheard a guy in the public market talking about Jesus. He listened for a while and later told the guy that we also believe the Bible. He invited the unknown guy to our house 10 kilometers away from the town.

That day before sunset, I saw two men walking down the mountain toward our house. I could still remember their silhouette against the backdrop of the orange sky, the guy I didn’t know was clutching an old Bible in his arms. He was later introduced as Rolly, and that night was the first time I heard someone preaching the word of God.

The following morning, he rose up early and took our guitar. He went to the front yard and started singing “Dakilang Katapatan.“  I will never forget the chorus of that song: “Dakila ka oh Dios tapat ka ngang tunay, nagmula pa sa ugat ng aming lahi…” I cried when I heard it. We were just a poor family, all of us slept in one room sharing one big, frayed mosquito net and had sacks of wheat flour to keep us warm. When I heard that song about God’s faithfulness throughout the generations, I knew that God had something better for us as a family, that our lives were going to be better, that God brought Rolly there to teach us something about believing beyond what we were.

Rolly became a family friend. He would hike ten kilometers every Friday just to get to our house. Nobody forced him to do it. I guess I’ll never fully understand what was with our family that made him come back every week for years. We were just a bunch of kids who just happened to be interested in hearing the word of God. My father and mother were never interested in his preachings. They just accommodated him because his presence kept us from going around the neighborhood at night.

These things happened more than seventeen years ago.

This morning (Sunday, September 20, 2009) Pastor Jonathan Bocobo preached about missions in Victory Caloocan. He mentioned Romans 10:15 in passing but my heart skipped when he read it. “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the gospel of peace and bring glad tidings of good things!” It was only today that I fully grasped what Isaiah was saying. A missionary’s feet are indeed beautiful, literally and figuratively. I remember looking at the slippers outside our door when I was a kid. It always made me glad whenever I see an extra pair of worn out slippers because that would mean  that Rolly was inside talking to my father, sharing words of life and encouragement in a poverty stricken household.

From those very humble beginnings, with the Word of God firmly planted in our hearts during our younger years, we, the Agot brothers moved out of our village to study, work and find our place in this world. In a decade, God blessed us so much that we went on to become a family of ministers, ministry supporters and businessmen in Metro Manila and Leyte.

Rolly never saw all of this. He moved to a different part of the country and four years ago I learned that he died. He was 39. I don’t really remember if I had actually thanked him enough for all the sacrifices he did for us. I don’t think that he knew what kind of people we have become here in Manila. Before there was Bobby Agot, Louie Agot, Angie Agot, before there was any Agot in any of the Victory churches in U-Belt, Galeria, Tacloban, and Caloocan, there was this guy named Rolly Batis who took the time to hike ten kilometers every week just so he can disciple a bunch of unknown kids in a remote area in Leyte.

Today I honor the man with the most beautiful feet in the whole world, a missionary to the Agot family, our dear brother Rolly Batis. I also honor the pioneers of Christianity in our little village in Kananga, Leyte, my sisters Lot and Bing. These are  the three people who had no idea that what they were doing is now sending ripples outside our little village, to as far as  Macau and Vietnam through World Partners of Every Nation. To you guys, thank you for the big red Tagalog Bible and the worn out slippers in my doorsteps.