The following is the full text of the Homily delivered by Fr. Roberto P. Reyes during the celebration of the Baccalaureate Mass for Class 2024.
In a few hours I will be going on another pilgrimage. I will fly to Cebu to pay my last respects to a fellow pilgrim priest, Fr. Amado “Picx” Picardal better known as the “Biking Priest.” Throughout his life, Pic lived and pursued the enchantment of pilgrimage. In Rome, he walked all the way to Assisi, sleeping in public squares, drinking from public fountains and eating local pizza and pasta throughout the way. He also did the 800 kilometer version of the Camino de Compostela from Spain to France. In the Philippines, he biked the whole length of the country twice. He did the same walking. When asked why he loved to walk and bike long distances, his simple answer is, “walking and biking long distances makes me keenly aware of the presence of God.” In between his pilgrimages, Fr. Pic taught theology; headed the Bishops’ BEC Apostolate and earned the ire of a dangerous Mayor turned president.
While he was teaching in a seminary in Davao, he documented nearly 3,000 extra judicial killings committed by the feared Davao Death Squad, whose authorship everybody knew but never discussed. The same practice by the same group expanded and went beyond the borders of Davao to become the National Death Squad during the previous president’s notorious War on Drugs. Fr. Picx’s unsavory research is now an important basis for the Crimes Against Humanity Case filed by the International Criminal Court against the former Mayor of Davao turned President. It also explains the series of death threats hounding the priest as well as actual attempts on his life.
The pilgrimage is prayer, a sacred encounter with God, Nature and neighbour. It is a response, a covenant to follow Jesus and serve his flock. Fr. Picx’s encounter with the families of the EJK victims of Davao was also a prayer but of a dangerous kind. I had many encounters with Fr. Pic when we shared our similar passions and their usual consequence. I too have earned a similar title. A few years earlier, I decided to run across the entire country: Mindanao, Cotabato City to Cagayan de Oro, in 1996; Visayas, 1997: from Guian, Eastern Samar to Leyte, Cebu to Bohol; and Negros to Panay. Luzon: April-May, 1998: Laoag to Manila; November, 1998, Sorsogon to Manila. Early in the beginning of what we called the GomBurZa Transpilipinas KKK (Kapayapaan, Kalikasan, Kalayaan) Run. After thousands of kilometers and countless hours of running non-stop, media called me the Running Priest. This name has stuck through the many and diverse advocacies I pursued through the years. Early in my run, I developed the Mantra: “The Roads are my Pulpit; The Trees and my altar; The Universe is my Church!”
My pilgrimage began a long time ago. It has not stopped. It will not stop. It continues because, it is the nature of our life. Last December and May, the pilgrimage brought me to the waters of the West Philippine Sea. Danger stalked us from the first journey of the Atin Ito’s first civilian mission to Ayungin Shoal. Chinese Coast Guard ships as well as Chines Battle ships shadowed us and blocked us at will.
Danger intensified when the same group embarked to Scarborough Shoals, also known as Bajo de Masinloc or simply Panatag Shoal. On May 17, 2024, Friday, some 100 nautical miles from our destination, our boats dropped anchor in order for the fisherfolk to fish. It was a glorious day. The sea seemed calm and so I thought. What if I swam to the next boat which was just 50 meters away? However, I was weak and hungry. I spent the whole day and night of the previous day throwing up. I had nothing in my stomach. But, my love for the water was great. I am a swimmer before I began to run. I immediately changed into my shorts but just then, I remembered the St. Benedict Medallion given me by two Benedictince nuns that early Tuesday morning before we left for Botolan, Zambales. “Here Father, please put this Benedictine Medallion in your pocket for protection. Mother Thomas Prado, our provincial asked us to give this to you. Godspeed Father.” These were the assuring words said by Sr. Theodosia and Constance. I searched my pockets for the medallion, found it and put it in a pocket of my shorts. Down I went from the upper deck where I slept with the fishermen and other volunteers of Atin Ito. We were like sardines in a small can, heads to feet, elbow to elbow, back to back. But we slept, tired and fatigued by the long trip on water.
