The Fear That Became My Guide

It’s strange how certain fears can shape our lives, emerging from the simplest of moments. I was 17, sitting in the kryptē — a quiet chapel below the main church at Christ the King Seminary in Quezon City. I had gone there for reflection and meditation, but I wasn’t alone. Father Rudolf Horst, SVD, was there, deep in prayer. After a while, he looked up, noticed me, and smiled. That small gesture led to a conversation I’ve carried with me ever since.

Fr. Rudolf and I became friends because I would serve as an altar server for him during the Mass at St. Mary’s College and St. Paul University. The man was always deep in thought, serene, and full of wisdom. In that quiet kryptē, his presence felt almost grounding. With calm certainty, he said something that would stay with me for years: “Do the right thing, even when no one is watching. Remember this, character is what you are in the dark.” At that age, it felt like a heavy responsibility. I could only imagine what it meant to live up to such a standard.

I wasn’t the ideal seminarian, at least not in the eyes of my batchmates and priests, but I loved the experience and staying there because, for the first time in many years, I felt “home.” That sense of belonging filled something within me, even if my path wasn’t destined to stay there.

That same lesson resurfaced years later through a friend from Naga City who gave me a book. Inside the cover, she’d written nearly the same message: “Do the right thing even when no one’s watching.” I’d been reminded once again — almost as if fate wanted this principle engraved into my heart.

Not All Mistakes Are Actually Mistakes

For many years, I believed in the importance of this fear — a quiet, constant worry about doing what was right and true. But despite that fear, I made my share of choices that didn’t feel right at the time. One of the biggest, or so I thought, was leaving the seminary at the age of twenty. At the time, it felt like an unanswered question, a turn in the path that I couldn’t quite reconcile. I spent years wondering if I’d left something sacred behind, questioning whether I had missed my calling.

But life has a way of turning certain detours into blessings. When I got married at thirty-four, I finally understood. If I hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have met my incredible wife, and I wouldn’t be a father to my wonderful daughter. What I once considered a misstep led me to a life I wouldn’t trade for anything. Not every regret is truly a mistake; sometimes, they’re just part of a journey that we can’t fully understand until later.

Despite the Fear, Tons of Mistakes — and Not-Mistakes

The funny thing is, even with Father Rudolf’s wisdom guiding me, I still made choices that felt like stumbles along the way. Some were small and forgettable, like getting too caught up in work to make it to family gatherings. Others felt more significant — like taking a job I thought would be fulfilling, only to discover it wasn’t the right fit. At the time, these choices felt like failures, weights I would carry.

Yet, as time passed, I began to see some of these so-called “wrong” choices as doors to something unexpected. Each “misstep” felt less like a setback and more like an invitation to grow. Looking back, what I once considered mistakes were sometimes just different roads, leading me to lessons and people I needed to encounter. Winston Churchill’s words come to mind: “Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” Over the years, I’ve learned that it’s less about avoiding mistakes and more about having the courage to keep moving, keep learning, and, when necessary, keep forgiving myself.

Lessons Learned: Humility and Growth

If there’s anything these experiences taught me, it’s humility. That initial fear of doing wrong has softened over time, shaped by the quiet endurance each path demanded. Integrity isn’t about perfection; it’s about staying true to myself, even when things don’t go as planned. Humility grew less from success and more from learning to stand up after each fall, however quietly. I try to hold on to Father Rudolf’s words: that character is what you are in the dark. Those words still guide me, reminding me to keep trying, to apologize when I need to, and to embrace the journey, mistakes and all.

The Bible captures it well in Proverbs 16:9: “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” Our paths may not always make sense in the moment, but in time, they reveal their purpose.

Embracing the Journey

In the end, this fear — this quiet guide — has been more of a friend than an enemy. It’s nudged me to reflect, to strive, and to keep learning. Sitting here with my coffee, I realize that Father Rudolf’s words — to do the right thing, even when no one is watching — have been with me all along. They don’t weigh me down; they keep me grounded, reminding me that every choice has meaning, even if it isn’t always clear at first.

While writing this, I grew curious about how Father Rudolf Horst was doing. I searched, hoping perhaps to find a recent sermon or a talk he’d given. Instead, I found something that made me pause: a funeral Mass held at Christ the King Seminary in his honor. Father Rudolf had passed, leaving behind the wisdom and grace he shared with so many of us.

The late Fr. Rudolf Horst, SVD

Requiescat in Pace, Fr. Rudy. May you rest in peace. Your words and kindness continue to guide those you touched, even now — like a quiet echo, guiding in ways that words alone never could.