Scenes from the Black Nazarene Procession, 2010

January 9th is the Feast of the Black Nazarene in Manila. It is occasion that draws millions to converge on the hallowed grounds of St. John the Baptist church-- more popularly known as the Basilica Minore of the Black Nazarene-- in the Quiapo district of the city. The grand procession commemorates the traslacion of the image from Bagumbayan to its present home in Quiapo, and has been observed for three centuries already. Here are a few scenes from that day. I will post something about the procession, which I have done for the past two years, within the next few days.



(NB: This footage is from 2009)The Nazarene returns to Quiapo church. Shown in the clip above is the exchange of peace during the Mass. This is outside the church, and the crush of people has already extended to Plaza Miranda.









Various shots of the procession making its torturous way back to the church. The crowd that accompanied the image at all times, I am told, numbered at least two million.

Padasal

The first time I attended a padasal was on the first anniversary of my grandmother's death, in November of 2005. I had no intention of attending it at all, though; the appointed time was at eleven in the morning, to be preceded by a Mass at her grave at about eight thirty or nine. The drive to the province from Manila would take at least two hours, which meant leaving the house at five thirty. All this, in addition to my disdain for folksy, rural practices more akin to superstition than anything 'right and proper' in the Church's eyes, made me all a bit deracinated.

First, an explanation. A padasal is the commemoration of the death of a loved one, where an abundance of prayers are said for the repose of the soul of the deceased. If you follow traditional Filipino custom, a padasal is held on the anniversary of the death of the deceased, as well as thirty days after the death, and also on the fortieth. It is a time consuming, even monotonous, procedure, one which is invariably more popular with women than with men (there is a reason why food is always served on padasals; it is to keep the men from raising a ruckus and disturbing the concentration of the the mangdarasals). We eventually arrived at the cemetery in the nick of time. The Holy Mass was celebrated by a second cousin of mine, Fr. Erwin, of the Diocese of Lucena. As usual, the Mass was short and sweet; and I recall being righteously proud of the fact that I alone knelt on the moist grass during the Consecration (admittedly most of the attendees were seniors...).

The drive back to my father's house took little over ten minutes. I am always pleasantly surprised at how quickly it takes to navigate cities, even provincial capitals, in the province. There was none of the excruciating traffic so common in Manila, and what little there was could have been negligible. And just as well, as I had not eaten breakfast yet. We arrived home, and already the caterers were posted in the veranda. Among the dishes I noticed were morcon (meat rolls), chicken lollipops, spaghetti, sinigang na baboy (pork cooked in sour broth), as well as some servings of corn soup and rellenong bangus (stuffed milkfish)for the health conscious. Inside, clustered in a circle in the living room, were a group of women ranging from middle aged to the snowy-haired, all immaculately dressed in white. They were whispering amongst themselves and simultaneously drinking coffee. So these were the mangdarasals-- church ladies, who, it seems, are solely preoccupied with structuring their daily activities for prayer. One of them took Fr. Erwin's hand and put it to her forehead, which was followed by several more, until he himself took the hand of one lady-- a rather short and plump schoolteacher with slightly cropped hair.

Breakfast, or should I say brunch, commenced almost half an hour after eleven. At that time I was formally introduced to Fr. Erwin, and yes, 'I was the one who knelt', I proudly told him. We continued talking for about an hour until there was a sudden hush-hush in the living room, and I knew that the padasal had begun. Curious, I excused myself from the table and proceeded to the ghostly group. My mother and father were already there, standing in the corner, while two of my cousins were seated next to an aunt, herself a member of the mangdarasals. The lady whom Fr. Erwin blessed, the schoolteacher, closed her eyes, and produced a rosary from her pocket. Holding the crucifix, she pressed it to her forehead, and in a solemn voice, she began: 'Sa Ngalan ng Ama, at ng Anak, at ng Espiritu Santo.' 'Ave Maria purissima, sin pecado concevida.' 'Bendita sea tu pureza, y eternamente lo sea...'

The words escaped her lips like water falls from a cliff. The steady drone of half-whispered, half-sighed prayers swept over me in all their strangeness and unfamiliarity. Words which were never tossed around in church sermons in the city anymore formed a heavy chain which, I admit, made me uneasy. I knew my grandmother to have been a virtuous woman, who prayed the rosary and read Scripture daily. But purgatory and hell pick no favorites; and eternity has a way of making us remember even the little details of our lives which me would like to think have been buried forever under a slew of psychological coping mechanisms.

They recited all fifteen decades of the holy rosary, ending each series of mysteries with a psalm, a hymn, and especially the prayer of St. Gertrude the Great, said to release a thousand souls from Purgatory every time it is said. At the end of the last series of mysteries (I don't think they prayed the Luminous Mysteries), they sang the hymn 'No mas amor que el Tuyo', followed by the Filipino counterpart of 'On Eagles' Wings', 'Hindi Kita Malilimutan.' Then followed a prayer which was totally alien to me. At a certain point in the prayer, the old lady who led the group instructed two of my aunts to cover their heads; there were no veils handy, so they had to make do with some napkins with cartoon characters printed on them. Apparently, this was supposed to bring good luck and prosperity to the family. This, too, ended. The Litany of Loreto, or perhaps some other litany still unfamiliar to me, was said. After about an hour and a half, the padasal was nearing its completion; the prayer leader took the crucifix into her hand, and, kissing it, began to press it into her forehead again: 'Santong Diyos, Santong Makapangyarihan, Santong walang hanggan, kaawaan Mo po kami at ang buong sanlibutan.' Thrice she did this, before following it with another 'Bendita', and an 'Ave Maria purissima.'

The padasal was finally done, and I saw the old lady take a much needed drink of water after that. The lights were blown off the makeshift altar erected in the living room. It was a simple affair-- a crucifix practically suffocating from garlands of sampaguita, several images of the Virgin, the Santo Nino dressed in its brocade robe, St. Joseph with its garlands of rosaries around its neck, and two huge candles to the side. The ladies in white took off their veils (the one or two who wore them at least)and finally streamed into the dining area, there to make light-hearted 'chismis' (gossip) about the parish priest or a wayward parishioner. At around 3.30 in the afternoon, they left the house, but the fragrance of candle wax and rosaries dipped in rose oil lingered around.

I'm told the format of a padasal can be flexible; and to be honest, I am now not too sure about the exact sequence of prayers uttered that November day some four years ago. But I do remember the enchantment, the strangeness, and yes, the dread mood that came and went with the padasal. I had brought my catechism with me that day, in the hopes of starting a scholarly discussion on the padasal. I never got around to doing that. There was still so much to learn, and I might have just gotten a few laughs thrown at my direction if I did.

All The Queen's Men

Just a photo from the Grand Marian Procession held in Intramuros a couple of weeks ago. Sorry for the lack of updates, I have been very busy lately. I will have something up by the end of this day, though, hopefully.

Marcelo Adonay - Gloria, from the Pequeña Misa Solemne

Read his biography here. As is mentioned in the site, Adonay is often called the 'prince of Philippine liturgical music'; in life, he served as choirmaster of San Agustin church in Intramuros, certainly one of the most illustrious and venerable churches in all the country. It is really surprising that his works are not performed more often. This performance was held in the Church of the Risen Lord, a Protestant chapel in the University of the Philippines two months ago, and sung by Novo Concertante Manila under the direction of choirmaster Arwin Tan.

Padre Pio's Rosary

On the first Sunday of the month of December, the city of Manila holds a grand procession in honor of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This tradition was revived some thirty years ago and is one of the most popular Catholic events in the city. Socialites come in droves, 'fighting' for the honor of who gets to be Hermano and Hermana Mayor. The procession this year included some 80 images of the Blessed Virgin Mary; however, despite this, the one detail that really caught my attention was the following story. From the Philippine Daily Inquirer:

For the first time, a reliquary containing the Rosary of St. Padre Pio will be part of the carroza of the Virgen de la Verdad, to be brought by Gaudencio “Boy” Ponce for the procession on Dec. 6. The Rosary was given to Boy Ponce who was l3 years old when his grandmother Fortunata Balingit Ponce brought him to San Giovanni Rotondo in April l963. Remembering that time, Boy told me that the Mass to be said by Padre Pio was at 5 a.m. He went with his lola early wearing the St. Anthony habit, since he was dedicated to the saint as a child.

One of the priests saw him and asked if he spoke Latin (which he did) and if he could serve in the Mass. It was an experience of a lifetime. Even now, Boy remembers every detail, as they waited patiently while Padre Pio said the Mass. It took all of two hours. After the Mass, Padre Pio, out of the blue, gave Boy his Rosary, which he has kept to this day. The Rosary has been borrowed several times by sick friends, and it helped in their healing.

