It was an unusual funeral Mass for me.

I was not the one who presided over the liturgy. I did not deliver the homily. Instead, I gave the thank-you speech after the Mass.

Normally, it is a family member who would do so. But I was not a member of the family. That made it unusual. And perhaps, quite special.

Father Efren’s older sister died. He could not make it to the funeral, so he asked me to substitute for him. You could not really say no to a grieving person. You would be the greatest liar if you say “Nakikiramay” or “Narito lang kami,” yet do not oblige a request. Somehow, I was kind of emotionally blackmailed, but for a good cause.

Of course, I asked Father Efren, “Anong gusto mong sabihin ko?” His reply caught me even more flat-footed. “Hay, alam mo na rin siguro nilalaman ng puso ko; when words are not enough to express what the heart feels, tears will suffice.” Seriously, which is easier? To say words or to shed tears in public?

But tears might indeed come easier if you know how difficult the situation of Father Efren is. Other than the fact that he is assigned to an island parish, the pandemic has also taken its toll.

He called me up to minister the last Sacrament to his dying ate. It is worth a tear realizing he has been attending to sick people in his parish, but was unable to do so for his own next of kin. He was there for others, but was not around for family. This was his text to me: “Pray for my emotional and spiritual healing. Devastated talaga ako. I lost a very good, kind and loving sister. She’s the one closest to me. Salamat uli.”

Pushing his luck

Because of lockdown, other family members were also not able to make it to the funeral. What was conspicuous was that their mother, Nanay Pacing, was not around, either. At 90, she was banned from large gatherings. Pati ang puso ay para na rin na lockdown; you could not be around. When an embrace was needed the most, you had to keep your distance.

Father Efren also tried to push his luck to come home in time for the funeral, despite the tedious travel protocols. But Lady Luck did not bother to smile at him. Weather became bad and uncooperative, such that it was not safe for seacraft to sail. Up to the last minute, I was hoping that Father Efren could make it to say the last Mass for his Ate Meanne. I even thought he was just out to make a surprise appearance, but to no avail.

After all was said and done, no Father Efren was in sight. He is supposed to be a brother to his sister. He is also a Father to his Ate Meanne. Pero, ganoon, eh.

I think I was able to accomplish what he asked me to do—to say words of gratitude. And yes, I shed tears, too. Everybody else in the church turned emotional.

I checked on Father Efren the day after the funeral. “Salamat sa inyong lahat sa pagsalo sa akin,” he texted. “I saw another mystery of our ministry as shepherds. There are times when you have to leave behind those closest and dearest to your heart because the Lord will look after them.”

This should echo in our hearts: “The Lord will look after them… the Lord will look after them.”

And so be it. Fides et fortitudo. Faith and courage. —CONTRIBUTED