XVIII 02

Don Bosco Academy, Mabalacat, Pampanga (Junior & Senior High School Building)

August 2, 2016.  It is one year since I arrived in the Philippines, after 15 years in Japan. I have come up with 5 realizations about myself and the things I am thankful for today. 

1) I left Japan with a heavy burden in my heart.  It was a combination of frustrations, disappointments, discontentment, discouragements. When that ANA plane left Haneda Airport that morning, I felt something light descend upon my heart.  When it landed in Manila, I felt I was finally free from all that burden. No. I do not blame whatever and whomever I encountered in Japan.  Perhaps (hopefully, perhaps!) they did not mean any harm.  It was just that things did not fit anymore with personal expectations... things did not anymore serve to make me grow in my vocation as a Catholic, a Salesian and as a priest. I saw the worst in myself in those years, at the same time that many in Japan (both Japanese and non-Japanese) were thankful they saw what they regarded was my best. After a year, I still feel a great tendency in me to block off from my memory anything that I experienced in Japan, sort of like an unconscious tendency for a voluntary amnesia.  But I consciously refuse to do that, with some effort!  I admit I came back to the Philippines convinced I did not meet God in Japan. But now, I am getting more and more convinced I was actually encountering Him there. The mode of meeting Him was not as comfortable as I had expected.  And I resolve to be patient that I can, piece-by-piece, reconstruct the puzzle He wanted me to solve through those years.

2) A man of God should never make definite plans. Once a man of God becomes a man of God, he cannot anymore make plans for himself.  God takes over.  He becomes in-charge of his life.  A 15-year old priest like me should have known that even before. But I only came to realize that 15 years later! I already had a big plan when I came back to the Philippines. I was planning to study, too! The contact persons were all listed. The virtual schedule, enthusiastically lined up.  But all the circumstances for all these plans were not dancing with time. I was made to wait. I was made to stand and sit on the sidelines, living far from where I could have been. There were times I felt people looked at me suspiciously, like some fugitive-priest hesitantly given the least harmful faculty -- offering mass. I faced myself in the mirror and saw a "jobless" priest. I even had to reckon where I should live while waiting. I did not want to be a burden to anyone.  But God had other plans.

3) There will always be someone who will treasure you, respect you and value you. I felt really awkward seeing some of the people I encountered in Japan hold back their tears in the few, accidental, unplanned despedida moments for me. I felt grateful for this particular former student who came to the rescue and offered me his place for some days. I felt loved by my father's text message telling me that I "was always welcome" at home. I felt I was treated as a real brother by the Salesians who offered their places for any pastoral opportunity. I felt I was a treasure to be invited by the Rector of Batulao to stay for an indefinite time for prayer, silence and rest. And when I remember those days when you all gave me some words of welcome, encouragement, consolation and invitation, my eyes still fill up with tears of joy.

4) Take it easy. Be quiet. Let God do the talking. The first month in Batulao saw me literally not having any assigned work. It was the first time in my life when I was the one willing not to do anything at all... And Prayer was the best I could do.  I have opted to make the usual working hours of the Salesians and the personnel as my time of silence.  In those moments, the Scriptures paved the way for my silence to listen to this Caring God.  God does correct things in us if we have swayed from what we are supposed to be for Him.  There were years in Japan when I have lost the taste and longing to pray... a result of the unwilling mixture of stress, depression and discouragement.  But He does care: He gave me those many "free" moments to bring back that longing for prayer, to replant that urge to pray, and to let blossom the joy of fulfilling that time I have to give for God, as a man of God.

5) Don Bosco paved the way. "Bob, you're asking for a sign? Well. Don Bosco's 200 years old!", as my good friend (a Salesian priest) told me a day before St. John Bosco's 200th Birth Anniversary. I arrived at the school where he was because I was invited to be part of the instruments for the Holy Mass the next day. I, who opted to go away from Don Bosco's Congregation, was being invited to be part of this important event! In those days of confusion and sense of loss, the same Don Bosco (through his Salesians) was there to tell me that everything would be alright. It has been more than 10 years since I have played the trumpet. I cannot really say I flunked.  I knew I couldn't sustain those 2nd octave notes that long anymore. But this wonderful opportunity paved the way for many, many more Salesian things!... Hearing Confessions of the Caritas Don Bosco students (for almost a month), staying in Batulao and being made to feel that I was never an outsider, the warm and brotherly love of the Salesian Community of Batulao, the trust they gave me to teach the young over there, those confessions and masses for student-retreatants who came, the Salesian events I was given the opportunity to participate, the welcoming attitude of the Salesians I met (many of whom asked, "Are you coming back?", with those happy, expecting eyes -- some were even so direct to say, "Welcome back!", even when I wasn't even that determined and decided to come back yet.  And, of course, the highlight of those wonderful months: the coming of the Rector Major... Being so blessed to find myself staying in the same place where he stayed with the other General Councillors.  Our Blessed Mother had always been there, giving me hints and signs that the Salesian way was, truly, the best WAY for me.  The approval for me to enter the ad experimentum stage (and to be the Spiritual Moderator of Don Bosco Mabalacat) was given to me by Fr. Provincial on the day Mary, Help of Christians was re-enthroned in Manila Cathedral!

