Chapter 7
The Seminary
Fr. Driarco must have been really worned out
that the blast from the past kept replaying back from his subconscious. This time
however, his spiritual formation in the seminary kept coming back alive from
meditation.
St. John Theological Seminary was once part
of St. Matthew’s Regional Seminary in downtown Manila
offering Secondary, College and later theology. It is an alma mater of Cardinal
Ros and some other fortunate Cardinals, Bishops, Monsignores and thousands of
priests now serving Catholic churches nationwide and overseas as missionaries.
Others entered the military and hospitals earning secured and safe salaries as
Chaplains. The rest in poor parishes thriving on the generosity of their
parishioners. The late 1970’s saw the seminarians in theology packing up their
cassocks, books and other personal belongings to newly established St. John
Seminary in the interior of the city. Since then, those proceeding taking up theology after Philosophy and other
relevant college degrees spend their last four years there. The brave and able
ones who survive the rigors and discipline of spiritual formation soon become
part of the long roster of priests. It was said that the transfer of theology
from St. Matthew to St. John
It is relatively new Seminary in the
country but its perspectives – from façade, catwalks, rustic ceilings,
unpainted walls, octagonal-shaped chapel and excellent library – looks like it
has been a century old house of God’s fortunate children. But no, it’s not.
Subsisting from kind-hearted living souls to help complete its facilities, it
promises a brighter future. Suspended atop an altar is a life-size carving from
molave of crucified Jesus. Exuding atmosphere of religiosity, the chapel is
undoubtedly the most peaceful place providing the necessary lift to those who
have troubled and restless heart. It must have been St. Augustine
Adjacent to the Seminary are St. Luke’s
Cathedral, Good Shepherd
College and Mary Immaculate
Hospital
“What for and what’s so special about them
from the rest of creation? They’re badly needed to mold their minds and sustain
their health,” he was told by his seniors. Down towards the south are poultry,
piggery and other minor livelihood projects like rabbit raising and quail
culture providing enough sustenance to productive seminarians.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
There was not much fanfare receiving the in-coming
first year minor seminarians to the
Seminary by Bishop Lester, the assigned Rector of Regional seminary for secular
priesthood later. Poking through bunch of documents spread on the table, the
Bishop welcomes the young aspirants to the priesthood.
“Everything I think are in order – the
transcript of records, your Bishop’s Endorsement and biodata -,” the scholarly
Rector whose gray hair was very pronounced said.
“I think so too your Excellency,” Driarco
answered as Taklin nodded.
“Just Fr. Rector please. Never mind ‘Your
Excellency’. It’s too high sounding words,” the good Bishop interrupted.
“And how you’ve been . . . I mean
spiritually,” he further asked.
“Just fine . . . I mean I derived enjoyment
from religious observance of masses and other sacraments specially holy
confession, choir, priesthood functions and other related religious activities
back home,” Driarco volunteered recognizing the calculated answer stammering
obviously confused more about the answer.
“Why, tell me what is in holy confession
that you find it enjoyable. . .” the Bishop probed.
“Hmm. . . Sorry but I do mean tranquility,
peace and religious contentment within keeping that spiritual communion with
God alive . . . . “ Driarco puts back his answer in proper perspectives.
“Aha, see. That’s what I mean. You should
not relate sacraments gentlemen to temporary or passing contentment. It doesn’t
make sense otherwise your stay here would also be confusion. God is real. Don’t
be like another doubting Thomases.”
“I will greatly remember that while alive.”
“While you’re still breathing I may add,” Driarco
recapitulated recovering his composure and resolved to be careful with his
choice of words next time to avoid confusion.
“See, you’re really fine otherwise you
should have not been into this place,” the good Bishop snapped back peering
through thick spectacles solidly perching on his long aquiline nose.
“Welcome aboard then gentlemen. Enjoy your
Philosophy formation here. Hope you could continue until theology when you
hurdle the first test here. It’s great to have you one with us. I’m
personally honored to have a young man like you following Christ footsteps. So
have a nice four years stay indeed with us and another four years stay later –
should you qualify for theology,” the Rector repeated back giving premium on
the immediacy of time.
“We’re greatly honored too my dear Fr.
Rector. Thanks a lot,” both guys reciprocated both hands clasped feeling assured as if a
burden was lifted away from their shoulders.
