The Art of the Promise: A Reflection on Prayer and Human Nature
By Benito L Mabeza, CPA
Looking back through my old high school Taglish journal, Ang Buhay nga Naman ("Such is Life"), I found a short story I wrote years ago. Our school paper editor rejected it at the time, perhaps finding its humor a bit too irreverent for a student publication. But reading it today, decades later, I see it differently. It is a story about the rainy season in the Philippines—a time when devastating typhoons force us to look to the heavens for help, and a time that always reminds me of a peculiar episode involving our old neighbor.
Original Title: Ang Baboy ni Juan (The Juan’s Pig Story)
It was the height of the typhoon season in the Bicol Region when a super storm battered our province. Among the casualties of the fierce winds was the backyard pigpen of our neighbor, Juan. When the storm finally passed, his family's prized, domesticated pig was gone—vanished into the debris-strewn countryside.
The next morning, under a heavy gray sky, Juan set out to find it. He walked the muddy paths for hours, knocking on doors and asking neighbors if they had seen his wandering livestock. But as the hours wore on, his hope began to fray.
Exhausted, Juan stopped by the local chapel. In the quiet sanctuary, away from the wreckage outside, he looked up at the statue of the Virgin Mary and offered a simple, desperate plea: "Virgin Mary, please help me find my lost pig."
He went back out into the humidity, searching until the sun began to dip below the horizon. Still, there was nothing. "What a useless animal," Juan muttered to himself, the heavy weight of financial loss settling into his chest. Dismayed and defeated, he walked back to the chapel.
Sometimes, when we are at our wits' end, our prayers turn into bargains. Desperate to tip the scales of fate, Juan knelt again and made a solemn vow: "Virgin Mary, if you help me find my lost pig, I promise I will sell it and donate every single peso of the proceed to this chapel." He bowed his head, breathed a sigh of surrender, and stepped outside.
The moment his feet hit the gravel outside the chapel doors, lo and behold, the lost pig trotted out from the foliage and stood right before him.
Juan’s heart leapt with joy, but it was instantly followed by a cold flash of reality. The joy of recovery was suddenly tangled in the weight of a sacred debt. He had his pig back, but under the terms of his own desperate promise, it no longer truly belonged to him.
He led the animal home, where his son greeted him at the gate. "Father! You found our pig!"
"Yes, my son," Juan replied, his voice heavy with an unexpected dilemma. "But it isn't ours anymore. I bartered it away to the Virgin Mary. I must sell it and give the money to the church. By the way, grab our cat. We are selling that, too."
The boy stared at him in complete bewilderment. "Who would buy our cat?" he whispered. In Bicol, stray cats were everywhere; trying to sell a common house cat was an exercise in futility.
Yet, driven by a strange determination, Juan carried the heavy pig in one arm and cradled the cat in the other, making his way to the bustling neighborhood market. He stood among the vendors and called out, "Pig for sale!"
A buyer eventually approached, eyeing the healthy swine. "How much for the pig?"
"Oh, it's very cheap," Juan said calmly. "Only five pesos." (An absurdly small amount, even for those days).
The buyer’s eyes widened, assuming Juan had lost his mind in the storm. "Just five pesos? Are you certain?"
"Yes," Juan replied. "But it comes with one condition. You must buy my cat as well."
The buyer looked at the ordinary cat. "And how much for the cat?"
"One thousand pesos," Juan said without flinching.
The buyer did the mental math. A full-grown pig was worth far more than a thousand pesos anyway. Even with the ridiculous price tag on the cat, the combined package was an absolute bargain. "Alright," the buyer said, handing over the cash. "I'll take them both."
With the money in hand, Juan walked straight back to the quiet chapel. He knelt before the altar, looked up at the Virgin Mary, and smiled with a clear conscience. "Thank you very much, Virgin Mary, for answering my prayer," he whispered, placing the coins on the collection plate. "As promised, here is the exact five pesos from the sale of the pig."
And with the one thousand pesos from the cat safely tucked into his pocket, he walked home.
When I look back at this story now, I realize it speaks to a very human truth. We often turn to faith in our darkest hours, making grand promises when we need a miracle. But the moment our prayers are answered, our earthly practicality sneaks back in, searching for loopholes in our gratitude. Juan kept the literal letter of his promise, even if he bent the spirit of it entirely.
The old lesson remains: pray, and your prayers will surely be answered—but when you make a promise to the heavens, remember that human cleverness is always being watched with a patient, knowing smile.
Until next time, I hope this story brings you a moment of reflection.
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