Devotion and In Betweens

I have been to the ‘Pista ng Nazareno’ three times. My first was during 2010, which happens to be my Mama’s first too. We were company to each other, both witnessing firsthand how it was to be in the Black Nazarene Procession. We distanced ourselves from the people surrounding the ‘andas’ of the ‘Poon’ because we knew we might lose our ground anytime we went near. I remember zooming the point-and-shoot camera in my hand, just so I can capture decent photos and videos of the Black Nazarene. It felt like I was watching a movie in 4D; I watched and felt as people moved.

My second visit was during 2011, when Papa joined his mother-daughter duo. It was a better year for my camera. We situated ourselves nearer the procession, and so I needed to zoom less than before. Compared to the last year, it felt like a higher quality 4D movie – the cries of the people were more intense in my ears, the faces of the devotees more vivid, and the vibe of the procession more alive. Along with the crowd I was half-shouting ‘Viva Senor Nazareno’, thinking how it would be one of the people in the ‘andas’ or carrying the rope. However, we still kept our distance from the people directly involved with the procession, as instructed by Papa.

For the next two years I was not able to come; my third and latest visit then commenced this year. I was with Mama again, but this time Miguel (my brother) was with us. We did what we did during the past years – attend mass in the Quiapo Basilica Minor, then walk through Lawton, the Manila City Hall, until we saw the procession. We were more daring this year – we situated ourselves closer to the wave of people pulling the rope of the andas. We were in what may be compared to as VIP seats, just a few feet away from the performing orchestra. The procession drew closer, and a noticeable sea of white towels were being waved by the thousands welcoming the andas.

Then I was in a trance. People from behind me wanted to see what I was witnessing in front, and in the process pushing me forward. On the other hand, people in front of me were being pushed backward – towards me. I was sandwiched between two forces, and my small frame can only muster as much as to maintain balance. Then suddenly, people from the procession went to our direction, asking for help. They were out of breath, and needed to free themselves from the procession. While people from behind me are helping them up, I was pushed backward by the people’s movements, where a bush of a plant I do not know grows. I could not control the movement. As I was keeping my balance, I wounded my legs with the thorns of the plant. I felt like I was going to fall anytime soon. I was crying for help, my voice calling my brother’s name in the midst of the chaos I was in.

I share this not because I want to bring fear to you, or to boast about my experiences. I write this because I want to express feelings that I have towards this devotion. I write this because I want to explain why I did what I did, and hopefully shed some light to questions that even I have on mind.

                The Feast of the Black Nazarene goes beyond devotion. Above all, it is an expression of faith. I have asked myself before: Why do we have to pray to images of God, Jesus? Can’t his image linger in our hearts and minds, and pray to Him in solitude? I received the answer to my question during one of my Theology classes, wrapped in disguise as an answer to another question.*** The Feast of the Black Nazarene also makes one witness brotherhood. ‘Kapatid’ was the term used to another devotee, as if the devotees are bound as a family centered in God. Gestures of kindness were also evident in the urge of people to help those who needed it. The Feast is more than a celebration of belief – it is also a celebration of values.

And this is precisely the reason why it hurts and stings being easily misjudged. During one of my classes (not the Theology class I mentioned), my professor asked who were devotees or regular goers of the Quiapo Church and Baclaran Church were. Only two hands were raised, mine included. I didn’t expect what happened next. In front of our class he flashed a picture taken from the Feast of the Black Nazarene, and said that those people were religious fanatics. And my experience goes far more than this. I would occasionally hear comments of varying degrees from many people regarding this fanaticism.

                I do not deny that some people may be taking the Feast for granted. It has gained its fame during the past years, and I have been witness to the growing number of youngsters flocking the procession, perhaps drawn to it because of bravado. But I cannot judge them, as they cannot judge me. For all I know, they may have their story, a reason why they have chosen to participate in the Feast when they can choose instead to stay home and play couch potato. But how can we be ridiculed when we have not even hurt anyone because of our devotion?

                I do not hope that you join my league in the beliefs I have chosen. However, I hope that we may not be judged, and that our faith be respected. Most of all, I hope and pray that God, or Allah, or the Supreme Being – however you may wish to call it – keep the well-being in you.

By the way, I had the wounds in my legs cleaned and attended, as my faith and devotion were reinforced.

***We were told that the reason for confession was not because we needed to formalize our atonement, but because as humans, we needed a physical proof that we are forgiven. For me, the same goes for devotion to images of Jesus such as the Black Nazarene. The belief to the Black Nazarene is not a form of idolatry; rather, it is a method by which we are able to physically manifest our faith. We also hold a firmer grasp of our faith because somehow, we see a glimpse of the God we believe through His images.