As advised, they went back downstairs for
registration. Mood is festive because it
happens to be the first day of the class.
Church history and eschatology have been their
favorite subjects outside their regular subjects. So with homiletics both excelling
in their delivery given their resonant voices. Of the two, Driarco preferred however Eschatology because of its
treatment of the beauty of death, that it’s actually the beginning of life
contrary to common belief as an end. Specifically not because he received
excellent mark on this subject but rather because of the didactic dimension it
provides.
“As a dreamer, as we’re all are, talks on
death and its concomitant psychological impact enable him to come closer with
reality face to face with the ultimate truth that man’s life doesn’t end when
he’s six feet under the ground. On the contrary unless he dies, there’s no
special growth taking place,” the familiar Eschatological concept overwhelmed
him.
Again that lyrics of the song “Unless the
grain of wheat shall fall on the ground and dies. It shall remain a single
wheat and not brings life,“ he recalls one of the songs composed by the Jesuits
normally sang during Lent. German theologian Paul Tillich and eschatologist
Kubler Ross Khan whose nationality he already forgot are two theologians he was crazy about in the Seminary. Ms.
Khan used to remind him that whether he likes it or not he too just like any
other animals in this planet of apes would also degenerate or simply vanish
away like any dust in the thin air. As an offshoot, the sense of immediacy and
urgency eschatology provides so overwhelmed him making his move exciting as if
he’s boarding the last trip.
“Time is our hope, time is our security,
time is our destiny and time is the mirror in which we see eternity,” he
refreshes with much gusto from one of his readings. Tillich’s association of
death with the rest of creation on the other hand so enthralled him. Did the
earth not moved, birds chirped, rocks split when Christ died and resurrected,
he synthesized from Tillich’s work.
Other than chapel, Driarco’s other favorite
is the upper chamber of the sacristy. Abandoned but well ventilated, Driarco
would use this as haven in exploiting his patience reading and writing. The
seminary fathers in the adjacent Corregidor
would call sometimes his unmerciful and unrelenting pounding of typewriter even
during ungodly hours. What could he do his classmates transformed him overnight
as their ghost writer organizing and writing their papers, letters and all that
for snack. Same place transformed Driarco’s artistic bent on poetry having
published several works in Seminary paper. For many years, this room became an
extension of his sleeping quarter becoming his study room in fact. Occupying
the fourth floor is still unopened library extension where Driarco would bury
later himself to books, excellent ones on loan and possibly for safekeeping by
Fr. Rector. It’s where Driarco graduated from paperbacks, biographies, history,
literature, classics and other courses with flying colors yet he supposed.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Unlike all other colleges and universities,
the first four years was marked by intense preparation. Of the four years, the
first year was the most decisive. It could either make or unmake an aspirant to
the priesthood. Attendance was required in the library from 7:30-11:30 pm for
study. The seminary faculty would just like to have an assurance that freshmen
would be imbued with the love of books. Never mind if what they read digress
from the assignments given. Latin was basic requirement.
“Definitely, no exemption in taking Latin or
there would be communication gap between you and God,” they would say.
“Lousy, lacking,” Tines – one of the
seniors – would later expressed when Driarco whined taking Latin. Just no way
for college degree would be incomplete without courses on Latin. Seeing later
however many professionals sitting-in the class taking Latin Driarco changed
his mind. That’s when he finally took the subject at heart religiously. It pays
off big dividends. He begins to realize that like Spanish, it links the bridge
of the past history and culture to the present. Latin songs too awakened his
love of this classic language what with excellent magic hearing songs sung in
the mass and concert. The power and majesty of Gaudiamus Igitur, the solemnity
and piety of Panis Angelicus and Adoremus Te , the beauty of Ave Maria and
classic Nessum Dorma – all these songs earned
his respect and love of Latin music.
“Simply beautiful, moving and amazing,” his
reaction savoring the beauty of Latin music.
. . . . . . . . . .
