Panata: The Devotion to the Black Nazarene

It was estimated that there were around 1.7 million people that joined the procession of the Black Nazarene of Quiapo. It took 17 hours for the patron of one of the oldest parishes outside the walls of Intramuros to get back to its shrine from the Quirino Grandstand in Luneta.The procession commerates the Translacion or transfer of the image of Nuestro Padre Jesus Nazareno.

Historically, the image was carved by an Aztec sculptor brought to the Philippines on galleon that caught fire. Surviving from the fiery boat, the lifesize image made from wood survived but burnt its original white color. It is also historical that the first church in Manila which housed the image was built in the first Augustinina Recollect church in the Bagumbayan (Luneta) area in 1606. Two years after it was transferred to a church dedicated to San Nicolas Tolentino. Then it found its home in the Quaipo Church, in 1787, now known as the Minor Basilica of the Black Nazarene.



I have no panata to the Itim na Nazareno. But I would not miss sitting on the Basilica's pews everytime I would go to the area. In faith, I would find myself praying to God in front of that icon which has survived serveral fires, earthquakes, the revolutin against Spain and WWII, with the church being spared from devastation. Many of those devotees testify to the miracles of the Black Nazarene.

This year, I had a chance to have a glimpse of the Translacion, in Luneta, in Quiapo and the nearby area. I went there as an observer, so at least I could get some understanding of what goes on in the feast of the Nazareno, and of what draws the crowd into a mob of the faithfuls. The sober religious who sit in the vigil that night turned into an agitated ocean of people, in the flaming maroon shirts taking the heavy caroza of the Nazarene to its shrine.






The first image that I saw was like the exodus. People from everywhere, were heading to one place. With my companion, I wanted to try to get as near to the enshrined image to kiss its foot or touch even the tip of its cross. But this reminds me of the helpless situation of the woman suffering from profused bleeding, who believed that she would be healed as she would touch even the tip of Jesus' clothes. The line towards the altar was just too long, and we could not find its end even if we were almost near the Manila Hotel.

As that Sunday is also the Church's celebration of the Baptism of Jesus by John, I wonder how many in their times were in line to have their selves baptized in the Jordan River? I wonder too, how those people are thinking of what God spoke about Jesus as his beloved son, that they are there in that feast of the Nazarene? I also wonder how the people understood what God meant when He said that we listen to his begotten Son? Further I ask, how these baptized catholics, devout believers to the Nazarene, live their faith that they embraced from baptism? Compared to the never-endling line and coming of people, how do they keep the flame of their faith burning, as the hype of the celebration comes close to an end?

So we decided just to get near the grandstand. There, during the vigil, I witnessed a reenactment of what probably it was like when Jesus sermoned at the mount. The slope in front of the grandstand were filled with people, of adults and children alike. The elderly and the youth, the men and women and all other gender gathered together. The rich and the poor? That needs some serious investigation. There were those seriously praying and reflecting, and while some are sleeping others are just talking.

On the grandstand, the organizers have prepared a theatrical presentation of passion of Jesus as is reflected in the devotees novena. There were prayers, dancing and singing in between the presentation. What occured to me is like a grand tribal gathering to exercise a religious ritual modernized. A fusion of the pagan and the sytematic religious practice. But if one is just serious to participate in it, the seed of faith grows in spirit that encourages more participation to the rituals.

If the grandstand were the temple, there were also the vendors that sell everything of sort which Jesus would not like for it desecrates what is really holy. Side by the side by the faithfuls were those enterprising individuals that take advantage of the opportunity. Candles, scapular, shirts, hankies that bear the image of Nazarene, are sold everywhere besides the variety of food and other stuffs at the convenience of any person there. The symbols of faith just come with a price.





