Death and taxes

I took the easy way out of Ash Wednesday obligation last week by attending midday Mass at Landmark Makati, only to discover that everyone else had the same idea. Uniformed guards discreetly blocked access to the jam-packed fifth floor chapel, leaving the rest to spill into the houseware section to catch the Mass projected on thoughtfully installed LCD screens. During the long-winded homily, people added to their penitence by standing around comfortable couches, inviting beds and brightly upholstered sofas topped with signs that read: “Thank you for not sitting.”

Caught up in his homily, the presider probably forgot that many of those in attendance were on lunch break and had to return to work by 1 p.m. — impossible given the long lines for communion and the imposition of ashes. The slow singing also extended the Mass beyond 1 p.m. In the past, churches covered all religious images in purple during Lent, and Masses were made somber with the absence of music, the Gloria and Alleluias. All this made you appreciate the light, music, Gloria and triple Alleluias of Easter.

Ash imposed on the forehead is made from the palaspas of last year’s Palm Sunday, sometimes mixed with coconut oil to make it stick. In another time and place, I imposed huge crosses on people’s foreheads with the words: “Turn away from sin and believe in the Gospel.” Those were the same words used on me last Wednesday, relevant in our troubled times. Long ago, the words used were an annual reminder of death: “From dust you came, and to dust you will return.”

Speaking of death, a friend sent a funny story found in the depths of her e-mail inbox, about a woman who checked on her husband’s remains in the funeral parlor and asked that no cost be spared to change his expensive tailored black suit into a blue one. Her wish was complied with to her satisfaction, but she was not charged for it. She asked why and the mortician replied: “You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband’s size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a black suit instead, and she said it made no difference as long as he looked nice. So I just switched the heads.”

This story and Ash Wednesday reminded me of death and the first time I touched a corpse. I was a newly minted monk way down in the pecking order of the monastery, and was one of only three in the community who knew and was authorized to drive. I was instructed to rise at dawn and bring a small group to the funeraria to supervise the delivery of a recently departed monk, whose remains had to be in the cloister before the community rose at 5 a.m. so that, before everyone entered the church for morning prayers, the community would bring the departed thrice round the cloister, clockwise, while chanting hymns and psalms appropriate for a funeral.

It was a lovely tradition, like that of marking the deceased’s spot in the refectory or dining room by placing a cross on his unopened plate at the table. It was my first time to experience all this firsthand.

Everything was all packed in the hearse when we arrived at the funeraria: coffin, red carpet and tacky lights. Since we brought with us the habit the deceased was to wear, everything had to be unloaded, and when the coffin was opened, he was wearing a barong Tagalog! We didn’t ask where that came from, and presuming it was pinched from another dead client, asked that he be changed into monastic garb. At this point, the group of monks, all senior to me, went outside and told me to handle it.

The habit was cut cleanly at the back, the corpse was made to sit up, the barong was removed and the habit was gently put on him. It was my first time to touch a dead person. Then, when I thought all was done, one monk handed me a brown paper bag containing the monk’s dentures! I explained that these should have been installed shortly after death, before rigor mortis had set in. I placed them instead inside the coffin between his feet (no shoes), and we were on our way.

Since Lent usually falls around April, Ash Wednesday reminded me of Benjamin Franklin, who said: “Nothing in this world is certain except death and taxes.” The deadline for income tax returns is April 15.

Comments are welcome at aocampo@ateneo.edu