Weekends saw the seminarians doing pastoral
work in different parishes helping their respective priest in whatever capacity
they could deliver from distribution of sacred hosts during communion to
officiating burial rites. Generally, depending on the charisma one has, each
one is given the chance expressing
himself whatever things he could dish out. No limit. Thus far, whether
it is in music, community organizing, dramatics and sports, no one is denied to
show his worth let alone develop it. The work is oftentimes crippling to their
tired bodies but it’s a valid excuse too of regaining and savoring what freedom
is outside the seminary. Movies, visiting a friend and beer session and all
that become good substitute. Sometimes, some would go back to the seminary
under the influence of hard liquor caught sleeping instead of praying during
evening vespers. One such unfortunate aspirant was Lito who one time fall into
deep sleep incredibly snoring yet at will during the six ‘o’clock AM Mass. No
wonder he was the only fellow left even after the celebration of the holy
Eucharist.
“Tell me why no administrative sanction
would be charged against you?” the Prefect of discipline would confront him
later.
“We don’t like to have an apostle of Satan
invading this sacred place,” he was told flatly by Fr. Resma, the Prefect of
Discipline after the summon leaving the poor Lito dumbfounded. He never
understands why he could singled out from among the seminarians given his
sanity.
“Know why?” the Prefect said giving Lito
benefits of his doubt.
“There’s this anecdote about God and Satan
contesting who’s got the most number of members. Both tacitly agreed that those wide awake are
Gods’ and those falling asleep are his’. Soon they find themselves touring of
duty in cockpit arena, lecture rooms, schools and other forums to which God see
all are actively participating. “Gee look even they’re supposed to be your
bailiwick; I have them still as members.”
“Not yet. Let’s go inside your church,”
Satan challenged.
“Deal,” God replied confident that what
He’s got inside would further bolster His claim.
“Bingo, none. Save for one snoring yet at
will. You Lito. Now don’t ask nor challenge my authority. God is omniscience.
See I hope you got my point. Don’t make us believe that priesthood is a folly
making us accountable to St. Peter for hypnotizing you to sleep forgetting God
during sermons, a far cry to reckless bus drivers who helped their helpless
passengers remember God every time they maneuver difficult curves and
circuitous routes not giving damn to the safety and security of the people on
board,” Fr. Resma dished out leaving the poor Lito died laughing inside.
. . . . . . . . . .
Summer saw both Driarco and Taklin working
in the province, doing pastoral work. Vacation is there but otherwise they
always spend roughly one and a half months working again with the parish
rekindling past memories with their respective family, friends and classmates. This
made feel them good becoming all the more dear to the people. Not that bad.
Other dimension from their summer pastoral work like immersion, hands-on
experience in running the diocese’ cooperative learning bookkeeping, helping in
community organizing and writing feasibility studies, the work they learned
overtime and later made them quiet adept at simply making their day perking their
adrenaline up working more beyond ordinary time. In between, they would help form the choir as
trainer and vocal coach. As breather from this non-stop work they would join
Dante fishing when blue marlins are at their peak summertime and the clouds dark. The glimpse alone of big
tuna struggling from the line enthralled them. Sometimes they would like doing
this by themselves but Dante doesn’t allowed.
One time out of the heck of it however, both
set Dante’s banca free sailing gliding
to and from over big waves for fun towards where the blue marlins were purportedly caught. Soon strong angry winds began tossing the small banca to
and fro. Not even ‘The Fisherman Prayer!’ invoking safety while in the middle
of the sea vanished their fears. Had
Dante did not chased and lead them back home safely ashore in the thick of the
night, they would have been gone to maybe Pacific Ocean .
Since then, that become their lesson realizing that fishing is never at all fun
but a thankless occupation beset with hazards.
On some occasion when fate is on their
side, the banca would be full to the brim with large tuna forty to ninety kilos
a piece. Catching five to seven tuna is no big joke. They would sell these to
the waiting middle men ashore and have their stomach whetted later with
shoot-to-kill menu, a corrupt street English acronym for Visayan sinugba, kinilaw and tinola – all taken
from the fish meat.
For
Driarco, fishing is such a refreshing venture participating in the beauty of
nature.
“See how good God is to man,” he would tell
Taklin
“He provides us big fishpond in the ocean
and moon providing light to get those big tuna all for free,” he would
sometimes tell Dante.
