THREE by Abraham dela Torre
THE BIBLE REINFORCED my aversion to superstition. I could no longer believe in old folks’ tales if it jeopardized my faith. There was no way a ladder would have anything to do with my day or a black cat derail my way. Christ’s flesh and blood turned bread and wine equipped me with the only wisdom I’ll ever need. Numbers never unnerved me.
I gave my word to Ate Ella that I will attend Fr. Marlou Lemaire’s talk on 
faith, aptly entitled “The Foundations of Our Faith: What We Believe.” I had to. In spite of the priest’s reputation of having a bad mouth. Because not only did she swear that he is a good theologian but also of her one-(wo)man Education Ministry which I vowed to support. I am also infinitely thankful that she stopped harassing me with a membership commitment and agreed to my simple presence in every activity her ministry will undertake. Fair enough, although she was still at a disadvantage. Friendship never assumed a more lopsided arrangement, to say nothing of her footing the bill at our seasonal gabfest. She appreciates that I am poor as a church mouse. And she didn’t have any qualms fussing over me with Starbucks coffee and croissant although she pulled me away from the audience before she fussed.
faith, aptly entitled “The Foundations of Our Faith: What We Believe.” I had to. In spite of the priest’s reputation of having a bad mouth. Because not only did she swear that he is a good theologian but also of her one-(wo)man Education Ministry which I vowed to support. I am also infinitely thankful that she stopped harassing me with a membership commitment and agreed to my simple presence in every activity her ministry will undertake. Fair enough, although she was still at a disadvantage. Friendship never assumed a more lopsided arrangement, to say nothing of her footing the bill at our seasonal gabfest. She appreciates that I am poor as a church mouse. And she didn’t have any qualms fussing over me with Starbucks coffee and croissant although she pulled me away from the audience before she fussed.She is not one to swear. And that virtue upped a notch higher when another priest, Fr. Joseph Buslon, her loyal faith and formation patron, opened the proceedings with the profession of faith. I thought his quip about holding the symposium in their Jesus the Divine Savior Parish was spot-on. Majority of the audience came from there, their blue-uniformed presence dominating an ample part of the hall. He was clearly well-loved by not only his parishioners but by the members of his commission, as evidenced by his introduction as Coco Martin by Ate Vien. Who also introduced the guest speaker as of French extract, pronouncing his name in that fashion.
That her introduction did not elaborate on why Fr. Marlou was a church-builder was necessary. Because when the priest took the microphone from her, it was soon evident that, indeed, he knew whereof he spoke. And why build churches he did. At least I gathered some snippets before I regretfully left the forum. Because I gave my word to Ate Clare that I will attend the installation of her priest-friend at St. Benedict at 10 AM that same Saturday. I so wanted to stay but was thankful I didn’t bring my notepad leaving did not cause much pain.
Ate Mom was already in her car when Ate Clare came to fetch me (she forgot her phone was why she did not text). We were early because Fr. Joseph (he left the forum ahead of me) and the other concelebrators were still waiting for Bishop Tobias to join the processional. Soon the entourage was complete.
All Masses are beautiful. This one was made more so because of the choir that sang in it. It was a given that I sang along. The gentleman to my left would join me at “Ama Namin.”
It was my first time to witness an installation. The priest, Fr. Alex Nolasco by name, was a friend of Ate Clare’s and known to Ate Mom. The latter’s enthusiam was buoyed up by the prospect of PREX being planted there. Ate Clare told me that she and a mutual friend, Ate Khris, was at his ordination last year. Fr. Alex was succeeding Fr. Steve Tynan and he took the helm from him at the homily. Humbly, he thanked the bishop, Fr. Steve and the other concelebrators (plus one deacon) and the parishioners of St. Benedict. (It struck me that he professed his faith through the Nicene Creed, the second time I heard it that day.) Where he was generous with gratitude, he was spare when it came to bringing up his poor past. Suffice it to say that his humility and thanksgiving blended beautifully w
ith his all-too obvious offering of himself to the vocation and the equal evidence of the faith in his form, speech and decorum. He reminded me of our beloved Fr. Jigs, although Fr. Alex was younger and way taller. I felt the former in the profundity of the latter’s short spiel. And, like Fr. Jigs, he perspired a lot (although Fr. Jigs would wipe his sweat frequently with a hankie) Ate Clare wanted so much to hand him a towel for his perspiration-beaded face. And he was caught in the nave by a mob of well-wishers, in a church whose ventilators only existed on the sides.
ith his all-too obvious offering of himself to the vocation and the equal evidence of the faith in his form, speech and decorum. He reminded me of our beloved Fr. Jigs, although Fr. Alex was younger and way taller. I felt the former in the profundity of the latter’s short spiel. And, like Fr. Jigs, he perspired a lot (although Fr. Jigs would wipe his sweat frequently with a hankie) Ate Clare wanted so much to hand him a towel for his perspiration-beaded face. And he was caught in the nave by a mob of well-wishers, in a church whose ventilators only existed on the sides.In the evening, in order to save my companions the trouble of picking me up, I decided to walk the distance from our house to the Reyes’. Ate Linda was still in church wrapping up an enthronement activity but Kuya Dante soon emerged while I was cooling my heels at their gate. I did not focus too much on “The Vampire Diaries” on their tv screen (thank God it was on skycable) and it did not take long before Ate Linda arrived and they were both ready to leave with me for New Intramuros Village. The Clubhouse was where we went, the venue of a joint thanksgiving celebration for birthday celebrators Fr. Bobot, Kuya Manny and Ates Cora, Nona and Lolit. It was the latter who invited us to make merry with her and those who shared her birth month.
The place was in semi-darkness when we arrived. Mass was still being celebrated at the nearby chapel was why. The lights cane on soon enough and Fr. Bobot said grace before dinner. At its heel, the emcee rose and called Fr. Bobot back to render an invocation. His third return to the stage was when he blew the collective candle on behalf of his birthmonthmates.
The next thing was predictable. Known for their dancing shoes, the ladies of New Intramuros were soon up and aswirl on the dance floor. Their loyal pair of dance instructors were on hand to partner them in turns and Ate Rhea, Fr. Bobot’s wellness expert-friend was also there with her line dance routine. No one was allowed to warm a bench. Not even those who never
cut the rug in their lives. For, in spite of their initial protestations, they could not say no to Fr. Bobot himself, who was already doing the “Gangnam,” and would all the gentlemen please join in. I thought the ladies were traditionally charitable to the DIs because of their obvious fascination with dance with or without their men, a large part of whom did not partner them anyway. And if Ate Rhea were not there (which is rare) to assume the male role, the others, like Ate Roxanne, who always partnered with me (I only danced solo or with the many) would not worry dancing by themselves.
cut the rug in their lives. For, in spite of their initial protestations, they could not say no to Fr. Bobot himself, who was already doing the “Gangnam,” and would all the gentlemen please join in. I thought the ladies were traditionally charitable to the DIs because of their obvious fascination with dance with or without their men, a large part of whom did not partner them anyway. And if Ate Rhea were not there (which is rare) to assume the male role, the others, like Ate Roxanne, who always partnered with me (I only danced solo or with the many) would not worry dancing by themselves.That the party could not have ended without the obligatory birthday song was expected. Like all parties in New Intramuros Village, this one was another fun-filled break for these otherwise indefatigable church workers who know how to party as well as practice their faith. Another way of putting it in perspective is in thanksgiving. That their chapel has undergone a recent change. Through an effort both collective and charity-oriented. Adding ardor to a buoyant neighborhood. Under the mantle of Our Mother of Perpetual Help, their patroness.
