Some (Late) Thoughts on Lent

The older I get, the more I realize how difficult it is to live by faith. Perhaps I am very much a product of this generation, a generation that has taken upon itself to adapt, wittingly or otherwise, a paradigm hitherto unknown to any in this country, or maybe because I realize I am now twenty one and have yet to prove anything significant to myself. Or maybe I am just undersexed, as a friend put it. I laughed a little at that, I admit. But for better or worse, I cannot now forget all that I have learned about my faith; I have idealized it, made it the primary criterion of my decisions. There are times when I feel very much like a cleric, especially when I am in the midst of friends who are not that religious; but I also feel out of place in the company of 'the holy', the so-called favorites of God, as it were.

And so, I admit, I miss being a nominal Catholic. Lent has come around again, and with it the reminder that I am a sinner. The past year hasn't really been a good one for me, especially spiritually. I feel as if God has honestly deserted me sometimes. Of course, I can't really complain about that (well at least not publicly, or aloud). I sometimes ask myself, 'What is the point?' Indeed, there doesn't seem to be one, since I am just as sinful, just as arrogant, just as obstinate as I was before the season started. Part me of wants to say that the whole discipline of Lent is just about trying to appear pious and good before other people; but at the same time, I know that I need it, need to become a better person, a holier person.

But maybe that's just it: Lent becomes too much of an exercise about us. It becomes a tedious exercise of phony self-improvement, as if such an important liturgical season were really just another vehicle for self-empowerment, self-aggrandization, and self-promotion. Lent used to be simpler: you would just abstain from meat on Fridays, pray the rosary on your knees with outstretched hands, sing the pasyon, or do some charitable deed to your fellow man. Perhaps, because we are living in a so-called 'sophisticated' age, we think that these things are too comical, too cartoonish to be taken seriously in this era where everyone wants to save Darfur, save the whales, save the trees and what not. How can abstaining from meat help the world? How can smudge of ash on one's forehead improve the lot of mankind? The answer, is, of course, evident: they don't. But they help us to master the heart, to tame the senses, to contemplate what we would otherwise be oblivious to. If there is anything I 'envy' about nominal Catholics, it is this recognition of human limitation. Sir Anthony Hopkins is reported to have once met a Jesuit, who told him the most effective prayer he knew: 'Fuck it, it's in God's hands.'

And so, I promise I will not care too much if I don't manage to fulfill all my Lenten promises. It would be a good thing if I did, but not for a second will I even think that a mark of a Lent well-spent is the number of pounds I have lost in the process, or how many versions of the Stabat Mater I've managed to listen to when these days of penance are over. Perhaps, the best mortification of all, is to realize that Lent is there to remind us to be perfect-- and not to demonstrate that we already are.

Festa Sant'Agata, Catania

A video from the recently concluded Feast of Saint Agatha in Catania, Sicily. These scenes are so familiar, so... natural, never mind the fact that this happened half a world from where I am. The waving of cloths, the fireworks, the presence of high dignitaries and the crush of people ranging from the merely curious to the feverishly devoted. And yes, even the clerics hanging on for dear life (as can be seen in the second video, below) Gotta love old school processions! Regular blogging will (hopefully) resume soon; do pray for me, that I may have the patience to endure freeloading groupmates and a ton of schoolwork.

OMG

Santo Nino 'del Mundo', from a recently concluded exhibit of the Congragacion del Santissimo Nombre de Jesus. And I thought I'd seen everything!

Editorial Cartoon of the Phil. Daily Inquirer, 31 Jan. 2010

The pic is somewhat blurry, but it depicts a priest throwing a lasso at a rock, called 'Faith'. The sea is very stormy and murky, and represents the evils that beset modern societies today. The priest is at the head of a small banca, which is carrying several people, a symbol of the Filipino people. Behind the rock is a sunny, tropical island, perhaps to symbolize paradise.

The Case of the Hidden Monstrance

I heard this story from a Jesuit professor some months ago. This is a true story.

In the 1980s, a newly ordained Jesuit was sent to minister to the people of Barangka, a tiny barangay in the city of Marikina. Now, Barangka wasn't really the wealthiest of places; in fact, it is quite small, cramped, and a bit dirty. The people there were mostly blue collar types who enjoyed the simple things in life. The Jesuit was warmly received by his new parishioners, despite the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, practically a high-born aristocrat who did not really speak Tagalog very well.

