Fr. Ron and Fr. Peter
When Ron Michael and Peter threatened me with their resignation from the Commission on Liturgy if I would not accept to be their homilist this evening, and when this was seconded by their fellow ordinands, 8 of them, all wanting me, jokingly perhaps, to be their homilist, I know that they are up to something to get even with their former prefect of discipline. Well the table has just been turned and that is a fact of life I have to face today. Yesterday’s oppressed becomes today’s oppressors.
Indeed I feel a little bit oppressed this past week not knowing what to say since most about the priesthood was already said and will be said in all 8 thanksgiving masses which these young men will have their ears full. But less your sinister smile of victory turn into a full blown laughter of triumph, let me warn you never again plan to get even with someone by making him your homilist, especially when that someone kept a detailed written record of all your secrets and private conversations in the Individual Colloquium for four long years. You see boys, and I call you little boys in this regard, you may think you already learned a lot of things from me, good and bad, but you still have a lot to learn when it comes to craftiness and cunning. In the near future when the table is once again turned, when you become candidates for bishops perhaps, remember what I have with me. But don’t worry all I want from you then is nothing compared to what you are doing to me now. All I ask is a comfortable retirement.
Now since I have established my credentials this evening I would like to start this reflection.
My dear friends, my dear parishioners of Jaro, I would like to introduce to you my ten students – Ron Michael, Peter, Nathaniel, Jack, Ian, Ricky, Pedro, Yves, Mau, and Luben. Look at them in their priestly attire, look at their demeanor on the altar, so young yet already priests and like all teachers and formators I am happy and proud with what I see in them. But alas, like all teachers and formators I also feel insecure with what I know about them.
Can Ron Michael go beyond his outstanding ability in music and be the priest the church expects him to be? Can he still be a man of prayer long after the music has been silenced and the mood for singing has waned? Can he go beyond identifying the distinct quality of every tone and identify the distinct giftedness of persons he serves in the community he leads? Can he lead a community as much as he can lead a choir? But can he be more patient with the sour notes coming from an imperfect community of persons, which a conductor of his caliber can never tolerate in a choir?
Can Peter here go beyond his sense of right and wrong, and see in the corrupt and depraved a possible saint? Can he go beyond his role as judge and arbiter and be also a shepherd who would search out and lovingly carry the lost on his shoulders? Can he be strong in his compassion as much as he is strong in his condemnation? Can he go beyond his compassion for the poor and the suffering and be an instrument that would draw out the goodness and kindness in the hearts of the rich?
When we were studying the First Book of Samuel years back we came across the story of the beautiful hair of Absalom, son of King David, which he so proudly wore, and the author narrated how he would cut his hair each year and have them weight in scales, beautiful and bountiful as it was. The narrator narrated this in a matter of fact way and jumped to another episode in the story. But later in the same story he would tell how when Absalom was pursued by the general Abner for his perfidy to his father King David, his beautiful long hair got caught on a tree, on a branch of a terebinth. That trapped Absalom, and he was left hanging on a tree, which led the soldiers to catch up with him and kill him. Indeed be warned of this unmentioned lesson, for our vanity may very well be our downfall. Am I playing Prefect with you again? No, I am not. Let me explain.
When a seminarian about to be ordained came to me years back he wanted to delay further the wait which already amounted to two years. Why, I asked. Why another delay? I am unworthy, he replied, there are still things that need to be straightened out. So what do you mean, I ask, will you decide to become a priest only when you are already so perfectly sure that you are so perfectly perfect for it? Can we not leave some of God’s grace to do its thing in you?
I recall that event of fear because the same thing happened way back 1992 when during that year no one from the Archdiocese of Jaro became a priest. The seminarian was also very afraid to move on, the feeling of unworthiness, real and imagined, was just too strong. That seminarian was me. During that year of waiting I found out, I was instead already preparing myself to go to heaven and face the judgment seat, when all that God wanted from me back then was to get ordained. Stupid me. I only found the courage to accept ordination a year after, in 1993.
