“Are you really going to leave your bag?”, the husband asked right before we line up for the Holy Communion.
“Yes”, I answered hesitantly giving it one last look; making sure that it’s secured in the pew pocket where I stashed it.
It was just a short walk towards the lay minister. The whole ordeal did not even take 10 mins but all the while, there was a debate inside my head. The positive side is telling me to chill because it’s a holy place for fucksake. God is literally watching everyone, or so I’d like to think. If not God, at least Jesus who’s floating midair in the altar. So who in his right mind would dare commit blatant robbery inside a church, full with people at that? (Chuckling while typing this because we all know that church robbery is not very uncommon, both from actual criminals or criminals in holy clothing).
The negative side, however, is thinking about all the contents of my bag and how I can replace them if I get robbed. That hey, you’re in the Philippines, a third world country, where snatchers and budol budol* gang abound.
I reached our pew and immediately drew my eyes on where I put my purse. It’s still there. I knelt down and gave my purse a quick squeeze, making it appear like I’m just rearranging it. While making the sign of the cross for my post-communion prayers, I told myself never to leave my personal belongings unattended in the church again.
I need to have peace of mind while receiving the body of Christ.
*“BUDOL–BUDOL” is a coined Hiligaynon word that refers to the swindling hurly-burly of a gang.