Catolico Cerrado
Many Are Called But Few Are Chosen
How I tried to become a Catholic priest twice in my life
My father often implied that my devout and religious mother was having a romantic affair with a priest.
My siblings and I took his snipes at our mother in stride. We knew he could not be serious about that accusation. Our mother was a beautiful mix of a pure Spanish father and a Filipino/French mother. She dutifully gave my father 13 boys and girls. ‘Is that not enough evidence of their fondness for one another,’ I always thought.
My mother enjoyed going to the Santa Cruz Church in Manila despite its distance from our house in the metropolis. She liked this church because the Blessed Sacrament was exposed at all times. This exposition was very personal to her. It was as if she truly enjoyed having a real face to face conversation with Jesus while intently looking at the exposed host. My mother had so much to talk to Jesus about. With 13 children to feed, educate, house and everything else a parent had to do for her children.
The other reason she liked this church was that the Blessed Sacrament Fathers had a reputation for being the best confessors in Manila. The confessional lines were very long. Waiting time would go beyond an hour. Nonetheless, people lined-up and patiently waited their turn.
I always asked my mother why she stayed in the confessional box for so long, ‘You are such a good mother to us, what sins are you confessing to the priest’? My mother’s answer struck me like a thunderbolt — “the priests are the embodiment of Christ Victor, so it is just like talking to Christ himself, I enjoy talking to Him a lot. That is why I am there for a long time’.
I started thinking about the priesthood very early in my life because of these constant visits to the church, and my mother was just so eager to answer all the questions I had about it.
Once she knew I was inclined to that possibility, she began encouraging me more and started calling me ‘Padre Victor’. In the house, all my siblings followed suit and called me ‘Padre Victor’ as well.
When you are 10 and your mother and siblings call you Padre Victor, you feel like you are already someone important. I did not resist their calls. I enjoyed them actually. I wished more people would call me the same.
One of the funniest moments during this time was that I went further and commandeered my 2 younger siblings to join me for ‘play mass’ where I would act out the role of a priest celebrating mass and the 2 of them my parishioners.
I had a make shift altar. A make shift chalice. Small pieces of sliced bread. The ‘play-mass’ included communion. There were times I would hear their confessions and ask them to recite the rosary as penance. All in the spirit kiddie fun.
The time came when I was about to graduate from elementary school and a missionary priest talked to our class. We were about 11 and 12 years old then. He told us about the minor seminary and was checking if anyone might be interested. Without hesitation I raised my hand.
The start of a completely different chapter in my young life.
The Missionaries of the Sacred Heart are Dutch priests whose mission is to run parishes and a Catholic communications network in the country (Communication Foundation for Asia).
For the first time in my 12 young years I was away from my huge family and my dearest mother and father. It was not easy. The first 3 months were a ‘I want to go home’ scenarios that the priests had to handle. They were used to this and expected it. The good thing is I was not alone in this drama.
Time allowed us to be able to accept our collective fates and get back to the idea of why we were there in the first place. Our mentors took us out of the seminary compound every other weekend to discover our beautiful surroundings.
We went hiking, mountain climbing, swimming, biking, city walking, museum and zoo adventures. All these helped us focus on our studies, our camaraderie and our spiritual life.
Despite everything the priests did to truly make us feel at home, my heart was not completely there as I always longed for home.
Was I too young to be taken away from my family? Looking back I think that was really the case.
After my first year, I told my Dutch mentors I was not ready to pursue another 3 years in the minor seminary and asked permission to leave. Permission was granted and I bid my fun classmates and the priests goodbye.
A quick end to that first attempt to the priesthood.
I thought I was over and done with the idea of becoming a priest. But that was not the case.
My second attempt to the priesthood.
On my 4th year high school a couple of Dominican seminarians in their white habits and a guitar in tow visited our class. They first engaged us in song and dance. After which the invitation to enter the Dominican Order started. I listened intently to Father Sonny Ramirez O.P. (he was a Brother then) and told myself ‘maybe this time I will be ready to pursue the priesthood as a Dominican’.
After the talk and the usual show of hands, I raised mine.
Start of my second attempt to the priesthood, this time I was 17.
The Dominican postulant house was in a perfect location. Aquinas University in the City of Legazpi was built within viewing range of Mayon Volcano, considered to having the world’s most perfect cone. I was a lucky 17 year old to be in this beautiful place.
Our postulant formation was quite different from my expectations about seminary life.
We did not have exclusive classes for the seminarians. We enrolled with other students, men and women. We were allowed to join their parties and other secular class activities. We mingled with them and became their friends. They knew we were seminarians. It was fun. A totally new and refreshing experience.
One day tragedy knocked at my door.
On the first month of my postulancy I got word that my 64 year old dad just died. I dropped everything I was doing and returned home to pay my last respects. My mother was strong. She took his death with dignity. We siblings took the cue from her.
After the burial, I told my mother it was time for me to return to the seminary. She looked straight into my eyes, hugged me tightly, I could not hold back my emotions and I burst into an uncontrolable teen-age sobbing, hugging her tightly too. She allowed me to cry in her shoulder and after a couple of minutes whispered softly into my ear
‘Vamos estar bien aqui. Padre Vic, vaya con Dios’.
(We will be fine here. Father Victor, go with God)
I walked towards a waiting taxi, continually glancing at her sweet smiling face, with tears still rolling down my face.
The Noviciate
My classmates and I passed our one year postulancy. We were then off to the Sto. Domingo Convent in Manila to start the second phase of our formation, the noviciate. This is where we received the Dominican habit, to wear forever and ever, that is of course if you end up becoming Fr. Victor Alcuaz O.P.
The noviciate is the spiritual formation phase in the road to priesthood. Our lives were more rigid, more structured. Monastic practices were in place from dawn to nightfall.
The only time we could mingle with the public was during our daily afternoon walks around the convent vicinity. I enjoyed the thought that I was privileged to wear the Dominican habit, happy to proclaim to the outside world I was going to become a priest someday.
The end of my quest for the priesthood.
During the entire time I was a novice, my prayer was always for clarity of my intentions. Was I there because I was ‘Padre Vic’ to my mother and my siblings? Was I just trying to save face?
Or was I there because I thought I was one of those few that were called?
Luckily for me, from a very young age I had this special talent to engage God in a conversation and recognize his answers. Only my heart knew when God was opening the doors for me, much less talking to me.
After many conversations with God, and before the end of my noviciate, I decided I was not meant for the priesthood.
I hanged my Dominican habit and bade the religious life goodbye, for good.
My mother and siblings welcomed me home with open arms.
I hugged and kissed her, crying like her little lost boy, whispering in her ear
‘lo siento Madre por haberte decepcionado’ (sorry mother for having disappointed you).
She pushed me back gently, held my chin up, wiped my tears and whispered back
‘tu siempre seras mi Padre Victor’ (you will always be my Father Victor).
St. Matthew said it so succinctly in His gospel 7:7
‘Many are called but few are chosen’.
Ave Maria!
