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.

The Menace of Tradition

There are an estimated 90 million people in the Philippines, and of that number, 80 to 85 percent are confessed Catholics. The rest are composed of different Protestant sects, Muslims, and other religions, including Buddhists, Hindus, animists, and a very small, almost non-existent atheist population. Despite these statistics, it is very rare to come across adult converts to Catholicism. Most who do convert do so for marital reasons or for the simple fact that they were not baptized at all in infancy; the learned convert, who knocks at the Church because 'they have found the Truth', are quite rare. On the other hand, many Catholics are lured into joining different sects, the most notable of which include the modern day Arians of the Iglesia ni Kristo and evangelical Protestants. In many rural areas, conversions still carry with them a social gravity that is now largely absent in urban areas.

The irony, though, is palpable; most rural Filipino Catholics are quite ignorant of theological wrangling and wouldn't give a hoot if the priest wore cheap polyester chalbs to Mass, or kept mistresses (or worse, boytoys) in a special room of the convento. For them, the Mass is the Mass, and the Church is the Church, despite the sometimes blatant hypocrisy of its religious leaders. Former president Estrada, for example, is revered as a hero to the masses, even if he was notorious for siring illegitimate children left and right. Rural areas also serve as ground zero for some of the most 'extreme' practices in the entire Catholic world, namely flagellation and crucifixion (especially Bulacan and Pampanga).

My religious background was greatly influenced by my environment; I have lived all my life in the city, and as such, I think I could safely say that my faith has largely been convenient. I've never had to trudge through hundred foot long naves on my knees, nor have I ever knelt on salt with arms crosswise to atone for my sins. I understood how the faith worked; and while I wish I were a better Catholic, I am thankful that such rituals have never been imposed on me. But at the same time, few rituals such as the practice of flagellation arouse in me such extreme revulsion-- and insatiable wonder. In rural Catholicism, especially in Luzon the largest island of the Philippines, flagellation is as natural as taking to the sea when it's hot. It is accepted as a normal part of life, and while not necessarily pretty, it serves its purpose-- a contractual sacrifice offered to Almighty God in order to secure blessings for one's kin-group. I have already written about the character of these devotees before; they are usually 'unchurched' macho men who would rather drink and whore than attend church. While not all are totally cut off from the 'churchly life'-- some assist in processions, for example-- to say that these men are good Catholics would be a brazen lie. Atonement for sins, in fact, is very rarely, if never, the motivation behind shedding blood.

In hindsight, this is probably one reason why flagellation as a devotional practice is still doing very well in the Philippines. Just a few decades after the practice was introduced in the country, the missionaries who brought it were already decrying it as barbaric. It seems to have peaked in the 1700s and shrank to nigh obliteration in the following years; the late 1800s, though, saw a revival in the practice, and by the mid 1950s, after having been fetishized by American colonizers and appropriating the practice in accordance with already deeply held beliefs, flagellation was transformed into the spectacle that it is today: a deeply disturbing, but at the same time, an incredibly fascinating ritual, where children as young as 5 or 7 are expected to observe or even help in the proceedings, thus ensuring the continuance of the practice in succeeding generations. If expiation of sins were the sole purpose, I'd imagine most of these men would have been dead by the time they finished their vows.

As for myself, I've long ago come to the conclusion that even an edict from the Vatican to suppress the practice would be powerless to stop devotional flagellation from continuing. The landscape of Catholic culture is broad, vast, and deep, and dare I say it, incredibly menacing. Men whip their backs raw and bloody and walk on their knees and lick the dust from the floor and make beasts of burden genuflect to a 'vengeful' saint all in the hopes of appeasing the Deity. Today, in our sanitized little bubbles and high-resolution screens, we can click and comment and argue about the 'Truth', as if the Truth were some magical ham locked away in some heavenly freezer. And while I certainly believe Catholicism to be true, we are still confronted by the 'extremities' of these strange and uncomfortable practices. Will your average internet culture crusader still see Catholicism as true, having been faced with its menace? I don't think so. The fault does not lay in the religion, though, but in our own attitudes to it; because for us moderns, the marks of the 'true religion' are not Unity, Sanctity, Catholicity, and Apostolicity, but Inclusiveness, Respectability, Diversity, and Marketablility. Catholicism is none of these things. It is bloody, it is gritty, it believes in sin, hell, and damnation. These things are as real as the blood on the flagellants' back, and you better be damn sure that even the worse Catholics would raise hell just to avoid being thrown in it for all eternity.

