There are fiestas that are remembered because of the grandeur of their decorations, the brilliance of their fireworks, the luxury of their floats or the number of guests who came. And there are fiestas that remain in the heart because, somehow, they made us experience what it means to belong. Modesty aside, and if I may say it, our recently concluded parish fiesta was one such celebration.
There were 21 lechon. Twenty-one lechon is not simply a matter of food. It is a statement. It tells us that many people came together, that many families contributed, that many hands prepared, and that many mouths would eventually share at the same table. Yes, the lechon may be festive, even extravagant. But its deepest value is not in its price or appearance. Its deepest value is found when it becomes part of a shared celebration, when abundance becomes communion. In another setting, someone might ask: Why so many? In a Filipino fiesta, however, the better question is: How could there be a fiesta without enough food to share? The 21 lechon, therefore, tells of a deeper story.
Actually, the 21 was sort of unexpected or unplanned. It just happened! Our different chapels started contributing—one here, another one there—and before we knew it, we had 21 lechon.
What has touched me rather was not simply the sight of 21 lechon, but the spirit of generosity and communion behind them. Those roasted pigs came from 14 different communities and chapels, and even from groups who may not identify themselves with any particular religious community (the personnel and staff of our Mini City Hall representing the LGU, the Ancestral Domain Management Council of our brethren in the IP communities, the SimBaNa Credit Cooperative, among others) To me, it was such a beautiful reminder that when there is a common desire to share, celebrate, and care for one another, our differences do not divide us. Each lechon carries with it the love, sacrifice, and goodwill of the people who offered it. More than food for a celebration, they become signs of a community that knows how to give, to participate, and to rejoice together.
There was a small chapel-community that (Sambayanan ng Ip-ip), with great seriousness, decided not to participate in the celebration because they had no lechon. “Father, we have no lechon. Hindi na lang po kami magpapakita sa pista, ” they said. I understood their concern. I told them, “Hindi po requirement ang lechon. Basta pumunta lang po kayo.” Then I asked, “Ano bang meron kayo na puedeng dalhin?” They replied in chorus, “Meron po kaming kamote. Meron din pong laing. At saka po may labong.” To which I quickly retorted, “Puede na ang mga yan!.” They seemed resigned to their fate, convinced that without that glorious centerpiece of Filipino feasting, there was simply no reason to join. But then—lo and behold!—on the day of the celebration, what did we discover? There was a lechon! And not only a lechon, but a feast worthy of the occasion.
Perhaps this is one of those little mysteries of community life: sometimes we say we have nothing to share, only to discover that, hidden somewhere among our kitchens, tables, and generous hearts, there is more than enough. The lesson is simple: do not be too quick to say, “We have nothing.” For where there is community, generosity, and a little faith, the feast may already be waiting to be uncovered. And sometimes, even the lechon appears at the appointed hour.
In that sense, I dare say that a parish fiesta should never be reduced to a mere spectacle. A fiesta is theology lived in ordinary Filipino ways. It is theology when a family brings what it can afford and places it on the common table. It is theology when a neighbor helps another neighbor prepare food. It is theology when communities that rarely meet during ordinary days suddenly find themselves sitting together, eating together, laughing together (and dance together as well up until the wee hours). And perhaps it is theology most profoundly when nobody asks, “Who contributed the most?” Instead, we ask, “Who has not yet eaten?”
Needless to say that this is where the meaning of the Church of the Poor becomes concrete. The Church of the Poor is not merely a Church that speaks about poverty. It is a Church that allows the poor to shape the way the community celebrates, decides, welcomes, and shares. It is a Church where the dignity of every person is greater than the size of his or her contribution. At the fiesta table, the person who brought the lechon and the person who simply brought himself or herself to eat are equally guests of God. The farmer, the vendor, the laborer, the fisherman, the public school teacher, the child, the elderly, the newcomer, the long-time parishioner—all are gathered around one table. This is precisely the miracle of Christian community: different people become one without having to become identical.
Again, if i may say it, we have felt that we have had everything as far as fiesta celebration is concerned. It was more than what we have actually planned and have expected. We could not ask for anything more.
And oh, there was but one that was lacking though. We went on and on with the fiesta without having a presidential table for the so-called VIPS. Wittingly or unwittingly that is, we just want to remember that the Church is not a place where some are more important than others. We may have different responsibilities, different backgrounds, and different roles in the community, but before God, we are one family. This could be the reason why there were no single reserved table nor a special lane in queing to get something for their plate.
At an instant then I wanted to feel sorry for the incovenience it brought about to visitors. On the other hand though, we have had such a set up not to disregard our guests or our benefactors, but precisely to express what a Christian community truly means: there is one table, and there is room for everyone. In other words, we do not gather according to rank or status; we gather as brothers and sisters. And we let our celebration therefore be a witness that in the Church, no one is above another, because all of us are called to sit at the same table, share the same joy, and serve one another in love.
Last Sunday at Mass, I thanked all my parishioners for a job so well done. We also acknowledged God and his manifold bessings upon us al. After the Mass, a woman approached me and quipped to me, “Father, I will also tell our group (a civic one) to have a lechon for parish fiesta.”… I gently smiled as a gesture of affirmation at what was said. But inside my head I did say, “Hello, 22.”
