Lobster, seafood and paella in
the seminary during Lent? Nobody
laughed but I suspected the priest was just joking to stress his point about
hope. But whether or not he was joking, his account reminded me of what I had
heard much earlier from an archbishop—that as seminarians they invariably had
for breakfast rice, half a hardboiled egg, a banana, and coffee. The older priest (actually an
archbishop) said he was later on grateful for that frugal morning meal because
he realized it was meant to inculcate in them the value of self-mortification,
which, as faithful Christians can attest to, spawns virtues such as temperance,
gratitude, contentment, self-control, and others much needed by priests in
their ministry. Now, if this
priest wasn’t joking this morning, his recollection certainly reveals a wide
gap between the seminary diet of his days and that of the archbishop’s.
The priest went on to say there are many things to fast from, not just
food; fasting is saying “no” to yourself, “having less of the things you
enjoy, like if you’re fond of movies, see fewer movies during Lent; if you’re
fond of clothes, be less concerned with what to wear. If you like soft drinks with your meal or cigarettes after,
you may also try to cut down on them.
If it’s gossip you enjoy, then you try to refrain from idle talk… ” We fast—he continued—because essentially
it is a kind of emptying in order to make more room for the Lord in ourselves.
What a beautiful and strong image that presented—“more room for the Lord
in ourselves.” But again, his
words “gossip” and “idle talk” led me in a flash to ask inwardly, “Are jokes
idle talk?” It was a thought that
would revive itself as I walked home after the Mass.
If jokes are indeed idle talk, then perhaps certain priests can refrain
from cracking jokes in their homilies during Lent? Or at least be selective about them—in order to make “more
room for the Lord” in themselves.
I do agree that humor is an effective tool to keep most people tuned in
to the homily, but certain limits should be set, otherwise, they become
counterproductive.
There’s this one particular homily I heard where the priest was speaking
about vices. He seemed to be doing
all right until his talk slid into a pathetic defense of his own weakness:
smoking. And it climaxed in an
unforgettable line: “Huwag naman kayong
masyadong mahigpit sa aming mga pari; wala na ngang asawa, wala pang
sigarilyo!” (Please don’t be
too strict with us priests; it’s bad enough that we have no wives, why deprive
us of cigarettes, too?)
I’m no Little Miss Goody Two-shoes; I laugh over off color jokes, too,
on occasion, or even crack some naughty ones myself, depending on the
audience. But with all due respect,
ladies and gentlemen, let me say that the priest’s “unforgettable line” in that
homily for me somehow reflected poor taste and a flawed formation. I was sorry for the people he
disappointed, those who laughed outwardly but secretly mocked him, and those
whose bad habits he justified by that thoughtless statement issued from a
pulpit. He probably was not aware
either that what he had meant as a funny remark would lead impressionable minds
to doubt the validity of priestly celibacy.
I wish (and pray) that priests would be more concerned about the effect
of their words on the faithful; that more priests would realize how much the
laity count on their homilies to find meaning in this weird wild world. Most people only get to hear about the
Word of God during that one hour every Sunday, and they really hope that what
the priest says will enrich their lives somehow. Priests deprive the people of opportunities to grow in
spirit if the humor in their sermons smack of noonday television shows.
Going back to hope and fasting—allow me to address myself to priests who
have difficulty weaning themselves from cigarettes: Smoking is dangerous to
your parishioners’ health, so I hope and pray for the grace to help you fast
from cigarettes, not only for Lent, but forever. I love you!
(Smile!) And that’s the truth.
