The thing
is, people look up to priests.
They like to think that these men in cassocks are their links to God,
and therefore, holy. They believe
priests have “clean hands”. Thus,
when they find out that priests can have soiled hands or feet of clay, or
somehow fail to live up to their expectations, they get disappointed. Not
seeing Christ in the person of the priest, they walk away—their fervor cools
off, they stop coming to church, they convert to other religions. (I know, I know, it all sounds so
unfair and unjust, for priests are human beings, too, but wait—I’m just
mirroring the truth for everyone. Walang personalan, trabaho lang).
This lady I
know—a most congenial person, being in the PR business—tearfully admitted to me
that she used to be a devout Catholic.
Raised a colegiala she
fulfilled her religious obligations as expected of her—until she fell in love
with a married man. Head over
heels in love she said she was “in bliss” with the guy but her conscience
bothered her. For a long time she
inhibited herself from communion because she was aware she was in a state of
grievous sin. The day came when
she felt she had missed communion for too long, and so she desired to receive
Him. Soon.
Resolute and
unswerving, she decided to “return to Jesus”. She hadn’t broken off with Mr. Married Man but she intended
to, soon. She went to confession,
seeking forgiveness and hoping to be strengthened by the priest. Instead, she got bawled out of the
confessional box. “I had barely
begun my confession,” she said, weeping bitter tears, “why did he shout at
me? He said ‘That’s a mortal sin,
get out of here, get out!’ and slammed the window shut. It was so loud everybody heard, I was
sooo embarrassed!” Sobbing, she
left the confessional in shame as “everyone stared at me as if I’m naked”, and
she never went back. Soon she
joined a “born again” community.
“I went ready to give up the man.
I needed guidance and to be led to God’s forgiveness, but instead I
found condemnation. At that moment
I felt God didn’t love me at all.”
“Linda”, an
active parish worker, middle-aged female, witnessed something that
disillusioned her about their “beloved parish priest”. Linda had been a cheerful volunteer,
helping out in so many ways in the parish activities despite the lower class
status. For the priest’s birthday
that year, she had trained a group of women from the parish’s depressed areas
to do a musical number with which to serenade the priest.
At the
appointed time their group got to the church, excited in their costumes,
complete with guitars and tambourines.
Since she had access to the convent she went in while the group sat in
the church, waiting to perform for the birthday boy. The priest, apparently irritated, told her, “I can’t stay,
I’ll be late for a meeting with the bishop. Tell them I’m already out.” With a heavy heart, she did as told;
the group left crestfallen. Linda said, “All those hours practicing went to
nothing. These were poor women, it
was the only gift they could give to Father, but he had no time for it.” But it wasn’t the end. Linda discovered that very afternoon
that “Father didn’t have a meeting with the bishop, he played tennis with his
rich friends. And to think he even
made me tell a lie!”
Now don’t
get angry yet. We’ve only just
begun. There are more stories to
tell. Wait. As Pope Francis likes to say, our God
is a God of surprises. Who knows
what awaits you in the end?
(To be continued)