The squids he brought home delighted his
parents. Watching dolphins frolic from the sea imbue him with a better
understanding of this creature actually of mammal’s lineage. He would know
they’re around when he would hear breathing spree from afar like horses
sneezing and gasping for last breath. Unfortunately, other fishermen have that
bad habits of chasing them and with calculated bold strong stroke unleashed the
spear hitting the innocent creature blood polluting the sea. Asking one time
Nong Rene, a seasoned fisherman in the village, why they have to go that far,
all he got was true they are considered endangered species but what could he
do. He also eats rice like all the rest of the better-off and subsistent
fishermen. The response practically caught Driarco off-guard specially learning
that Nong Rene supposed to be the guardian of illegal fishing being deployed by
the Department of Environment and Natural Resources in the area.
“Why do we allow illegal Japanese poachers
for instance catching dolphins with impunity? Why go after us subsistent
fishermen,” Nong Rene challenged Driarco.
“There must be wrong somewhere Dan,” ask
Driarco when they were back to fishing one time.
“Having been a subsistent fisherman myself,
I think so. Yes I do believe there should be a stringent laws protecting the
small fishermen implementing them to the letter if need by putting those
illegal poachers behind bars.”
“How’s that
again?”
“Of course by the government but I think
the best still is by empowered citizenry,” Dante snapped. Driarco waited for
further qualification.
“By that I mean each one should take
cognizance of protecting our natural resources. Look what happened to our vast,
think and green forest. They are now barren, bald and totally destroyed. And
after all the trees were cut down. Who cares? Not the illegal loggers. Yet see
how they zealously campaign for ecological awareness, environmental protection,
plant a tree movement and all that. It is hardly imagined in fact that they
have to enact laws protecting our remaining forest and banning illegal cutting,
total log ban and all that when great portion of our remaining forest covers
have already been denuded. It’s an irony indeed pooling together their concern
as if that could save the world with their last ditch measure. No way. Just no
way.”
Spell bounded, Driarco waited for more
narration.
“Sorry I talked on environmental protection
instead of fishing but that’s the way it is.”
“You’re right.”
“As you probably realized, it’s quiet
really tough. I forgot the exact term in law. But I think it implies casuistry.
Making laws themselves and practicing
something else,” Dante recalls back from his meager reading on the
subject.
“And empowered citizenry?” Driarco snaps.
“Yes. But how as you asked! Before a barrel
of a gun. Power-broker against unpredictable people power. Quiet better term.
But what do we have after all this display of our collective strength –
barricade, strike, joining forces with media, non-government organization and
the church – a cold murder of Fr. Julio Lefuve
in broad daylight yet. May he rest in peace. When would we ever learn?”
The mention of Fr. Julio Lefuve’s name
pricked the sensitivity of Driarco. He was
the missionary parish priest of Sta. Rita before Fr. Manny, the present
parish priest, assumed. It was Fr. Lefuve who took him and Taklin in as
sacristans nurturing them the love of God, fellowmen and nature. Most
importantly, it was him who exerted strong influence prodding him in taking up
priesthood. And here he is now on the way to priesthood. But what a twist of
event learning the bitter end of the beloved priest. .
“What’s a message his meeting with Dante is
driving across? Must be indicating I have to take his place where he left off,”
Driarco thought his mouth agape in disbelief. Undoubtedly, he remains undaunted
of the possibility but somehow disturbed by the series of events of death going
on gripping him in fear and trembling. But recalling the dictum that there’s
nothing to fear in this world but fear itself provided him renewed strength
awakening him of the greater challenge there is in his chosen field.
“I just cross the bridge when I’m already
there,” he cleared with Dante’s
reconstruction of the incident narrated in the perspective.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
The story told was almost like a sick joke,. Fr. Lefuve was
then on his tour of duty to celebrate mass in one village. He did but it was
cut short after an albino guy set his motorcycle on fire right after he gave
his final blessing. Going out to check whatever happened, a lone gunshot bullet
on his head dropped him instantly to the ground dead while the albino guy just
speed off faster after pumping the
bullet leaving no trace leaving the horrified faithful and onlookers.
“What’s the status now of his case if I may
ask?”
“As usual nothing happens to the
perpetrators of the crime.”
“Excuse me but I read it in one of the
national daily lately that it was Col. Tapalla who masterminded the killing.”
“I read that too. But that’s only in paper.
The parishioners have yet to see the inclusion of the big fish. He only
represents a negligible fry from the military who provided the protection of
illegal loggers. How about other parties, the big guns. Do you get me?” he
addressed Driarco straight to the eyes.