Months after the new priest had settled into his parish, one particularly stormy afternoon revealed to him the dilapidated state of the parish he served. And since the parish was located in Marikina-- one of the most flood-prone areas in all of Metro Manila-- he was impelled to do something, lest the church crumble eventually. And so the Jesuit headed to his convento, a small and rather old structure that simultaneously served as the parish hall, the rectory, and the sacristy. There was a porch and a small garage at the first level of the convento (the priest's living quarters and office were located on the second floor, apparently), and in that sorry area was a small, tattered, wooden desk. Its varnish had all but faded and its edges betrayed none of the skill of the craftsmen that made it. Once, when the secretary was away on an errand, the newly ordained priest checked to see his secretary's log book to check if there were any appointments for the day.

Seeing none, he thought of replacing the log book in the drawer; but a sudden glint of brightness, like sunshine struggling to escape a dark and foetid cave, struck his eye. And so he pulled the drawer forward; what he saw next shocked him. It was a pyx, a rather big one at that. Though it seemed to have lost some of its luster, there was no denying the quality of its craftsmanship. The Jesuit weighed the golden pyx, finding it heavy. More remarkable, though was that its edges were studded in diamonds-- real diamonds, the kind that could very easily make it a target for thieves.

Eventually the secretary came back, and the curious Jesuit asked her if she had known that the pyx had been there all along. She replied in the positive, saying that his (the Jesuit) predecessors thought of hiding it in plain sight. She explained that the pyx had been with the parish for twenty years, and that it had been loaned to them by the Jesuits of the Ateneo de Manila, as a token of that Order's friendship with their community.

'Would you like to see the monstrance now, Father?'

As if the discovery of that pyx had not been enough, there was apparently a bigger surprise awaiting the Jesuit. The elderly secretary led him to an old, dusty part of the convento that was little used; the Jesuit himself, who was a professor of philosophy at the Ateneo, would often hie off to the university and spent little time in the convento. She pointed to an old, ratty looking closet that smelt like naphthalene and whose wood had practically rotted; opened it, and showed their new parish priest its contents. And what a beautiful sight it was!

Inside the closet, partially obscured by some old chasubles, was a thing fit for a king. It was a monstrance, some three or four feet tall, made of the purest gold. Though it too seemed to have warranted more than a few swabs to restore some of its sheen, it was unmistakably, undeniably golden, a baroque fantasy with a sunburst nearly a foot high. The rays of the sunburst were studded with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. It was a mind-boggling sight, and the irony of its being contained in such a space was exceedingly great; the Jesuit estimated it to have weighed ten pounds at the very least. There was no doubt in his mind that the monstrance, at the current market value then, would have sufficed to buy a house in one of Manila's wealthier subdivisions.

'Do you want it back, Father? The Jesuits said we could use it as long as we want; but there's hardly benediction anymore, and I'm not sure how long we can keep this up. It is rightfully yours, anyway, so if you want to take it back, we are okay with it.'

The Jesuit took her up on her offer, and carted the monstrance back to the Ateneo the next day.

* * *

Today, years after that incident, the Jesuit recalls how the monstrance mysteriously vanished. When he had brought it back from his humble Barangka parish, he entrusted it to the Loyola House of Studies; the seminarians apparently stored it in some vault, to be used only at important occasions. One time, the Jesuit, who still teaches philosophy today, suddenly remembered the incident of the monstrance. In Santa Ana, a suburb of Manila, a house run by the Jesuits for its elderly members was in danger of collapsing, partly from age, and partly from neglect. A suggestion came out that pushed for selling the house. The Jesuit thought that the monstrance, which was already worth millions in the eighties, would be able to solve their conundrum if sold.

Curiously, no one among the seminarians and even his fellow Jesuits seem to have remembered where they put it. One of them suggested opening a particular vault; but there was nothing inside. Sadly, it seems as if this monstrance, which had been very little used, even in the 1960s, has been consigned to the dustbins of memory.

January Feasts

An article from the Philippine Daily Inquirer. January is proving to be a very busy month for me, so please say a prayer for my intentions. Also, remember to pray for the victims of the terrible earthquake in Haiti, and, closer to home, the Christians in Malaysia, especially our fellow Catholics, who have been victimized by the majority Muslim population.

January feasts

By Ambeth Ocampo
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 21:59:00 01/05/2010

Filed Under: Festive Events (including Carnivals), Christmas

IN CHURCH last Sunday, people were told that the Christmas Season was officially over with the Feast of the Epiphany. This explains why Christmas décor promptly returned to storage on Monday.

