Because
of that personal detour in his professional life, Makatigbas could not shake
himself free from the burden of a pointless recollection of his whys and what
ifs. He wanted to break off with a girlfriend in college and a more recent one
he dated twice right after his graduation from the military academy. He thought
that being stationed in a remote area—as remote as Ispratly Island—would be a
convenient excuse to make himself intractable. To his relief, the hierarchy’s decision
to recall him from his Ispratly mission a year later was also an escape from
any responsibility he might have had with Osang, about whom he maintained he
had nothing but friendship with benefits.
As soon as he
found Katleya in the mood to talk, he would—like a doting grandfather—randomly
ask her questions along with small compliments of Father Revo.
Like this one:
“I would say he is
one of those who practice what they preach. In two times that I experienced an
encounter with him—in Ispratly and in Cerrito—I am convinced of his genuine
concern for other people, especially the poor. I saw that he was willing to
risk his own life and limb just to be able to serve them.”
Seeing that
references to Father Revo pleased her, Makatigbas pressed his agenda. After a
few more psychotherapy sessions, he felt confident enough to ask her his big
question.
“How did you and
Father Revo meet?”
She told her the
story the best way she could. At the end of it, it was her turn to ask:
“Do you accept him
as your son-in-law?”
Katleya expected a
yes or no answer; she did not get one or the other. Evasive or not, he replied:
“It is because of him that I have total respect for men of the cloth.”
Back at the
hospital where Father Revo was confined, three visitors knocked on his door
just as Deo was about to leave. The priest was now asleep. Deo stayed a little
longer to chat with the visitors, who brought along with them boxes of fried
chicken, rice, and cola from Jollifoods, apparently intended as a well-wishing present
to Father Revo.
“We are very happy
for you, Mayor Deo,” the trio greeted him.
Of the three, two
appeared to be men and one was a woman. All were about the same age as Deo.
Continued the woman: “We tried to visit you and the late Junie a long time ago,
as soon as we learned that the two of you were working at city hall. But we
felt you might misunderstand it as opportunity seeking.”
Pleased, Deo
nevertheless looked puzzled.
One of the men got
the clue in Deo’s face and said: “We are not as popular as you, so it is
perfectly understandable that you have no idea of who we are. We used to play
together and sell Sampaguita at Plaza Roma when we were street kids, about five
or six years old.”
As soon as Deo
heard this, he blurted out “just as I thought” with laughter, gathering them as
a bundle in his arms. This hushed commotion nevertheless roused Father Revo
from his sleep.
The trio greeted
him in unison: “Sorry we disturb you from your siesta, Father Revo.”
Despite nursing
some abdominal pain, Father Revo cheerfully acknowledged their presence.
“We have brought
something for you!” exclaimed the woman, pointing to cartoon boxes of
Jollifoods atop a table.
“Thank you! How
come you know my favorite food?” Father Revo joked. “Because you know me, I
must also know you.”
The woman was
first to volunteer: “It is good that Mayor Deo is here, because it was the five
of us—God bless Junie’s soul—whom you treated with free lunch at Jollifoods
some 25 years ago. I am Monina.”
“I am Freakie,
Father.”
“And I am Leo. We
used to sell Sampaguita with Mayor Deo and Junie at Plaza Roma. We were also
playmates for one or two years, I think.”
As both Deo and
Father Revo listened intently, the three needed no further prodding to tell
their story.
“Me and Monina, we
are siblings,” Leo said. “Freakie is a cousin. His parents broke up early, so
he has since lived with us.”
Monina continued:
“When we told our
parents about what happened on that day, our tatay
asked nanay if
it was possible for him to volunteer to become an Hijo.
We lived under the bridge and scavenging for scraps was our only livelihood, so
we were untidy and could not present ourselves decently. It was hard for tatay to
apply for membership until Guimo, who eventually became Junie’s stepfather,
offered help.
“As Hijo,
tatay
could only help during morning masses because he and nanay continued
to collect scraps from dump areas in Binondo and Sta. Cruz during the afternoon
and evening, then sold those scraps at junk shops by midnight. He did not get
paid as Hijo,
although a few times we could have free drinks and snacks at the office inside
the church. After a year of serving as Hijo,
tatay got
wind from another Hijo of
an invitation to work as a janitor-cleaner in a nearby maritime school. It
turned out that the owner of the school was a Nazarene devotee himself and he
had bias for members of the Hijo.
Tatay,
along with four other Hijos,
got hired as utility workers and were assigned both inside the campus and
onboard training ships.