“Are you referring Torres and cohorts?”
“Exactly. You’re right. The Mayor and
coterie of accomplices?”
“You see you should stretch further your
imagination. It’s hard to pinpoint who the real culprits are. There are too
many possibilities behind the scene
“Thanks, many thanks indeed for the
information. I think ours has been very productive brainstorming on the
subject. . .”
“Cracking our brains.”
“Not much. Let’s just take this in stride.”
“Why?”
“Too many things will happen. Just watch
out and always be on guard.”
By now the casserole was full with squids
as they both caught one after the other.
“Seems we’re lucky tonight Dan,” said
Driarco while taking a glimpse of the prize catch.
“Yap . Fr. Lefuve’s
spirit I suppose is all over us
guiding us through while our banca is
floating on this ocean. See how he helps us get all those prize catch?”
“I hope we could catch a dozen tuna more
this time. Man does not live by bread alone you know but more so bread and
butter. Know maybe what I mean. I just don’t want my kids would be like their
father when they’re grown-ups . . . mere construction worker, a fisherman and a
farmer rolled into one.”
“Great. Never mind. I promise I’ll just go
swimming back to the shore if I could not catch eight or more tuna this time.
You can have four as your target catch. Is that a deal!”
“Okay
deal,” Dan accepted the challenge.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Driarco wonders Dante’s seemingly
abhorrence on the dignity of labor. Maybe what he protested against, like all
other Filipino laborers, is not the labor they delivered per se, but the low
wages they get from their services rendered.
The amags,
are fishes as small an index finger. So called because they radiate light under
water and favorite foods for big tuna fish down under reason why they are
normally used as baits by fishermen. They came rushing to the motor boat gliding
through waves reeling from squids laced
with powder from an extract of poisonous native tree Lanit. Reaching for the braided fishing net, Dan scooped them in
and after suspending two pieces still alive four to five inches long hastily
dipped the nylon line fifty to Dante of getting more blue marlins earlier.
“Who do you think would follow next,”
disturbs Dante.
“You mean after Fr. Lefuve ?”
“Yap .”
“Not sure buddy. We’re all mortals.”
“Have you any plan whatsoever.”
“No I don’t. Don’t get me wrong either. I’m
a man of peace just like you.”
“What if you’re charged against the wall
and nowhere to go? That’s different scenario already and might take another
defensive measure!”
“That I have to subject myself to forces or
influence of ‘No Exit’ just like those guys who went to the hills and rise up
arms against the government they vow earlier to serve and protect. But very
unlikely though. Why do we have to go this far by the way?”
“Well, I’m just thinking aloud considering
the number of priests, laymen and other church workers dead one after the
other. It seems an invisible force is subtly taking them one by one. Just
consider the number. Statistics do not lie you know. Does it not lead us to
shattering trend?”
Dan simply agreed.
“And that’s the problem we have with the
so-called hyphenated-priests.”
“Do tell me how you could not be one.”
“By just dispensing the sacraments keeping
mum on issues happening outside the church premises. I’m just kidding Driarco.
I agree with you. It’s hard priests are caught in the web of contradiction.”
“Mind you I would be very happy if I could
be called one. It’s the prize serving
them, the marginalized poor ones most specially. Where would they go anyway
when injustice happens to them - threat, rape, extortion, killing and all that?”
“Don’t tell me they would go to the police,
Mayor and or the governor. Definitely, no. Where else if not to the church. To
the priest in the confession box sometimes. Remember the Beatitudes. That bias
to the poor.”
“What do you expect for instance if you’re
a priest in this municipality? Just dishing out homily, concocting liberation
in sermons only? Supposing the mayor and his men are right there sitting
occupying the front pew pretending to listen to your sermon. Would you not be
disturbed? I believe you would suffer indigestion if you couldn’t.”
“Ergo, I don’t think we could get rid of
hyphenated priest. I really don’t think so. Christ himself was one. He was
where his people were, a pro-poor exercise for priesthood. How much more today
when people have practically no food to eat, house to sleep and land to
cultivate. It’s not that easy I think unless we are engaging ourselves in
punning.”
“But do we really have to go that far. If I
may, killing people to stop the killing as an academician would say?”