Don Bosco Batulao Community with the Rector Major (center)

All through the year that passed, it was like Don Bosco had always been there, waiting, ready to embrace me and tell me, "I had been waiting for you all these years. I am so happy to have you back!"
... Me, too, Don Bosco!  I am so happy to be back! ... I have never been this happy in life!

(Written during the late hours of August 1, while assisting and accompanying a section of our Grade 9 students of Don Bosco Mabalacat.)

with the loving Community of Don Bosco Mabalacat

June 5, 2016. 10th Sunday in Ordinary Time. A Reflection.

It is 2 PM, Sunday afternoon.  It is hot here in Mabalacat.  

It is the 10th Sunday of that time in Church calendar we call, “Ordinary Time”.   Nothing to celebrate like Christmas or Easter Season. Nothing to truly say we are rejoicing except in that very basic, Christian principle of the Lord’s Resurrection.  Ah yes, that's what SUNDAY really is. 

Our readings today speak to us of one word… one important word… one essential word for us to live our life as real children of God: HUMILITY. 

I feel ashamed to talk about Humility.  Why? The answer is simple.                   I am proud.  

But all the same, I am a priest.  I have to talk about it.  

And all the same, I am called to practice what I preach, as what the bishop told me when he handed me the Book of the Gospels during my ordination as a deacon. 

Anyway, so what does it mean to be HUMBLE?

People in Israel a long time ago actually considered widows as one of the most unfortunate people in their society.  They lost their value when their husbands die.  In fact, it was for them (although, not only them) that the early Church started ordaining deacons, so that they would not feel neglected by the Christian Community.  Widows were nothing in society.  Yet, it was to a widow of Zarephath that Elijah was sent by God so that her son would come back to life.  It was to a widow of Nain that Jesus showed compassion by bringing his dead son back to life.  It was to people who were considered “nothing” that God showed His wonderful Heart.  So, OK, this is what it means to be humble… to be like those widows… to be NOTHING… to have NOTHING. There is nothing in us that can truly make us worthy to stand before God. Not our bank accounts.  Not our educational attainments.  Not our fulfillments and successes.  Nothing.  And when we acknowledge our Nothingness, we are humble… and God loves us all the more!  The humble delights not on his own nothingness, but on the mere fact that he ONLY has God. 

We can also be HUMBLE like St. Paul.  Such a brilliant man… strong, fiery, filled with zeal… able to organize groups that persecuted Christians in his time.  Yet, after his conversion, he was never ashamed to tell people about his proud and persecuting past.  So that is humility… ACKNOWLEDGING our past, with all its sins, mistakes, embarrassments… no matter how sordid or trivial it was.  We need not broadcast them to the world and pretend we are the most sincere people.  But a stinky past can truly be a good buffer for our pride.  Acknowledging in concrete terms our own sinfulness prevents us from judging others and from putting them into boxes.  The least we can do is worry if they still continue to wallow in the mud of objective error. 

To be HUMBLE is to be like Jesus.  He was able to see beyond the person.  He was able to see the needy, have compassion for them… and HELP them.  It takes Humility to truly help a person.  It is because we help them not because they need us, but because we know they have nothing to hold on to.  Helping the needy removes us from the trap of self-centeredness… from the realization that there are people poorer than us, people who suffer more than us, people who have more painful situations.  And it is never an accident that we can see them and have pity for them.  For God, there are no accidents. 

I know I am not humble.  But I have to be one.  

And I thank God He gave me hints!

It is 3 PM.  God has blessed us with a downpour!  Thank you, Lord, for rain!

Amidst the Noise, a Persuasive Silence

Batulao. January 1, 2016. 12:05 AM. 

Sunset at Mt. Batulao (as seen from Don Bosco Batulao)

The firecrackers fill the darkness that blocks this place from the houses and revelry nearby.  The fireworks I see from this window are all far away… like small dandelions popping in the mixture of darkness, rainclouds and the night fog.  And in 

the interval of pop’s, boom’s, whistles and horns, 

the frightened dogs bark. 