“My tatay’s
wage was low, but we were able to buy some clothing. We still lived under the
bridge although our nanay
had more time now to look after us.”
“And I got free
education,” Leo cheerfully butted in.
Monina, obviously
the spokesperson for the three, continued: “Yes, Father, from elementary to
college. In college, he took up maritime engineering and he earned his degree in
three years. Meantime, Freakie and I continued to study in public schools
although getting enough allowance for basic needs was a daily struggle.
“Anyway, back to
my brother—our hero--from the training ships, he learned of job opportunities
that we could hunt for after graduation. He did apply and landed his first job
as an apprentice on a cruise ship in the Caribbean. He got promoted almost
twice a year, and in four years, he became a second mate. Freakie and I also
eventually got hired in the same company largely based on his recommendation.
“Long story short,
Father, we were able to buy our own home in Kabite and got our parents to live
in a healthier environment and a more comfortable life. And we are all indebted
to you for that act of kindness at Jollifoods. That might just be some little
good deed for many, but in the end, it meant the best that we could make of our
lives.”
“When we visit our
parents—which is twice a year--we also make it a point to visit Quiapo Church.
This morning we inquired in the parish office about you, only to hear that you
have been confined in a hospital. That was how we found you here, Father. We
prayed to the Black Nazarene for your good health and cheerful heart.
“Get well soon,
Father,” Freakie, almost in tears, finally found his words.
“Get well soon,
Father,” Leo added.
Deo remembered Gidaben’s story about an act of kindness shown to him by Madis-ogon’s policeman father that influenced his transformation later in life. Gidaben, then a street kid like Deo was when he was young, was hungry and could not buy for himself a string of fish ball, and was surprised by the elder Madis-ogon who bought one for him. That little good deed apparently was not lost on Gidaben when, years later, he decided to risk his own interests to repay Yago through Junie and Katalina with his share of stained money from Madis-ogon.
The following month, January 2015,
Monsignor Discotero Rasonable, the Rector who replaced the now-retired
Monsignor Ubanon, invited Mayor Deo to deliver a talk at the conclusion of the
mass preceding the Traslación.
In his homily,
Manila Archbishop Cocopate Cardinal Calaveria talked about miracles. He said
that while God can perform miracles by himself, he preferred showing them to us
with the participation of human hands. Thus, he needed five loaves of bread to
feed a multitude. He needed buckets of water so he could transform them into
wine. Even in the Old Testament, the Israelites had to paint their doors with
the blood of a sheep to fend off the curse that killed the firstborn males in
all of Egypt.
He added that the
miracle of the Eucharist, which happens every day in the Holy Mass, was like
the blood of the sheep; it shielded us from the curse of the fall of our
parents from God’s grace in the story of creation—the Genesis. But for that
miracle to work, God needed our participation. We must turn away from sin and
do things that please him.
In the past,
rhythmic chants of “Viva! Viva! Viva!” reverberated throughout the Santiago de
Compostela at the end of each celebration of the Holy Mass that preceded the Traslacion.
It was easy to tell why. For as soon as the carriage of the Black Nazarene
started its march, a flood of devotees would rush in its direction. They wanted
to touch the statue, which was almost an impossibility due to a multitude
having the same desire: one effectively blocked the other’s way. Injuries and
accidents happened here as some of them would still manage to hop onto rows
upon rows of somebody else’s shoulder just to get close to the carriage. At any
rate, most devotees would settle for the second-best thing—they tossed their
hankies at the Hijos
manning the carriage who, after rubbing them at any part of the Black
Nazarene’s body or clothing, would toss them back to the crowd.
Anything that kept
the devotees from showing off their fanatical worship was a damper. Thus, when
somebody announced that a speech would follow at the conclusion of the mass, a hushed
echo of disapproval emitted from the throng. But the announcer was obviously
playing to the gallery. He clipped his words in cadence for effect. When he
mentioned that Mayor Deo was in the house, the crowd roared with its rhythmic
chants again.
“Viva! Viva!
Viva!”
Dawn was breaking.
Tentative rays of sunlight flickered from the east. A sea of devotees could be
seen filling the entire open space of the Santiago de Compostela—all of its 58
hectares—and surrounding thoroughfares, frantically waving their white shoals
and handkerchiefs in the air.
“Viva! Viva!
Viva!”
In his speech,
Mayor Deo stayed close to Calaveria’s theme—that is, about everyday miracles.