Remember the movie Tanging Ina. I really hated that movie I went out without even reaching the middle part of it. But remember what Ai Ai said, “Practice makes perfect. Nobody is perfect. So why practice.” This is one big joke Peter and the KKK gang (the group of very corny persons in the seminary then) would really appreciate, with raised clenched fist to the chagrin of the VFA (the other group identified so because they are mostly darker in skin compared to the rest) headed by Ian. But there can be a point to what she said. Regardless of your formation at St. Joseph, St Vincent, in UST or at San Jose we will make mistakes in the priesthood someway, somehow, small mistakes, big mistakes. If practice, if formation can do anything at all, it can only do two things: first, it can lessen the mistakes, and second, it can make you stronger and more able to cope and rise beyond our unavoidable mistakes. As your formator of 11 years I have never pretended to pride myself for creating perfect seminarians ready to become perfect priests. Ron, I am not God. I only did what I possibly can. But I still have with me the letter you sent in yellow pad and the letter I sent you back in reply. It was a heartfelt exchange of anger and an outpouring of our hurts which led eventually to a heart to heart talk. And Peter, I still remember how you accosted me and confronted me when you felt humiliated with what I did to you and how you and your class told me gently that my presence as your class animator was no longer formative. Remember how you tearfully, painfully asked me to resign. And remember when I told you that I would only resign if you treat me for supper as payment for all my ugtas sa inyo klase. And all of you shouted in unison “OK.” And we all ate dinner together at Buto’t Balat. And miraculously, you really paid for it. And that was when I stopped being your prefect, and that was when I became a friend, and only then did I become your formator.
Mistakes happen. How we rise above our mistakes, how we confront them, how we own them, how we use them, how we move to go beyond them and how we make them stepping stones to greater heights – this is what formation has equipped you with. We in the formation cannot give you more. We who are ahead in the ministry cannot give you an unsullied archdiocese and a perfect church to work in. We are sorry. But please stop blaming the poor bishop, stop blaming your brother priests, stop blaming your poor helpless parishioners for all your woes and inadequacies because before you were given the power to turn bread into the body of Christ, we have already given you the power to turn your unworthiness and your recklessness into something worthy of the ministry. But you have to permit God to do it. You have to deal with it, you have to own it, you have to confront it, you have to go beyond it as you did in your formation years.
Who are these wearing white robes and where did they come from? These are the ones who have survived the time of great distress; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
Only when you have washed your stained clothes with the blood of the lamb . . . Permit the grace of God to work on your feeble humanity and you will see and experience for yourself that it is as miraculous and as marvellous as bread turning into the body of Jesus.
To end, I would like to give one last practical point. I have never used props for a homily, I find it corny. But I find it useful now if only to remind my former students and now, my brother priests of what we went through together. For two years, this was retired in my closet at home. But it had been sitting on my table in the seminary for so many years, a silent witness to our many tears and laughter, to our anger and anguish, to our sadness and fears, to our discoveries and secrets. In the spirit of the Halloween, the eve of all hollows day, I had it fetched and brought it here again with me if only to remind you of its meaning. I would like to propose as a practical point to end this reflection on the priesthood - I would like to propose death, specifically your death. Remember this (a skull)? No Ron, I am not going to talk about your cholesterol intake and that uncontrollable urge for nicotine. And, O don’t be afraid, this is made of plastic! And why should we be afraid. Sooner or later we will all look like this. That is why Fr. Richard here wears braces so that in the future he will look a little better than the rest of us . . . just a little better.
I am joking about this because I would like to take out from you, at least for the duration of this homily, our innate fear of death, because my proposal is to ask you to permit and treat death as a companion and guide in our choices in life and in our choices in the ministry. The thought of death, the consciousness of our death can be one of the best guides and companion we can have in order to be happy – the happiness as proposed by the beatitudes. In view of my own death, what is it that would really make me happy in what I am, in what I do, in what I prioritize, in what I value in my ministry?
