BACO, Philippines (UCAN) -- A priest who returned to his northern Philippine hometown of Baco recently says his experiences at pre-Christmas Masses in far-flung rural chapels showed him what it means to believe in and hunger for God.

In this commentary for UCA News, Father Jeronimo Perez stresses that the life of people in communities far from Blessed Trinity parish church in Calapan vicariate is simple, but far from "poor."

The priest, who serves as spiritual director at St. Augustine Seminary in Tagaytay City, 55 kilometers southeast of Manila, celebrated Misa de Gallo (Mass of the rooster) in the town in Oriental Mindoro province, more than 130 kilometers south of Manila.

Father Jeronimo Perez, spiritual director at St. Augustine Major Seminary in Tagaytay City, Philippines.

The Dec. 16-24 novena Masses honoring the Blessed Mother are traditionally held around the country at dawn. But in some places they were held in the evenings Dec. 15-23.

Father Perez, the first priest from Baco, has been assigned away from the province, where more than 47 percent of families were listed as living below the poverty level in the 2006 report of the National Statistical Coordination Board. The national average was 26.9 percent.

After ordination at the Calapan cathedral in 1996, Father Perez served as assistant parish priest in two parishes. From 1998 until 2000, he served as chaplain at St. Benedict Prison & Hospital. During those three assignments, he also served as director of the Communication for Evangelization and Development Center of Calapan vicariate, where small grassroots communities, or Basic Ecclesial Communities, have since been organized.

In 2000, he moved to the Manila area, where he served for a year as staff at the Jesuit-run East Asian Pastoral Institute and as guest pastor at Our Lady of Peace shrine, both in Quezon City, just northeast of the capital. He then served a year as guest pastor of Christ the King Parish in Quezon City before being appointed rector at St. Augustine in 2002.

Following is Father Perez's commentary:

While on Christmas break from the seminary, I helped the parish in Baco, my hometown. During this season, people flock to the traditional nine-day dawn and evening Masses. We priests end up saying four to five Masses daily. I look forward to this annual exercise, the taxing trips and numerous Masses notwithstanding. It gives me a chance to be in contact with the "poorest of the poor," who, in their simplicity and genuineness of faith, never fail to renew and change me.

During this Christmas season, revisiting the small communities and the old chapels after 25 years was a deeply significant homecoming experience for me. I take great pride in being a native son of Baco, and former altar boy to Father Victor Tunkel, a Hungarian Divine Word missionary who founded our Baco parish. It now consists of 48 small Christian communities.

Father Tunkel left a legacy of committed and compassionate ministry, which I now wish to carry on with God's grace, constantly encouraged by the example and spirit of this self-denying disciple of Christ.

Traveling to far-flung villages is indeed physically taxing, but I relished trips aboard our 8-year-old van as it negotiated rural roads, snaking through rice paddies, and banana and coconut plantations that cover the base of a towering mountain. The muddy and potholed roads forced me to slow down and savor the refreshing sight of vast, green rice fields. The early morning breezes, the sound of roosters announcing the break of dawn, the sight of solitary carabao (water buffalo) grazing are so powerfully picturesque. One easily enters into contemplation of God's beauty and harmony reflected in nature.

Since everyone knows everyone, there is an intimate and personal climate each time I celebrate Mass in a village chapel. Many times, my homily becomes an open forum with the members of the congregation feeling free to express themselves.

Once, while using matter-of-fact illustrations to underscore the need to match one's faith with concrete actions, an elderly woman, the community leader, couldn't contain her mixture of guilt and glee. "Father, bull's eye!" she exclaimed, and everybody cracked up. Whoever said that public confession is difficult?

Prior to arriving in the parish, I was preoccupied with how I would manage to keep to a diet of no meat, salt or fatty food that I had been observing the last two months for health reasons.

Aside from the physical exhaustion that goes with the grueling schedule, I worried that I would have difficulty refusing the food offered by the host communities after each Mass. Yet, it turned out I could not have been in a better place.

After the Masses, my companions and I were offered the best of organic, energy-boosting food. Boiled banana, kamote (sweet potato) and cassava complemented by a steaming hot, pure cocoa drink. Since there are fish farms nearby we got fresh fish, crab and shrimp almost daily. Local fruits and vegetables also abound and supply never lacks.

Despite lack of decent sleep during the dawn novena masses, my blood pressure was constant and good: 120/80 for the 10 days! "Seek first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be given to you besides" (Matthew 6:33).

In the middle of a homily, I was describing the simplicity characterizing the first Christmas, when the Holy Family found itself accompanied only by cattle, sheep and camels. An old man seated at the back wondered aloud "Father, how could you forget the carabao?" Everyone laughed, but the man was sincere. Carabao are the gentlest, most hardworking and most faithful companion to Filipino farmers like this white-haired man. I thought his question was a very good lesson in inculturation.

One evening, in a very crowded chapel, there was only one light bulb, temporarily installed to illuminate the place. But the lectors and I were having difficulty reading the scriptures and prayers. I was already tired from my previous Masses, and being used to liturgies in the parish and seminary, I wanted to complain about this gloomy light bulb. I then realized this was the best that these poor people could provide.

I instantly realized that it must have been even darker during that silent first Christmas night. Looking up, I was struck by what I saw: the smiles of the children in joyful anticipation of Christmas and the deep sense of faith in God written all over the faces of everyone, young and old alike cramped in that tiny chapel. They seemed to radiate in the dark. Suddenly, the dimly lit chapel was no longer gloomy. I thought it was actually bright and holy.

Another time, when the pastor informed me the last barrio (village) Mass for the day was canceled because the people themselves would not be around, I was not sorry at all. I felt the fatigue of the whole day creeping through my body. However, passing the area after Mass in a nearby village, I saw people waiting in the brightly lit chapel. It turned out to be a case of miscommunication, so I donned my vestments and pushed myself to make one last act of love for the day. During the homily, I emphasized that the spirit of renewal and reconciliation is at the heart of Christmas.

At the kiss of peace, two middle-aged women approached each other and tearfully embraced while the whole community -- many of whom were also in tears -- watched. The rift between the two women had been going on for years, I learned. On my way home, I was telling myself, "God did it again ... through me and in spite of me!" My legs no longer bothered me and I felt re-energized. I felt I could do three more Masses!

One village we were going to sat at the foot of a mountain and travel was longer than usual. Because of heavy rains the road was getting nastier. I was sure only a few would come for Mass on a day like that. However, I was moved to see the chapel packed with people of all ages. Hunger for God was never so evident, and there was electricity in the air as everyone sang and prayed their hearts out.

From the entrance hymn that threatened to blow away the chapel's rooftop, I was animated by the depth of the community's unabashed display of reliance on God. I thought I gave the best homily of my life. After the celebration, children lined up to be blessed and adults expressed appreciation for my preaching. Little did these precious people know that in their simplicity and poverty, they were the ones who preached to me and who richly blessed me.

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