Rev. Fr. Loyola Diraviam

by Abraham de la Torre

IT WAS HIS first time ever to celebrate Mass in the Holy Spirit Parish. Before that Sunday’s 6 pm celebration, Fr. Loyola was presiding at another Mass in San Lorenzo Parish (in Quirino, Novaliches) while Kuya Boni and Ate Analyn waited in the wings for him to finish so they can transport him to his next assignment. Kuya Jess, the HSP’s sacristan, obtained his agreement on short notice with the mutual understanding that his earlier commitment might stall the next.

All the (female and male) lay ministers for that service were apprised by Kuya Jess of the situation briefly explaining the odd circumstances that seemed to contribute to the dilemma. They chilled and patiently filled the cool office air with light talk. For her part, to ignore the waiting time and support the frantic efforts of the sacristan and his fellow staff, commentator Ate Pat (Tamase) slowed down the praying of the Liturgy of the Hours. Ever efficient, Kuya Jess texted every now and then to monitor the movement of the escort. A MOW member echoed the restive sentiment of the congregation, some of whom could no longer put up with the delay and left. One male parishioner came to the sacristy and asked how long will they have to wait. Kuya Jess assured him that the priest borne by the fetchers was entering Don Antonio already. One lay minister suggested to say the opening prayer to salvage what little “wasted” time was left. When the presider arrived, he was briefly told of the measure effected, which he understood and, therefore, hastened the dutiful donning of his vestments.

He was obviously foreign-looking, an Indian national up close, but his command of written  Tagalog could fool the most critical cynic. He prefaced the Mass with an apologetic note. He did it again at the ambo without sounding profuse, only plainly sincere.

It was the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord. Fr. Loyola, a half hour tardy as it were, was punctual with his homily. Directly, he got to the point where God is exalted because of his great goodness and generosity. But where, he asked, does that exaltation take us? We do not even return the goodness as we go our self-centered ways. So much for generosity.

Jesus, from the Word, cradled in birth by a trough in a cave inhabited by animals, became flesh. To be like us, to learn what it was to be man, and full of sin. And, sinless, because we seemed to take pride in having not only everything but also the only thing Jesus never had, He prepared the way to rid us of it.

John baptized the believers according to the prophecy. Jesus, the GodMan, stood in line, and waited His turn, along with all the rest, to be cleaned and cleansed. Of our sins and sinfulness. Up till His passion and death. John baptized his Cousin, with the full realization that he is not worthy of even untying His sandals.

Here, Fr. Loyola’s point in waiting assumed an Advent analogy. Not because Fr. Loyola wanted to justify his tardiness (twice apologized for and deeply, openly expressed) because waiting in itself is praying, he explained. It is meditation in silence. Reflection against impatience. Contemplation in preparation for sudden changes or unexpected failures in plans. Easy acceptance of things that happen without warning. Thanksgiving that it could have been worse and it wasn’t even a bad thing.

He alluded to the waiting that Jesus did in Gethsemane. That Mary did on the road to Calvary. That He suffered between the two thieves. That she sustained silently at the foot of the Cross.

Would not we stay our impatience by holding on to something less bothersome and more beneficial to the mind and preventive of adverse effects fretting imparts to those trying to keep their church composure. Not that I mind those whose knee-jerk tendency is to whine but, as long as they are in the house of God, might they want to consider which decorum to choose? Instead of rising from the pew and monitoring on the priest’s progress. As though that would speed up the process. Or appease the slowly agitating nerves of the growing unrest. It is all too easy to find fault – all one has to do is look for it. Like, fanning the flame of restlessness really pacify people and keep them in. Not drive them out. I wondered what moral authority that makes and where from.

Fr. Loyola’s tardy – yet timely – homily made me reconsider my past insensitivity to awkward situations that I was always quick to condemn as somebody’s fault, never mine. He made me realize that, indeed, waiting in patience silences the anxious heart or preoccupied mind. And, yes, one has to only close one’s eyes, bow down in prayer, listen with heart, and all the distractions, disturbances and vexations melt in the silence of a soul whose sole focus is God.