If I may be so honest, I'd say one reason why many Catholics choose to stay in their Church despite all its failures is because it is not afraid to threaten fire and brimstone at sinners. In many provinces, it is still common for older priests to describe Protestants in the same way their predecessors of a hundred years ago did: as (literally!) hoofed, horned, and perfidious men, whose forked tongues affront the teachings of the saints and Christ (some priests in the Visayas, I believe, made the same claim about the SSPX). The Church may tolerate the sinfulness of their members while on earth, but there is still a Hell for the unjust and the impious in the end. I guess it all boils down to how we understand what is traditional and what is not; the prevailing attitude today, especially espoused by bloggers, is that going back to the way we did things in the good ol' 1950s would solve all the problems in the Church today. I really find this ludicrous. It smacks of an attitude of entitlement, more than anything, as if Church-government policy would solve all the woes of the world, and we can all sit back and relax. Hey, I'm in the truthiest of the 'truth-mongers'; what else could possibly go wrong? We have the Truth! Reality is a lot more sobering than what we would be led to believe; and while I am most definitely NOT saying that the cause for tradition is worthless, one must also remember that, in the end, the liturgy is not there to bring you automatic salvation. It can help make you holy, yes, but it does not, can not, will not, eliminate the need for you and I to apply its fruits.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that the normal Catholic ought, should, have more pressing concerns than guessing what the Pope will wear in his next televised Mass and worry more about his own salvation. For all the criticisms thrown at cultural Catholicism, it at least provided Catholics with enough sense of guilt to be conscious of themselves as sinners. In the end, salvation is not achieved by being a busybody, as if causing a ruckus in church were a sign of saintliness; rather, salvation is achieved only in total surrender to God. And that is something that takes a lot more than knowing when it is appropriate to wear a mantellata and bitching about its misuse. It is not even pretty. It is, in fact, menacing. To think we can ignore the wisdom of our 'ignorant' forefathers just because we have come to the intellectual conclusion that Catholicism is the Truth would be a very costly mistake.

Prayer Request

Dear all,

As you may have probably guessed from the very limited number of postings for this month, now drawing to a close, I have been very busy with school, and as such, have had little to no time to update this blog. That said, I ask you all to pray for me, that I may not succumb to procrastination and laziness, as I am usually wont. I can't say that it is a trait I am especially proud of, but we all have our weaknesses. For me, I guess, it is an often unbeatable sense of pride. No worries, though-- I haven't gotten D or an F yet, heck, but midterms is coming in about five weeks, and I just want to do my best. I have a lot of ideas bubbling in my head, but time constraints are keeping a lid on them at the moment. That's basically it. I thank you all in advance for your prayers, and may God bless all of you. :)

Two Christs Arrayed in White

"Pius XI sent his Legate "a latere" to the American Continent, to represent him in the International Eucharistic Congress; fervent adoration of the Church before the shining monstrance of the Bread of the Spirit. A moving picture of the Eucharistic Host and the Pope-- the two Christs arrayed in white."

-Msgr. Pfister, from his book on Pope Pius XII

Sometimes a good picture is all that is needed to perk up one's day. My English teacher used to say that the fastest readers are those who instantly recognize a good photo when they see one, since, after all, a photo says a thousand words.

San Ignacio de Manila: A Tour

Have a look at THIS. Just for fun, I was reading up on the seven great churches of Intramuros, the Walled City that was practically the whole of Manila until the end of the Spanish conquest of the Philippines. One of the newest churches then, and one of the most lamented as well when Intramuros was reduced into a pile of rubble in WWII, was San Ignacio de Manila, the Jesuit's 'golden dream.' The church was built in 1889, thirty years after the Company returned to Philippine shores and established the Escuela Municipal de Manila (the present day Ateneo de Manila). San Ignacio was built in a neo-classical/baroque idiom, with some of the best artists in the Philippines filling its hallowed halls with art. Its artesonado ceiling-- taking cues from the Renaissance-- was the toast of the town, as there were none like it that the rest of Manila could boast.

