Memories of a Smile
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| Fr. Marcelino Biliran |
It was an unusually cloudy summer
morning in April 2013 when I first set foot in Bilar together with Sem. Alfred
Arcaya for the beginning of our summer apostolate. Being fresh from pre-college
and still adjusting from a semi-contemplative way of life to a more active one,
I was a bit anxious since it would be the first time I would be exposed to actual
diocesan parish life. Aside from that, I was bringing with me heavy emotional
baggage of our family’s problems. I was then silently resentful to the
Apostolate Commissioner of our seminarians’ association for having not seriously
considered my situation—how I needed to be near my family at a time of crisis.
It was with much trepidation that I set foot in San Isidro Parish of Bilar,
still quite unsure what was going to happen to me there. Unbeknownst to me, my
stay in Bilar was just what the doctor ordered for me to heal and move on. The
“treatment” so to speak came in the person of Fr. Marcelino Biliran.
The moment Fr. Mar greeted us
with such a warm smile and embrace, Alfred and I felt immediately at home. His
accompanying clerics namely Fr. Carmelo ‘Miloy’ Tandugon, Jr. and then Reverend
(now, Father) Noel ‘Awi’ Varquez made it all the more a lively convent to live
in. Together with the parish office personnel and workers, the Bilar parish
convent was a homey and happy place to be in.
Since Alfred was the youngest
in that ‘convent family’, he was often the target of Fr. Mar’s jokes. It was
always fun to hear Fr. Mar calling out, “Alfreeeeeeeddd! Alfreeeeddd?! Where’s
my water?” and his iconic, “Fafa Alfred!” Meal time was always a time to talk
with each other and laugh. There was never a dull moment when everyone was
around at the table. The parish office employees and even parishioners where
always welcome there to dine with us.
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| Alfred, preparing Fr. Mar's special breakfast concoction. |
Fr. Mar treated us like his
very own sons. There was really no need for us to buy personal necessities
since everything was provided. All that we needed to do was focus on our
assigned tasks at hand. There was a time when the convent mayor domo went AWOL that we had to temporarily take on the job as
cooks and church bell ringers. Alfred had to learn the science of preparing breakfast
while I had to learn how not to ring the
church bells like there was a funeral.
During our stay there, we were
quite busy going to far-flung chapels to celebrate “caravan” Masses and give
short catechisms in preparation for the feast of St. Isidore the Farmer, patron
saint of the said parish. We were given the chance to preach and interact with
the people. Not only that, Fr. Mar and Fr. Miloy also took charge of the
quasi-parish of St. Isidore in Canhayupon, Dimiao, a barangay farther up into
the boondocks which at that time had no parish priest. Our schedule was indeed
hectic but Fr. Mar always found time for all of us to bond with each other.
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| Chilling out at the Duwangon Spring with Fr. Mar, fellow seminarians and Bilar Parish staff. |
On Tuesdays, we would all go
to the spring in Duwangon to have a swim. It was a nifty place to cool down and
since it was a weekday, it was rarely crowded. There we ate, drank and became
merry—just the kind of little break we all needed to recharge ourselves.
We also got to meet his loving
and extended family when they visited him and helped him out during the feast
day in Bilar. It was so clear and obvious how he loved his family and how they
all loved him back. He was very solicitous over his nephews and nieces and they
all loved him back dearly. His brothers and sisters, and even cousins like
Ma’am Esther Dano and her daughter, Ma’am Jade Bautista clearly loved him as
much as he loved them back. Not only that, even the parish workers admired him
much for his generosity and kindness.
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| Laughing and celebrating during the feast at Canhayupon together with fellow seminarians and the Bilar Parish Office Staff. |
One time, as we were going
back to Bilar after the luncheon feast at Canhayupon, Fr. Mar told me to ride
in his car (Rav 4) with him. I was supposed to ride with Fr. Miloy, Fr. Awi and
the other Bilar parish workers in the Strada. I even volunteered to ride at the
back in the open air. I was feeling a bit adventurous since I had drunk some
wine. But Fr. Mar insisted that I should be with him. I reluctantly obeyed.
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| The Strada which endured the accident. I would've ridden at the back and probably met my untimely demise if I had not obeyed Fr. Mar to stay with him in his car. |
The Strada left first and we
followed suit. A few minutes later, we were totally alarmed when we came at a
sharp turn, we found the parish staff waving at us in tears while the Strada
was already turned upside down on the field. The Strada had crashed and they
were all turned upside down. Thankfully, they were all able to crawl out and no
one was gravely harmed except for some minor injuries and cuts. I was then told
that if I had gone with them and ridden at the back, I would’ve been thrown off
and that would’ve been the end of me. I was truly shaken. I could only say to
myself, “the wisdom of Obedience!” Until this day, I still thank God that I had
obeyed Fr. Mar who was clearly guided by God.
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| Just goofing out at the Shiphaus in Batuan. |
After almost two months in
Bilar, we left the parish not empty handed. Fr. Mar gave us new clothes, a
hefty ‘separation pay’ as they dub it and even a promise to support us in our
studies at the seminary if ever we needed financial support. He promised also
to take care of our rice contribution every semester.