It has been 14 years that I haven’t experienced New Year in the Philippines.  My last New Year’s eve was in Atsugi, Japan.  We had the Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament from 7 PM.  Families — many from South America — came and went. Then, there was the Benediction at 11:30.  And the Mass for the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God at exactly 12 MN.  No fireworks.  No firecrackers.  This was Japan.  The only noise were all in the train stations and the temples and shrines were the ordinary, “no-religion” Japanese would traditionally go.  But for us in this Catholic Church, we wallowed in the solemnity of the Holy Mass!

2015 will go down in my personal history as a violent roller coaster.  I can even make a highlight per month!  There was the strong impact and renewed zeal watching Pope Francis in the Philippines (through live streaming in my office in Japan), which led me to finally nail my decision to go back.  There were low emotional moments that led me to spend the time watching a movie, intentionally ignoring any text or call from worried parishioners.  There were moments of sleepless nights, palpitations, difficulty in breathing or even overeating.  There were moments when I literally felt I was the rope in the tug-o-war between sensibility and selfishness.  Anxieties.  Daring courage.  Surrender. 

But God is kind.  God is good. 

And so, here are the 5 lessons I learned from the roller coaster ride of 2015:

1) Prayer works!  Yes, not just the usual prayers, but silence, personal dialogue with God and a good investment of PRAYER TIME.

2) We may have our plans in life.  But it is always wise to remind oneself that this life is FROM God, this is life is FOR God.  My plans will only be secondary to His. 

3) It is never wise to ask God for a sign.  The SIGNS have always been there.  Better ask God to open your eyes to see those signs He had already placed all along. 

4) Less of self, more for others.  The years in Japan that taught me that discrimination is bad, that there are people in worse situations than myself, that any person around me is a CHILD OF GOD… it’s time to apply them now. 

5) Be faithful to your vocation, to the life God calls you to be.  That is the simple route to being happy. 

It is 12:35 AM.  The firecracker sounds have died down.  Yet, silence prevails.  Silence has won again.  Ah yes, silence is a good teacher.  It makes you pray… and makes you continue being generous to yourself by sifting through memories and find even the smallest of graces.   

TE DEUM LAUDAMUS!  

OLD WAYS, NEW CHRISTMAS

My first FULL Christmas in the Philippines… FULL Christmas, i.e., Simbang Gabi (Christmas Novena masses) included, after 15 years!

I was asked by the parish priest of my hometown (Binan) to help in the Simbang Gabi masses in two places near our house.   Perhaps because the masses were all done in the evening, I did not feel that tired to do the whole 9 days.  On the contrary, I felt there was much energy within me.  I felt more patient.  I felt more prayerful and reflective.  I felt there was so much to teach the people.  I felt the need to take advantage of the homilies to input some catechetical things to the people.  I was happy there were so many children in both masses.  I felt so grateful there were dedicated lay people who were there to organize, mobilize and animate the people.  Special mention goes to the Extraordinary Ministers of the Holy Eucharist and the altar servers who were always there in fair and rainy days.  I looked forward to these days.  I never felt tired.  I always felt challenged. 

On the last day, I was asked by the parish priest to also offer the Holy Mass in the nearby poor area.  (They always had the Liturgy of the Word and Communion only on the first 8 days!)  It was my 3rd novena mass for the night.  The choir was a group of poor kids, but they sang like angels with such great sense of harmony!  I was touched by the fervor of the people.  I was almost moved to tears, that on the last day of the novena for Christmas, I was offering the Holy Mass with the poorest of the poor.  I knew God was saying something here.  I knew this was really Christmas!

The 24th. Christmas Eve.  I asked the parish priest if I could concelebrate during the 10 PM Holy Mass.  The parish priest offered the 8 PM mass.  The 10 PM mass was supposed to be celebrated by the Assistant Parish Priest.  But because of some problems with traffic and the chaos of stalls, people, tricycles and cars, the Assistant Parish Priest could not arrive on time, and I was asked to start the Holy Mass as the Main Celebrant.  Oh yes, God’s great gift!… I was the main celebrant for the Christmas Eve mass of the parish church of my hometown!  Great Liturgy!  The altar was well prepared.  The altar servers were well dressed and were very solemn.  The grand choir was really grand!  The Christmas Manger was well prepared.  And the many, many faithful who came!  Many times during the mass, I found myself almost in tears.  “This is the Christmas I came from… THIS is the Christmas I came back to!”… and this is all a blessing… grace upon grace!