“Not far-fetched idea. Offense is the best
defense sometimes they would say. But I would rather put it this way. Peace is
never given in a silver platter. Each should work for it. And definitely, it
does not come from the barrel of a gun. That’s the tragedy we have. People
builds wall faster than bridges, manufactures bullets than bread, sows division
than unity so what we’ve got after that as you aptly puts killing
everywhere. Think of Fr. Libwag,
Dorente, Villares brothers both priest of course and then Fr. Alegor.”
“Oh, the list is long and still badly
progressing at very alarming rate yet.
Leaving priesthood was never their intention. Think of the time they
invested in such noble endeavor, the rigors of training and studies most
importantly, the personal sacrifice of the heat embracing the vow of chastity
just to serve Christ. Not peanuts indeed. But again why they have to go that
far as you queried. I think it’s the people themselves whom they served hold
the key answering that question. We couldn’t just condemn Fr. Alegor for instance
for having stood up against Philofil, multi-million dollar project in Mountain
Province, whose presence in the area has been a
threat to the lives and safety of the highlanders; or of Fr. Libwag for
having taken the cudgel for and in behalf of his parishioners abused by the
Chief Executive raping there and looting the produce of their labors; or of the
Villares brothers-priests who helped San Agnes laborers pressed their demand of
back wages, insurances and other remuneration rightfully belonging to them. We
have our own Fr. Restor of course adding the list. And who knows good heavens
if Msgr. Manny de los Reyes, the current parish priest and Dante Limano could
be next target? Who knows? Man sometimes has that penchant of making himself a
demigod. One he tested power it’s hard going back to the earth where he
rightfully belongs.”
Driarco’s defense of hyphenated priests
draws giggles from Dante, glued at the rear of the pump boat. His good friend’s
words though wrapped with bitterness were soothing almost a balm to his
troubled hearts. They answered to his own predicament as a village leader
intimidated a number of times by the henchmen of Mayor Torres. If only his
children were grown-ups and could manage running their own lives, he probably would have been driven too by violence.”
“There’s just no use working in
constructions operated by the men of the Mayor.” To avoid trouble, he would
rather just remain silent over the abuses of the system.
“Who else to blame over the payroll mess he
and his co-workers?”
You
see, the minimum wage is one hundred twenty pesos as stipulated in the
contract. True that the amount printed in the payroll was correct but not when
he received the cash. Forty pesos is slashed for unknown reason from the daily
wage making his wife Lorna very disgusted. As expected he didn’t stay long in
the work like all the rest. There’s just no moral basis proceeding the work. He
did encourage his co-workers for possible collective action. But his effort
fall on deaf ears. All he received was ‘never mind we’ll just try to manage; we
have many mouths to feed than yours.’ There were others who sympathize with him
but they remained silent as the vice mayor and some of the municipal officers supervising
the work are all his compadres. Not to rock the boat in other words. Tomas,
another worker who earlier signified his commitment to Dante’s cause, withdraw
and instead just left everything to God and would like to make it even comes
the time of election. Like John the Baptist preparing the way of the Lord,
Dante nurtured in his heart the will to serve no matter what would be the cost.
Ironically, no one listened. Thus, he left and tried fishing instead. It’s only
a transformation though as he doesn’t intend to leave the struggle.
How could one abandon anyway learning the
anatomy of graft and corruption in the municipality. It’s right there happening
right under one’s nose. No one probably in his right mind could pretend not seeing
things around unless he’s part of the whole system out to make monkey business
while in office. Mayor Torres’ example provides how to become one. Look how he
has outgrown himself from a mere sidekick of an ex-mayor then leapfrogged as
Chief Executive of the Municipality. It’s just a question of practicing what
one preaches by hook or by crook. For others, he’s considered as an epitome of
a public servant. There was one time when he challenged media men to
brainstorming session. The issue revolves around his present assets by
millions. The media wanting to roast the
Mayor to death required him to present facts and figures qualifying how he has
successfully piled his wealth one after the other while he is in office to
which the good mayor beg the question instead. Why not condemn the poor who
remains poor instead of a poor becoming rich, the challenged the media men
drawing laughter from the curious journalists. Unless you intend to surrender
your sanity, it’s futile squeezing exact and convincing answer from the Mayor
himself. Show any proof and I’ll see you in court, he continue challenging
those who are questioning his assets capping his invincibility now that he was in power..