Sadly, the war would claim San Ignacio. When the church was burned down, it is said that there had been no Mass celebrated there for three years, having been shut by the Japanese out of fear that served as the headquarters of the guerilla forces. San Ignacio was said to have burned for days, and when the war is over, none but the outer shells of San Ignacio remained. There are plants, however, to rebuild the structure, not as a church, but as an Ecclesiastical museum to house the roughly Php 140 billion ($3 billion) worth of artifacts amassed by the Intramuros Administration throughout the years.

It is nice to see the San Ignacio in its glory days, if only in pictures. As it stands, however, the destruction of Old Manila was an incredibly heartbreaking thing.

On Reverence

Language is a fascinating subject, revealing the ways in which we think and the motivations behind them more often than we can count them. Although I grew up speaking Tagalog at home, I consider myself more fluent in English today, not because I hate my mother tongue, but because English was the language of instruction used in the schools I attended, and because, admittedly, Tagalog has not been as intellectualized in the same way that English has. One way in which Tagalog differs vastly from English is the use of 'respectful language'; for Filipinos, this means adding a 'po' and 'opo' after every statement addressed to an older person. For example, the simple question 'Kumain ka na?' -- Have you eaten?-- becomes 'Kumain na po kayo?' Interesting, too, is the word 'kayo' which is the plural form of 'ka', or 'you'; some older Tagalog-speakers would change it slightly to 'Kumain na po sila?' or 'Have they eaten?' out of filial piety, even when directly addressing someone.

Reverential language is common throughout all of Asia, although admittedly I am not familiar with all of them. Southeast Asia, being appended to China, naturally has a significant Chinese presence (they are dominant minorities in many countries that make up the ASEAN), and with the Chinese come Confucian values. Now, it is important to consider that in Ancient China, philosophy occupied roughly the same place that religion occupied in medieval Europe; and there is perhaps no greater classic of Chinese thought than the Analects. I won't go into details here, but it is safe to say that Chinese philosophy places a great emphasis on ethical conduct; the virtue of jen/ren (roughly translated, 'humanity'), for instance, is discussed many times in the Analects. Chinese ethics places supreme importance on interpersonal relationships, especially to one's parents, hence why it is common, even in the 'decadent' United States, for many second or third generation Chinese to be especially reverential to their parents.

In the Philippines, the Chinese too have always had a great presence, but the arrival of the Spaniards and the introduction of Christian thought is what really brought about an epochal change amongst the early Filipinos. This is not to say that the ancient Filipinos did not value the lessons they learned from their Chinese neighbors; on the contrary, it seems to have been strengthened by the adoption of Christianity. One of the most curious phrases in the Tagalog language, at least for me, is 'walang sinasanto.' A very literal translation of this would be 'He (who) saints no one'. The word 'sinasanto', for instance, is of immense interest for me; it seems to paint the act of reverence, especially reverence due to a saint, in a very specific, very broad way, with set rules but enough freedom for it to be called a rite. The word sinasanto comes from 'pagsasanto' which is to say, 'the act, the art, the craft of sainting'. I have written enough in the past regarding some of the practices which devotees perform in special devotion to their patrons, yet for convenience's sake I shall list some of them ere: walking on one's knees, making a vow of pilgrimage to a certain holy site, spreading devotion to the cult of the saint, unceasing novenas and prayers for a number of years, and others too numerous to mention.

Yet the presence of the word 'wala'-- nothing-- speaks volumes. Among certain Filipinos, the term 'walang sinasanto' has come to be equated with a certain degree of recklessness, if not outright lawlessness. The man who reverences no saint is not a man to be trusted, in the mind of the people, because it would imply that he, too, does not reverence his parents. To dishonor one's parents is considered an affront to God, Who charged mother and father with the upkeep of the clan. In the past, this phrase was also popular with Catholic apologists, who decried the spread of Protestantism at the turn of the 20th century; one must also remember that religion was looked upon in a wildly different light a hundred years ago, almost as if it were a tribal affiliation, and certainly not the fuzzy milquetoast hippy ethics club that some people think of today. To cease to honor the saints is a serious and very grave thing to do. In fact, I daresay it is THE symbolic act of renouncing the Christian faith; even today in the Philippines, sects and cults like the Iglesia ni Cristo and the Ang Dating Daan are especially militant against the idea of devotion to the saints, savaging it with barely concealed contempt. This morning, for exampl, I read of a fiesta turned sour in one of the provinces north of Manila because a Catholic tricycle driver had doused a minister of the INC with water on the Feast of St. John the Baptist. The minister reportedly came back to the poor man's house with a retinue of heavily armed members of the Iglesia, including one policeman, who supposedly arrested the man.