What an honor is must have been for Mr. Ponce!

The Extinction of Virginal Roles

Today is the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I found this article while flipping through the morning paper, in the showbiz section of all places. It's definitely worth a read. Also, something absolutely humiliating happened to me today. Please pray that I may forget all about it soon. You may also read it through the website of The Philippine Star, which printed the article.

The extinction of virginal roles
by Butch Francisco, The Philippine Star

Today is the feast day of the Immaculate Conception and this is a major holy day of obligation in the Roman Catholic Church calendar. Here in the Philippines, Catholic schools don’t hold classes on Dec. 8 and all over the country a lot of fiestas are being celebrated in various parishes dedicated to the Immaculate Conception. Also expect churches to be bursting at the seams today because devotees will be trooping there to hear mass from morning till evening.

Among Filipinos who lived through the brutality of the Second World War, Dec. 8, 1941 is one date they will never forget because that was the day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor
(although it was only Dec. 7 in America that time).

In this predominantly Catholic country Dec. 8 should always have a personal significance because most school children receive their First Holy Communion on this day. I had mine Dec. 8 and the days leading to that was important because of the preparations: Purchasing the all-white attire and the black bowtie, the photo session at Bob’s studio — plus the daily practices on how to properly open the mouth to receive the Body of Christ. I hope I don’t sound sacrilegious, but I consumed packs after packs of paciencia — that tiny round cookie — a week before the actual First Communion just to get the ritual done right.

But outside of the fact that Dec. 8 is the communion anniversary for most of us (I don’t even know of anyone who celebrates that), this day is important because of our devotion to the Blessed Mother.

Maybe if I had the power to change my date of birth, I would have preferred to have my birthday on Dec. 8. The truth is, my mother actually started having labor pains on this day — around late afternoon — but I refused to come out of this world until practically 24 hours later.

It was a difficult delivery (sorry, Mom!) and my mother made sure I was aware of that while I was growing up. The story was that my head had already popped out, but my block of a body got stuck because obviously I was already top-heavy even at birth.

When I finally came out (head and body), it was already way past the feast of the Immaculate Conception, but was still in time for the feast day of Our Lady of Loreto. My parents, however, still didn’t bother to attach a Marian name to mine — unlike Lorna Tolentino and the late Rudy Fernandez, who named their son Renz Marion because their youngest child was born on Sept. 8, the birthday of the Blessed Mother.

Among the girls, a lot of Connies — from Concepcion — are celebrating their birthday today. And the Immas, too — although they should have been Inmas since the correct Marian term is Inmaculada Concepcion and not Immaculada Concepcion.

I am not sure if parents today still name their Dec. 8 born baby girls Concepcion — or the misspelled Immaculada. Perhaps they find the name too old-sounding by now — although they should remember that this is in honor of the Virgin Mother.

Times have really changed. Stage, movies and television hardly carry religious themes these days. While ABS-CBN airs daily the soap May Bukas Pa, which imparts moral values, I am honestly not comfortable referring to our Christ Savior as Bro.

And since we’ve stopped recreating religious tableaus in the entertainment landscape, there is no casting for Virgin Mary roles anymore. To begin with I can’t even think of a name among young female stars today who would fit the role.

In the past, we’ve had Norma Blancaflor (in Ang Messiah where a one-year old Tirso Cruz III played Baby Jesus), Gloria Romero (on stage and in films), Boots Anson-Roa (the late Rita Gomez would always kid her that she had all her children by immaculate conception), Charito Solis (in a Christmas episode of the old ABS-CBN’s drama series The Charito Solis Show) and even comedienne Aruray (I believe in a stage show when she was so much younger).

But what became of our young actresses? They’re not necessarily immoral, except that they have to be interesting to the public to stay in the race. It’s not their fault, except that some don’t listen to Ricky Lo’s perennial advice to celebrities: “Behave! Behave! Behave!”

Is media responsible for erasing the virginal image of most of these women? In a way, yes, because most movie reporters now have become so comfortable asking single female celebrities if they are still virgins — a no-no in the past and supposedly even in today’s polite society (but that population has considerably shrunk).

But you can’t blame everything on media. I believe it’s in the changing of the times — and technology: Cell phones where lascivious acts that are supposed to be kept private are recorded and shared with the whole world via MMS.

With all the competition, everyone should have something new to offer. In the process, values and sense of decency are sacrificed. An actress who can’t maintain lead status has to go sexy — with matching breast augmentation to flaunt around.

Unlike in the days when it was the norm for women to remain virgins until their wedding night, the female race of today gets embarrassed to admit that at age nearing 30, “they’ve never been kissed and never been touched.” It’s like a stigma to still be virginal at 25 for women nowadays. I can’t exactly pinpoint who is spreading this false notion, but truly we are sending the wrong signal to the public and to the young people.

Again, I am not moralizing because I can never talk about that with authority and conviction. But as a media person, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to remind young women — and the young men as well — that there is nothing wrong about being pure, chaste and immaculate

Funeral Mass - La Casa de Bernarda Alba

The Trials of Sr. Teresita Castillo

"Meditate on this and see how much the Mother and Son worked and suffered together to save the world."

-Message of BVM to Sr. Teresita Castillo, 18 Sep. 1948, on the meeting at Calvary

Among the many mystical experiences attributed to Sr. Teresita Castillo during her days at Lipa Carmel, few stand out as much as her reported encounters with the Evil One, in holy ground, no less. But there are others, positive ones, as well.

On her first few nights at the convent, Teresita was said to have been visited by the devil himself. She described him as being enveloped in a foul odor, of short stature (5'5), and having the most repugnant face wreathed in flame. The devil, she said, would often tempt her to leave the holy place, citing the grievances and great pains she had caused her family by her 'disobedience.' Teresita narrates that, on one occasion, the devil finally revealed himself to her. It was a terrible sight, the culminating note in a series of diabolical encounters. She describes how the devil would often mock her and strip her of her clothing; her bed would shake, and her arms would be covered with welts for days at a time. She attributes this to the times the devil would take the discipline from her bedside table and beat her furiously with it. Follows a brief narration of Teresita's final encounter with the Adversary, two days after the Feast of the Immaculate Heart. She had fled to a stairway leading to the prioress' cell when the attack happened.

"I felt that somebody grabbed my hands but I couldn't see anybody. And I said, "Natatalo na ako!" ["I'm losing!"] So I was holding on to the rails, trying to fight for myself, really. I wanted to go up. Fortunately, Mother Cecilia [ the prioress ] was out of her office... And so she saw me, so she went to me and tried to help me, and afterwards she told me that parang [ it was as if ] somebody is also pulling me downstairs whereas Mother Cecilia was pulling me upstairs. So I thought my body would be in halves already!"

Mother Cecilia also reports that she heard Teresita scream at one point in the struggle, "I have no eyes to see your indecencies!" Reportedly, the Devil had been insulting Sr. Teresita's mother, the Prioress, as well as screaming obscenities about the Bishop. The attack lasted all through the night, only ending at the sound of the community bell, at roughly a quarter before five in the morning. It was then that the prioress had discovered that Teresita had become mysteriously blind. The bond that developed between Mother Cecilia and Sr. Teresita was forged in the crucible of mystical experience. In one of her first appearances to Teresita, the Virgin asked her to wash the prioress' feet in a basin and to drink the water after. Many who doubted the veracity of the events of Lipa (and sadly, even some in Carmel!) maliciously cited this incident as proof of a lesbian relationship between the two. We must recall, however, that at Lourdes, the Blessed Virgin also asked Bernadette Soubirous to eat a little grass and to drink of muddy water three times. These are odious to our sensibilities because of our great pride. Thus Teresita's actions were a sign of profound humility, to the great frustration of the Evil One.

Unbeknownst to Sr. Teresita, Mother Cecilia herself had been receiving locutions from the Virgin. She was told by the Virgin that Teresita's eyesight would be restored on 7th September, the eve of Our Lady's Nativity. When that day had come, Bishop Alfredo Obviar, the auxiliary of Lipa, visited Carmel, and was told of Teresita's condition. Teresita herself felt the sign of the cross being made on her eyes, and immediately after that, began to see again. But it was not the signum crucis, but the kiss of the Mother Prioress.

