A Budding Servant of God

Fr. Anthony Capirayan, SSP

What has been part of your life? - There was neither blinding light, nor a voice from heaven that incited me to serve in our parish church. It was just out of sheer curiosity and an ounce of peer pressure that I jumped onto the bandwagon of Altar Servers when I was a freshman in a parochial school. My curiosity then morphed into an “infatuation.” I realized that I even spent much of my time at our rectory than in our home.

There I also met Fr. John, our Assistant Parish Priest, who became my mentor and friend. I tagged along with him in almost all his sacramental services—weddings, burials, house blessings, and God knows what. Riding in an old-age parish car, we braved the rough roads and muddy slopes to reach the barangays in the boondocks of Leon, Iloilo. At times, we had to travel on foot lugging a mass kit and some trail food. I did not mind having my sandals caked in the mud, my bones being soaked in the rain, or my skin being toasted under the cruel sun; I was so fired up with great fervor in my little ministry as well as so psyched about the food that the people served after the mass. I should say, Fr. John sowed the first seed of vocation in me. With his simple lifestyle, his humor, and his messianic zeal in doing in ministry, he showed me the person I could become.

Dipping My Toes in Arts - Fr. John had the heart of an artist. Whenever he was not neck-deep in his work, he would teach me how to sketch and do calligraphic letterings. He also had a penchant for writing that eventually enthused him to put up the parish publication Rueda ni Sta. Catalina. Some friends and I, juvenile as we were in writing and much less illiterate in computer, had a special task. Whenever there were quite conspicuous typographical errors on the issue, we were to print the right sentence or word on paper, cut them to a fitting size, and glued them on to cover the blunders. We were dubbed as the “Tapal Boys” and darn, how proud we were! On Sundays, we would set a table by the entrance of the church with the newly pressed copies of Rueda on it and coyly muttered to the parishioners to get their copy and give some donation. The publication thrived in no time with the number of subscribers shooting up. However, after two years some pioneer members of the publication started to leave and pursued their careers.

Though still fumbling with the whole creative process of doing the newsletter, we hopped on the jobs of our erstwhile members. With my not-so-refined grammar and scant Ilonggo vocabulary, I started to discover my voice in writing. I also dabbled in layouts, and after weeks of slaving myself away before the computer, I somehow figured out the complexities of now-defunct Adobe Pagemaker. The job simply hooked me up, and I would even spend sleepless nights working at our parish at the expense of my studies.

Why did I decide to pursue a religious life?

Heeding the Call - Fast track to my senior year. The idea of entering the seminary only came up during those occasional drinking sessions. Usually, it was broached out of utter jest and without any trace of seriousness. Career seminars and vocation promotions were held in our school, and I simply dismissed them with an air of nonchalance. I was an athlete since my elementary years, and I only dreamt of being a Physical Education teacher and coach to high school students. Besides, I was too happy with my relationship with my girlfriend then, and I swore to God, I would never dare break her heart.

But somehow, occasions leading to this strange calling persisted. My classmates once lent me a Youngster magazine. The cover story was about the seemingly ascetic lifestyle of seminarians and their involvement in media apostolate. Somehow my resolve to be a high school teacher and a coach got shaken. And so, just for the thrill of it, some friends and I went scouting for seminaries, took entrance examinations, and showed up for interviews. With a stroke of luck, we received letters from the seminaries telling us that we fit the bill. Eventually, two of my friends chickened out, two chose the Sons of Holy Mary Immaculate Seminary, and I chose St. Paul Seminary, alone. I knew it was my stint in our parish publication that led me to choose this congregation.

Letting Go - I told my parents about my barely-thought-out plan of entering the seminary. Though without saying anything against it, I could see the frustration in their eyes. They saved up money for my college education plan, and all of it would be for naught if I entered the seminary. With a heavy heart, they helped me procure all the necessary documents before I sailed off to Manila. I knew I plunged a dagger into my girlfriend’s heart when I fessed up my decision. And it rendered me a terrible pang of guilt for hurting the person I loved the most. Almost all sorts of feelings clashed within me, and I nearly burst into smithereens. I knew it was quite a risk. Letting go was never easy. But when the ship embarked and summoned the seas, I prayed like I never had, and strangely enough, I was at peace with my decision.