The man who cares not for the saints, cares not for his fellow man, and only cares after himself. His is a heart full of pride, and not love, who loves not humility but only his own convenience.To be called by someone as 'taong walang sinasanto', then, would be tantamount to being called a man of sin, a man of such lawlessness that he treats his parents and the saints of God (who were oftentimes more feared than God Himself in those pious days) with wanton disregard. Such a man cannot rightly be called a Christian, let alone human.

"Meng I Tzu asked about filial piety; Confucius said, "Never disobey." Later, when Fah Chi'h was driving him, Confucius told him, "Meng-sun asked me about filial piety, and I answered him, "Never disobey." Fah Chi'h said, "What does that mean?" Confucius answered, "When parents are alive, serve them according to propriety and sacrifice to them according to the rules of propriety." - Analects, 2:5

Pagmamahal

To say 'I love you' in Tagalog, one says 'Mahal kita', or 'mahal ko kayo' when one addresses a group of several people. Oftentimes we say 'mahal kita' or 'mahal ko kayo' absentmindedly that we eventually forget its true meaning. For example, the word 'mahal' is also the Tagalog word for 'expensive', and thus, it is joked that, for the Tagalogs to accept one's love-offering, it must be expensive for it to be even considered. The word 'kamahalan' is the Tagalog equivalent of 'majesty'; it basically means 'preciousness'. But 'kamahalan' is not always inert; sometimes it is invested. The process of investing an object with a suitable degree of preciousness is 'pagmamahal', while an already 'love-invested' object is called 'minamahal' (beloved). The Tagalog term for the Sacred Triduum is 'Mahal na Araw'-- 'the precious', 'the beloved', or the 'blessed days', perhaps even 'the majestic' days.

Then there is 'kita'. In the word kita, there is no distinction made between subject and object. The Tagalog word for oneself is 'ako' and the appropriate pronoun for the second person is 'ikaw'. In kita, these two seem to have been fused together, so that it becomes impossible for the speaker to consider the one spoken to in distinction from himself. They are, so to speak, become one person in kita.

Thus it becomes clear: when a Tagalog speaker says 'mahal kita' to his beloved, he is no longer thinking of himself as an entity distinct from him or her; rather, he is saying, 'tayo na' (approximately 'we are an item now'). To be poetic about it, a fitting translation of mahal kita would be: 'I take thee to myself, you, whom I consider to be more precious than all the treasures of the earth.'

Photo taken at Vigan's historic Calle Crisologo

Photo of The Day

Former Philippine first lady Imelda Marcos (supposedly penniless now, but still has a diamond ring)gets a disapproving stare from the Santo Nino. She probably wants to covet His boots as well. Pic source.

The Heart Which Has Loved So Many

... And is so little loved in return!

On 30th May, 1919, the Spanish king Alfonso XIII, together with his wife and members of the Spanish government, trooped to the high hill known as Cerro de los Angeles-- the Hill of the Angels-- and believed to be the geographical center of Spain, to consecrate that great nation to the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus (photos and information here). The new cult was on fire, gaining widespread popularity in very little time, spreading to Latin America and the Philippines in a few decades. At the feet of the colossal statue of Christ, El Rey, in utter humility, besought the Divine Heart to have mercy on Spain, and offered thanksgiving to Him for their deliverance from the Great War.

In 1936, at the height of the Spanish Civil War, a group of anarchists descended on Cerro de los Angeles. Faced with the massive colossus of the human God, arms spread in blessing, they drew their guns, and in a wicked parody of an execution, shot at the image of Christ, before finally blowing it into dust. The Civil War would leave a nasty gash on the side of the Church in Spain, with thousands of clergy and religious, including elderly bishops, priests, and nuns, were murdered in the most abominable ways possible.