Blessed or happy are the poor in spirit. It is the happiness of those who depend on God for their daily sustenance. It is the happiness of a priest who is not running around for money and the perks of the priesthood. It is that almost child-like gladness that one can sense with old priests at the Home Sweet Home (the home fore retired priests), a child-like gladness when Nang Norma brings them ice cream and pancit molo or when Remia pretends to lose one peso in their game of madjong. God has made a covenant with you and he will not be outdone in his generosity and you will be astonished by the goodness of God’s people. Have you ever heard of a priest who died of hunger, or one who died for lack of medicines? As for me I heard of many who died because of too much cholesterol and sugar intake. God will take care of you. If you really need money you will not have to run after it, it will run after you. Indeed, how happy are the poor in spirit. The chief shepherd will take good care of you when you wantonly and even carelessly abandon yourself to the care of his flock.
Blessed are those who mourn. It is the happiness of the celibate, of one who would perseveringly suffer in silence, of sometimes eating in the lonely table just for one, of one who on Christmas day after celebrating midnight mass would go to his room and make a conscious decision to close the door for the night knowing and expecting no one else to enter.
Buildings and concrete monuments cannot perpetuate your memory. The people who will follow after you anyway will chisel down what you have built even while you are still alive, and that will leave you bitter to the very end. It is what we build up in people whether in the anonymity of the confessional, or in the intricacies of a wedding interview or in the noisy and often times confusing set up of a Basic Ecclesial Community that last. It is not your hinabloses (nephews and nieces) who will cry over you when you die. They will be busy quarreling over your bank account, and I tell I have witnessed it myself and you will not like what you will see and hear. Lucky for you you’ll be dead by then. It is the people, the people you built up over the years who will come and cry over your grave. Blessed are those who mourn - it is the happiness of those who value the complete freedom of exercising their ministry among God’s people, probably without the perks of a singular intimate encounter, but nevertheless happy and content with the reward of so many mothers and so many brothers and so many sisters and homes and eternal life besides.
Blessed are meek. It is the happiness of those who obey. I never thought I can write in Candle Light, but when I obeyed I found out to my surprise I can. I never imagined myself as a formator, but looking back now I know I did something good for formation and you are the fruit of that labor. Without meekness I would have died contented only with what I knew I have. Makabatas ka bala nga mapatay ka, tapos misa lang bal-an mo, tapos law-ay pa sermon mo? But it is only when we rise to the challenge of obedience where we discover the treasures within us that really make life happy and the ministry worthwhile. Obedience is God’s way of hurrying us up to savor life to the fullest because life is too short and the temptation to rest on our laurels can just make us stagnant. Amo na nga kis-a nagapalagtik ako sa obispo look I don’t want to grow old a liturgist – the data supplied by our old liturgists is . . . daw indi gid masadya. Imagine tigulang ka na, gina-isip mo na lang tinuig mo sa kalibutan, tapos sa misa ang concern mo ya, pila ka habyog ang insensaryo, tapos nagabaisay kamo kon ma-bow ka sa altar ukon sa pari. Disgusting. It’s just . . . what would I say, demeaning? If life would be like that for me all the time, can life be truly worth living? I am not going to die like that. One has to exhaust every opportunity to discover ones giftedness, and obedience will help us discover these. Indeed happy are the meek.
I wanted to finish everything mentioned in the beatitudes in our gospel today but something told me to stop. In the ministry we have to learn to accept that reality that we cannot finish everything we want done. Death teaches me that. I can only do as much. If we have learned that, then we have also learned to be gentle with ourselves telling ourselves that we can only do our part, humble it may be. I can only do my best at the time allotted for me. I will contribute my own brick to build up the edifice which is the church standing on the cornerstone which is Christ and on the pillars which are the Apostles.
