At our parish, the pastor's mom, Rufina, and the deacon's wife, Amy, died around the same time.
+ Eternal rest grant unto the soul of Rufina, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul and the souls of all the faithful department, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
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POST-SCRIPT
(2/11/2026)
Thank you, Helen Dris, for this copy. This is Fr. Glenn's homily on the 40th death day anniversary of his mom :
Good morning to all of you.
I am grateful for the privilege of greeting you today, the people of God, the members of this Church. Today is a very meaningful and emotional day for me.
Today, we remember the fourth anniversary of the passing of my mother, Rufina. At the same time, we celebrate my 35th year as a priest. And as I remember my mother, I also remember my father, who passed away five years ago. In a very special way today, I hold both of them in my heart and offer them to God in prayer.
Last January 19, while I was in the Philippines with my classmates, Father Resty and Father Dice, we marked this milestone together. But today, I am especially grateful that God allows me to celebrate it here with you, my parish family.
In today’s Gospel from Mark, we hear how Jesus sends out the Twelve two by two. He gives them authority over unclean spirits and instructs them to travel lightly, to depend on God, and to remain focused on their mission. And what was their mission?
They went out and preached repentance, they drove out demons, and they anointed the sick and healed them.
This Gospel reflects the very heart of the priestly ministry.
A priest is configured to Christ the Good Shepherd. He is not ordained for himself. Like the apostles, he is sent—sent to continue the mission of Jesus.
That mission continues through the sacraments.
In the Sacrament of Reconciliation, the priest proclaims repentance and God’s mercy.
In the Anointing of the Sick, he brings Christ’s healing presence.
In the Holy Eucharist, he feeds God’s people with the Body and Blood of Christ.
For 35 years, this has been my mission—hearing confessions, anointing the sick, celebrating marriages, offering the Eucharist day after day, and walking with people through their joys and their sufferings.
I have experienced the beauty of the priesthood in a very complete way—serving the poor through our ministries, especially Mensa Christi, comforting the sick, and sharing life with you not only as your pastor, but as your brother.
But every vocation has a beginning.
No priest comes from nowhere.
Behind every priest is a family, a story, and very often, a sacrifice.
I still remember when I was about to graduate from high school. My parents were talking about my plan to enter the seminary. I heard my father ask my mother, “Why priesthood? There are other courses.”
But my mother simply said, “Let us allow him to choose what he wants.”
Those simple words changed my life.
She allowed God’s plan to unfold.
My desire to become a priest began even earlier, when I was an altar server. I accompanied priests to barrios and mountain chapels to celebrate Mass. I saw their simplicity, their dedication, and their love for the people. A seed was planted in my heart.
My mother was a catechist. My father supported her fully. Both were Cursillistas, and our home was truly a home of faith.
I remember one beautiful family tradition. Whenever someone had a birthday, very early in the morning—while it was still dark—our family, together with members of the Cursillo community, would gather and sing the mañanita. It was simple, joyful, and filled with love.
That was the environment where my vocation was nurtured.
Today, as we mark the fortieth anniversary of my mother’s passing, I realize even more deeply how much she shaped my priesthood. She prayed, she supported the Church, and she shared my vocation in her own quiet way.
Every Mass I celebrated, every confession I heard, every anointing I gave—her influence was there.
I also remember my father. Over time, he became one of my strongest supporters. He loved being known as “the father of the priest.” It gave him great joy.
Sometimes he would attend Mass wearing one of my clerical shirts—without the white collar. He did not need the collar. For him, the shirt alone was enough. It was his quiet way of saying, “My son is a priest.”
That simple gesture spoke of his love, his pride, and his faith.
Now both of them are gone, and I miss them deeply. But today, in this Mass, I entrust them to God’s mercy. As they supported my priesthood on earth, I trust that they now intercede for me in heaven.
One of the most beautiful aspects of the priesthood is healing.
In the confessional, I have seen tears turn into peace.
In hospital rooms, fear turn into trust.
In the homes of the sick and elderly, loneliness turn into hope.
The priest does not heal by his own power.
Christ heals through him.
When a priest says, “I absolve you,” it is Christ who forgives.
When a priest anoints the sick, it is Christ who touches the wounded body and the anxious heart.
That is the mystery and the gift of Holy Orders.
So today, I thank God—for the gift of my vocation, for 35 years of priesthood, for you, the parish community, for your prayers and support, and especially for my parents, whose faith made my priesthood possible.
I miss them, but I believe that death is not the end.
In Christ, it is a passage to eternal life.
Lord, embrace my mother and my father in Your loving arms.
Reward them for their faith, their sacrifices, and their love.
In the Gospel, the apostles were sent out with almost nothing, trusting only in God.
That is what priesthood has been for me—
a lifelong journey of trust, service, and healing.
Amen.
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