The Legacy

By Fely Carino

Here's the full text of the sermon given during the first service. Such a magnificent piece just had to be posted here on our website! I asked for a copy and Uncle Fely gladly obliged. I could have easily scanned it but opted instead to retype it, so I could "hear" it again one more time. With the exception of a few noted ad-libs, this is the original discourse. Read it aloud. Listen to the sermon all over again. Here's another legacy we can give to future generations...

The legacy that we seek to continue today started in fact not so much as a matter of choice as it was a matter of circumstance. As the Japanese occupation of the country began to end, we were all drawn to return to Umingan not necessarily because we wanted to but because we had to. Life had become utterly dangerous and difficult. The brutalities of war were now touching everyone; the fronts of military conflict have become difficult if not impossible to escape; food had become scarce; all of us were afraid that it might not be possible in the end to survive.

As life became threatened and as we were reduced to the necessities of survival, we were forced as it were to return home. And home was where we are now, here in this very exact location, in this place where we now worship and where we try to remember.

There was a large two-story house, Spanish style, here in this place - large, high ceiling and elegant. It may sound funny to some, but the way the house was divided and used summed up the basic ingredients with which the legacy began and the reasons why we came: the ground floor was for grain and the upper floor was for people. Rice and all kinds of grain were stored in the ground floor; the arrivals meanwhile were all put in the upper floor until more permanent housing was arranged or built.

Food and people who cared in a situation of utter danger and threat: that was what it was all about when it began. We never really stayed under the same roof, but for over a year, as the direct effects of war descended upon us, we shared the meager food that was available, checked and cared for each other's well being, retreated together in nearby evacuation "barrios," marched in horror further away from the town as first Japanese soldiers occupied it in their retreat and then as American planes bombed and destroyed it, presumably to annihilate the Japanese, who have already moved elsewhere when the bombing took place. And then as the fire of war began to subside, and after our wanderings in various mountainsides and wildernesses, returned from our various evacuation points to Cabalayangan, where there, once again, we were welcomed by Lolo Berto and Lola Cionang.

It was in Cabalayangan where the first "reunion" was held, first, obviously as thanksgiving that so many of us did in fact survive, but second and equally important, to perpetuate a memory of sharing and caring for each other without which many of us would not have been able to survive.

It would be presumptuous to tell the stories that have transpired since then. Too many things have happened in the lives of so many of us over the last fifty years for any one to really be able to put together even only a tapestry of the portraits of lives that have come and gone. Indeed, we were only over forty then; we must be over two hundred now if we were all here. Grace May was one of the babies then, she is one of the oldies now. Manang Esther was in the prime of youth then; her hair now is white, and that is not a tinted color! As one colleague of mine noted when he saw me recently, "Obviously," he said, "we are not spring chickens anymore." Lolo Berto and Lola Cionang are gone; so are a few others who were in that original gathering.

Of one thing however we can say with certainty. We must have survived well. Despite difficulties and privations, we must have progressed well, as well. Within a few years after were were all together, and needing each other, we dispersed, each in his or her own way, not only in various parts of the country, but in various parts of the world. When we come together now, not because of circumstance but for some because of persuasion, we come from such odd places as Los Angeles and Manchester, Chicago and Australia. With the exception of a few who have stayed behind, or who have returned, Umingan, where it all started, is no longer home. It is a place of memory, but no longer of that security and succor. Most of us said goodbye, but I doubt very much that many left their hearts in it.

Should we be glad of that or should we be sad? Should we be proud or should we be ashamed? Should we be proud that so many of us have changed since then, or should we be ashamed of Umingan, which we left behind, seems to have remained the same? Perhaps in the minds of those who thought of bringing us back here on this occasion - and I must add that I was not one of those who first thought of such an occasion - this side trip to Umingan was not simply for reasons of sentimentality and nostalgia, or simply for reasons of reminding us that roots are important to remember, but to provide us a chance to answer this question if not in our public utterances, certainly in our quiet meditations.

Which in the end brings me to the Exodus text that we read earlier. Of course I know it is Christmas, so we should be talking about the "baby Jesus" and Bethlehem. But Exodus as you know is one of the five books of the beginnings of our faith, those things that were laid down before God's people were dispersed into all places around the world. And Exodus 21 specially is at the heart of these beginnings.

I do not mean primarily the 10 commandments that were given in this text. I mean the reminder at the beginning of the chapter that God utters: I was the one who brought you out of the land of Egypt, who saved you from the dangers you faced, who showed you where to go, who gave you the protection you needed, the food that you ate, the love that you needed. On this memory you build a covenant with me that you will be faithful, and will build on that faithfulness a new city, a new land, a new world and new heaven. Those of you who have read your Bible well and understood it would recognize that this is the rhythm of "promise and fulfillment" on which the whole Biblical narrative is based. It is a rhythm we dare not forge as we come to this place of our beginnings.

To those of you who like me are returning here after a very long absence, welcome back. To those who may not have been here ever before, welcome to where it all began. To those who have remained here and who stay here, it is good to see you again.