The atmosphere in the vigil was a mixture of being charismatic, zeal, and at some points melancholic with a tone Filipinism. The songs, the prayers, the theatrical acts were all in Filipino. That probably gives the appeal to draw in a big crowd. The charismatic mood, where people dance in rituatilistic manner, keep of the stage alive and those who are still awake engaged in the vigil. There were candles lit, and small images were abound. Some were praying the rosaries and others their novena, while the event goes on. Whether it is zeal or fanaticism, people remained in the line to get near the image, some others would have their hankies or with their bare hands wipe any other image that has resemblance to the lifesize icon of the Nazarene.

That morning, as I went to Quiapo church, the crowd begins to thicken. More and more people are drawing in towards the grandstand. They were in marroon shirts, pants and shorts without any footwear, walking the stretch of the roads towards were the Nazarene will come from. Some are waving their hankies. It was like the image of Jesus entering Jerusalem. The crowd were jubillant, welcoming to the Messiah. The crowd were with Jesus in his entrance. But the crowd there were the same that denied Jesus and put him to death.

I would really like to feel that ocean of faithful taking the Nazarene to his house. I would like to touch even the rope, or even try to jump off the people and get as close to the image. I would love to do all those things, for the sake of knowing how it feels. But I guess, even if I will be able to do so, I will not be able to tell the experience like how a genuine namamanata would feel.


Even though I was there in Quiapo until past nine, waiting for the procession, I believe it's God's way of telling me that such devotion is not for me to experience. I could see it in the news, I could read it on papers. I could browse the net for its up-to-date real time coverage. That deprivation comes from my personal faith, not in the Black Nazarene, but in Jesus whose temple is the faithful, whose church are the believers, whose image is also ours, and whose Spirit dwells in every heart and mind of those who love him and live for him.

I know and I believe, that I have no need of those hankies, the blessed coconot or jatrhopa oil, a thread of the Nazarene's hair, or a kiss on the image's feet. The Jesus that I know is the same Nazarene, but He is always there with me. From the moment that I would close my eyes and praise His name, He is there as He is always here with us all. I celebrate His presence, everytime in the Eucharistic celebration. I acknowledge his Godhood as He is my Savior, the One from the Father, and One in the Holy Spirit. His miracles come even if we don't ask for them, we just missed to see them when we fail to thank Him.

Dining with Friends

Post-Christmas invites are really hard to ignore, especially when they come from my dearest friends. No matter how bland the food is, they seem to taste great because I was with awesome people.

First was with my highschool friends. We really wanted to have a good time over dinner at this Platinum KTV in Polaris St. in Makati. But we didn't. The 5K we paid was not worth it because of the poor service. We took the package 3-hour package that goes with food and drinks. Since the waiters were very slow in serving the food, and they had to serve it in piece meals, I get to drank myself of more than half the bottle of red wine which was bitter. I would have appreciated it more, if they served us Novellino.

After that most of us went to have some coffee. Our first choice was Starbucks because of brand familiarity, but we ended up in Gloria Jean's cafe because it was too crowded. I love their pastry as I get to try their tea. I'd prefer Gloria Jean's pastry over Starbuck's the serving may not be so big, but its pastries are not so sugar-heavy unlike that of Starbucks.





Second, was with my dearest friend Jane. Although I missed her first invitation because I got to go with my mom to the groceries that day and I was not just not in the right outfit. Of course I would not dare go dining in palengke clothes, although SM was not so far from Greenbelt 5.

So I got to meet Jane the next day, and we spent a great time talking about her married life over pasta, bread and coffee. When I got there in Cibu, she had already ordered that creamy pumpkin soup. No there was no cream in it, but it was thick and really delicious. Our main course was their familia rigattone, which we ate with some pieces of bread along with some spinach spread.

I really loved that pasta smothered with a mixed of creamy white and some tomato sauce, served with slices of sundried tomatoes and sauted shrimps. That was great. The tomato tastes like the kamias pickles, sour, sweet and salty that burst in your palate.

Then we had coffee at Starbucks in one corner of the old Greenbelt. I am just so happy for my dear friend, as she advances in her career and her marriage life with healthy growing smart kids. Yet, she never forgets where we both came from, among all my college friends, Jane never really forgets me. I mean we just have a special bond, that we clique.




