Quiet Storm by Fr. Nicanor F. Lalog II, 30 April 2026
This front-page photo of the Philippine Daily Inquirer on August 20, 2021 is my favorite shot taken during the COVID pandemic coverage by the local media. It is worth a thousand words indeed.
I remembered this photo last month before the Holy Week when a friend and former colleague in GMA News texted me about the death of her former staff member. Her message read, “please pray for the soul of ____ who had lost the battle with cancer.”
It is perhaps one of the most widely used template in announcing a death, lost a battle. In my 28 years as a priest, it is only now as a senior citizen that I have reflected about that most common text I receive whenever somebody dies after a lingering illness. Or battle.
But, is dying really losing the battle?
Since turning “sigisty-one” years old last March, I have considered it as grace that the more I have now become aware of the reality of my mortality, the more I have become more filled with hope in life too.
Despite death becoming so real this time as I really feel ageing through weakening of muscles, diminishing stamina, failing memory, and most especially of the onset of comorbidities like diabetes, the more I am most convinced that life is beautiful, always good to be alive. Every gising indeed is a blessing!
This is not an attempt to romanticize or make death palatable. I know. This is easier said than done. Memento mori is a reality like the sword of Damocles literally above us daily, not just a fashion fad we put on our t-shirt or some on their skin as a tattoo.
We all shall die. What is scary is the process of dying, not death itself which we shall not feel because we are already dead. Dying is a defeat, a loss when all we have is bitterness and anger, unforgiveness and resentments because that is when we resign and stop living, losing life by default.
Death is a loss as in a battle when we deny its reality, its being a fact and part of life that we have refused to look beyond it that is fuller and eternal.
But, when we have love and forgiveness, contrition and acceptance, death turns into a victory. And life. Especially when we have Jesus Christ.
In Jesus, every death and its other faces of poverty, losses, failures, sufferings and sickness are all a gain, a true wealth, a victory because these lead us to fulfillment not just happiness; fruitfulness not only success in life because death leads us to the hereafter.
Recall Luke’s beautiful account of the road to Emmaus when Jesus joined the two disciples walking at the opposite direction, leaving Jerusalem late afternoon of Easter. They did not recognize Jesus during their journey because their eyes were fixated on what happened on Good Friday; their eyes would only be opened after Jesus broke bread with them in their home in Emmaus. It is when we are broken like bread that we experience the fullness and meaning of life. (See https://lordmychef.com/2026/04/18/leaving-disbelieving/)
I recently went to the wake of former RPN-9 reporter Ed Nanquil who “battled” prostate cancer for sometime until dementia hit him two years ago that abruptly cut off our communications.
Despite my busy schedule that week, I made sure to come to his wake to offer Mass as a final tribute and gratitude to Ed who was very instrumental in my becoming a priest.
We last met in 1993 at the WPD headquarters in UN Avenue, Manila. It was our seminary break and I have come to join my former GMA News cameraman Jun Fronda in his graveyard shift duty when Ed approached me that night at the lobby of the police headquarter.
“Totoo pala ang chismis na nagpapari ka,” Ed calmly told me in his characteristic genteel voice.
I looked at him and laughed, telling him how I have been used to that comment. As we talked about my vocation, I told Ed how I felt God playing a big joke on me: first, when he made me a TV reporter when I do not have the broadcast voice at all, explaining that I applied as a news writer but by God’s grace, I was catapulted to being a reporter. And secondly, how God brought me back to the seminary to become a priest who would be preaching, singing and chanting a lot when my voice has remained small and sintonado!
That was when Ed told me that “many times, the things we hate and do not like in ourselves are exactly what God likes in us.” Whoa! It was the tipping point in my vocation story as I felt Ed was an angel sent by God to assure me He wanted me to become a priest, that I have to stop doubting Him and His call despite my many weaknesses and limitations. And sins.
That night at his wake, as I blessed the remains of Ed, I silently thanked him, and whispered to him he had not lost his battles with cancer and dementia. I have become a priest partly because of him who had taught me along the way how to battle with my many doubts of self and of God.
When we refer to death as a battle we have lost, it means more of the grief of losing a beloved because the truth is the opposite: it is when we die that we win the war in life with the many lives we have touched and won over who would continue to live and touch others too in the process.
For those battling with cancer and other sickness, as well as those hurdling so many obstacles and trials in this life, especially those “lumalaban ng patas”, God is with us always. Our battle had long been won by Jesus Christ. We just have to be present. Do not lose by default. Accept. And “surrender” like St. Paul:
…the time of my departure is at hand. I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. From now on the crown of righteousness awaits me, which the Lord, the just judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me, but to all who have longed for his appearance (2 Timothy 4:6b-8).
May we have the same courage of St. Paul in life. And in death. To live forever and ever. Amen.
Amen.
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