Below is an
excerpt of Mayor Deo’s speech:
“I practically
lived in the vicinity of Quiapo Church for twenty-two years. I made Plaza Roma
my home for at least ten years, from the time I was five years old until
fifteen. I lived those precious growing-up years with my friend Junie, the one
who should be standing up now before you instead of me. Junie and I went
through the grind, eking out a living from the sale of recovered scraps as well
as from alms, from the kindness of others. Before us, his father himself
scavenged to survive for twenty years in that same place, two years of which
under the bridge near Sta. Cruz—over there (pointing northeastward), just over
two kilometers away from here. It was a habitat shared with flies, ants, and
spiders.
“Many times, I
heard the priests in Quiapo and in Sta. Cruz say that God is good, that he did
not leave anyone hungry, etc.
“I did not believe
them. For how could I believe them if all around me there was hunger?
“But you know as a
kid, even in our wretched conditions, Junie and I had time to play with
spiders… and you know how creepy spiders are, how they scare people away and
get whacked in return. We made pets out of them. There was a time I spent a
couple of hours just watching one of my pets build its web, and I could not
believe how beautiful a spider’s web is if we only allow it to complete its
work, instead of pitting them against each other until one or both of them die
from exhaustion or injuries just like we did when we were kids, or when we
drive them away with brooms or sticks because we think they are unsightly and
fit to be condemned for blighting our surroundings.
“God’s work in our
lives is like that of a spider’s web. We can only appreciate its beauty if we
allow him to complete his work with our cooperation. In this context my life
story can never be dissociated with that of Junie.
“Yago—Junie’s
father—was left for dead when he was eight. Nobody knew how he survived the
next five years of his life. What we know is that he managed to keep not only
both his body and soul together, but he also kept his sanity while experiencing
the lowest ebb of his life. In fact, he managed, in the end, to raise a family
from which a generational leader like Junie emerged.
“And I think the
dramatic part of Junie’s story evolved the way it did because of Nardong
Sablay. The latter was the one who left the eight-year-old Yago on the sidewalk
of a busy street in Caloocan, alone and without any resource to help himself
survive. Of course, Nardong Sablay acted on the orders of his lady boss, and
should be blameless. But he made it a point to make life harder for Yago than
it already was for the kid.
“When Junie
started to attract a following as chair of Sangguniang Kabataan, then as member
of Barangay Council, you can imagine Nardong’s horror (who remained as one of
the trusted hands in Mr. Ty’s Cerrito household) when Joey (who by the way is
now a colonel in the military), brought him to his parents’ house in Cerrito.
On learning from Joey that Junie was Yago’s (a.k.a. Golek) son, Nardong Sablay
(who was already sixty years old at the time), asked Junie, with Joey’s
permission, to hire him as an all-around errand boy.
“‘I wanted to mend
the irreparable damage I inflicted on his father,’ Nardong Sablay pleaded. Joey
acceded because he knew his own mother was also blameworthy for what happened
to Yago.
“I can narrate the
same story about Joey. He was remorseful for what his family did to Yago. To
make amends, he helped Junie achieve what he tried to achieve in life.
“Stories go on and
on. I can also mention with much fondness what happened to Meldie. Being
apologetic for what happened to my mother, she helped Katleya rediscover her
smile.
“The point I am
trying to say is that there is always hope for redemption, regardless of how
compromised one is, if only we allow God to complete his work for us. Who would
have thought that it would take two generations—from Yago to Junie and
myself—for us to see the beauty of a completed masterpiece, like a spider’s
web, which started, in the case of Nardong Sablay, in betrayal that was driven
by envy and hate, but ended in redemption and reconciliation, or in the case of
Gidaben, who had to risk his own life by sharing us his story, or in the case
of wayward cops, whose reformation both surprises and inspires us.
“You would think
that Nardong Sablay, after his role in dumping Junie’s father, would be worthy
of condemnation in the way we swat spiders away from our homes. But he redeemed
himself by asking to be part of Junie's household; in the end, he even tried to
heroically save Junie’s life on that tragic night that we got ambushed in the
campaign trail.
“There are
miracles waiting to happen every day if we only do our part—with hard work,
discipline, and God-centered purpose and dedication--and, as I said, allow him
to complete his work for us. I played and sold Sampaguita flowers at Plaza Roma
with fellow street kids who drew inspiration from acts of kindness shown to
them—those little good deeds—and turned their lives around to become one of our
modern-day heroes, the Overseas Filipino Workers. They struggled for decades,
but they did not give up. In the end, by doing what they could do best in their
daily lives, by grinding it out under limiting circumstances, they succeeded.
They justified God from whose mercy all redemption come.