With her and with my other friends, I can just let my hair down. Then just recently, a colleague of my mine from more ten years ago, invited me for a dinner with her husband. Sheila came from Canada with her husband and kids, but I get to missed seeing her kids that day. With her was also a college classmate who I worked with in the first college where I taught for three years, Liza.

The three of us share something in common, they are both from Bicol. While Sheila is from Naga, Liza is from Albay where my father came from. Thus when we talk, we could really be laud. Liza came from Australia, where she works now. We just had great conversations, wild laughters, some reminiscings of the past and some serious business talks.

We ate an early supper at Chillis in Greenbelt 5. The restaurant have big servings that two people can share but after our buffalo wings appetizer and some other stuffs, we ordered individually. Sadly, it was only the Chicken crispers that I really liked. Although I ordered for Chillis Fajita Trio with guacamoli sauce, my buds didn't really appreciate the grilled meat.






Politely I had to finish what I ordered, but that food was not just a good treat. I liked the texture of the beef, chicken and shrimp, even though they lack the grilled taste. A shawarma, or the burrito that I can prepare would taste much better. I had to taste their marinara past on white sauce, but It just tastes that just put some cream chees on it.

Then we had coffe at Seatlle's best, because Starbucks was so crowded. That was last Wednesday, but Greenbelt park just looks like the holiday's isn't over. On those two days, the food were just mere instrumental, that we could get together. Dining with dear friends who I don't meet very often are indeed moments to remember and even look forward to.

Man versus Woman

After weeks of reading feminist literature in preparation for a presentation in my women's studies coursework, I still wonder: What makes the man different from the woman that the two are seen as not equal? This question is even harder for me to answer because I treat and find women as my equal in spite of our differences.

My views on gender equality could be attributed to what kind of family did I come from, while my views on gender difference may have been influenced a lot by what the schools taught me. My personal experiences through healthy social interactions with both sexes while having more women around me in the house, must have helped tame my masculine tendencies to view women with respect and dignity as I accord to myself.


Men and Women in my Family


When I was kid, I never knew that we had a matriarchal family. My paternal grandmother was the head of our clan, and her wisdom was our discipline. She has the voice that everyone must hear and heed to. She has the power to demand what is due her or what is due to others. She has a strong influence down to the littlest family from her brood. Her presence I think is what remains to be so memorable to unify our generation and the generation before us, that we keep in accord with one another.

I have seen how my mother supported my father in rearing us, and how they fulfilled their duties out of love for us and for each other. My earliest drawing of my family is a sketch where my mom and dad are together standing on equal grounds, my sisters and brothers in a line according to their age, while I was there in front of my mama and papa. Very few things would distinguish those figures as to gender, the triangular skirt or dress, the pants and the hair. Everything else would be the same.

The differences between the men and women in family were not so noticeable to me then. But now, that I am learned and had been educated, I see that man functions differently as to the woman, but their differences in thoughts and actions are rather complementing.

My father would earn a living by working in his car repair shop. My mother stays in the house to take care of our daily needs at home, until the time that I could tend for my self as kid, my mom would also work in small in-house handicraft shop. My sisters who would come from school, will do the cooking, if not my mom. But the boys would help in the housework by fetching water, preparing the dining table, brushing the floor, washing the dishes and running errands. My brothers too would work with my father in his repair shop. Cooking, brooming, washing, mending, folding and ironing clothes were the girls tasks. The sexual division labor was negotiated, never imposed.

While mom will extend her work in the house, my dad will play with us, listen to the radio until mealtime is ready and put as all asleep after some family bonding over TV. My mom will prepare my father's clothes for sleeping and even give him sponge bath. Then they will lie together on the mat for their matrimonial rites. I never heard any complaint from my mom from doing these work, I guess that how she shows her love for my father and for us.