His modus operandi is simple. They are all
undertaken with semblance of legitimacy. Despite his low credentials in
schooling, he knows how to make clean money in various transactions. Those in
the bureaucracy would call this standard operating procedure. Deduction of ten
percent plus additional ten percent from the contractor, payroll padding,
banning of relatives in joining the bidding of projects then surreptitiously
subverting it himself, illegal logging and similar juicy projects is where the
good mayor draws his huge resources in building his empire. These are not
peanuts resources by the way. These are big projects that profits could afford
to finance his plan of running next election. How he makes himself virtually a
landowner overnight is another factor. But who would question his generosity in
accommodating his needy voters whose inability of paying back the borrowed
money would easily volunteer of disposing their parcel of land for very minimal
amount yet. Think of the numbers of subsistent farmers who fall prey to such
anomalous scheme. But who cares? Definitely not the mayor or the victims.
Gripping as usual would only come later when stomach is finally giving up from
severe poverty.
Driarco doesn’t only hurled his blame to
the mayor and his gullible willing
victims. No one could not just condemned overnight both party. The people don’t
bear the cost of the problem. If they did not allowed themselves to be cowed
last election with empty promises and money, they would have been under better
set of leaders. But what could he do, the voting population are sometimes among
the unpredictable lot changing their choices according to the deal offered by
the highest bidder. “When would we ever learn again?”was his question.
. . . . . . . . . . .
Paddling the banca with Dante back ashore,
Driarco feels that he has enough crash program on social justice finishing it
with flying colors right from his own municipality. It strengthened his desire
to finish priesthood. The only hitch is that the more he thinks about it the
many sleepless nights he suffers drawing him closer to incredible reality
namely, that man after all while still catching his last breath has to outdo
others singly or in cahoots with others to show his superiority, a fact
validated by history. Mayor Torres and Marcos are perfect examples showing
their shrewdness and adroitness at work here, he thought.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Back in the seminary, he once more
engrossed himself to work practicing to the letter his “Ora Et Labora” work
ethics. Mostly, he goes even beyond limit.
“While I could still stretched further my
time productively, I’ll have to do it,” he would say to classmates who are
concerned his sobriety over books, study and vocation.
Even the seminary fathers noticed how he
burns midnight oil over there in the sacristy pounding mercilessly the typewriter keys till wee hours. He would
meet some of his classmates starting to study along the corridor while he is
leading towards his dorm to take his evening nap for few minutes. When he found
it wanting, he would also sneak inside the unopened library extension after
tacit clearance from the librarian has been made. There he would bury himself
to books of all sorts. It’s there where he earned his course on advanced
theology with background reading on such subject as Church history,
epistemology, eschatology, homiletics and religious classics from such writers
as St. Theresa of Avila , St. Augustine San Rafael
Doing pastoral work either in hospital,
provincial jail and other institution has also been part of the seminary
curricula providing them different
perspective. This work has been carried on in theology to sustain the necessary
balance between study and praxis. “You have to do it or there will be
vacuum in your pastoral formation,” the
Rector said explaining the importance of doing the work. But you can’t just
question the reservation of the young theologians given the excesses of civil
strife. It simply made them sick.
One such was very glaring sight of
dictatorship was seeing all those casualties dumped one after the other in the
emergency section in the hospital. Like
dead insects, bodies completely
disfigured were beyond recognition as an offshoot of an ambush. The reason, the
ambush conducted was unconsummated when the second convoy of military overran
the young combatants. But not until the
hammer of the first convoy turned turtle hitting landmines before the reds
finished them off burning their dead bodies with gasoline beyond recognition. The
casualties from the military were all rushed up to hospital in the camp and the
rebels in public hospital.
Not far from animals burned after
butchering, the dead bodies remnants of their own selves their feet only
remaining immaculately clean and white
after taking off their combat shoes. The bodies from thighs to torso up to the
head completely burned beyond recognition speaks for itself the horror that is
civil strife.
Such has been his experience doing pastoral
work in the seminary. Somehow, he abhorred the experience recurring back
showing it’s not easy being mute witness of
the savagery of this monster that is dictatorship.
Completing his four years theology with
honors on top of similar feat in his Philosophy course was such beautiful
and fascinating memory blurred only
by dirty experience what with the excesses of civil strife striking him with dread and trembling.