For this Christmas, I was given the grace of new friends, of new acquaintances, of a milder return to long-undone customs, of good laughs and wonderful exchange, of a feeling that says, “If only this were a continuous thing!”  Ah yes, this Christmas, God seems to tell me that I have already learned from my simple Japan Christmases and it’s time to go back to what I have first gone through in the past.  This time, the WORD MADE FLESH is an experience that takes on a more mature and deeper dimension of Faith.  It is funny though… this realization came from very simple experiences from usual and simple expectations!  (No wonder Jesus was born in a SIMPLE way!)

My first Christmas in the Philippines 

after all these years….

It just confirmed 

I have made the right choice to go back.  

And I am just filled with so much gratitude. 

Happy Birthday, dear Jesus!

NOTHING

There is something in being nothing. 

There is worth in being worthless. 

There is value in being unknown. 

This is what I understand and feel these days. 

I am not defined by what I am doing.  I am not ascribed as to what position I hold.   I am not even recognized with whom I belong.  There is nothing in me these days that can actually make me hold on to emphasize my value.  I cannot highlight what I did in the past precisely because it is past.  I cannot boast of anything that I have done because they all become irrelevant in this particular place, this particular time and situation.  This is just me.  

And, honestly, there is never any feeling of self-hate, self-condemnation or self-pity. 

Just. Me. 

Oh yes… there is something that holds on to being “me”… just one:  the Priesthood!

… something I cannot put aside, ignore 

or even pretend that it does not exist in me. 

The Priesthood is the only thing 

that brings me to understand myself. 

The Priesthood is the only thing 

that makes me look at the past as moments of learning, 

and that the future should be the generous response. 

The Priesthood is the only thing 

that makes me see the present 

as movements of the Hands of God.  

And all the rest is GRACE. 

THE TENTH DAY

So… what are the things I have been learning so far these past days?

That literally “doing nothing” makes you more ready to be silent and to listen. 

That being silent makes you more sensitive to the SIGNS God gives you. 

That being sensitive to the SIGNS makes you more aware of what you feel.

That being aware of what you feel makes you more ready to face your own fears. 

That facing your own fears, you come to realize that the only thing that matters is TRUST IN GOD. 

I am a person who loves to plan.  I love organization.  I love order and flow of things.  And faced with uncertainty since the time I arrived in the Philippines last August 2, the only choice I had to do was FACE UNCERTAINTY itself.   All along, my mind was bothered by questions like, “What do I do now?  Where should I go?”  But these questions pale in comparison to just literally doing nothing.  That is the point where God enters. 

I still have questions in my mind.  But I have opted not to ask them anymore.  I have decided to be PASSIVE this time.  Fear and doubt still cling.  They are like cobwebs that hang with determination on the window frame.  And this is a constant deciding to look beyond the window and appreciate the view.  

I still have issues to face.  But I have opted not to rush.  They will have their time.  I have decided to bring that TRUST IN GOD in this field as well… that God will bring me to the right people who will be willing to journey with me. 

I still have uncertainties before me.  But I have opted to accept them as “given factors” in life.  I have decided to appreciate what is given before me by God:  these great priests around me, their good example, their dedication, their peculiarities, too!… this time with them, their insights and reflections, their opinions and news, their wit and jokes (that really make me laugh my heart out almost everyday… it has been 15 years that I have not laughed like this!)… and of course, their simplicity and devotion in Prayer.  I cannot but treasure these days here.  

So… what have I been learning so far?  

That TRUSTING IN GOD is hard but possible. 

That possible things are made so by God. 

That God will always be there in every step of this journey. 

… and that I TRUST HE HAD ALWAYS BEEN SO even before this one.

… Grace upon grace has been given to me by God these days.  Lord, I hope You will be so kind to wait a little more… before I make a real, definite response.

(And to you, who have just read this, please say one Hail Mary for me.   I keep you, too, in my prayers.)

HAPPY PRIEST, UNHAPPY PRIEST

It’s Holy Thursday.  Some people are still in the church before the Altar of Repose.  I have spent quite a good amount of time before the Blessed Sacrament and thoughts just come one after another in my mind... thoughts that all go back to one thing:  the Priesthood. 

I am happy as a priest.  Count me as one of those who agree that, really, the PRIESTHOOD is one great pool of happiness!  (http://www.forbes.com/sites/stevedenning/2011/09/12/the-ten-happiest-jobs/)   I have dreamt of becoming a priest from the age of 9.  I was graced to have that dream come true on December 8, 1999.  I still do believe, feel and affirm in my heart that AS A PRIEST, yes, I am happy. 

