Father, Sister, Deacon, Deaconess

It is one of the little ironies of my life.

I was brought up catolico cerrado, and studied in a girls school run by stern Dominican nuns.
We prayed the rosary every night in my grandparents house, did not eat meat on Fridays and
went to mass on Sundays and holy days. I could pray in English, Latin and Spanish and join nuns
in chanting Salve Regina. Then when I was 16 I lost my faith and still havent found it, but then
Im not looking. Yet I have fond memories of father, sister, pastor, deacon and deaconess.

Fr. Benetius Eberink, superior of Carmelite congregation. A really sweet and gentle priest who
was aghast at the conditions of workers and other poor Filipinos. He wept when Ka Berong of
Gelmart and other leaders would describe conditions inside their factories. Labor leaders and
organizers made the Carmelite convent at Looban St. their home away from home. Visitors
were often startled to find us sleeping on the sofas or benches, drinking beer, taking badly
needed showers, and eating sandwiches of ham, butter and cheese (daily fare to the Dutch
priests but a noche buena for us). Later the Carmelites instituted simple living, so the ham,
cheese butter, ice cream and dark bread were replaced by rice and ulam cooked by manang the
housekeeper. The beer stayed.

Father Alessi, superior of the PIME congregation. One day he wiggled a finger at me to come
closer. Then he laughed and said: I know who you are. Turned out their congregations
physician was my father who would tell them stories about his disobedient daughter. Those
priests were probably the funniest, most down-to-earth, bravest priests I met and they really
loved this country. I guess it came from being Italian, mamma mia. Fr. Jeremiah was the quick
thinking priest who held on to a Metrocom bus door to force the police to let him escort the
arrested La Tondena workers to the military camp, along with Srs. Pilar and Noemi.