As to discipline, my father is different from my mom. My mom would talk things out, when we commit mistakes she would tell us what was wrong, why it was wrong, and what to do the next time. My father would use force, if yelling does not seem to work, he would whip us with his belt. Then mom, would talk to us and console us, she would be my father's mouthpiece for he what he never really spoke of. But we learned from that, no not the value of violence but the virtue of righteousness.

As to our education, they both had high hopes for us to succeed. Yet, they never really forced us to be so competitive. Their encouragement for us to do better only had power if we heeded it. They never compared us with one another, but they showed their appreciation to our accomplishment. I remember my dad when he carried me after I received honors in the kindergarten, he had tears in his eyes. Two years after, he left for eternal rest, and my mother had to fulfill the duties and obligations of both man and woman in the house.


Men and Women in my Education

My childhood senses were already ingrained with the natural perception of the gender difference based on our physiological or biological make-up. The capacity to function productively and the potential to reason were out of my mind to develop premature gender-bias. Studying in a public school, where boys have to study together with the girls never gave me a hint that there are other differences to cause inequality between genders. In grade school, boys and girls are just children.
It was in high school that I learned the differences between sexes. Along with learning in biology that but a pair sex chromosomes would differentiate a human being from another, I realized nothing else is different. In physical education where we were oriented with things about puberty and sexuality, I learned that behavior and the reproductive organs are different between sexes. I learned too, that sexual orientation was a preference. What I never learned then was the issue of gender, even if I was so well versed with the history of men.

The school had not paid much tribute to the women, even though the academe was female-dominated. The very few significant women that I came across in my basic education included Joan of Arc, Cleopatra, Maria Antoinette, Queen Elizabeth, Margareth Thatcher, Maria Clara, Garbriella Silang, Melchora Aquino and Corazon Aquino. But I do not have a recall as to how the school have imparted to me the significant virtues of these women, that as a man I may look up to them and see my humanity through them.

In college, while I was involved in activism and school politics, my views on gender equity was never changed nor was it reinforced. I wrote with feminists students, rallied with feminists, lobbied for feminist issues, strategize with top feminists in the movement. But the same movement deprived me of its understanding of feminism. Feminism were just for female cadres, but their issues were also our issues as the revolutionary catalyst to stir proletarian consciousness.

In the movement I met women, intelligent, brave, courageous, yet still feminine. They were as audacious as the great women academics that I've met. And I respect them for their distinguishable commitment to bring their selves in the forefront of the feminist cause for equality and recognition of their gender-identity. It was mostly women that educated me. I have learned more from the women than from the men in the academe. It was also women who gave my cathecism that taught me that all are equal before the eyes of God.

Sheila Ruth (2001)differentiates the virtues of the masculine and the feminine. According to her, the masculine virtue is a warrior virtue characterized by aggressiveness, courage, physical strenth and health, self-cotnrol and emotional reserve, perseverance and endurance, competence and rationality, independence, self-reliance and autonomy, independence, individuality, and sexual potency. On the other hand, the not-male complement vritue are characterized by passivity, timidty, fragility and delicacy, expressiveness, frailty, emotionality, needfulness, dependence, humility, chastity, innocence or receptivity.

My upbringing, my education, my political enlightenment, my faith, my social interaction had made me a feminist, if not a supporter of the feminist cause. Yet, there are still a lot things that I need to put in the folds of my brain on feminism. I think I am a man still in the process of understanding the woman better. In most ways, as the biogical dictates of my maleness, I share the masculine virtues, but in the virtues of my consciousness, I also possess those not-male virtues. This my personal anomaly, but I acknowledge it as blessing and balance of the male-female chromosome in me.

Biology may have influence for men or women to possess those virtues strongly. But then, they are human virtues and there are ways to be virtuous, and that is the path to being human which we should all take. Man and woman can not be in constant antagonism, they are opposites in sex but they share so many things in their human nature. Whatever difference that we may have out of the influence of so many factors, the conflict can only be resolved by acknowledging those differences, complementing them and celebrating them as what make us unique and diverse.