But yes, it is not the happiness that the world usually interprets as “happiness”.  It is not yet, though, the happiness that can only be felt in Heaven.  Although, I can say, “It’s close!”  It is a happiness that is mysteriously there but will always be quiet in front of worldly affairs.  It is a happiness that is restless, because no other worldly attraction satisfies it.  It is a happiness that is, indeed, a gift, a grace, and a challenge.  

Were there times when I, as a priest, felt sad, lonely and even hopeless?  Oh... lots of times!  And on this day, Holy Thursday, the day we commemorate Jesus establishing the Priesthood, I once again face myself and ask, “When were those times when I was not happy?”  And the answers were these:

1) I was not happy when I wanted to stand out.  As a priest, it is easy to stand out.  You become an instant celebrity.  People look at you.  People look up to you.  People regard you as a pandora’s box of talents.  And so I showed what I can do.  I gave what I can give.  I danced.  I sang.  I opened up every nook and corner of whatever speck of talent or ability that was taught, developed or even experimented upon in my seminary years and thereafter.  You walk into a room and someone will shout your name after that “Father!”  Ah... the delight of being known in the midst of a crowd!... and that person’s not even a relative!  But let me be honest:  I do not really stand out when I realize there are experts before me.  They are the real ones.  I was a master-of-none.  

2) I was not happy when I craved for some special attention from specific people.  Call it whatever you like.  Interpret it in any way you like.  A best friend, a close friend, a friend-friend!  A parishioner, a student, a child.  An admirer, a messenger, a fan.  The world will call us “lonely”.  A lot of people sigh that it is such a waste we are alone.  And as human beings, there are times when we look for acceptance, friendship and attention a level higher than ordinary acquaintance, a level deeper than ordinary colleagues.  But let me be honest:  when I catch myself craving for the extra attention or that special acceptance, I realize that there is one important person whom I have ignored all along --  JESUS CHRIST. 

3) I was not happy when I longed for more things.   People love to gift priests.  They know in their hearts that giving us priests this thing or that, they, in some way, fulfill what Jesus, Himself, said,  “And whoever gives only a cup of cold water to one of these little ones to drink because he is a disciple—amen, I say to you, he will surely not lose his reward.” (Matthew 10:42)   Priests get financial assistance in the form of salary or allowance, too.  And since a lot of people give cash, goods and food to priests, they end up using the money they have for other things... things that surely do not really fit into the category of what we call “simple”, both in the eyes of the world and in the eyes of Gospel.    There wasn’t a few times when I was looking and craving to buy at the electronic store -- a new camera, the latest smartphone, the best laptop, a unique gadget.  I scanned and scanned through new clothes, shoes, caps and bags.  But let me be honest:  the more I come to have something, the more I craved for something new.  And the more I craved for more, the more I felt sad at one thing -- the reality of dissatisfaction.

4) I was not happy when my creativity was beyond the bounds of priesthood.  God has gifted me with words.  I can be creative with this gift.  God has given me other gifts.  I can be creative with them, too.  But let me be honest:  when I use my creativity outside church apostolate, when I use my creativity to spite, insult or put people down, when I use my creativity to make others selfish, materialistic or vain, I feel being thrown into a great void.  I have this great, nauseating feeling that I have wasted something.  It sometimes make me vomit just thinking I have thrown away something more valuable than losing a million pesos.  Who in the world becomes happy with that feeling?  

5) I was not happy when I got satisfied with the thought, “I am just the same as the rest.”  Oh yes, be with the people.  Or, as Pope Francis would say, have the “same smell as the sheep.”  I actually thought I had to be like the sheep.  I actually though I had to be, talk, move, dress up like the sheep.  I had “to blend” with the rest.  Let the people realize that goodness exists among them.  Eat what they eat.  Drink what they drink. Dance even wilder than any of them.  But let me be honest:  I realized that my line of thought was actually the thought of the Laity.  I forgot that I am of the Ordained.  

6) I was not happy when I did not pray.  This is obvious.  We have always been taught that the priest is an “Alter Christus” (another Christ).  A priest who does not communicate with the One he stands for will never be a true priest.  A priest who forgets that his prayer is never just a personal one, but that he must pray first the prayer of the Church, for the Church, will never grow and bear fruit.  But let me be honest:  l always struggle to pray.  And when I do not pray, I get more uneasy.  And when I get more uneasy, I look for other consolations the world can offer, consolations that I have conditioned myself to have.  And when I succumb to these worldly consolations, I get so thirsty in my heart... and I long for God.  Isn’t prayer that longing for God?  Yet, I find myself not praying...

... and the battle goes on.  

                                                                                         (photo courtesy of Ted Barrera)

To you who read this, please pray for this unworthy priest.  

