HE HAD A walking stick to probably prop him up but that did not make him stand out. Ali Figueroa only joined his fellow Ministers of Song towards the end of the workshop but joined he did and was up front like he yearned to tell the congregation he could have made it like everybody else did were it not for a significant reason to be late. He more than made up for his showing up at the last hour. He sang like all of them did, with a heart and his entire being dedicated to the goal of the entire endeavor. And with a difference. Just when the young (and there was a joyfully great number of them among us) were getting lost in the whirlwind of picture-taking frenzy (for the parting hour was at hand and they wanted to stretch the last diminishing minutes), he went up to the ambo and made an earnest appeal. That the tumult of the moment be arrested and reserved for what was coming up next. The workshop was wonderfully concluded with the medley of hits from when the Ministers were starting to make their way to where they are now; the audience more than appreciative of their beautiful blending of voices into one harmonious whole; but when their last volley no longer accommodated a “More!” everybody seemed to fret and forget what was up next. Ali said he understood the excitement of those who wanted to capture the fleeting moments before they melted, but he reminded that a more important moment was about to take place, the celebration of the Holy Eucharist, and should not all be prepared for it, and calm the electric effect of keeping residual euphoria in check so that anticipation for the source and summit of our faith be given respect. His soothing plea did not fall on uncaring ears; there was a collective pause as the erstwhile energy subsided and, like one obedient body, the throng moved and settled in the church seats and, while the others suddenly remembered they had to do last-minute toilet trips (unconsciously thrown aside for immortalizing mementos’ sake), unhurriedly went about the remembered business with no haste now, and as slowly returned to the pews to properly await the onset of the holy hour.
Before I left the house, I messaged Ate Relly of the time they would pick me up that early Saturday morning. Bro Carlos was asking how to get to St. Benedict; I said he can ride with us. He didn’t know his way around the Don Antonio area yet so wanted to be sure he got help. I walked to the church and waited with him for the Cruz Couple. It started to drizzle when they emerged. We were at St. Benedict parish in no time, breezed through the registration (squeezing in pleasantries with Steph at the counter, recalling how accommodating she was in our email exchange), and found ourselves seats in the refurbished parish. I shared with Bro Carlos briefly the fact that the church, which used to be circular (like the Greenbelt chapel), was renovated to look like a ‘regular’ religious structure, with all the pews facing the altar and not surrounding it. We were given a handout each, a six-page pamphlet authored by Musical Director Palen Reyes and Fr. Manoling Francisco, with the latter’s score of “Pag-aalay” in the last two pages.
Cholo Mallillin was explaining how to prepare the sound equipment before choir practice when we joined the already ample crowd in the church. After him, St. Benedict Parish Music Ministry Coordinator Sally Protacio welcomed the participants and walked us through how the generosity of the aptly named Bukas Palad Music Ministry found its way into their Parish. She gave credit to their Parish Priest, Rev. Fr. Rey Tano, for his support in providing the funds, venue, and staying on for the opening prayer and (I deem this a most pleasant surprise) the awarding of certificates of appreciation to the participants. Sally made us proud when she mentioned our very own Ate Thelma Ponferrada as instrumental in the actualization of the training, which Ate Thelma would deflect later as owed to Fr. Rey. (Jennie would echo that charity in another subsequent vein, when she announced that a generous sponsor (actually registration counter lady Stephanie’s mom Sally herself) gave a treat of taho, bibingka, puto bumbong, hot choco, and mineral water for everybody). I noticed that nobody rose to rush to the freebies, so engrossed were they in Palan’s (and his piano’s) practical pieces of note-worthy advice, pun intended.
More than emcee the occasion, Basil Dungo and Jennie Mateo facilitated the workshop like they were born to conduct it and got the participants interacting throughout the whole exercise, with them, and one another. If there were inhibitions, they were shed right after the first mingling process to pair the participants with a person they have never met before the seminar. For the church was quickly transformed into a decent murmur of pleasantries. Rozelle Amadure approached me, a smile on her face, and said she (and companion Edwin, who was with his son and partnered with Ate Relly) came all the way from Calamba, Laguna, and was a member of the Barandal Grand Choir of Our Lady of Fatima Parish). Therefore, the questions Why, What, and How do we sing were discussed easily like the 163 attendees of the class were only strangers momentarily because, as the day progressed, the interaction flowed like it was a most natural exchange of musical insights, in a hallowed venue, on a blessed Saturday, like that day was.
I was happy with the answers my companions gave to the first question projected on the screen: Why did you become a choir member and stay on? Happier that my reflexive answer was shared by one in the open forum: To share the gift of song with others and, because God graced the gift, it self-generated and returned. Truth in giving of self, inevitable ROI.
We were immersed in the five liturgical seasons of Advent, Christmas, Ordinary Time, Lent, and Easter (and will no longer forget them after the expansive, extensive recall) and the equally essential five parts of the Mass (Introductory Rite, Sanctus, Allelluiah, Memorial Acclamation, Great Amen) and the three important judgments (liturgical, pastoral, musical) to guide us in choosing the songs appropriate for each season. Inwardly, I thanked my resolve to make sure I didn’t miss the workshop because it humbled me to the lowest level. I, a music minister, am never there to perform but to lead; draw attention but accompany; and impress but serve. I may have felt a little sense of entitlement in the past but the ego trip decided right there to spiral-down with no chance of resurfacing ever.
Fun was the part when the leaders of the five groups representing the liturgical seasons were asked to go in front and, using the handout given each of them, present their collective take of the readings, psalm, and Gospel in that handout. Of the five, I was proud again that Bro Carlos’ insights were appreciated by his group (from Antipolo!) because of its spot-on-ness. Which was no surprise for our beloved choirmaster. As in all question-and-answer portions, the givers of the no-wrong answers were gifted with a CD from the minstrels. Deserved because of their visible enthusiasm which act
which actually glowed, and infected.
After the lunch break, we were divided according to voices so that the Sopranos, Altos, Tenors, and Basses were in four separate groups. Which made it easier for Palan to point us to where he wanted us to go according to our voice constitution. Such that, in unison, we heeded his bidding to rise to the needs of the solfeggios he suggested. He had so much humor in him that when he detected a desafinado, he brushed it off with a naughty joke that the crowd reacted warmly to. And back he went to his ivory instrument, and harmonizing us, mutually, rewardingly.
Above all, when it was time to wrap up the experience, Basil and Jennie summarized it with an appropriate attribute to the upcoming Liturgical celebration, before they served up to our mesmerized reception the medley of their stepping stones to fame: Singing continues even after the Mass concludes. How apt, I engulfed, because of the foreverness of the Father whence the gift arose.
The bell tolled the commencement of the Holy Celebration. I could not contain my euphoria to sing along with the open-palmed (and -hearted) ministers of music because, long after the strains of the last hymn carry itself in the wind, my heart of hearts will keep praying twice, God being there, always, and until it is time to give His gift back.
Amen.