Sr. Teresita, however, would also suffer another mystical phenomenon, although much later, when the apparitions of Our Lady were already taking place. She was said to have had 'visions of the Sacred Heart, of a multitude of angels and saints, of St. Cecilia and St. Therese of Lisieux in particular, and of a Lady with whom she took long walks in a lovely garden full of birds and flowers.' But perhaps most mysteriously of all, Sr. Teresita was also seen to lose consciousness, 'and then to silently re-enact, while lying on the floor, the agony of Christ on the Cross-- a phenomenon witnessed by the Prioress, Bishop Obviar, and the rest of the community.' The Lady had warned her that she would suffer much, and suffer Teresita did. Today, five decades after leaving Carmel, she remains obedient to the command of the Church to remain silent on the apparitions, but that may soon change, as the case of Lipa has been re-opened. Perhaps, that was the greatest suffering she could bear, to keep the message of Our Lady to herself.

Our Lady, Mediatrix of All Grace

It is official: the Archbishop of Lipa, the Most Reverend Ramon Arugelles, has lifted the almost six-decade long prohibition on the public veneration of Our Lady, Mediatrix of All Grace. In 1948, Our Lady reportedly appeared to a young Carmelite novice, Teresita Castillo, reiterating the message of Fatima and revealing herself to be the 'Mediatrix of All Grace.' For fifteen days, Teresita was said to have conversed with the Blessed Mother, who was reported to have appeared on a cloud, and whose coming was heralded by the arrival of a blue bird in the convent gardens. And then, there were the petals. They rained upon the garden in droves, showering the grounds in crimson, the fragrance of which was said to have moved many a devotee to tears. Still more impressive, a large number of the petals seem to have been stamped with images of the Sacred Heart, the Immaculate Heart, St. Joseph, and even St. Therese of the Child Jesus. (You may read a truncated summary of the events, and the message, here and here.) In no time at all, the apparitions attracted a growing number of devotees, including the First Lady of the time, Dona Aurora Quezon. In Madrid, a crowd of at least 30,000 strong bore her image in procession; even New York City, one of the most progressive cities in the world, was captured by the spell of Lipa.

But in the span of less than three years, the apparitions were to be declared a hoax, and Sr. Teresita, her prioress, and the whole community of Lipa's Carmel, would suffer the extreme embarrassment of being labeled unscrupulous money makers, faking an appearance of the Virgin for their own ends. The poor Carmelites were called 'the dishonor of the Church', in the words of one nun. For almost fifty years, the Carmelites of Lipa were forbidden to speak of the apparitions under threat of excommunication. And yet, there persist rumors, very strong ones, to this day, that a very human hand was behind the silencing of the events at Lipa. More than one bishop was said to have been made to sign the declaration that the events at Lipa were a hoax. And more intriguing, perhaps, is the shadowy trail that suggests the involvement of some of the Roman Curia as well. What is the message of Lipa, and why was it so hastily disapproved? The purging was so thorough, so severe, that not a single mention of it survives in the archives of the Archdioceses of Manila and Lipa. A large number of the protagonists in the Lipa story are now dead, although Sr. Teresita herself is still alive. Most of the details of the story are now sketchy, since it was ordered that all material concerning the apparitions-- novenas, booklets, and the diaries of the prioress Mother Cecilia and Sr. Teresita herself-- be consigned to the flame. But like the petals that rained from above, the story of Lipa, and the events that transpired there, have resurfaced. In the coming posts, I will try to provide as much information as I can regarding the extraordinary circumstances of those years.

Some background information:

The city of Lipa in Batangas is about two hours' drive south of Manila. In the late 1800s, it was the sole provider of coffee beans in the world, making it one of the most prosperous cities in the country at the time. Some years later, however, a virus would destroy the city's main produce, so much so, that by the start of the second world war, Lipa had shrunk to a shadow of its former glory. The war totally destroyed the city; indeed, it was one of the most devastated cities in the Far East. It is said that almost 20,000 people-- priests, religious, old, young, men, and women-- were herded into the city's diocesan seminary by the Japanese. They were all bayoneted to death, and the seminary set on fire. It was on this site that the Carmelite convent of Lipa would be built.

Sr. Teresita Castillo was the youngest daughter of a very prominent family in the province. She led a sheltered, pampered life, but had always nursed a desire to enter the convent and dedicate herself totally to God. On the morning of her twenty first birthday, she fled to Carmel, and begged to be admitted into the order. Her family tried in vain all day to get her to come out, and reconsider her decision, but she would not budge an inch. That night, her brother, fresh off a drunken spiel, flew into the convent in a rage, and, with his gun pointed at the porter, demanded to see his sister. But Teresita's will was iron; her brother found her prostate in the chapel, her arms spread in the form of the Cross, and left, humiliated by his actions.

The Pagoda of Quiapo

The writhing entanglement of wires and rot that forms the heart of Manila-- seedy Quiapo, home of the Black Nazarene and historically home to Chinese and Muslim traders as well as landed Spanish gentry-- is probably one of the most fascinating areas I have ever encountered. I have written so much about the district, especially the Feast that has defined its borders, aesthetics, and faith for centuries, that my readers probably already know more about it than some Filipinos. One of the most interesting structures there is the so-called 'Quiapo Pagoda', originally built as a residence for a wealthy family back in the early days of the twentieth century. From the excellent My Sari Sari Store website:

The Pagoda was built by Jose Mariano Ocampo in 1935 on the northern side of his vast estate, and was to house his realty office. Jose was a realtor but a lawyer by education.

Mr. Ocampo was artistically inclined. He had collections of Philippine paintings, which later would line the walls of the Pagoda. He adored Oriental art, and although he had never traveled to Japan, he dreamed of having his own Japanese pagoda. He began scouring through a collection of photos and pictures from magazines and books and began the painstaking task of designing his pagoda. He hired the best engineers of the day - Maximo Paterno and Juan (?) Cortez - and together they set the foundation of what was to become a landmark of Quiapo.

Ocampo’s pagoda is a blend of Eastern pagoda design and medieval Western architecture.

Mr. Ocampo's office never occupied the Pagoda. A few years after its completion in 1939, World War II broke out and Pagoda was transformed into an air raid shelter. By the end of the war, while the rest of the city was razed and flattened to the ground, the Pagoda survived the bombings.
Although it retains much of its character the Pagoda is now in a dilapidated condition. The tile roofs are falling apart and many of the pre-cast brackets are broken or precariously leaning on edge. It no longer sits on a garden since Ocampo’s heirs sold most of the land. A grand statue of a Chinese-looking Our Lady of Carmel sitting on a globe and carried by exotic looking figures is completely surrounded by houses. You can only access this statue by a small smelly alley.

The Pagoda is a survivor of the war and of a devastating earthquake (1992) during which a portion of the tower broke and fell onto the lower roof. Alas the high cost of maintenance has led to its actual complete deterioration. What a pity!!!
The Pagoda is now a boarding house for sailors waiting for their next assignment. Visitors are not allowed to visit the inside of the Pagoda.

The rest of the photos may be viewed at this link: Filipino Folly: The Pagoda of Quiapo. I really must visit this place soon.

Recess

I apologize for the lack of updates lately. School has started once again, and it is keeping me quite busy. For now, though, please enjoy a pretty picture. This is the Altar of Repose of the church of St. James the Great in Alabang, a suburb in the south of Metro Manila. Also, please say a prayer for me, as I am finding it very difficult to do so at the moment. Thank you.

Scenes From A Cemetery

I visited my grandfather's grave on All Hallows' Eve. It was a gloomy day-- the fourth or fifth storm since the last week of September had just passed by Manila, 'like a thief in the night', according to my mother, howling and whistling in the hours before the gray, overcast dawn that heralded the start of the day. In the cemetery, a good number of people were already camped; some had brought tents to protect themselves from the rain. Flowers on pots were strewn across graves, from the humblest to the most extravagant. We passed by a row of mausoleums that housed some of the oldest and most venerable families of Manila, old colonials with family crests imported from Spain and the rest of Old Europe, and next to them, in some cases at least, those of the new-moneyed Chinese industrialists. We passed by a small 'shelf' where the bones of children who never saw the light of day-- miscarriages and stillborns and such-- were interred. And everywhere, there were candles that glowed coolly in the vast, cold, grayness of it all.

Finally we came to my grandfather's final resting place. He was interred in a small patch of land near the cemetery's walls; immediately behind were the cramped and impossibly small hovels of squatters, many of whom moonlighted as 'caretakers' of the graves. A nasty rumor which was probably true, anyway, held that some of them would sneak into the cemetery at night, taking away the flowers intended for the dead and reselling them for exorbitant prices to the families of the dead, eager to remember their departed kin. The storm, too, made its presence felt in the already gloomy cemetery. Part of the wall had collapsed, and the small creek that lay behind the wall had apparently overflowed. Tree branches were strewn all over the grounds. The grave next to my grandfather's, unfortunately, bore the brunt of it all. It looked as if it had been smashed with a giant mattock. A broken piece of masonry, probably from the old lapida that held the deceased's name, sheltered a weary and injured cat. I offered part of my biscuits to it, but it refused.