Even after our stay in Bilar,
he would visit us at the seminary and bring food for all of us seminarians who
were once assigned to him. Tuesday evenings were almost always a feast for us
since Fr. Mar would visit (or sometimes just send his driver) and leave us with
lechon manok and 1.5 litre bottles of
soft drinks to add to our dinner.
We showed back our gratitude
by visiting him on occasion. We were always welcome to visit him in Bilar and
consequently in Loboc in his new parish. We were always assured of a good bed
and even sometimes a pambaon or two
before we would leave. Each time we would leave, we could really feel how he
would miss us, how the convent would be lonely again without his noisy and
raucous seminarians.
But none of us expected what
would happen this year…
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| Our despidida party at Badiang Spring, Valencia. |
Since I was already in Manila
studying theology at UST and with our rather queer schedule, I could no longer
make it to attend the annual feast at Bilar and Canhayupon during the 15th
and 17th of May respectively. But I was still glad that I could at
least try and make it up and visit him during the feast in his hometown in
Quinogitan (May 28-29) and at his new parish in downtown Loboc, June 29. Unfortunately,
I was unable to visit him in Quinogitan since during that day my mother was
rushed to the hospital because she broke her wrist. I was then invited by newly
ordained, Fr. Christopher Lapez to attend his thanksgiving Mass also at
Quinogitan where surely Fr. Mar would be coming. But I declined because I knew
there would be other seminarians who could assist in serving the Mass. I also
just wanted to rest so that I could have a lesser ‘travel stress’ since in the
afternoon, I would be reporting back to Hanopol, Balilihan where I was then assigned
for my summer apostolate.
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| Visiting Fr. Mar a year after our exposure in Bilar. |
At the back of my mind,
something was telling me that I had to go and that I had to meet Fr. Mar. But I
shrugged it off and told myself that I would surely be meeting him again in
Loboc during the feast day. Like old times, I would be going there with my
partner, Alfred.
Then the news came in on the
evening of the 27th of June. Nothing prepared me for what was to
come. I was shocked and I could not believe that he would lose his life in such
a manner. I refused to believe that he had committed suicide. It did not make
sense at all. I could hardly sleep that night.
In the morning, my partner, Alfred
and I visited Fr. Mar again but it was no longer at the convent in Bilar or
Loboc. It was already in the viewing area of St. Peter Chapels where his body
lay in a white coffin, lifeless and unmoving. Even as I write this, the memory
of that surreal encounter brings tears to my eyes.
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| A poignant moment: Fr. Mar reprimanding a lazy Alfred to put on his sotana during Mass. |
I still cannot believe the
fact that I will never meet him the same way we used to. Feelings of regret
washed over me, why I hadn’t given much effort to see him the previous weeks
but I still I knew that there was nothing I could have done. We were made to
believe that he had actually committed suicide but I knew deep inside that that
was farther from the truth. I was appalled at how the media feasted upon his death,
like he was some kind of thing to be easily derided at. I was simply horrified
at how unprofessional the journalists in this province were in reporting his
death, even posting an edited but nonetheless clear and obvious picture of the scene
of his death on Facebook!
When the results of his
autopsy came out and Bishop Leonardo Medroso made it official, we were all
simply justified. We knew he would never be capable of killing himself. Despite
the fact that he was sick and enduring colon cancer, he was too loving a person and he was loved too much—it was simply
impossible that he would sink into the pits of despair and kill himself.
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| Fr. Mar, Alfred and Lloyd |
The day of his funeral was a
testimony to how much he was dearly loved. So many people came to the funeral
mass, including those who were simply nosing about. Many still followed him to
his final resting place at the Necropolis, the cemetery of diocesan priests. He
had loved much and touched many lives. We were all there to be with him, to
bear witness that one priestly life was capable of touching so many people and
bringing them to Christ.
We still cannot fathom how a
murderer would have the gall to get rid of him and make it appear like a suicide
and besmirch his name. We believe in God’s mercy. But we also believe in God’s
justice. Whoever has taken away the life of Fr. Mar will carry the weight of
his/her evil deed wherever s/he will go – that s/he has killed someone who has
been truly an instrument of God’s love in this world. We remained pained by his
death but we know that he is now standing before God who has called him to be a
priest even before he was born. He is now smiling, the way he always did and is
now embraced in the loving arms of the Father.
We choose to remember him as
the priest who smiled, laughed, hugged, teased and loved. We choose to remember
him as a father to us all; a conscientious brother, uncle and cousin to his
family; a true and helpful friend to the poor, a pastor after the Heart of
Christ to all his sheep. His death will never define his life. We who lived to
have been touched by him will witness to his kindness and generosity.
We choose to remember him for
his love. We choose to remember him for his smile.
Fr. Mar, Trumpa, Me and Ate Rolet
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| A last pose for our last day in Bilar, May 2013. |
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