21/07/2025
A moving reflection on mothers quietly offering their sons to the callingโletting go, so they may follow Godโs will.
by Sem. Aljhun Cumaling
โ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐ข๐ซ๐ฌ๐ญ ๐ก๐๐๐ซ๐ญ๐๐ซ๐๐๐ค ๐๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ฌ ๐๐ญ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ ๐๐ญ๐โ
๐ฃ๐บ ๐๐ฆ๐ฎ. ๐๐ญ๐ซ๐ฉ๐ถ๐ฏ ๐๐ถ๐ฎ๐ข๐ญ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ
For many seminarians, the first heartbreak comes at the gate. It is not just about leaving home; it is about leaving everything familiar. The house where childhood memories live. The mother who never stopped calling them โanak.โ The barkada. The sports teams. The girl who never knew she was loved.
Inside the seminary, the world moves differently. Bells rule the hours. Meals are eaten in silence. Friendships form through quiet glances and unspoken understanding. Prayer becomes less of an activity and more of a lifeline.
But alongside all the spiritual beauty is an inner landscape filled with struggle.
There are questions that gnaw in the dark:
โAm I really called for this?โ
โWould I be happier out there?โ
โIs this Godโs voice, or just my own desire to feel worthy?โ
When I was checking through the photos taken during the entrance day of my younger brothers in the Propaedeutic Year, I paused at one imageโand it held me.
It wasnโt just any photo. It was a quiet moment caught on camera: a mother, standing just outside the gates of the formation house, gently wiping her tears as she watched her son walk away, towards a life she could not follow.
I donโt even know who she is. I was not even there on that day. But this image gripped meโbecause in her, I saw my own mother. In her eyes, I saw the silent ache of a hundred other mothers who have had to let go of their sons, not to the world but to something even more mysterious: a vocation.
And in that instant, something in me shifted.
I used to think that entering the seminary was my sacrifice. That it was my journey of leaving behind dreams, comforts, and familiarity to pursue Godโs call. But this photo reminded me, powerfully and painfully, that this โyesโ is not mine alone.
โ๐ฌ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ฐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐.โ
My mother did not weep in front of me when I entered years ago. She smiled, held my hand, and said she was proud. But I now realize that behind that strength was a breaking heart, a mother who knew that letting me go meant letting go of birthdays, family dinners, and maybe even future grandchildren. She knew this might mean decades of sharing her son with the Church, and perhaps, never fully having him to herself again.
And yet, like Mary at the foot of the Cross, she said her own quiet fiat. She let me go. What a hidden martyrdom that is.
Now, when I look at my fellow seminarians, I wonder, how many mothers cried the night before entrance day? How many fathers drove away holding back tears, pretending to be okay? How many siblings walked into a quieter house, not fully understanding why their brother had to leave?
โ๐ป๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐. ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐๐.โ
There are unseen hands that have made it possible, hands that packed our bags, hands that held rosaries at night praying for our strength, hands that waved goodbye at the gate and then clutched a handkerchief as soon as we were no longer in sight. This photo reminded me of all of this. It humbled me. It reminded me that the seminary is not just a house of formationโit is also a house of offerings. And the greatest offerings are not always the ones made by us inside, but the ones made by those who stand outsideโฆ and still choose to love us from afar.
There are battles fought no one hears about: the temptation to hide brokenness behind philosophy and theology books, the struggle to forgive a fellow brother, the ache of missing home. And then, thereโs the guilt of feeling all these things while living in a place most people see as sacred.
The word โformationโ sounds so neat, so structured. But ask any seminarian and theyโll tell you: it is fire. Formation burns away illusions. It shows you who you really are, and not in the gentle way you hoped. It reveals your pride, your wounds, your past, your fears, your ego, your insecurities. And slowly, it teaches you how to hold all of that before God without running away.
It is in formation that a seminarian learns to preach the Gospel not with eloquence, but with a heart that has been humbled. It is where he learns that love is not a feeling, but a decision. That obedience is not slavery, but trust. That chastity is not suppression, but freedom.
And perhaps most painfully, it is where he realizes that his โyesโ must be offered again and again, not just at ordination, but every day that he wakes up and chooses to stay, even there is still that broken heart from that day he entered the seminary gates.
*Photo Taken during the arrival of the Propaedeutic Year last Sunday, June 29, 2025