“Also, let me
share with you something which I don’t think I have ever mentioned in public
speeches before. As a kid, I followed the ants. I watched how they scavenge for
crumbs, and how they bring their food to their colonies which I found to be
hosted by trunks of trees or damaged concrete buildings. One time there was
flood that either submerged or carried heaps of things away—push carts, scraps,
trash, merchandise goods, construction debris, and even cars. There I saw the
ants floating above the water. Whole colonies wrapped themselves up as one like
a ball. Floodwaters rushed toward the river, and the floating colony passed by
the shed where myself and two or three of my friends, soaking wet, were waiting
for the rain to stop.
“The ants looked
like they were tied to each other through their limbs. The ants showed their
commitment to each other, helping themselves to create air space that enabled
the colony to float. Each one helped the other survive the flood that swept
them from their homes.
“From the spiders
that taught me to wait for the completion of God’s creation, to the ants that
taught me how one depended on the other to survive, I come here today with the
message to suggest that there is beauty in an ugly world, that there is love for
one another even if it seems envy and hate everywhere are pulling us down.
“Spiders can help
change our views as individual persons. Ants can help us transform our views as
a community.
“I remember the
first time I experienced the Traslación.
Maybe I was six or seven years old. I saw this boy, maybe even younger than
myself, who was crying because he lost her mother. Then somebody told him to
just stay where he was because his mother would look for him in the last place
where the two of them stayed together. That good little deed of assuring him
was a miracle; he stopped crying and, sure enough, his mother found her way
back to him.
“The message of
‘just staying where you are’ has not left me as I grew older. Staying where you
are, to me, means keeping the faith. As we struggle, God will come back to us,
in the person of somebody who we might not even know. In instances that I cannot
count, I also experienced the Black Nazarene’s miracles in my life. The
miracles came in the form of food when I was dying of hunger, and of mothers—I
had at least five of them—who found their way back to me.
“Katleya, from
whose blood I got mine, came back to me in mysterious ways. She was orphaned by
the whims of war. Most times orphans of violence become violent themselves. But
her path took a different turn. The web of God’s creation has opened
opportunities for us to see where we can best complement the fullness of that
creation. I think that if we are only discerning enough, being at peace with
ourselves, which requires us to seek the grace of forgiveness and humility, we
would be able to understand how God prepares that path for us.
“Staying where you
are means keeping alive the hope that life will turn for the better for as long
as we put in the effort to make a living, with determination and dedication. It
means doing little good deeds for our neighbor. It means helping to put the
smile back in those who need our help. To be of service to others is the last
place—'the communion of saints,’ as we hear the preachers explain in their
homilies and as we pray the Apostles’ Creed—where we need to stay together.
That is where God, I suppose, will come back to us. Cardinal Calaveria has
reminded us of how the Holy Eucharist works for us. It is an assurance that God
will keep coming back to us, fulfilling his promise that he will not leave us
alone.
“The Traslación
is an occasion for the recollection of how our lives have experienced the
outpouring of love from our brothers and sisters. The Black Nazarene performs
his miracles through them. He heals the sick through our doctors and other
medical professionals. He wipes the tears away from our eyes through our
mothers. He brings laughter into our lives through our friends. And he keeps us
humble through our enemies.
“It is just
fitting that we strip ourselves of our sandals or shoes because we are walking
on holy ground. This ground is holy because it supports our bond with God and
his creation. Our bare feet feeling the earth symbolize the acceptance of our
responsibility for each other, including those generations that will come after
us. We need to spare the ground of our trash. We do not need to step on
somebody else’s shoulder just to be able to touch the Nazarene.”
The transformative
power of Deo’s words manifested itself an hour or two later.
While the
estimated number of devotees had increased by more than a million, the Traslación
that year was in many ways different from the previous years. This one was
orderly; only a handful of devotees got injured. There was but few trash and
litters on the streets. The procession was completed in twelve hours instead of
the forty-eight hours that the Traslación
took to complete in the previous year.
A couple of hours
later, Mayor Deo’s cellphone vibrated in his pocket. It was a call from Father
Andoy.
“Father Revo
watched the live coverage of the mass from his hospital bed. He said he felt
proud—”
“Hearing my
speech?” Boy Deo butted in, trying to be cheerful. Even with no one telling
him, Boy Deo could sense where Father Andoy’s news was heading. They both knew
Father Revo’s time was up. Father Andoy only made it less of a suspense for
him.
“Yes… and also for
seeing you wear the Leo Benedicto ring,” Father Andoy replied. “He closed his
eyes right after your speech. An hour or so later, he breathed his last. My
condolences, please.”