FR. FIRMO “JUNJI” BARGAYO, SJ
There are moments when the sky holds a question that cannot be answered with certainty. Is this a sunrise or a sunset? The colors alone do not always reveal the truth because both dawn and dusk can wear the same palette of gold, amber, and fire. Only those who have learned to watch the sky with patient attention can sense the subtle differences. The softness of light that grows or the warmth that slowly withdraws. The way shadows lengthen or retreat. The stillness that either anticipates a beginning or gently closes a day. Those who observe the sky in its beauty, both day and night, know that the heavens speak in tones that are not rushed. They reveal their secrets only to those who linger long enough to notice.
When I saw this scene, I felt that familiar tug of wonder. I could not simply walk past it. The silhouettes of trees and the outline of the tower stood like guardians of a moment that would never come again. The sky glowed as if painted by a hand that knows how to hold both majesty and tenderness at once. In that instant, I remembered that God, the Creator of all things, is the ultimate artist. Every color, every shifting cloud, every gentle transition of light is a brushstroke of the One who imagined beauty long before we learned to name it. Creation is not only a backdrop to our lives. It is a living reminder that all creativity, all artistry, all longing for beauty flows from the One who shaped the world with love.
This led me back to a conversation we once had about how we describe the God who reveals Himself to us. Our words are always too small for a mystery so vast. Language can gesture toward God but can never contain Him. Yet our encounters with Him are real and deeply personal. The challenge is to speak of these experiences without reducing God into something manageable or familiar. We must allow God to remain God, greater than our concepts and beyond our categories. At the same time, we honor the truth that God meets each of us in ways that are intimate and unmistakably our own. The tension lies in holding both reverence and honesty, knowing that our limited words still carry the weight of genuine encounter.
I remember a PDL who once asked me, “Father, pwede ko bang tawaging anino ang Diyos.” He looked at me with sincerity, and I asked him why. He said, “Kasi nakikita ko lang Siya kung nasa liwanag ako pero alam kong kahit nasa dilim nariyan din Siya, sinasamahan Niya ako.” Then he added softly, “Pero Siya din ang nagbibigay liwanag sa buhay ko.” So I asked him, “Ano na ngayon ang tawag mo sa Kanya.” He paused, then said, “Siya ang aking liwanag, pero Siya din ang aking anino na hindi ako iniiwan.” In English he was saying, “Father, can I call God my shadow. Because I see Him when I am in the light, but I know that even in darkness He is there, accompanying me. But He is also the one who gives light to my life. So now I call Him my light, and also my shadow who never leaves me.” His words carried a wisdom shaped not by theory but by lived experience, a theology born from the heart.
There is something profoundly true in what he shared. God is both the radiance that guides us and the presence that stays close even when everything else fades. Light and shadow are not opposites in this sense. They are signs of a God who chooses to be near in every moment of our lives, revealing Himself in ways that meet us where we truly are.
Perhaps this is what the sky teaches us. Whether it is sunrise or sunset, whether the day is beginning or ending, God is present in the unfolding of light. He is the artist behind every hue and the companion behind every shadow. Our task is simply to notice, to receive, and to allow beauty to draw us back to the One who never stops revealing Himself in ways both grand and intimate.
My Prayer:
Lord, may Your Spirit grant me the grace of patience to linger in Your love and embrace. Take the fear within me and replace it with courage born from the security that You are here with us, never leaving our side. Keep Your light guiding my path, Lord, and let my heart rest in the certainty that Your presence is always greater than anything that troubles me. Amen.