Of Cassocks and Clericals

It was one of those hot and humid rainy days in 1991.  I was with another seminarian.  From our seminary in Canlubang, we went to Makati for an errand and another one in Mandaluyong.  Since we were near the Makati-Mandaluyong Bridge anyway, we crossed the bridge walking to the other side.  Ah yes, that day, I was wearing my white cassock in hot Metro Manila. 

That was 1991, in my 2nd year as a professed Salesian religious, still savoring the joy and enthusiasm of finally coming to offer myself to God.  I was in the early stages of finally wearing that SIGN that made me different from other men my age.  It was a SIGN.  And the more I take care of this SIGN, the more I got conscious of the fact that I have “left the world”, am not anymore “part of the world” and that my state of life was a “foretaste of Heaven.”

What made my day memorable was not because I crossed the Makati-Mandaluyong Bridge in a white cassock, but because of what an elder priest told me some days later in the seminary:  he scolded me for wearing the cassock that day.  That was what I remember more.  What reinforced the memory was that I became the laughing stock of my co-seminarians. 

I remembering seeing those priests in Don Bosco when I was still a pre-schooler.  The mere remembrance of those priests in cassocks gave me a feeling of being “with God”, of being safe and secure, that I was in good company.  

I remembering seeing my own brother wear that white cassock for the first time way back in 1979.  From that time on, I also felt very strongly that he was not anymore a man of this world, but a man of God.   When my brother would come home for vacations, I would look with awe at that long piece of white cloth hanging behind the door.  He would bring this cassock with him when he’d go to the parish church for daily mass.  At other places, he would be wearing this cream or blue polo shirt (a clerical) whose collar is especially tailored to tuck in a “collarino”, the small version of the Roman Collar.  

I remembering seeing all these young men starting to wear their cassocks at the age of 18 or 19 and put on the Roman Collar when they had to go to classes, travel, or any other activity that was outside the Liturgy.  The other groups that followed my brother all had the same aura of those years.  When you see them wear those cassocks and clericals in the first years of their vows as young Salesian religious, there was only one thing that fired up in my heart:  my time will come, too!

Investiture Ceremony, Don Bosco Canlubang, 1990

And it did.  The Investiture Ceremony of April 8, 1990 was a very touching moment. This cassock that was now being vested on me was to be the definite SIGN of my commitment to God.  I cried with joy when it was put on my shoulders.  I cried more when I went to sacristy with my parents as the rest of the buttons were put on.  That day, the world came to know I have decided to be for God alone, and its SIGN was the cassock.  

It was unfortunate that by the time we started wearing the cassock and the clerical, it was already the 90’s in the Philippines.  The men whom we looked up to, who bravely and proudly wore their cassocks or clericals in their younger years, were now the ones going around in their t-shirts, ordinary polo and jeans. The clericals we wore were getting into a new “way of wearing” it:  unbutton the collar and let that white collarino hang from the left or right slit. It would just take a few years when some of us would start wearing the clerical instead of the cassock during Holy Mass and ordinary polo shirts or t-shirts instead of the clerical.   It was in my generation when the clerical became the shirt for formal occasions, or the usual class uniform for Theology.  The collar... well, they would come in handy for photo sessions. 

Uniqlo lahat yan!

The "Hide-the-Roman-Collar" way

I started wearing ordinary polo shirts and t-shirts even from the time I was still a seminarian.  I still wore the cassock for masses.  The clerical, I only wore them during classes and for serious occasions.  At other times, “Bosconian-be-proud” t-shirts, branded t-shirts gifted to me, polos of good taste....  During vacations, I even stopped bringing the cassock home.  The clerical was more convenient... you slip that white collar in for mass, and then do the hide-the-collar-within-the-slit after mass.  Convenience:  that was the word of the time!  Then, often, the good clothes I received as gifts were better.  I felt more free.  I did not need to be stared upon.  It was just so easy to “blend” into society. 

My first 10 years in Japan brought me a good “repertoire” of clothes I chose and bought.  I consider myself lucky for having a noisy family who critiqued my choice of colors and coordination during my childhood.  I was proud to be able to dress up in good taste.  I knew I was not “baduy”.  

Before watching SUMO

But being in Japan also made me think.  This is a country that is proud of uniforms.  The school uniform is considered formal attire and kids can wear them even during funerals and weddings.  Companies who don’t have uniforms have badges that they proudly wear on their business suits.  Buddhist priests go around in their black kimonos.  Policemen-on-break wear dark blue jackets over their uniforms just to show they are “off-duty”.  Walk around the hospital and you know who is a doctor, a nurse or the office clerk.  Why, even the traffic coordinator in construction areas wear that familiar blue overall, luminous vest and that helmet that makes you produce liters of sweat in mid-summer!  It made me think...  I, a priest... and the whole world does not know.  I, a man of God... and the whole world does not know.  