I believe I have done my part in your life. And you are beginning to do yours in the lives of others. Do it well!
In the end I would like to thank you for permitting me to be part of your formation. Once in our lives we met and that meeting gave meaning to our lives today. Thank you for the privilege, thank you.
Indeed I feel a little bit oppressed this past week not knowing what to say since most about the priesthood was already said and will be said in all 8 thanksgiving masses which these young men will have their ears full. But less your sinister smile of victory turn into a full blown laughter of triumph, let me warn you never again plan to get even with someone by making him your homilist, especially when that someone kept a detailed written record of all your secrets and private conversations in the Individual Colloquium for four long years. You see boys, and I call you little boys in this regard, you may think you already learned a lot of things from me, good and bad, but you still have a lot to learn when it comes to craftiness and cunning. In the near future when the table is once again turned, when you become candidates for bishops perhaps, remember what I have with me. But don’t worry all I want from you then is nothing compared to what you are doing to me now. All I ask is a comfortable retirement.
Now since I have established my credentials this evening I would like to start this reflection.
My dear friends, my dear parishioners of Jaro, I would like to introduce to you my ten students – Ron Michael, Peter, Nathaniel, Jack, Ian, Ricky, Pedro, Yves, Mau, and Luben. Look at them in their priestly attire, look at their demeanor on the altar, so young yet already priests and like all teachers and formators I am happy and proud with what I see in them. But alas, like all teachers and formators I also feel insecure with what I know about them.
Can Ron Michael go beyond his outstanding ability in music and be the priest the church expects him to be? Can he still be a man of prayer long after the music has been silenced and the mood for singing has waned? Can he go beyond identifying the distinct quality of every tone and identify the distinct giftedness of persons he serves in the community he leads? Can he lead a community as much as he can lead a choir? But can he be more patient with the sour notes coming from an imperfect community of persons, which a conductor of his caliber can never tolerate in a choir?
Can Peter here go beyond his sense of right and wrong, and see in the corrupt and depraved a possible saint? Can he go beyond his role as judge and arbiter and be also a shepherd who would search out and lovingly carry the lost on his shoulders? Can he be strong in his compassion as much as he is strong in his condemnation? Can he go beyond his compassion for the poor and the suffering and be an instrument that would draw out the goodness and kindness in the hearts of the rich?
When we were studying the First Book of Samuel years back we came across the story of the beautiful hair of Absalom, son of King David, which he so proudly wore, and the author narrated how he would cut his hair each year and have them weight in scales, beautiful and bountiful as it was. The narrator narrated this in a matter of fact way and jumped to another episode in the story. But later in the same story he would tell how when Absalom was pursued by the general Abner for his perfidy to his father King David, his beautiful long hair got caught on a tree, on a branch of a terebinth. That trapped Absalom, and he was left hanging on a tree, which led the soldiers to catch up with him and kill him. Indeed be warned of this unmentioned lesson, for our vanity may very well be our downfall. Am I playing Prefect with you again? No, I am not. Let me explain.
When a seminarian about to be ordained came to me years back he wanted to delay further the wait which already amounted to two years. Why, I asked. Why another delay? I am unworthy, he replied, there are still things that need to be straightened out. So what do you mean, I ask, will you decide to become a priest only when you are already so perfectly sure that you are so perfectly perfect for it? Can we not leave some of God’s grace to do its thing in you?
I recall that event of fear because the same thing happened way back 1992 when during that year no one from the Archdiocese of Jaro became a priest. The seminarian was also very afraid to move on, the feeling of unworthiness, real and imagined, was just too strong. That seminarian was me. During that year of waiting I found out, I was instead already preparing myself to go to heaven and face the judgment seat, when all that God wanted from me back then was to get ordained. Stupid me. I only found the courage to accept ordination a year after, in 1993.
