This one’s for you, Father Ariel

For the last dozen years of four seamless decades of teaching (except for breaks when my student described me as “always pregnant”), I taught at San Carlos Seminary and Rogationist Seminary.

Over 500 seminarians sat through Introduction to Literature and Philippine Literature. The Rogationists accommodated a sprinkling of Sons of Holy Mary Immaculate, Franciscan Conventuals, Conceptionists (oh, my!) and Stigmatins.

I felt I never taught the basics of literature so well, and never felt so proudly Filipino about our literature. Already in my mid-60s, the time to retire was approaching. Which would I give up—San Carlos or the Rogationists? No, I wouldn’t give up any.

One day, I squinted in class which seemed to “move.” I ignored it. The next day there was no mistaking it; the class was “moving” and I was seeing double. The Lord must have said. “I’ll make up your mind for you. It’s time to stop. You’re enjoying it too much!”—which I was. Followed an eight-month episode of diplopia (duleng in plain talk). Here I was, a teacher-writer-editor who needed her eyes, and those were exactly what the microbes went for!

Let me tell you about the seminarians.

What natural actors they were! Dramatizing selected portions of Nick Joaquin’s “Portrait of the Artist as Filipino,” Marcelino Agana’s “New Yorker In Tondo,” Wilfrido Guerrero’s “Forever,” Amelia Bonifacio’s “Sepang Loca,” Wilfredo Nolledo’s “Turn Red the Sea”; they yelled, grieved, laughed. With surprising ease they “entered” into any character. I think they enjoyed it immensely. So did I.

The post-play discussion revealed understanding and immediacy because they had seen, listened and empathized; hopefully creating a facility of getting to grips with concrete cases on the ground that play out priestly platitudes that usually pass over people’s heads.

We sang Beatles-type poems on tapes, ran “Zhivago” and “To Kill a Mockingbird” on Betamax. We had no CDs, no DVDs, no PowerPoint. It was mostly boardwork or cartolina.

My feelings for them? An affectionate mother complex hovered over my teaching and my treatment of them. Our children were leaving the nest; my former students were now peers. Here was a big, young batch.

The generation of “my” seminarians was, I think, children of the spirit of Vatican II with high hopes for the change it promised. I am very curious about how they feel now: hopes still high, or dashed, or indifferent? What’s their outlook for VAT II after 45 years or for PCP II (Plenary Council of the Philippines) after 20?

This leads me to something I wish I had done. I wish I had given 15-20 minutes of “asking time.” I am sure some wanted to add to what I said or to disagree or clarify. Free-wheeling time could have encouraged them to express themselves and enlighten their teacher.

I also wish I handled an Oral Communication course, not hoary debates, speeches and Robert’s Rules of Order, but “informal” discussion strategies like: brainstorming, circle response, talk-back, reaction panels, etc. for which they themselves must pick the topics. In a class of nuns-to-be from provinces, surprising were the top three topics they chose: population control, vocation crisis, poverty, in that order. But I had to pry them open with my opening prayer: “Holy Spirit, open up my thoughts and my feelings. Help me release them without shyness and without fear. Make me realize that all this talk of reaching out to others cannot be accomplished without learning to listen and to talk.”

Of course I have dreams for my seminarians. They are in position now: rector, superior, dean, formator, spiritual or vocation director, provincial, professor and the “untitled” bedrock of missionaries and parish priests— poised, I hope to give a shot in the arm to our somewhat ailing and aging Church. Can they steal some precious time to read about the exciting developments in theology besides “official” news and views well covered by the Church’s institutional papers?

Young priests draw me like magnets. I am one tiresome nag telling them that they are the future of the Church. What a letdown when one said, “By the time we have authority and power, we’re old and tired.”

Their hearts are in the right place. I have always been amazed and shamed by the dedication and zeal of missionaries and young priests, many of whom will serve till they drop. Gems do escape their lips and pens. Wrote one, “I promised myself one thing… to remain as far away… from the trappings of power, wealth, prestige and honor that so profoundly characterize many, even in the Church.” Said another, “When the ‘vow’ of poverty goes, everything goes.”

I salute them. There is promise of new wine.

Asuncion David Maramba is a retired professor, book editor and occasional journalist. Comments to [email protected]; fax 8284454.