We lit some candles for the sake of my grandfather's soul, and left two bouquets of beautiful, white roses at his grave. It had started to rain again, and unfortunately, we had neglected to bring a tent with us. Some families near us were happily sheltered under their tents; I am quite certain more than a few of them would keep to the old tradition of the overnight vigil. Some plots away, two toddlers were playing badminton, unaware of the graves they were stepping on, and thankfully ignorant of the old superstitions that the dead would come to haunt them if their sleep were ever disturbed. I love stories like that. After saying a quick prayer for Lolo, we went on our way and left the cemetery. The visit had taken an hour at most, a lot shorter than what I had expected. As we exited, there was a steady stream of cars still coming in, apparently heedless of the foul weather that blighted Manila.

We left the old colonials and the Chinese industrialists and their grand mausoleums (one of them looked like a suburban home, really) to sleep in peace. We left the unvisited dead, and bade farewell to a former President whose tomb had practically become a shrine, where people would pray the rosary and kneel in humility. And although the rain had stopped, the wind howled and made the trees shake and shudder. They reminded me of the souls of the dead, beseeching the living to take a moment and consider their own mortality.

All Hallows' Eve

I felt a chill wind blowing through my legs today. I was sitting on a bench in school, waiting for my brother to finish rescheduling an appointment with the Guidance Office; since classes had all but ended already, I found myself alone, under a (thankfully) bright and sunny day with nothing but my iPod to intrude upon the blessed silence of it all. Jarring, though, was the wind; it reminded me of stories the pious old women of our family would narrate, seemingly always at this point of the year.

I remember Tia Luisa, my grandmother's cousin, visiting us some years ago. She was a kind, frail old woman, a member of a powerful charismatic Catholic sect; she had once worked as a teacher, but old age had gotten the better of her. To augment her meager pension, she would sell shoes to people in her neighborhood. She happened to know a shoemaker from her charismatic group, who made quality shoes and who was willing to give her a commission at her strong insistence. I've always admired her; it takes a lot of guts for anyone to hop into a moving jeepney at 11 in the evening, much less for an 80 year old woman nearly bent from old age. Anyway, it was on a stormy October night in 2002 or 2003 that saw her visit us. I remember she was dressed in an immaculate white blouse and a purple skirt that almost reached the ankles. All she needed was a Sacred Heart scapular and a long white veil, and she would look like your typical Filipina church lady.

My grandmother served Tia Luisa tea and some hot soup. One thing I notice with Filipinos of an older generation is their insistence on deference and politesse; my grandmother addressed her with the characteristic 'po' and 'opo' with which many children here still address their parents. To think they were separated by probably ten years at most. Tia Luisa had brought with her some beige pumps, a pair of loafers, and some sheets of paper to trace an interested party's foot on, in case he wanted his own pair of shoes. Thunder raged outside. Tia Luisa then motioned for my grandmother to come closer and proceeded to narrate a rather strange tale.

'I saw my father a few days ago', she said. 'It was him all right; he had the same piercing eyes which he always focused on me so intently whenever he looked at me. But at the same time, he wasn't really looking, or if he was, he probably wasn't aware that I could see him. I was scared, all right, and I started to pray the holy rosary haltingly, since I was so scared.' My grandmother listened to her story intently, but with some incredulity. I have mentioned before that that side of my family is no longer Catholic; but, I think, having been raised in the very much Catolico cerrado milieu of the early twentieth century, when all the Evangelical sects and the Iglesia ni Criso were not even a pipe dream in history, my grandmother retained a large part of that ethos. Thus, it would not have been that hard for her to be convinced of the story. Tia Luisa continued, 'When I finally snapped out of that trance, I immediately hurried to my room, where I had a blessed candle stashed in my altar. I lit the candle and started to pray for the repose of my father's soul. The wind howled all the more and lightning and thunder crashed outside my window. I was so scared. To think I already had palaspas (blessed palms) tied on my windows!'

'After some minutes, the rain and the storm and the thunder subsided. But I was still afraid to go near the window. Our elders always told us that on the days before All Souls' Day, the souls in Purgatory are permitted to roam about the earth to remind the faithful to pray for them. So that's what I did; I had Mass said for his repose in seven churches, but I remained inside the house for the rest of the month. I was especially fearful to go out at night.'

Tia Luisa ended her story by taking a swig at her hot tea. All that time, I sat nearby, listening to every detail of her story. I, too, was shaken. My grandmother asked her if she wanted some more tea and soup, but she declined. The rest of the details are now fuzzy, but I recall my grandmother saying something like, 'There is too much in this world that we really do not know about. We should all pray for God's guidance.' At around 9pm, and exhausted from the day's activities, Tia Luisa retired to her bed. My grandmother told us all to be very quiet; it would be very disrespectful of us children to cause a ruckus at night and disturb an elder's sleep. And besides, we were all quite tired ourselves.

A few days later was All Souls' Day. We left for Sucat in the early afternoon, and arrived at the Manila Memorial Park at around three-- the Hour of Mercy, I thought. There were candles, bibles, and rosaries a plenty, but mostly confined to the Catholic side of the family. As usual, I spent a good amount of time roaming the cemetery, soaking in all its somber beauty, the silences of which were seemingly ready to burst with screams of anguish and lamentation. At 5pm, we gathered at my grandfather's puntod, the last golden-red rays of the sun stabbing through thick foliage and casting an eerie glow about the place. And for the first time in my life, I saw my Protestant grandmother pray the holy rosary.

Christian, Catholic -- What's the Difference?

(Note: Please allow this little rant from me, as I have not had one in such a long time that I felt compelled to post this. Thank you.)

I read an article in the Sunday paper that mildly annoyed me, but at the same time raised some interesting questions. The author of the article, apparently a Protestant of a more 'historical' stripe (a Methodist, I think), wrote about the Evangelical phenomenon that has swept the Philippines since the 1980s. In the article, the author wrote about how many prominent fixtures in Philippine society, including (and especially) actors and some businessmen, had been transformed over night, from drug-snorting, womanizing hedonists, into spotless paragons of virtue. In it, he cites the example of a particular actress, who was once heavily into drug abuse and premarital sex, but who has now turned over a new leaf and has rediscovered her poetic side. I think I was most annoyed, however, when the author calls these conversions 'becoming Christian,' as if these Evangelical sects have the exclusive right to call themselves such.

It must be understood that in the Philippines, where Catholicism reigned supreme (and still does) for more than four hundred years, the arrival of Protestantism naturally posed a question and a challenge hitherto left in the open-- namely, what does being a 'true Christian' entail? For centuries, being Christian exclusively meant being Catholic; but with all these johnny-come-latelys hopping into the scene, with their new-fangled angelistic concepts of sanctity, it is not as clear cut as it used to be. Many Evangelical groups try to capitalize on this question. They cite the millions of average joe Catholics who know squat about their faith and who would rather sleep and fornicate than attend Mass on Sundays. In contrast, they present their 'prized converts' and explain how they have since put on Christ since switching over to the other side. It can be argued, though, that with 8 out of 10 Filipinos belonging to the Catholic Church, the lion's share of troubled members would naturally come from Her.

Perhaps I sound bitter, but I think a point has to be made. Let us be honest; majority of the Evangelical groups that have sprung up in the Philippines come with the paradigmatic baggage of Protestant America. There is a heavy emphasis on personal decency that seems to be more important than actual sanctity itself, as well as an (I think) unhealthy preoccupation with 'goodness', or at least, keeping the appearance of it. To be honest, many who do join these groups do so with the right intentions, and some of them do change for the better. What I do not understand, however, is, Why could you have not done the same as a Catholic? One could perhaps fault the clergy and the dumbing down of doctrine and discipline as complicit in the gradual descent into the laxness of faith of these people, but ultimately, the struggle against sin is a personal one, and not something that outsiders will win for you.

I'll admit, a lot of Catholic priests today are too lax, too forgiving, too nice. Maybe that's one reason many ex-Catholics leave the Church for the sects; but I think another angle could be that it is simply easier to be seen as good than to actually be good. Again, I'm not saying that all Evangelicals are image-obsessed, but there's something about the non-restrictiveness of the sects, whether liturgical or otherwise, that seems to appeal to many people. If I may be so bold, I would say it is the lack of the human element that does it. Anyone can admit to being a sinner; the difficulty lies in acknowledging its ugliness. For Catholics, of course, this means going to confession, and subjecting yourself to the 'judgment' of your fellow sinner. There's nothing more humbling than that.

