Xeno Hemlock

There are two things I remember the most about him. First was his thick mustache on his bony and thin face. Second was his act of kindness and love.

We called him Brother Mike. He was a Born Again Christian pastor who visited our high school frequently preaching the word of God. I first met him when I was a Freshman, he held a sermon in one of our classes. But it wasn’t until my Sophomore year when my spiritual journey would reach its second act and Brother Mike would play a larger role in my life.

I came from an active Catholic family but I didn’t find satisfaction with that religion. It was ironic as I was the one who introduced Catholicism to my family. I was a Grade One student in a Catholic school and wondered why my family then would not attend church. The religious lessons taught to us in our school, I brought home to our house. One day, my parents decided to join a religion group for couples and that set off our religious life. After years of immersing in it, it didn’t feel right to me. Something was missing. Not possessing the courage to rebel at such a young age, I was forced to go along with our religious ways. It wasn’t until Born Again Christianity would cross my path when I would gain the guts to religiously rebel.

Whenever I attended Brother Mike’s sermons, I slowly realized how I enjoyed it better than our Sunday mass at the church. I enjoyed singing their songs of praise. I enjoyed the way Brother Mike delivered his sermons. It was different with how our priests did it. Usually, I would fall asleep in churches especially during the homily. But in Brother Mike’s sermons, I was all ears.

Attending his sermons was one of the highlights of our Sophomore year. At the end of each session, me and my classmates would imprison Brother Mike in a circle. We were religiously hungry students pouring question after question to him. We even asked him about the approaching new millennium. It was 1998. It was a pleasant sight. Students doing their best with their school tasks and at the same time, exploring their faith actively. It was a lot better than hanging around lazily after school smoking cigars, playing pool, and neglecting homework.

Then it happened. On March 1999, my grandfather died. I remember no teacher of mine attending the wake. Three classmates came and to my surprise, Brother Mike was there too. It was unexpected. He was aware my family is Catholic except for me (the odd one). Yet there he was, disregarding that fact. It was more important to him to console and provide comfort for us. The difference in religion did not matter. He met my mother and gave a sermon about life and death. I saw him handing an envelope to my mother after he closed his Bible. I was sure it was money from their church. We talked before he left our house and I haven’t forgotten that act of kindness and love.

My grandfather’s death affected my religious self unbeknownst to me. When Junior year came, I became apathetic towards religion. Brother Mike was still there in our school, talking to students and giving his sermons. However, at some point I stopped attending. Once I decided to skip it. That once became another, then another, and another until I attended his sermons no more. Looking back, I feel shame. I repaid all his kindness with insensitivity and ignorance. But I was a teenager going through the motions of life. Some decisions didn’t make sense when I made it, but I chose them anyway. Only now that I have matured and learned a lot about myself I could look back on events in my life and understand the whys. Wherever he is, I hope Brother Mike had forgiven me.

Regret is a sin, I don’t regret separating myself from any religion. I am now an atheist. I am not because I hate God. I am because I realized believing in a divine entity wasn’t for me. There are other ways of keeping my faith but that is for another blog post, for another story. My being an atheist now is a big reason why I appreciate more what Brother Mike did. It didn’t matter to him whether my family or my deceased grandfather were Catholic. Religious difference did not stop him from showing kindness and love. Pretty sure, his god and my mother’s god were all smiling in their respective heaven during that special event. Brother Mike was selfless and admirable.

I haven’t heard anything about him for a very long time. I mentally scan my years in high school and his sermons which I attended. Not one word of what he spoke I could remember. What he did though, is an uplifting reel of film stuck in my memory. The brightness of our living room when he gave his sermon I can still paint in my mind. The saying: “People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.” It’s true. Brother Mike, thank you.

A version of this was originally published in 2014. Header photo by Rene Asmussen from Pexels.