Heaven knows Fr. Corsie

On two occasions, my good friend, EDSA I heroine and Marian devotee June Keithley invited me to meet up with visionary Emma de Guzman. I passed up on both chances maybe because: 1) The meetings were scheduled at noontime and I rarely do lunch 2) I was afraid the visionary would see through me and with a wink tell me — “I know you’d been naughty!” and 3) I didn’t feel spiritually prepared to be in the presence of Mama Mary’s messenger. I was afraid that her first words to me would be: “Repent! Repent!” I could only take so much for lunch.

Then a few weeks ago, I received a text from another good friend, Cinema Evaluation Board chief Christine Dayrit. She was with healing priest, Fr. Corsie Legaspi and thought it would be great to have both of us meet up.

The invitation was also for lunch, but there was something inside me that said: Go ahead. The prospect even excited me.

Of course, I’ve heard of Fr. Corsie and his healing ministry a long time ago. But never did we have a chance to even be within the same vicinity. (I would know if he was in the area because people usually flock to him.) However, even if we had never met personally, I already felt intimidated. I don’t know why.

I grew up with Salesian priests and brothers, but I only feared the rector and the principal in our school. The rest — they were my buddies even if they were in their 20s and I was 12.

But there was something about Fr. Corsie that scared me. Like he was going to scold me for having misbehaved all my life.

When I finally confirmed lunch with Christine, I laid down two rules: 1) There’d be no spiritual issues to be tackled and 2) There’d be no condemning. She laughed at the conditions I gave. But she did tell me that Fr. Corsie could come off strong, tough and strict.

On the day we finally met — over lunch at my favorite Tomas Morato hangout, Café Via Mare — Fr. Corsie looked like just anyone of us: He was flesh and blood. But the figure is imposing. Unlike my usually tentative and fidgety ways, he had this regal bearing about him. There was this sureness about every word spoken. All over his face there was unmistakable authority.

Initially we talked about his healing powers. He realized he had those during his second year upon entering priesthood. That time his mother was suffering from lung cancer and he prayed over her and she got healed.

Today, he does healing sessions not only in the Philippines, but in other countries as well. In fact, he had been spending more time abroad than in this country. In Thailand, there was this famous actress (don’t ask me her name because I can’t spell or pronounce anything Thai), who was paralyzed after falling off a horse, but eventually got healed after he prayed over her.

While listening to his stories at the start, I was mechanically stuffing the sinigang into my mouth and was too much in awe to even chew. I recall swallowing bangus pieces whole and I have to give it to my esophagus for having been able to digest chunk after chunk of milkfish belly.

You have to understand where I am coming from. In my heart he has a direct link to heaven, a place I may never see. His healing successes had been documented to be authentic from the beginning. (No, he is not one of those phonies we see on tabloid TV mimicking the voice of the Sto. Niño.) And here I was having lunch with him.

However, when he started talking about personal circumstances in his life, I finally relaxed. We had the same family problems! I could finally relate to him.

Even if he has what I believe are heavenly connections, he is not spared from the pains of this world. But if you study the lives of the holy men and saints, they too, suffered a lot before they were taken to heaven. Hurray! With all my earthly sufferings — taxes, traffic and pollution — I may get there.

But Fr. Corsie never professes to be a saint. Neither did he tell me to start doing penance for my sins. For sure he felt I am old enough to realize what is right and what is wrong — and I have choices His advice to me: Have fun on this earth. God wants us to be happy.

What impresses me most about him is his humility — his being down-to-earth. If ever you find him thumbing up his nose at you, it’s not because he feels that he was heaven-sent. It’s because he had lived life, had survived and continues to fight the perils of this world. He had earned it. That’s what you call wisdom.

And no, he will never claim to be the one who does the healing. He will always insist he is just the instrument.

We went separate ways after the meal — with him preparing for yet another healing mission abroad — while I didn’t feel any holier than before we met up for lunch. But I felt more relaxed going about my Catholic ways and practices.

The road to heaven to me now seems easier. But I’m in no hurry. You can all go ahead of me.