Permit me to be somewhat crude at this point, but just because you finally have your head out of your ass, and you finally begin to see what a mess you've made of your life, doesn't guarantee that you are better off than the rest of us. To be sure, I will be happy for you. But please don't assume that we are 'inferior' for having our human moments. Even St. Augustine prayed, 'Lord, make me chaste-- just not yet.' Something smells fishy here; and it sure as hell isn't the odor of sanctity.

Nuestra Señora del Santisimo Rosario de La Naval

“Many an October evening while watching this procession of La Naval, and having divined, by a general excitement, the approach of the image, he has heard the cries and trumpets of the passing concourse. He has seen her blaze into vision against the skies of his city, born upon cloud of incense and music, her face on fire with jewels and mysterious with the veneration of centuries, with gleaming rainbows forming and falling all about her and silken doves bobbing whitely among her flowers of gold and silver -- Oh, beautiful and radiant as an apparition! -- the Presence at Lepanto, Lady and Queen and Mother of Manila, the Virgin of the Fifteen Mysteries.”

- Nick Joaquin

The Feast of La Naval de Manila-- the so-called 'procesion de procesiones'-- is certainly one of the grandest celebrations of Old, and Contemporary, Manila. The story of Lepanto is familiar to all; familiar to us, too, are the stories of the miraculous intercession of the Blessed Virgin, routing the Turkish hosts from Europe and preserving Christendom from destruction. In the Philippines, this story is echoed in the Saga of La Naval-- and how the miraculous Virgin was able to rout a superior Dutch force from the shores of Manila with only a handful of decrepit ships, and a paltry number of Spanish and Filipino forces manning them. This was a feat repeated all of five times, each seemingly more miraculous than the next. And it is for this reason that Nuestra Señora del Santisimo Rosario is hailed as the Queen of the Philippines, her mighty and unfailing champion in times of distress. Over the centuries, jewels and gold and silver and all sorts of precious ornaments and elaborately embroidered dresses have been given to the Virgin. Jewels from visiting royals and medallions from National Artists (Joaquin, notably) have all been laid at the feet of this Grand Lady. In her magnificent, boat-shaped triumphal carriage of silver, La Naval, as she has come to be known in this part of the world, was an imposing-- and majestic-- presence indeed.

Though the intercession of the Virgin of the Rosary has saved this country multiple times in the past, the Great War which wrecked Manila and reduced it into a burnt-out cinder nearly threatened to destroy the image. Ultimately, though, the faith of her devotees persevered, and the savior herself was saved. Here follows an account of the 'rescue' of La Naval from the ruins of the Old Sto. Domingo.

The image of the “Santo Rosario,” along with her regalia — her gold crowns and renowned jewels — along with the other Great Treasures of the Manila Dominicans — the jewel-encrusted gold chalices, monstrances, reliquaries, ecclesiastical accoutrements, silver tabernacles, candlesticks, torcheres, missal stands, banners, ornate ewers and basins, important centuries-old documents, and many other valuables — had been stored by the Spanish Dominicans in their large vault located on the ground floor of the Church Complex. The late Rev. Fr. Augusto Antonio, O.P. described the Santo Domingo Church Vault to Rafael del Casal as having had very thick walls. As The Fire raged for many days and nights, and while the Manila Dominicans prayed for the safety of their Greatest Treasure — the 350 year old miraculous image of the “Santo Rosario” — The Great and Terrible Possibility loomed that the image of the Virgin would not survive the Extreme Heat from The Fire which had completely permeated the vault — and the entire Church Complex as well…

An Eyewitness recounted:

“”In December of 1941, the Japanese warplanes bombed Intramuros. One of the first casualties was the Santo Domingo Church and Convent. The towers were destroyed and only the walls were left. The Church and the Convent burned for many days. Wisely enough, days before the bombings, The Dominican friars had stored the centuries-old image of the “Santo Rosario,” along with her crowns, jewels, and vestments in the “Tesoro del Convento” The Convent Treasury, which faced Plaza Isabel II. But because of the intensity of The Fire, No One really knew if the image of the “Santo Rosario” had survived…”"

THE RESCUE OF THE “SANTO ROSARIO”

But She did, miraculously as always. The Extreme Heat of The Fire had bent, twisted, deformed, and in fact almost melted several of the important gold and silver objects. But the 350 year old [ elephant ] ivory and hardwood image of the ”Santo Rosario” actually survived The Conflagration which had consumed her beautiful, rose-colored, Gothic-style temple from 1875 — the Santo Domingo Church and Convent in Intramuros, a masterpiece by the Europe-trained, patrician architect Don Felix Roxas Sr. — and it also finally laid waste to the historic site of her home beside the Pasig River since 1593.

An Eyewitness recounted:

“”The Prior of the Santo Domingo Church and Convent, Rev. Fr. Aurelio Valbuena, O.P. — a respected and trusted man — decided to transfer the image of the ‘Santo Rosario’ and her crowns, jewels, and vestments to a safer place, to the University of Santo Tomas in Sampaloc District. That was, of course, if She survived…”
“On 30 December 1941, three days before the entry of the Japanese Ground Forces, the Japanese Air Force had started the aerial bombardment of The City. Electricity had been cut off; Blackouts were the norm. Word went around that Massive Looting would take place. Rev. Fr. Aurelio Valbuena, O.P., the Prior of the Santo Domingo Church and Convent, was advised by well-meaning friends and devotees to finally secure the treasures of the Manila Dominicans, paramount of which was the centuries-old ivory image of the “Santo Rosario.”
“And so, on 30 December 1941, at 4:00 p.m., Everyone concerned — the Manila Dominicans, their friends and devotees of the “Santo Rosario,” two Augustinian Recollect priests, and some Manila policemen — got together at The Ruins of the Santo Domingo Church and Convent in Intramuros to see if the ivory image of the ‘Santo Rosario’ had possibly survived The Conflagration within the confines of the “Tesoro del Convento” The Convent Treasury, and if so, to bring her to relative safety at the University of Santo Tomas in Sampaloc…”
“The Vault Door of solid metal was extremely difficult to open. The Group initially thought of blowing it up with a grenade but they found out that it would not be necessary…”

“They decided to use an Acetylene Torch. But The Vault Door resisted to a remarkable degree.”
“Nearly four hours later just before 8:00 p.m., They were still firing away at the mechanism of The Vault Door in Complete Darkness [ Electricity had been cut off; Blackouts had been imposed ]. It was very difficult to open!!!”
“Finally, by 8:00 p.m., They had already succeeded in making a small opening… A few minutes later, the mechanism finally gave way and They were able to force The Vault Door open…”
“The Dominican priests were eager to enter The Vault but an Infernal, Boiling Heat gushed out from it so they had to retreat!!!”

“But from the Vault Entrance, They saw that The Image of the ‘Santo Rosario’ was intact. She had survived!!!”
“Tears of happiness gushed forth as They All immediately knelt down on the wet stone floor of The Convent and prayed the “Salve” aloud. They had never prayed more intently. The Silence, The Blackout, the Faint Moonlight, the Deep Shadows, the Wet Walls… all contributed to the dramatic, almost ‘theatrical’ experience…”
“The Silence was broken by the bursting of canned goods in The Convent ‘Almacen’ Storerooms. All the factors: the Darkness, the Bombings, the Fear, the Assault… all contributed to the Great Emotion of the scene.”"
After the image of the Virgin was retrieved from the smoking vault by the Spanish Dominicans, the Ortigas brothers, their Ramirez-Ortigas nephews, along with some other brave souls, undertook the perilous and heroic task of transporting her secretly, in a rundown “camioneta” truck through the back streets of Sampaloc District, to the Chapel of the University of Santo Tomas, where She remained throughout The War.

“”The image of the ‘Santo Rosario’ was wrapped in a thick blanket. Her image, the wooden chests containing her crowns and her jewels, and the wooden boxes containing her elaborate vestments were all loaded in the same truck.”

“The truck exited through the Colegio de San Juan de Letran side…”

“The silent caravan made its way to the University of Santo Tomas through the dark and deserted streets.”

“The truck was followed by several other cars who escorted the “Santo Rosario” to the University of Santo Tomas.”

“Several people were waiting for the rescuers at the University of Santo Tomas. In fact, there was quite a crowd waiting to receive the ’silent procession’ from Intramuros.”

“Although the ‘Santo Rosario’ was not appropriately dressed, the priests lifted the thick blanket so She could be seen by the assemblage. The crowd knelt reverently and gratefully prayed the “Salve”…

“The Virgin was Saved!!!”