Today, Spain, like the rest of Europe, is secular. Wars and ideologies --soul-killing enterprises-- have soured the Church and religion in general in that continent. There are still remnants of the past, images of Christ and His Mother and the saints of God, that dot the European countrysides here and there, but they no longer remain things to be venerated, nor objects of affection; they are there, no longer as divine helpers, but remembrance of an older age that most would rather forget. But despite being relegated into the sidelines, that image of the man who was God, Who held His beating Heart-- not a representation, but the real organ itself-- flame-crowned and cross-surmounted, remians a silent, if not patient, witness to the comings and goings of a world that has ceased to know what it is to love.

The Sacred Heart, despite its moniker of sacred, that is, set apart, is a remarkably human image. Here is God, not as the divine, all-conquering Hero, but, rather underwhelmingly, as a Man, Whose greatest weapon are not the thunderbolts of Zeus
nor the flaming sword of Kalkin, but a beating, suffering, human heart. This God is the same God Who would rather come to us as a Child-- for indeed, who could fear a Child? Weapons He had not, neither armies, nor titles, nor secular power, and least of all, glory. But He had a Heart-- a Heart so big and yet so fragile, so human, that we should rightfully be overwhelmed by such sweet condescension.

"I will not execute my fierce anger, I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and not man, the Holy One in your midst, and I will not come to destroy. (Hosea 11:1 - 9)"

The most wonderful irony in the world is that He had to become man in order to show us that He is, indeed, God-- ever ready to forgive, ever ready to embrace us, even after we have spat on His face so many times before. Heart of Jesus hear, O Heart of love divine! Listen to our prayer, make us always Thine!

Catholics No Longer Weep

One of the most unusual stories I heard when I was in Ilocos Norte was the legend of how the town of Burgos got its name. In the past, say the old folk, it was called Nagparitan, an Ilocano word which means 'forbidden', more or less. The people aver that prior to the Spanish conquest, that town was the abode of fierce warriors, vengeful, proud, and terribly ruthless. Came the time when the Augustinians first sent missionaries to that proud northern province; it so happened that one priest chose Nagparitan to be his 'home base'. Initially discouraged by his superiors because of the unforgiving nature of the Nagparitanons, he nevertheless proceeded with his mission, and God be praised, the priest made headway among that proud warrior race.

As the priest's power and influence grew, some old shamans, servants of the elder gods of the Ilocanos, plotted against the priest. Eventually they convinced the village chiefs that the missionary was up to no good; and in the dead of night, they seized the priest from the convent, and proceeded to hack his body into several pieces, scattering the butchered parts in different areas as a warning not to tempt the power of the old gods. The town was now called 'Nagpartian', which meant 'butchered'. Almost immediately, evil things fell upon the land; the soil, it was said, turned red, and even now tales of lost spirits that haunt the wary traveler are common in that part of the country. For years the people of Nagpartian lived under the shadow of their evil deed, begging the God of the man they slew to save them from His wrath. Our guide said that many of them vowed to go barefoot for years if only the curse would be lifted. It was not until the town changed its name to Burgos, after the brilliant, martyred Filipino nationalist priest Fr. Jose Apolonio Burgos, did things pick up for the haunted town.

In many parts of the Philippines, tales such as the one above are still common, although admittedly not as popular as they were in older, more genteel times. The drama of good versus evil is played out in narrative in the most extravagant, most lurid traditions of the baroque, acquiring an almost gothic flavor. It was tales such as these that nourished the faith, wonder, and sense of community of my ancestors. The good, while initially crushed and defeated, is ultimately vindicated by an act of God, punishment raining down on the heads of the impious. It is very different from how the blogosphere, in general, seems to portray the Church.

Maybe it's a sign of the times, but I am watching Fox News more and more-- not becuase I believe the bs that they spew (admittedly some good points, but nothing one can't see from a distance) but because I am fascinated by the fact that many conservative, traditionally-minded Catholics seem to think that whatever it says must be the truth. Or more accurately, just because it appears on that network, automatically makes it more 'profitable' for one's suburban salvation. And this is not a phenomenon limited to Fox, it is the same animating principle behind armchair liturgical criticism (as if one were discussing a ballet! ugh!), covert racism masquerading as patriotism, and just about anything 'counter cultural.' In short, just because it is counter cultural, it follows that it must be correct.