And so, after 10 years of priesthood, I decided to go back to the cassock and the clerical.  It took quite a time before I could do this again.  I had to ask people -- who mostly said they’d prefer me wearing what a priest should actually and always wear.  I had to consider my budget -- which, by God’s grace has always been stable.  I had to sort of like dig into my heart, search for those feelings of awe, admiration and joy that I had when I was a pre-schooler and as a young seminarian.  

It was actually funny to think that it took me some time to finally resolve to go back to the cassock and the clerical.  It’s funny because I did not need to think of the obvious!!!

So, what were the factors that led me to wear the cassock and the roman collar again?

1. My Franciscan Conventual classmate in theology was assigned temporarily in Okinawa.  By the time he was asked to go to their church in Tokyo, I invited him for dinner in downtown Shinjuku.  We agreed to meet at the most crowded station in the world, Shinjuku Station.  And there he was, walking in the middle of a sea of passengers going through the exit... in his Franciscan Conventual gray habit!  And I?  In  my Uniqlo attire -- from jacket to socks!  Honestly, I felt ashamed.  I thought this guy was brave enough to go through a crowded station of a non-Catholic Japan in his religious habit.  For him, he said he was just doing the obvious. 

2. If you see a Buddhist priest standing and praying with a begging bowl in front of train stations, chances are they are not real Buddhist priests.  They are fake.  They just stand there to collect money for their daily living sans proper work.  Yet, they are dressed to the detail.  I was moved to think that if people who are not really so can dress up well as if they are the real thing, what about a real priest dressing up as a real priest!

3. I noticed that a seminarian is so proud to wear his cassock (or religious habit) in the first years.  Then, after some years, content himself with ordinary, casual clothes as he grows older and older.  Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? That one’s deepening of religious life can be seen even in one’s externals?  And so, I’d rather be  a good example to these young seminarians.  

4. I also thought the cassock and the clerical are all part of the past.  Or that it was the way people dressed before.  But if we have to stick to that “evolving” mentality, then, the cassock has become the SIGN of one’s detachment from the world.  It shows one is not carried away by the flow of fashion and personal taste.  It is a great prevention from the temptation of vanity and a good assurance of one’s poverty (since you always wear them, wash-and-wear style). 

5. I do not go with the thought that not wearing the cassock or the habit makes you be a “part of the world” or that you can easily “blend” into society.  I also do not go with the idea that wearing the cassock or the habit is not a good sign especially among poor people because they cost a lot.  Well, for what I know, Mother Teresa was concretely part of society.  She was with the poorest of the poor.  

at a park for a Pastoral
Area celebration

6.  A parishioner in the parish where I am now had not been going consistently to church for many years.  She had mixed feelings.  She said she was so busy with work.  But at the same time, she also felt that the priest at that time was not as visible.  When she accidentally came to church on the first anticipated mass that I celebrated after my transfer here... and saw me wearing the cassock... she immediately told herself that things in the parish will definitely be better.  (Well, that’s quite a nice encouragement for me.)  She was able to trust more because she saw this visible SIGN being worn by the priest.  I take this mother as a representative of the many who have already affirmed me for wearing again the cassock or the collar, as well as their own wish that all priests do the same.  

With my Canossa
elementary batchmates 

7.  And factor number 7 is this:  I just need to be who I really am, a priest.  It is not just the heart.  It is not just the mentality.  It is not just the way of living.  It is not just in the way I fulfill my priestly ministry.  If I have to be a priest, I have to be a priest 100%... and that includes what others see, the externals, the tangible.  Sometimes, it really is uncomfortable, especially when it’s hot and humid.  But I did not become a priest to be comfortable anyway.  Here is a ready-made-cross for all occasions and weather conditions!  Here is a handy reminder to my very self of what I am really called for.  

Dear young seminarian, be always happy and grateful to God for the gift of your vocation and commitment shown through your cassock or your clerical.  Yes, be always grateful.  Never content yourself on the comforts of what ordinary, casual clothes can give you.  Never desire to be “invisible” in this world.  You chose to walk that path to the priesthood, a path that has never taken any “undercover” role in the world of evangelization.  (Leave that  to the lay!)  Take care of that cassock.  Respect it and don’t let it just hang around as some piece of rag.  Take care of your collar.  That collar is meant to be shown, not hidden or tucked in.  Let your cassock and clerical be your instant instrument of evangelization.  Let them also be your instant shield from temptations.  Let them be instant reminders to you and to others that God is just among us... yes, just here among us!