“The next day, some priests returned to the ruins of the Santo Domingo Church, to the “Tesoro del Convento” the Treasury, to retrieve boxes of documents of lesser value, but these had already disappeared in the intervening hours. Had they not retrieved the image of the ‘Santo Rosario’ the previous night, She too, might have disappeared!!!”

“The most important thing is that the historical Virgin is still venerated at the new Santo Domingo Church with the vestments, jewels, and crowns given to her by the Filipino nation.”"

(Source)

Truly a miraculous story. Today, hundreds of years after the Virgin of the Most Holy Rosary saved the Philippines from the Dutch, she still continues to work her miracles. They may not be as grand as before, but they are certainly still as powerful. May she continue to protect this country from certain disaster. Our Lady of the Most Holy Rosary, pray for us.

Click this link to view photos of the procession last Sunday. They are some of the most sublime photos of it that I have ever seen on the internet: La Naval de Manila 2009.

Santisima Trinidad, Quetzaltenango

The image of the Most Holy Trinity venerated in the cathedral of Quetzaltenango in Guatemala. Yes, that is real, beaten silver that clothes God the Father. Found on Flickr, as always.

A Note

Please forgive the rather sparse number of posts as of late. I am trying to catch some deadlines which are proving to be quite tricky. Some of you may have heard about the 'rotating blackouts' in Metro Manila; our area has been hit three times now, with a combined number of electricity-less hours nearing 13. While I certainly cannot complaint about my bad fortune-- as I type this, Baguio up in the northern Philippines is still buried under 2002mm of rain, at least half a year's worth in six days-- it is really stressing me out. I still have to type a twenty five page paper in time for Wednesday, on top of several other requirements. The storm(s) and its/their aftermaths truly boggle the mind, not just because of the scale of destruction, but conversely, also because of the undying lights that are the hearts of some selfless people whose bravery, audacity, or perhaps even foolishness, I will forever try to understand. But really, what can one do in such times? It is dark again outside. It will probably rain again. For once, I wish the sun would shine hot enough to fry me to a crisp.

No Words Need Be Spoken

Here are some photos of the devastation caused by Typhoon Ondoy (international name Ketsana) across Metro Manila, Philippines, and some parts of Vietnam.

Typhoon Ketsana (Ondoy) 0 The Big Picture

Barely a week after Ondoy, another supertyphoon threatens the country-- Pepeng, Parma in the international realm. Already we are being warned that this is THE big one-- it is already classified as a category 5 storm, like Katrina. Pepeng brings with it winds with speeds up to 195kph. Many parts of the National Capital Region are still submerged in water, and if the speculations are true-- that Pepeng threatens to bring a similar amount of rainfall-- then God help us all. Your prayers will be greatly appreciated.

Ondoy

Please pray for the victims of typhoon Ondoy in the Philippines. The whole of Manila was drowned in water yesterday. I am not kidding when I say that the volume of water matches, if not exceeds, that of Katrina. In a span of nine hours, it unleashed over 420mm of water, more than the amount for the whole of September. Hundreds of thousands have been displaced, and as of the moment, almost eighty people have been confirmed dead. Our own subdivision was flooded knee-deep with water. But there are other areas that have suffered much worse than us. I am quite thankful to be alive. Your prayers are very much appreciated.

Baclaran Wednesday

The devotion to Our Lady of Perpetual Help only started in the twentieth century in the Philippines, but since that time, it has evolved to become of the most enduring devotions in the country. In Manila, one always expects traffic on Wednesdays and Fridays; the former, because of the thousands who troop to Baclaran church (Baclaran Wednesdays), and the latter, because it is the day of the Black Nazarene (Quiapo Fridays). Baclaran church is staffed by the Redemptorists; the church can hold an estimated 2,000 people seated and up to 9,000 standing. From midnight to the wee hours of Thursday, hundreds of thousands would have visited the church, walking on their knees as they approach the lofty image of Our Lady. The crowd is diverse; pimps and whores and lonely housewives and cheating husbands all beg the Lady's help. The photo was probably taken during one of the many Masses that always mark a Wednesday in Baclaran.

The Redemptorists brought the picture of the Mother of Perpetual Help to the Philippines in 1906. Forty years later, the Redemptorists introduced the Perpetual Novena to the nation. The honor of conducting the first Perpetual Novena in the Philippines goes, not to Baclaran, but to the Iloilo community, in May, 1946 in the Redemptorist Church of St. Clement.

That same year, the Redemptorist Rector of Lipa City in Batangas happened to be visiting Iloilo. He was present at the Novena devotion and determined to introduce it in Lipa. There it was started the following year. When the Rector of Lipa, Fr. Gerard O’Donnell, became Rector of Baclaran, his first thought was of the Novena which he began at 6.00 pm on June 23, 1948.

That same year, the Redemptorist Rector of Lipa City in Batangas happened to be visiting Iloilo. He was present at the Novena devotion and determined to introduce it in Lipa. There it was started the following year. When the Rector of Lipa, Fr. Gerard O’Donnell, became Rector of Baclaran, his first thought was of the Novena which he began at 6.00 pm on June 23, 1948.

Fr. Leo English conducted the first Novena in Baclaran. There were only 70 people present. The capacity of the church at that time was only 300. Within the next year, a second session had to be provided, and some extensions were made to the small wooden church. Before the end of 1949, there were eight crowded sessions of the Novena. The Wednesday of each week became a day of prayer to the Virgin of Perpetual Help throughout the entire nation.

The increasing attendance of the devotees forced the Redemptorists to consider a more spacious church. Fr. Lewis O’Leary, Superior at the time, assumed management of the massive construction. The bulk of the money that financed the building came from the small offerings of ordinary people. An appeal made from the pulpit was for ten centavos per person per week. This is why it took six years to complete the construction of the church. When the money ran out, the construction was suspended; when more money came in, the work began again. The old church continued in use as the new rose over it; the Novena continued as usual.

The foundation stone had been laid by Cardinal Gilroy of Sydney on January 11, 1953. On January 1958, the Philippine hierarchy officially declared the Baclaran Church to be the National Shrine of the Mother of Perpetual Help. And on December 1st, 1958, the completed church was solemnly consecrated by Archbishop Santos of Manila, assisted by Bishops Antiporda and Shanahan.

The official opening ceremony was held on December 5, 1958. Archbishop Santos celebrated the Mass, assisted by Cardinal Agagianian and several other bishops. Since the day when the Shrine was opened, it has never been closed, day or night.

The Church’s architecture is described as Modern Romanesque. Cesar Concio, its architect, and Jesse Bontoc, his associate, had planned a higher church with a bell tower. But because of its proximity to the airport, civil aeronautic regulations prevented them from carrying out their plan in full.

The church has a seating capacity of 2000 persons, with another 9000 standing. On each Wednesday, seven sessions of the Novena with benediction along with three novena Masses and two sung Masses are held. About 120,000 devotees visit Baclaran each Wednesday to pray the Novena. Far larger crowds attend on the first Wednesday of the month. Devotees arrive from 4.00 am and are still entering the church past midnight.

Confessions are heard daily in the Shrine at almost every hour of the day. On Wednesdays, the Confessional boxes are occupied all day long. The celebration of the sacrament of reconciliation makes the Shrine an important centre of spiritual renewal.

Every week, hundreds of Petition and Thanksgiving letters are received at the Shrine. Many are from foreign lands wherever Filipinos happen to be. The more significant Thanksgiving letters are kept on file.

The Feast day of the Mother of Perpetual Help is celebrated on June 27. A Novena of nine consecutive days precedes the annual celebration of the feast.

Learn more about the devotion here.

Rumble in the Penafrancia Procession

It is now the third week of September, and in the Philippines, this is a time of great fervor and devotion to Nuestra Senora de Penafrancia, the epicenter of which is in Naga City of the Bicol region. I have blogged about the Penafrancia procession before; you may read it here. Our Lady of Penafrancia is one of the most venerated icons of the Blessed Mother, with up to hundreds of thousands, if not a million, attending the grand fluvial procession in her honor.

I was bewildered and somewhat amused by the video above. Although it is in Filipino, i guess the flow of the story is easy enough to follow, but basically what happened is that one of the voyadores (the men who accompany the image of Our Lady in procession), clearly drunk, wanted to wipe the image's robes to venerate it; however, the priests guarding the image, already clearly pressed upon in all corners, tried to get the man off the processional platform. It was at this point that the drunken man punches an elderly monsignor, hitting him right in the head. His fellow priests, their anger aroused by such impiety, then respond by repeatedly punching the drunkard, and eventually getting him off the platform.

