Chapter 4
“Lola Tala, please grant me your strength today!,” Fr. Nimuel Acebado y Bayani whispered to himself as he walked from the church sanctuary to his office.
He closed the door, sat at his desk, folded his hands and continued his thoughts, “You inspired me to become a priest with your love of Jesus. You prayed for me and made me feel so special when you asked me to bless you as soon as my ordination concluded. Even after you were gone, I felt you with me when I needed reassurance that my vocation was in need, and my calling as a priest was valued by the people I tried to serve. I need your strength and your faith, Lola, as today will challenge me though not in the way I am accustomed to. I ask you to approach Jesus and ask him to grant me the wisdom to deal with his people he has entrusted to my ministry. And I ask you to continue to pray for me. Thank you, Grandmother.”
The priest then stood and began unwrapping the two packages on his desk.
As he was removing a food container from the second bag, a knock sounded on his door.
“Come in,” Fr. Acebado responded.
The door opened and a man walked in wearing a familiar black shirt and white collar. “I was hoping to not find you here when I arrived,” the older priest said. “You promised me that you would not start anything before 9:00 am. I arrived an hour early to attend to any business I could help with prior to the start of your day, to try and relieve some of the stress you must be under, but here you are. What time did you arrive this morning?”
The younger priest smiled weakly. “Good morning, Fr. Sanchez. Thank you for coming in again and for your continued support.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Fr. Sanchez pressed. “What time did you come in this morning?”
Fr. Acebado kept the weak smile on his face and turned back to his packages. “I believe it was a bit after 5:00 am when I arrived.”
“Did you lie to me last evening when you told me you would not start the day today so early, or did you decide to ignore your promise when you woke up this morning,” the older priest asked sharply.
“Father Sanchez, I had no plans to come in so early,” the younger priest said, turning to face his colleague and letting the smile drop from his face. “but when I heard the news this morning, I assumed there would be people arriving early needing support. As I suspected, there were indeed nearly a dozen people waiting outside…”
Fr. Sanchez held up a finger. “Please stop, Nimuel. Think about what you are saying. You must have set an alarm to hear any news so early. Otherwise you would have slept another few hours. Please don’t extend what you know to be falsehoods.”
Fr. Acebado opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again and looked at the floor.
“So many people have come to us for aid, comfort and guidance, Fr. Sanchez,” the younger priest said. “I have never felt this much in need before, and I feel an enormous pressure to be there for them. Though I didn’t set an alarm, I did have my commblock set to alert me if any priority news or messages arrived. Early this morning, “special news” casts began coming in. There was more than just the one object approaching Earth. All of our telescopes and satellites had been so busy tracking the first object that they had failed to notice another two trailing behind the first one. Now alerts are coming in about the other two, each expected to arrive a little over a day after its predecessor. I was sure this would upset people even more.”
“May I sit?” asked Fr. Sanchez.
“My apologies,” Fr. Acebado said. “Yes, please, have a seat” he motioned at the chair in front of his desk.
“Join me, please,” Fr. Sanchez said.
The younger priest took a seat next to him.
“Talk to me, my young friend,” the older priest said. “Tell me about this week and let the stress be released with the words.”
Fr. Acebado took a deep breath, let it out, and began to talk, looking out the window of his office to the brightening day outside.
“Every day since Tuesday, it seems the demands have gotten greater and greater. On Tuesday, people started calling my office and visiting the church, asking if the news about the alien object headed towards Earth was true. I’m not a scientist, so I couldn’t confirm what all of us were hearing, but I told people that if the news came from reliable casters, then there was no reason to doubt it.”
“On Wednesday, daily Mass had thirty people in church. That is six-times larger than even a ‘big’ crowd I would normally have on any given weekday! And I was also asked by a number of people after Mass to hear their confessions. No one comes to me during the week unless a parishioner is near death.”
“On Thursday, the church was nearly filled to capacity, I’m guessing two-hundred people. I had to break the hosts into fourths to have enough to distribute at communion. So I asked Mrs. Sumulong to contact other churches in the area to get more hosts for the next day, since our next shipment of the wafers wasn’t due to arrive until next week. Of the five parishes she contacted, three had already run out as well, and the other two didn’t have extra to spare, as they expected to go through their remaining supply in the next day or two. So I contacted some of the grandmothers in the parish, gave them a recipe, and asked them to bake as much of the bread as they could find ingredients for. I was just unwrapping two packages that arrived early this morning with bread that two of them baked last night.”