“What if the real thing happens with me?”
the question nagging him as he savored
the sweetness of hard labor spent in Seminary.
“Never mind for my accomplishment, it is
still very modest contribution by Christian standard. A lot of things still
need catching up and participation. That’s where the real battle lies,” he
declares his thoughts slowly coming to terms with reality when in one pastoral
work he had in Palawan, he was one among those held under attack.
That time while the offertory song “Lord
Here I Am” was sang was abruptly stopped as
parishioners scampering for cover
and many running scared towards the altar congregating wondering whatever happened that even the house of God
is not even spared from hand grenade
blast of terrorists. Three of them were thrown in the aisle.
Of
the three thrown inside the church, one exploded while the two didn’t barely sighed a whimper injuring those
sitting in the pews fronting the main door.
Reports further noted that the incident was a handiwork of twelve years old boy who was
seen by several faithful throwing the said grenades earlier and slipped away on
a standby motorcycle. That boy of course
was merely exploited as he was not real
party to the incident except for few pesos probably as premium doing the job.
The motive ruled by authorities could be obvious sending strong message to the
Church to keep their mouth shut. But who knows, it is the handiwork of generals
playing the game of sowing confusion
among the people. More than a sick joke, the occurrence was obviously an
affront to the sensibility of the church goers attending that regular first
mass. Why can’t they not respect authorities settling down the issue dragging
instead to gullible parishioners. It’s part of their culture. Defending on
their dear life when provoked but definitely not at all making it even against
innocent civilians. By now many probably
who were in attendance in that fateful Holy Eucharist are either traumatized
and or are thinking aloud of attending and hearing masses afraid that similar incident might happen again.
As
practicing Catholics, such unpleasant incident is definitely the least
we would expect let alone allowed to happen.
“But as terrorism knows no boundaries and
creed, everything is possible under the sun. Thus let’s accept it and as
supported by statistics it’s a fact that even the church or its premises like those
that happened few months past in other cities in the country have become the laboratory of their
aberrations. How is this that even men
of God are taken as hostages and even some decapitated as in the past. How many more blood would be shed to restore peace in this troubled island of Filipinos
Lately another foreign missionary was added
to faceless statistics among church personalities whose life was offered to
altar of terrorism. He was gunned down in broad daylight while on his way to
attend meetings with Non-Government Organization. His anti-mining stance among
insiders precipitated his murder.
It’s been such unpredictable situation in
the diocese lately and the human cost was high. There’s still sporadic
encounter between perceived enemies and military everywhere. The other day three unidentified rebels were
killed adding tension to the already
peace crisis. So far, the heat is on and
it appears that peace is elusive as ever, Driarco thought caught off guard on
these political disturbances
. . . . . . . . . .
“What was the bottom line of Fr. Lefuve’s death” Driarco snapped not to be
left out of the incident.”
“He’d been in order of battle,”
“On what ground?”
“He’s not only supporter of the rebels but
most importantly coddler and protector.”
“What do you mean?”
“Making his convent haven of rebels ?”
Dante cleared figuring up a house from his two hands.
“And his convent and all those sacristans
there and their visitors are also marked ‘OB ’.”
“Order of Battle, you mean?”
Dante nodded.
“It is hoped that this hostilities would end and would
fired up the imagination of all stakeholders that peace is precondition of all
development. Among others, Church
officials and authorities should come to the rescue of her flock securing their safety and security caught in a balance and
under fire.
“We did have Crusaders in the past who did
an excellent job protecting the pilgrims
securing their safety of their travel on the road all the way to Jerusalem
. . .. . . . . . .
That was way back then and time never
allowed him keeping up development as he spent first seven years in missionary
work in Taiwan
Weighing the best option to secure the
safety of the parishioners and avert
similar untoward occurrence in the future imbue him greater sense of
understanding of the new challenge facing his life even before he was still
student of theology. How is this challenge coming to him this early left him
dumbfounded. For all he knows opportunities and challenges comes only once and
they are mostly spirit inspired. This the thought that finally brought him back
to reality where he has been serving as missionary and herded back to his home
province after the death of his father.
“What opportunity indeed going back to your
roots to be with God’s people some threatened for extinction,” an idea engrossing him to take action. This
as he prepared celebrating regular mass that morning.
. . . . . . . . . .
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