You might be wondering: how exactly are the name changes of a quaint rural town in the northern Philippines related to American counter cultural gimmicks? There is the issue of sin to consider: in the former, the sin committed was the brutal murder of a servant of God. And the latter? The answer is none. It has done nothing at all, except being counter cultural. The former demonstrates how good men--and the good, in general-- are not so good after all. For the men of the tribe of ancient Nagparitan were considered to have been one of the most hardworking in the entire Philippines, who proudly defended their values and lifestyles from foreign influence. All of these are admirable traits, and strangely, these are the same things which one often hears from the talking heads at Fox. But I think this is precisely the problem: Good is not good enough. And it is certainly no equivalent to holiness.

While I am certainly not anti-American, I think some of the things which I post here do merit considerable cause for concern. In my opinion, Americans, as a people, are too 'good', that is, pleasant and warm, that they feel they have no need for holiness. A good American Catholic is one who knows what page of the Missal to turn to at any precise point of the Mass, one who joins Chesterton and Lewis reading societies in their spare time, who collects graduals for fun, who can cite the number of liturgical abuses 'in vogue' at the drop of a hat. Let's be realistic here. Most hardcore Trekkies are expected to have even a basic command of Klingon and can cite technical specifications on why their universe is superior to the 'Star Wars' universe. That makes them good fans, not holy people. There seems to be an excessive feeling of sufficiency among most American Catholics that it is no wonder the cult of the saints, novenas, rosaries, and penitential processions (and yes, Ireland has these too) are seen as mere cultural accretions, and consequently, liable to be picked and adopted at random as if they were mere objects fought over by over-educated aesthetes. In such a universe as this, it becomes almost impossible to weep over one's sins, since, hey, I know the difference between a cope and a chasuble, and you don't, so hah, I'm a better Catholic, nyah.

Triumphalism is a curse. The Church on earth is not called the Church Militant for nothing. When an army clashes with another army, there is nothing romantic about that. Blood is spilled, limbs are hacked, joints are stabbed, eyes are gouged, children are orphaned, wives are defiled, entrails are gutted, excrement is expelled, kingdoms burn, and the spirit is crushed. You can carry all the glittering banners you want, and shout Deus Vult! at all the infidels, but there is no denying that war will always claim its toll. We have forgotten, it seems, how to weep. We have forgotten what it is like to resign one's fate to God's hands, its profound fear and fervent hope. In short, I believe that we are locking ourselves, if not constructing, an entirely novel, extremely myopic Church, one made in our likeness, with no need for holiness, just 'the good.'

I think the problem is that it all seems too sophisticated, too smart and too suburban for your average Third World parishioner. In fact, take the word 'sophisticated' and look at the first seven letters; they spell 'SOPHIST'. Plato, of course, lambasted the sophists as flatterers, who will teach the children of the elite what they wanted themselves to be taught. While the comparison may admittedly be vague, one can never disregard it completely. Just a week ago, I saw a video comment on Youtube by a supposed "Catholic" who believed that black people are inferior to Caucasians, not just in terms of civilization, but ontologically as well. The most chilling part was when this commenter later on likened the poor, starving children of Africa to apes. These are dangerous times for the Church in America. And America, believe it or not, matters greatly in the Catholic world, since it is the single most influential and not to mention the wealthiest (and perhaps the most visible, what with the sex abuse scandal) sector of the Universal Church. What America sneezes, all of us under its radar will naturally be affected by it.

It is always a good thing when the Church manages to relay Her message throughout the world. Hers is a voice that is, thankfully, still sane, still motherly and still claiming to know better for us. But one must always be wary of the people who do get the message-- for even if they do hear it, there is a great chance that much, too, will be lost in translation. When one enters the Church with the full assurance and confidence that he is part of the Elect, that is a conversion. But what one really needs is a metanoia.

The Church, it seems, has forgotten how to weep; or more to be more precise, Her members no longer do so. We have forgotten the Church Suffering, and even the Church Militant, and are content to lock ourselves in our little, sanitized world where it seems that holiness is no longer a requirement for salvation, just a nice, little option. The most frightening thing which we are faced now is not the rampant secularization around us, but the secularization-- the ethical-moral redaction to the 'essential Christ'-- within the elements of the Church. We no longer need His help, only His blessings.