Some points: it is a common practice in many parts of the Philippines to perform a panata while drunk; whether it be flagellation or taking part in the procession of Lucban's Santo Entierro and the Black Nazarene of Quiapo, chances are, someone will do so while inebriated. Sadly, this is the reality of Belloc's all-too-cheerful 'Where the Catholic sun doth shine...' To be honest, I have always found that poem a bit naive, if not a little misinformed; and I think too many people see it through an optic very much, well, suburban in context. But Catholics, especially third world Catholics (i.e., the only ones that still bother to believe 'the hard way'), are not prim and proper Anglicans who enjoy their sherries so much. I really can't help but think at times whether those who cite Belloc's poem so frequently would be able to stand seeing Catholicism in all its shockingly revolting humanity.

Second point: it is refreshing to see that some priests can still throw a punch. Sometimes, I think there is no better catechism lesson than a good, solid punch to the jaw. Too many priests today, even in the provinces, seem to be focused solely on giving good PR for the Church-- and while this is never a bad thing, the priest is, foremost, a minister of God tasked to bring souls to eternal beatitude. The drunkard was certainly acting in a most scandalous manner; it is only fitting that he be rebuked.

Random Notes on the Iglesia ni Cristo

Some days ago, I was at the library poring through pages and pages of old newspapers from the 1950s. These were generally happier times for the Philippines; the country was rich and still glowing somewhat from its colonial experience under the United States. The Church, too, was healthier, having been invigorated by the Irish American priests, and finding a renewed confidence after the anti-clerical revolution that threatened it just half a century earlier. There was one article, though, that stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the advertisements for American soap, American clothes, and American cars; it was a small blurb about a fiesta gone awry, after a certain religious group crashed the party.

I am speaking, of course, of the Iglesia ni Cristo, a homegrown Arian sect which claims to be the true Church. The article described how a town procession in honor of its patron saint gradually became heated, after the priest and some of his acolytes were accosted by the INC ministers. The minister complained that the priest was always ringing the church bells whenever the Iglesia would gather in the plaza, which was always configured so that it faced the church. Of course, the priest countered that it was his duty to prevent the people from sharing in their perfidies and heresies; the article then went on to describe how an Iglesia member got boxed in the face by an acolyte, after which, the trouble ensued. The details are not clear to me right now, and I regret not being able to bring my notebook with me to jot down further notes about the story, but it is safe to say that the Iglesia members retreated, having been faced with a larger Catholic crowd.

The INC has been in the news recently, after their 'executive minister' Erano 'Ka Erdy' Manalo entered eternity eight days ago. The Iglesia is considered a 'kingmaker' in the Philippines; its members vote as a bloc, and their two to three million members are definitely a boost to any ambitious politician. Thus, practically all the pages in the dailies for the past week have had some message of condolence or 'pakikiramay' from some ambitious politico seeking reelection. This is definitely a far cry from forty or even thirty years ago, when whole towns would, under the leadership of the local government, even, try to repel any INC presence in their respective dominions. Church bells were rung whenever the INC ministers would proselytize at the plazas, ministers were physically removed from their homes and ordered to find somewhere else to peddle their wares; in some cases, INC members would also report having feces thrown at them.

Today, the level of antagonism has toned down somewhat, but there exists a certain level of caution, especially among older Catholics, when dealing with the Iglesia. As a pre-school student, I remember there being a poster showing the different religions of the Philippines in one corner of our classroom. At the very bottom of the poster was the Iglesia, and my teachers would reprimand me whenever I would look at it long enough. If I misbehaved, for example, they would tell me 'Ibibigay na kita sa mga Iglesia king 'di ka pa tumigil!' (I will give you to the Iglesia if you don't stop!). There was a certain menace associated with them; my grandparents would always tell me that the INC members worshipped Manalo as a living god, and that their ministers were violent people, who kept high-powered firearms in their sacristies (or whatever they called it). Last year, a former member of the Iglesia who had 'switched' over to join its rival sect 'Ang Dating Daan' ('The Ancient Path')was gunned down while on the way to Manila. Immediately, and perhaps instinctively, the ADD members 'knew' that the Iglesia was behind it.

As a Catholic, I guess I've always taken my membership in the Church for granted. Culturally, Catholicism is a force, a superstructure that one just cannot escape from, not in this lifetime, and not in the immediate lifetimes to come. It is too pervasive, too 'everyday' that to imagine a person growing up outside its sphere of influence would be almost impossible. Some Protestant sects in the Philippines, for example, continue to refer to the Blessed Virgin as 'Blessed Mary' or 'the Virgin Mary'; there are also Evangelical groups that follow the structure of Catholic Holy Week. But the Iglesia is simply different. For one, its Arian doctrines certainly place it outside the realm of traditional Christian belief. Their government is centered around the reclusive 'Executive Minister', whom they claim is the last prophet of God; I found it funny, though, when the remains of Manalo were brought into a gigantic structure in the INC's main compound which they called the Tabernacle. Natch, Manalo's body was placed in a tomb itself placed on an elevated area, with rows of chairs on both side for the ministers to keep watch over him.

I didn't watch the ceremony in whole, since I had a busy schedule ahead. I was intrigued, however, when a loud wailing escaped the throats of the congregated INC members. Whenever the pallbearers would move the body of Manalo, it was sure to be followed by a series of loud wailing and mourning. Perhaps, since the Iglesia do not believe in the communion of saints, and teaches that prayers for the dead are the Devil's work, this was the next best thing for them. Terribly cathartic. I finally switched off the television as I still had two papers to finish and an exam for which to study.

I am suddenly reminded, although as to the connection I am not exactly clear myself, of an incident that occurred at my grandparents' home some twenty years ago when I was but a few months old. Naturally, I do not have any recollection of the event, but I have always heard this anecdote being passed around by family. The story goes that my grandparents once opened up part of their home to serve as bed and board for some university students. One of them, however, always looked uneasy when entering that part of the house. They later found out that the girl was a member of the INC; so they made sure to give her special roles during the evening devotions, such as lighting the candles in the grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes and having her stitch some veils for my grandmother's church group. I honestly don't know if the girl converted to Catholicism, but I think it was a valiant effort. People used to believe in religion, and not just what religion can do for oneself. One really wonders why the Church has scarcely paid attention to this sect, since, as anyone can attest, a vast majority of the Iglesia's members are former Catholics. If anything, Manalo's death should remind us of that.

On The Fringes of The Bizarre

This video shows a penitential tradition popular in the province of Pampanga in the northern Philippines. The men lying prostrate on the floors are called magdarama; they undertake a multitude of harsh practices of mortification come Holy Week, not the least of which is flagellation. A variant of this practice involves donning a crimson or black robe with a hood covering the face; depending on the penitent, he may use foliage, barbed wire, or even wood for his crown of thorns. A practice which I believe has an equivalent in Mexico is the placing of the patibulum or cross beam made of thorny wood (or just really heavy logs) on the shoulders of the penitent, whose wrists are then chained so as to prevent him from resting. The variant above has the penitents lying face down whilst their accomplices beat them on the backs with plywood (or in this case, a leather belt); afterward, a heavy cross may be placed on the penitent's back for a certain amount of time; the penitent can then choose to walk with the cross strapped to his back, or make his way to a shrine or church on his knees. Off screen, I presume a local family is holding a pabasa, or the chanting of the Lord's passion in verse. It is one of the most enduring and most popular devotions come Holy Week, reaching a peak on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.

I once heard a professor of mine remark, 'If you were to ask me, I don't really think there's such a thing as Catholicism. But there is a Church, and it's a very real, very powerful thing.' I didn't really understand what he meant when he said that, until I was face to face with the 'real' Catholicism-- that wonderfully mystical, irreducibly inconvenient thing-- that was practiced in the rural areas of the Philippines. When we had our pasiyam (special prayers for the deceased held nine days after death)for my grandmother after she died, and again on her 30th and 40th day commemorations, I remember this old lady, a friend of hers in life and well-known as an intensely religious woman(and not to mention, an incredible mahjong player)who would pause every now and then and instruct my aunts to cover their heads at certain parts in the prayer. She also maintained that the 'Bendita sea Tu pureza' must be prayed three times after that, and a bevy of other details too entangled in the haze of memory to recall right now.

I still don't understand the logic behind it, but I am through arguing with that unstoppable force of tradition now. I'm sure it is animated by the same conviction that requires that the rosary beads clasped by the deceased be severed first before she is finally laid to rest, at the risk of prolonging her purgatory till the end of days. And I am pretty sure it is the same logic that lies behind the belief that stopping one's prayers before the candle blows out is sure to bring bad luck for generations to come. But that is just the problem with faith today-- too many saints, and not enough santos to work their miracles.