But our décor is still up because we are too fatigued to handle the clean-up. My excuse is that the Feast of the Epiphany, better known in the Philippines as “Three Kings” traditionally ends on January 6. If that fails, the next excuse will be that the “official” end of Christmas should be this Sunday, the Feast of the Lord’s Baptism. When all else fails, we just shrug our shoulders and say we want the festive spirit to last till Chinese New Year, which falls on Valentine’s Day this year.

Many readers remember me around this time of year for a column I wrote years ago about a friend of my grandparents who was named Circumcision Garcia because she was born when the liturgical calendar still set January 1 as the Feast of the Circumcision. These days, January 1 is celebrated as the Solemnity of Mary Mother of God. The former abbot of the Benedictine monastery in Manila and rector of San Beda College, the late Wilfrido Rojo, once told me with a twinkle in his eyes that he used to get a New Year’s Day card from cloistered sisters who greeted him, “Happy Circumcision Day!” Now all that fun is lost. With the change in calendars, we also lose some historical context.

Parents were not very creative in the past. They only picked the names of their children off calendars! For example, Andres Bonifacio, born on November 30, was named after Andrew the Apostle who was ironically one of the heavenly protectors of Spanish Manila. January 6, the traditional Feast of the Three Kings, meant that boys would be named either Melchor, Gaspar, or Baltazar.

On Jan. 6, 1812, a little girl was christened Melchora Aquino. In her old age she provided food and shelter to Katipuneros. Known in the neighborhood as “Melchora,” she is known to all Filipinos and Quezon City commuters as “Tandang Sora.”

The Feast of the Three Kings is a Spanish celebration that did not quite catch on in the Philippines. A relic of this Spanish tradition is still kept by members of Casino Español in Manila where three men in medieval costume ride around in donkeys (I wonder where they get these) throwing candies to children. Last Sunday, Manila Mayor Alfredo Lim got into a funny costume and distributed grocery bags to adults. But at least, the Three Kings tradition has a bit more biblical basis than Santa Claus.

This new year in St. Scholastica’s College, and other Benedictine communities for women with German roots, the good sisters wrote, with chalk, on the top of every door sill this seemingly magic formula: 20+C+M+B+10. The numbers represent the new year, 2010, and I was told the letters corresponded to the names traditionally given to the Three Kings (or Magi or Wise Men, depending on the source you are reading): Caspar, Melchior, Balthazar. In the Philippines they are known as Gaspar, Melchor, and Baltazar, but we cannot use the initials G.M.P. atop doorways because C.M.B. stands for “Christus mansionem benedicat” (that’s Latin for “Christ bless this house.”)

I bought home a piece of chalk from school yesterday to write this on our doorway. I advised my sister to do the same, but she rolled her eyes and declared that she has since given up on all these New Year superstitions. She didn’t chide me for my adherence to tradition, so I kept my peace knowing this same beloved sister always rues that fact that I am always luckier than the whole family combined. Well, nothing is lost and there’s everything to gain in writing a simple formula on the doorway with chalk, right?

January is also the time when we see two images of Christ venerated by the multitude. This Saturday, January 9, there will be frenzy in downtown Manila as barefoot male devotees from far and wide converge on Quiapo (this year also the Quirino Grandstand) for the Feast of the Black Nazarene. An ancient image of Christ carrying the cross taken to the Philippines from Mexico will be brought out of the church for his annual rounds through the small streets of the city.

January is also the month for another image of Christ, the Santo Niño, whose origins go all the way back to 1521 when the Queen of Cebu (name unknown) was baptized and christened Juana (for the Spanish Queen known in history as “Juana la loca” or “Joanna the mad”). She asked Magellan for a present and he showed her two images: that of the Virgin Mary and that of the Santo Niño. She chose the latter, and that image is venerated in Cebu to this day and has spawned others from Tondo to Ternate, Cavite.

In the Benedictine Abbey of Our Lady of Montserrat lies yet another image of the Christ Child better known as the Santo Niño de Praga, which is venerated on the last Sunday of January.

There is so much in our culture and tradition that remains despite all the changes in the liturgical calendar. It is always good to take stock of the past as we confront the future, and one way to do that is to revisit the various feasts in old-style calendars, the ones printed on newsprint in blue and red complete with the phases of the moon. Revisit these to get a sense of why we are the way we are.

Comments are welcome at aocampo@ateneo.edu

Source

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.