Remember the movie Tanging Ina. I really hated that movie I went out without even reaching the middle part of it. But remember what Ai Ai said, “Practice makes perfect. Nobody is perfect. So why practice.” This is one big joke Peter and the KKK gang (the group of very corny persons in the seminary then) would really appreciate, with raised clenched fist to the chagrin of the VFA (the other group identified so because they are mostly darker in skin compared to the rest) headed by Ian. But there can be a point to what she said. Regardless of your formation at St. Joseph, St Vincent, in UST or at San Jose we will make mistakes in the priesthood someway, somehow, small mistakes, big mistakes. If practice, if formation can do anything at all, it can only do two things: first, it can lessen the mistakes, and second, it can make you stronger and more able to cope and rise beyond our unavoidable mistakes. As your formator of 11 years I have never pretended to pride myself for creating perfect seminarians ready to become perfect priests. Ron, I am not God. I only did what I possibly can. But I still have with me the letter you sent in yellow pad and the letter I sent you back in reply. It was a heartfelt exchange of anger and an outpouring of our hurts which led eventually to a heart to heart talk. And Peter, I still remember how you accosted me and confronted me when you felt humiliated with what I did to you and how you and your class told me gently that my presence as your class animator was no longer formative. Remember how you tearfully, painfully asked me to resign. And remember when I told you that I would only resign if you treat me for supper as payment for all my ugtas sa inyo klase. And all of you shouted in unison “OK.” And we all ate dinner together at Buto’t Balat. And miraculously, you really paid for it. And that was when I stopped being your prefect, and that was when I became a friend, and only then did I become your formator.
Mistakes happen. How we rise above our mistakes, how we confront them, how we own them, how we use them, how we move to go beyond them and how we make them stepping stones to greater heights – this is what formation has equipped you with. We in the formation cannot give you more. We who are ahead in the ministry cannot give you an unsullied archdiocese and a perfect church to work in. We are sorry. But please stop blaming the poor bishop, stop blaming your brother priests, stop blaming your poor helpless parishioners for all your woes and inadequacies because before you were given the power to turn bread into the body of Christ, we have already given you the power to turn your unworthiness and your recklessness into something worthy of the ministry. But you have to permit God to do it. You have to deal with it, you have to own it, you have to confront it, you have to go beyond it as you did in your formation years.
Who are these wearing white robes and where did they come from? These are the ones who have survived the time of great distress; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
Only when you have washed your stained clothes with the blood of the lamb . . . Permit the grace of God to work on your feeble humanity and you will see and experience for yourself that it is as miraculous and as marvellous as bread turning into the body of Jesus.
To end, I would like to give one last practical point. I have never used props for a homily, I find it corny. But I find it useful now if only to remind my former students and now, my brother priests of what we went through together. For two years, this was retired in my closet at home. But it had been sitting on my table in the seminary for so many years, a silent witness to our many tears and laughter, to our anger and anguish, to our sadness and fears, to our discoveries and secrets. In the spirit of the Halloween, the eve of all hollows day, I had it fetched and brought it here again with me if only to remind you of its meaning. I would like to propose as a practical point to end this reflection on the priesthood - I would like to propose death, specifically your death. Remember this (a skull)? No Ron, I am not going to talk about your cholesterol intake and that uncontrollable urge for nicotine. And, O don’t be afraid, this is made of plastic! And why should we be afraid. Sooner or later we will all look like this. That is why Fr. Richard here wears braces so that in the future he will look a little better than the rest of us . . . just a little better.
I am joking about this because I would like to take out from you, at least for the duration of this homily, our innate fear of death, because my proposal is to ask you to permit and treat death as a companion and guide in our choices in life and in our choices in the ministry. The thought of death, the consciousness of our death can be one of the best guides and companion we can have in order to be happy – the happiness as proposed by the beatitudes. In view of my own death, what is it that would really make me happy in what I am, in what I do, in what I prioritize, in what I value in my ministry?