Ensemble Organum - In Splendoribus Sanctorum

San Sebastian Church, Manila

I found these gems on Facebook. Here are the captions accompanying the photos.

Completed in 1891, San Sebastian Church is noted for its architectural features. An example of the revival of Gothic architecture in the Philippines, it is the only all-steel church or basilica in Asia. It has also been implausibly reputed to be the first prefabricated building in the world, and more plausibly claimed as the only prefabricated steel church in the world.

The prefabricated steel sections that would compose San Sebastian Church were manufactured in Binche, Belgium. According to the historian Ambeth Ocampo, the knockdown steel parts were ordered from the Societe Anonyme des Enterprises de Travaux Publiques in Brussels. In all, 52 tons of prefabricated steel sections were transported in eight separate shipments from Belgium to the Philippines, the first shipment arriving in 1888. Belgian engineers supervised the assembly of the church, the first column of which was erected on September 11, 1890. The walls were filled with mixed sand, gravel and cement. The stained glass windows were imported from the Henri Oidtmann Company, a German stained glass firm, while local artisans assisted in applying the finishing touches of the steel church.



It has long been reputed that Gustave Eiffel, the French engineer behind the Eiffel Tower and the steel structure within the Statue of Liberty, was involved in the design and construction of San Sebastian Church.

The connection between Eiffel and San Sebastian Church was reportedly confirmed by historian Ambeth Ocampo while doing research in Paris. Ocampo likewise published a report that in the 1970s, the famed architect I. M. Pei had visited Manila to confirm reports he had heard that Eiffel had designed an all-steel church in Asia. When Pei inspected San Sebastian Church, he reportedly pronounced that the metal fixtures and overall structure were indeed designed by Eiffel.

Nonetheless, it is said that the official catalogues of Eiffel make possible reference to the design and exportation of a church in Manila in 1875, or thirteen years before construction of San Sebastian Church actually began. If true, this would still not preclude the possibility that Eiffel had designed the metal structure of the church, with Genaro Palacios completing the actual design of the entire church.

Mew - Introducing Palace Prayers

Churchly People

It is Monday, and as usual, I found myself trooping to the chapel to attend the 11.30am Mass. I developed the habit during my high school days, and honed it in college, where initial boredom and alienation saw me cultivating my piety as I had not done before. It is Monday, and as usual, the chapel is filled with students still stuck midway between Sunday and the present.

I am typing this post in my thoughts; I am seated a good distance from the altar, neither too far nor too near. The pew immediately in front of me is occupied by an old English teacher; she is fiddling with her fan, and she has her prayer books in front of her. To my right, a few feet away from me, a boy in blue is brooding. He momentarily glances at me; I am almost certain he is checking me out. I am strangely flattered. Behind me is a family of four; they are all dressed in pique polos, even the four year old boy who looks like a teddy bear. In the sanctuary, an altar girl in jeans makes a double genuflection before the tabernacle. I've seen her before in the library; she always reads the newspapers in the afternoon, and I'm sure I've heard her humming 'O Sacred Heart' while doing so.

At around 11.20, an old lady with a cane enters the chapel. She makes her way to the pew nearest to the altar, and mumbles some prayers along the way. She has done this everyday for the last three years, possibly longer. A cellphone rings loudly for two or three seconds before the owner shuts it off. Her ringtone is 'West End Girls' by The Pet Shop Boys. I can't help but chuckle to myself, as it is one of my favorite songs from the '80s. I cannot get it out of my head now. Outside, the clouds darken; more people file in, students, teachers, the prayerful, students who will be taking three hour exams later in the evening, a nun in a habit, a nun without a habit, an African seminarian, and some waiting for their respective boyfriends or girlfriends. In front of me, a couple takes a seat to the right of the eccentric English teacher. I've seen the boy doing aerobics early in the morning, and as usual, he is always smiling. The girl is blushing; there is a rose in her bag.

Another grandmother enters the chapel. She takes her seat in the pew two rows from where the English teacher and the happy couple are seated. I recognize her; she is without her husband, whom, I noticed, would often 'talk' to the image of St. Ignatius by the door and make a quick visit to the Blessed Sacrament before the Mass started. It's possible that I was not able to notice if and when she made her own visit. Still more people, majority of them taking their seats in the back. I've always noticed this to be a peculiar habit; I don't know why, but when Filipinos go to church, they always take the seats from the middle to the back first. Perhaps it has something to do with a sense of humility or 'reverent distance' from the tabernacle; my grandmother used to suggest that it was so because that way, the priest would not be able to hear the old wives gossip and their men whine about being made to sit still. I am more positive, and generally suspect that the former is true. The side entrance swings opens, and in comes a boy from one of my classes. I have to be honest, I didn't really think him the prayerful type when I first saw him. He proceeds to the back, taking the back most pew from the altar.

Finally, the priest himself arrives. He is American, and is dressed in a yellow polo and light khakis and a ballcap, which he immediately doffs upon entering the chapel. His umbrella is wet, and he is met by a man in orange at the chapel's entrance, who then helps to conduct him to the altar. A few minutes pass, and the Holy Sacrifice begins. He eventually gives his homily, but to say that I did not hear a thing would be putting it lightly. At exactly 11.58am on my watch, the Mass ended.

The polo family knelt for awhile before each one finally bowed before the altar and left. To my right, the boy who had checking me out genuflected at the very moment the priest left the sanctuary; he opened the door for an old man, smiled, and left. Some chose to pray a little while before leaving to take their tests and give their reports. Just as quickly as the chapel filled with people before the Mass, so too did they disperse. I wonder what all these other people think of me? Perhaps they notice that I am always early for Mass, or that I hardly receive Holy Communion. Or perhaps some of them might think of me as 'that boy' who always keeps looking around during Mass-- I certainly would like to know, but at the same time, I don't really think it bothers me much. It is certainly delightful to see that many of the 'regulars' at Mass are the same people who regularly attended in 2006, 2007, and 2008. Old faces disappeared to be replaced by new ones, but always, I take comfort in the fact that, no matter how unpleasant or sinful I can be sometimes, I can at least pretend to be good at Mass and not end up being hypocritical.

Prayers said, I prepared to exit the chapel. I genuflected, and immediately the boy from one of my classes. He was mulling over a list, and as quickly as I had spotted him, he stood up, and went inside a confessional (more like a reconciliation room). Thank God I am wrong most of the time.

Homily of Fr. Catalino Arevalo, SJ at Cory Aquino's Funeral

'Tis truly an end of an era. My parents kept commenting how the events of the last few days have been so reminiscent of scenes that transpired twenty six years ago, to the point that one seems to have been thrown back in time. After a funeral procession that lasted at least eight hours, Mrs. Aquino was finally laid to rest beside her husband Ninoy. Whereas his death opened up long bottled feelings of injustice and oppression, hers closed a turbulent chapter in Philippine history, and it did so with a tremendous outpouring of love.

RIP Mrs. Cory Aquino

My generation never knew Martial Law, never had to endure the fear and oppression that our parents had to under the Marcos regime. A revolution changed everything-- but it was not a revolution of guns and blood, but a revolution of prayer and moral outrage. Nuns and priests marched hand in hand against columns of tanks and offered rosary beads to soldiers. And it was a revolution that was started by a simple housewife dressed in yellow. Corazon Aquino was a symbol of democracy in the Philippines. It was the very image of David toppling Goliath. I doubt if we will see such a leader in the country in the coming years. Some people come once in a lifetime who just change everything. Farewell, Mrs. Aquino. Thank you for fighting, for giving us hope. May you rest in peace.

A few weeks before she died, Mrs. Aquino wrote a prayer, which was published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer. I post it now here in full.

Almighty God, most merciful Father
You alone know the time
You alone know the hour
You alone know the moment
When I shall breathe my last.

So, remind me each day,
most loving Father
To be the best that I can be.
To be humble, to be kind,
To be patient, to be true.
To embrace what is good,
To reject what is evil,
To adore only You.

When the final moment does come
Let not my loved ones grieve for long.
Let them comfort each other
And let them know
how much happiness
They brought into my life.
Let them pray for me,
As I will continue to pray for them,
Hoping that they will always pray
for each other.

Let them know that they made possible
Whatever good I offered to our world.
And let them realize that our separation
Is just for a short while
As we prepare for our reunion in eternity.

Our Father in heaven,
You alone are my hope.
You alone are my salvation.
Thank you for your unconditional love, Amen.