“Also on Thursday, I held a three-hour reconciliation event, and even then not everyone was able to confess their sins. So, I sent out the announcement there would be two Masses on Friday, with an evening prayer service, and two times for Reconciliation. That’s when I contacted you, Fr. Sanchez. The people here at Santa Isidore remind me how much they miss you since your retirement five years ago. Again, please accept my unending thank you for helping me hear confessions. I know Fr. DeMarco is disappointed you aren’t at Santo Domingo, but the people here are so happy to have you with us. No matter, you can see for yourself how challenging this is. I expect both Masses today will again overflow with worshipers, and you and I will not be able to keep up with the line of people wanting to say their confession, talk of their fears, ask for special prayers, or simply tell them what God is trying to say to us.”
The older priest, who had been lightly chewing on the end of the temples of his glasses, took out the tip from his mouth and pointed it at his colleague.
“You’ve been a priest for how many years now, Fr. Acebado,” asked Fr. Sanchez.
“Six and one-half years,” Fr. Acebado replied.
“And how many weeks have you had like this one?”, the older priest continued.
After a little thought, the younger priest answered, “The closest was two years ago, after Typhoon Felicia. We had the search and rescue activities for the first three days, and then two weeks of funerals.”
Fr. Sanchez nodded, and proceeded with his line of questions, more like a lawyer than a retired pastor, “And how did you maintain your strength through all that panic, physically exhausting searching, and emotionally draining funeral services and family counseling?”
“I prayed for strength and knew I could push through since my parishioners needed me and I knew I could rest when the demands had passed.”, Fr. Acebado answered earnestly.
The elderly priest smiled a warm, re-affirming, even gentle smile, and paused ever so briefly, before continuing. “I ask you to be patient with me, Father, and allow me to ask two final questions. How long do you intend to remain a priest?”
Fr. Acebado looked startled. “Fr. Sanchez, you know as well as I that the vow I took is a lifetime commitment. And I fully intend to follow through on this commitment,” Fr. Acebado responded sharply, sounding both slightly offended and slightly defensive.
“I was truly hoping that would be your answer,” Fr. Sanchez said approvingly. “I’m also glad that you are able to answer all of these questions with confidence in your response. And now, my last question… How long will it be until these unknown alien objects leave Earth and our lives return to ‘normal’?”
Fr. Acebado was silent. He looked his elder in the eyes for a long time, then stared at the ground for an even longer time, and finally shifted his gaze to the sky, still not answering this last question.
Fr. Sanchez continued, “God willing, you have most of your years ahead of you, Fr. Acebado. You know there are too few priests in the world today. And when times are demanding on people, people will be demanding on priests. The only way for you to fulfill your commitment, your vow to the priesthood for life is to ensure your spirit and your body can handle the demands.”
“I had twelve classmates graduate with me from the seminary,” the older priest continued, “and we kept in touch through communication, retreats and reunions over the years. Of us original thirteen graduates, two left after meeting someone they loved more than the church, another became an alcoholic from the constant stress he felt he was under from expectations he placed on himself to solve every problem brought to him, another quit because he thought people did not deserve to be saved due to all of the evil he felt they brought into the world, and a fifth became so bitter that the Bishop told him he could not be an effective pastor and had him re-assigned to administrative duties at the Diocesan offices, where he remained for 15 years, barely speaking a word to anyone.”
Fr. Acebado listened, a look of sad realization appearing on his face.
The retired priest continued. “You are correct when you say you have a duty to your parishioners, and their need is perhaps greater than it has ever been before. If you are to fulfill that duty – – – and your vows – – – you must allow time for you to rest, to pray, and to strengthen yourself for your continued service to others and to God. Only He knows how long this current test will last.”
“You are the Pastor of this parish, and therefore you make the decisions. I ask you to consider this advice from an old, retired priest. Take a break this afternoon. Go somewhere you can rest and sleep for a few hours. Then come back for the evening reconciliation service and Mass. Your parishioners will appreciate the improved outlook you will have.”
Fr. Sanchez pushed himself up from his chair. “I have lectured enough, Father. I will go into the bridal preparation room and begin hearing confessions. I hope we can have lunch after you are done with Mass and your own interactions with the faithful.”
Fr. Acebado also stood up. “Thank you, Fr. Sanchez. I appreciate your advice. It is always welcome. And I’ll see you at lunch!”
Seven hours later, he found himself outside the office. He had been non-stop since his conversation with Fr. Sanchez, had skipped lunch and not even take much to drink. He was presently in conversation with the owner of the land adjacent to the parish grounds. The landowner was complaining of people walking through his cane field on their way to and from church, and describing the plants the believers were trampling. Without warning, Fr. Acebado’s legs buckled beneath him and he had to quickly catch himself to prevent falling on his back.