Finally on deck, I proceeded to the rear of our boat, looked towards the nearest boat and jumped into the water swimming towards it. The water was warm. But as I began swimming, l immediately felt the strength of the waves. Both my feet and arms felt like marshmallow. I had little strength due to a whole day of nausea and throwing up. I struggled against the waves and in no time felt overwhelmed. I paddled forward with all my strength and on reaching around twenty meters, I felt weak and exhausted. I thought quickly, “If I continue for another thirty meters, I may not make it. I am better off, swimming the twenty meters back to our boat.” I did just that but the swim back seemed like eternity. I struggled and prayed, “Lord, I do not want to die here. Please help me make it safely to our boat.” | continued to swim barely keeping my head above the water. I notice, about ten meters away, the floaters holding the net above the water. If only I can reach the floaters and hold on to them. I kept swimming and struggling to stay above the water. Finally, the floaters were a mere three meters away. I swam not with my arms and legs but with my mind, heart and will. I was completely exhausted and almost had no strength left. One last prayer, “Lord, I am almost there, save me.” And yes, just a few feet away, the floaters. I held on to the floaters which was slowly being hauled by the fishermen onto the boat. I was out of breath, panting, heaving heavy. But I was safe and alive. Thank you dear God for saving me.
As I reached the boat, I struggled to pull myself up the outrigger. As I reached the deck, I laid on my back, totally exhausted but alive. “Father, shouted two fishermen. May nahulog mula sa yong bulsa.” There was only the Benedictine medallion in my pocket. I searched both pockets. No medallion. I paused and prayed to God, to St. Benedict. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
A not so little miracle happened to me in the West Philippine Sea. I am here because God, through St. Benedict chose to save me. My faith since then had been strengthened. God clearly, in no uncertain terms was telling me, “Your journey is not over. Have faith, trust in me and no other. Be faithful and courageous. Serve my people.”
Before our journey to the West Philippine Sea, we launched “Bandila and Kandila.” Kandila, light a candle and pray for peace and sovereignty. Bandila, hang a Philippine Flag outside your homes. And stand for our beloved country. I will do the same here for and with you graduating students of Faith Colleges. Twenty days after my close encounter with death, something brought me here. At sixty nine and almost forty three years as a priest, like my friend Fr. Picx, I have not stopped. I will not stop to the end, doing what God wants me to do. Was it fate that brought me here? No not fate but faith.
I end my sharing, with a poem written by Fr. Pic two years before he died. I shall read it slowly as in a prayer. Please listen and take each word to heart:
A Hermit’s Goodbye
As I withdraw into solitude and silence
My mind no longer dwells on what’s around me
But what is within and beyond.
I’m at peace even in this long dark night
As hunger, the plague and death prevail,
As greedy and incompetent leaders rule
Chosen by a gullible and foolish multitude
Who prefer the darkness than the light.
It’s been a long journey
Fighting evil along the way
With small victories and lots of setbacks.
I now find myself in the final stage
Not knowing how much time I have left—
Two years or twenty years?
I have more yesterdays than tomorrows
And everyday passes so quickly.
I am making this journey alone
As I prepare for the inevitable.
How this ends only God knows.
I pray that It won’t be with a bullet through the head
Or an attack on my heart.
What I know is where it ends—
Not in the tomb but in the Father’s home.
I withdraw from the field of battle
Letting the wounds within heal
Knowing I’m only a servant
Not the messiah.
I have sown seeds that will someday grow
Assured that all I did was not in vain.
The great victory against darkness and evil
Will come in God’s time
This is my hope.
Meanwhile, let me savor the peace and quite within
As l enter into deeper communion with nature and the Creator.
I don’t want this to end yet
But there will be more of this at the end of my journey
As I come face to face with the One I have given my all.
Yes, Lord, our lives are a pilgrimage. We journey and encounter trials and victories, not according to our fate but because of our faith. Make us always journey with and for you and in the end realize, as Fr. Pic did that life indeed is pilgrimage and pilgrimage is life!!!