"PORMA!"

I have been away from this blog a long time.  And there has been a lot of angst boiling up in me.  One of these is the anger I feel for “PORMA” priests. 
PORMA actually means “form” in English.  We usually used this word when we were in the minor seminary against some who wore the latest fad in fashion, walked as if they owned the world, acted as if they knew a lot of the world, but can never answer a simple question in class, flunks the simple tests, or even makes the best form before kicking a soccer ball and totally misses it.  PORMA.  Puro PORMA.  Yes, all form... no substance. 

Being here in Japan for almost 13 years, I feel like an impending volcanic eruption in my heart is about to happen against these PORMA priests, both here and those I see in the Philippines.  A lot of PORMA.  
Facebook allows me to see the world of some priests and those of others who are friends of friends and other friends.  Honestly, I am more impressed by those who are branded as “Traditionalists”.  Their uploaded pictures are always about their life as priests.  They are dressed as priests.  If ever they are in their casual clothes, you see them doing things that even children can appreciate.  Their status updates have sense, call for some thought or reflection, and even give information that can enrich your faith.  

As for the others.  Hmmm....  They say nobody has the right to judge others.  Yes, I dare not judge.  I am just here to express the impressions that come to me when I see their uploaded pictures and their status updates.   I see the status update of one priest and I immediately come to doubt if ever he was really aware WHO and WHAT a priest must be.  I see the uploaded pictures of this and that priest and only the word PORMA comes to me. 

Oh I did have my PORMA days as a young priest, too!  As a new priest, I felt I had something fresh to bring to this world.  As a newly arrived missionary priest here in Japan, I was aware I was bringing into this country the joy and active lifestyle of this “new generation” of priests from the Philippines!  I knew that eyes were on me.  I felt it was easy to become popular, especially in the circle of Filipinos.  You get to rub shoulders with the people whose status make you rarely see them in personal if you were in the Philippines.  I thought that the Mass has to be done in “performance level”.  Facial expressions, voice projection, and a stack of jokes and vocabulary for sermons mattered so much, I thought.  I was dressed well.  With a meager allowance, I was able to save and buy good clothes.    The only thing I was conscious of was that I should not look “baduy” (ill fashioned).  I am not handsome nor cute at all, but, just being a priest makes you become “handsome” or even “cute” to some.  You can actually feel it.  

The rise of awareness on the Tridentine Mass -- now, more properly called the Extraordinary Form of the Mass -- and the release of “Summorum Pontificum” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Summorum_Pontificum)  by Pope Benedict XVI got me knocked out of this “porma world”.  Of course, a big chunk of this “reawakening” is the realization that despite the growing popularity that I was coming to have (even among the Japanese Catholics in the diocese) I was still (and am still) a very sinful person... weaknesses that were cheated by false consolations of fame and good reputation.  I just felt I just needed to be PRIEST.  No... not just in the heart.  This PRIESThood needed to be felt by this being who has five senses, too.  I had to see myself as a PRIEST.  I had to feel myself as a PRIEST.  I had to smell that fabric characteristic of PRIESTs.  I had to hear myself being a PRIEST.  

I stopped singing in public (except if it is a prayer in the Mass).  I dared not join any dance.  I had to be firm not to join any of those parlor games that promoted physical contact.  In picture takings, I did not allow anybody to touch me.  If people have to realize that PRIESThood is such a holy thing, I had to start on it myself... acknowledging my being human and at the same time knowing it had to be “apart” from the usual thoughts of the world.  Yes, this body... this self.

It is hard.  It is hard when you have already crossed the line of being “like one of the rest”.   It is hard to come back to the very ideals you held dear in the very first days of seminary or in the very first years wearing the Cassock or the Roman Collar.  Sometimes, I feel like removing this white thing in front of my neck when I am in a public transportation.  Sometimes, I feel lazy wearing the cassock.  But I have to fight it, in God’s grace.    Usual Catholics may say, “Then, don’t wear it.  Lots of priests don’t wear it anyway.”  Yet, it’s like telling a policeman not to wear his uniform, or a married person not to wear his/her wedding ring.  Ah yes... I did not become a priest to become an “undercover” witness of the Gospel.  I belong to the more obvious category.  In some way, I do not need to open my mouth to tell people that I am a “Man of God”.  
Rather than be “like the rest of the guys”, rather than do things that even the usual men down the streets can do even in their sleep, if a priest just stays on BEING A PRIEST... he does not need to do any PORMA at all!

(... and the ranting goes on....)