Blessed or happy are the poor in spirit. It is the happiness of those who depend on God for their daily sustenance. It is the happiness of a priest who is not running around for money and the perks of the priesthood. It is that almost child-like gladness that one can sense with old priests at the Home Sweet Home (the home fore retired priests), a child-like gladness when Nang Norma brings them ice cream and pancit molo or when Remia pretends to lose one peso in their game of madjong. God has made a covenant with you and he will not be outdone in his generosity and you will be astonished by the goodness of God’s people. Have you ever heard of a priest who died of hunger, or one who died for lack of medicines? As for me I heard of many who died because of too much cholesterol and sugar intake. God will take care of you. If you really need money you will not have to run after it, it will run after you. Indeed, how happy are the poor in spirit. The chief shepherd will take good care of you when you wantonly and even carelessly abandon yourself to the care of his flock.
Blessed are those who mourn. It is the happiness of the celibate, of one who would perseveringly suffer in silence, of sometimes eating in the lonely table just for one, of one who on Christmas day after celebrating midnight mass would go to his room and make a conscious decision to close the door for the night knowing and expecting no one else to enter.
Buildings and concrete monuments cannot perpetuate your memory. The people who will follow after you anyway will chisel down what you have built even while you are still alive, and that will leave you bitter to the very end. It is what we build up in people whether in the anonymity of the confessional, or in the intricacies of a wedding interview or in the noisy and often times confusing set up of a Basic Ecclesial Community that last. It is not your hinabloses (nephews and nieces) who will cry over you when you die. They will be busy quarreling over your bank account, and I tell I have witnessed it myself and you will not like what you will see and hear. Lucky for you you’ll be dead by then. It is the people, the people you built up over the years who will come and cry over your grave. Blessed are those who mourn - it is the happiness of those who value the complete freedom of exercising their ministry among God’s people, probably without the perks of a singular intimate encounter, but nevertheless happy and content with the reward of so many mothers and so many brothers and so many sisters and homes and eternal life besides.
Blessed are meek. It is the happiness of those who obey. I never thought I can write in Candle Light, but when I obeyed I found out to my surprise I can. I never imagined myself as a formator, but looking back now I know I did something good for formation and you are the fruit of that labor. Without meekness I would have died contented only with what I knew I have. Makabatas ka bala nga mapatay ka, tapos misa lang bal-an mo, tapos law-ay pa sermon mo? But it is only when we rise to the challenge of obedience where we discover the treasures within us that really make life happy and the ministry worthwhile. Obedience is God’s way of hurrying us up to savor life to the fullest because life is too short and the temptation to rest on our laurels can just make us stagnant. Amo na nga kis-a nagapalagtik ako sa obispo look I don’t want to grow old a liturgist – the data supplied by our old liturgists is . . . daw indi gid masadya. Imagine tigulang ka na, gina-isip mo na lang tinuig mo sa kalibutan, tapos sa misa ang concern mo ya, pila ka habyog ang insensaryo, tapos nagabaisay kamo kon ma-bow ka sa altar ukon sa pari. Disgusting. It’s just . . . what would I say, demeaning? If life would be like that for me all the time, can life be truly worth living? I am not going to die like that. One has to exhaust every opportunity to discover ones giftedness, and obedience will help us discover these. Indeed happy are the meek.
I wanted to finish everything mentioned in the beatitudes in our gospel today but something told me to stop. In the ministry we have to learn to accept that reality that we cannot finish everything we want done. Death teaches me that. I can only do as much. If we have learned that, then we have also learned to be gentle with ourselves telling ourselves that we can only do our part, humble it may be. I can only do my best at the time allotted for me. I will contribute my own brick to build up the edifice which is the church standing on the cornerstone which is Christ and on the pillars which are the Apostles.
I believe I have done my part in your life. And you are beginning to do yours in the lives of others. Do it well!
In the end I would like to thank you for permitting me to be part of your formation. Once in our lives we met and that meeting gave meaning to our lives today. Thank you for the privilege, thank you.
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