Ms. Sumulong, who was watching through the office window, came running out.
“Fr. Acebado! Are you OK?” she called out.
“I’m fine, Corazon, I’m fine,” the priest said as he sat on the ground.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Jose, for yelling at this poor man!” the parish secretary said to the other man. “Help me get him up and inside where he can rest.”
The neighbor looked concerned, leaned over and put his hands under the priest’s armpits, and nearly jerked him straight up as he ‘helped’ him to a standing position. Jose and Corazon escorted the Fr. Sanchez into the church building.
“My apologies, Fr. Sanchez,” the neighbor said after they helped the priest into a chair in the hall outside of the parish office. “I did not intend to cause so much stress. It’s just that I have enough problems with the pests eating my crops that I don’t need added damage from people.”
“No, Mr. Malvar, it is not you that is causing me issues,” Fr. Sanchez said. “I’ve not eaten anything lately and I’m afraid I must be getting light-headed.”
“You certainly can blame Jose, Father,” Mrs. Sumulong said as she came out of her office carrying a bottle of water. “He is being rude and selfish. But you haven’t eaten – or taken anything to drink, so I think that is contributing to the issue. Here, drink this.” she finished, passing him the water while she glared at the neighbor.
“Please Mrs. Sumulong, I do not fault Mr. Malvar,” Fr. Acebado said. “He has a right to his livelihood and others should be considerate of his property.”
“You look pale, Father,” Jose noticed. “You should rest for a minute. We can discuss this some other time.”
Fr. Acebado took a quick drink and then tried to stand up and hand the water bottle back to the church secretary. “I think I’ll be fine, so let’s…”
“You need to finish drinking all of the water,” Corazon said, pushing the bottle back into the priest’s hands, causing him to sit again. “And remember what you told Fr. Sanchez that you would take a break this afternoon.”
“I don’t think I told Fr. Sanchez that I would take a …” the priest started again.
“Oh, my goodness, Father!” Mrs. Sumulong interrupted. “You nearly collapsed just now! And Sergio and Gloria Quezon have told you they have their guest cottage ready for you and have a meal ready. It is 3:00 pm and there is plenty of time before evening events begin.”
“I would be happy to order a transpod for you, Father,” neighbor Jose added.
Fr. Acebado paused.
Originally he had politely refused the offer from the Quezons, since he saw all of the people that wanted his time or his services.
But the memory of the talk with Fr. Sanchez, and his near collapse from lack of food and water made him realize he needed a brief rest.
Ten minutes later a transpod pulled up outside the church, the priest climbed in, and off it sped to take him to a quiet spot for a very late lunch and some rest in a small house at the back of a farm five kilometers out of town. The couple that owned the farm had prepared for him a “comfort food” meal of adobo and laing, which he ate with gusto once he realized just how hungry he was.
After he finished the meal, Fr. Acebado set the alarm on his commblock for one hour ahead and found a hammock to relax in. He closed his eyes and thought about his grandmother. Lola Tala was the reason he became a priest. Well, perhaps that was putting too much focus on her, but she certainly had a big influence on the decision. She loved everything about being a Roman Catholic and prayed daily from the time he was ten-years old that he would hear God’s calling and take the vows of Holy Orders. He felt he inherited her love for the Church, for the Sacraments, for the people of God, and of course for God, for Mother Mary, and all the Saints who provided guidance and example. And he couldn’t imagine not becoming a priest, thinking of the pain it would have caused his grandmother and the shame he would have felt every time he would have to face her if he had taken a different path in life.
“Let’s be honest,” he thought as he slid into a more comfortable position in the hammock and into a more relaxed frame of mind. “I have thought about not being a priest a few times, especially in the past two years, when my aging congregation keeps shrinking in membership, when the popular culture continues to question the value of any organized religion, especially one as old and ‘rigid’ as the Catholic Church, and when I have no close friends nearby to reinforce my choice during difficult times.”
“But this week, everything changed,” he thought. “This week, Fr. Nimuel Acebado y Bayani was being sought out by people who had previously ignored me, I am being asked to explain the universe and people’s place in it, I am being told that my work and the Sacraments I share are more valuable than any amount of money, gold or technology anyone could offer.”
He smiled, his eyes now fully closed, and then furrowed his brow slightly and then the wrinkles on his forehead disappeared, “Lord, forgive me for my pride… but, if you would permit, allow me to enjoy this feeling a little longer. It also gives me that extra strength to carry on Your mission,” he thought as he eased into a peaceful nap.