D-DAY IN PALO: Archbishop Du's Installation, part 1

I guess I've been quite remiss about announcing the long awaited news of the new Shepherd for the Palo archdiocese. Bishop John Ferrosuelo Du of Dumaguete was appointed by Pope Benedict XVI to succeed Archbishop José S. Palma in the metropolitan See of Palo upon the latter's appointment as the Archbishop of Cebu, replacing Ricardo Cardinal Vidal, who retired about two years ago. Bishop Du's appointment was made public on February 25, 2012. At least I could pride myself for being one of the first to get to know the joyful news, thanks to a priest friend currently studying at the Vatican school for diplomats. I got to receive the news in real time; I could remember breathless out of emotion as I tried to communicate the news through Facebook. After conveying the news, I immediately went down to the sacristy to offer a Mass of thanksgiving. 

I was hoping to be able to make it to the installation, but i soon learned that I would be arriving about two weeks after the event. For the second time thus I would be absent in the installation of the Archbishop of Palo, and considering that His Grace is in his prime, we won't be witnessing any installation for a long time. 

I will be posting the first pictures that come form the other side of the world where these exciting things are taking place.

the program of activities

The Archbishop-elect's arrival in Ormoc from Cebu was marked by
a simple service in honor of Our Lady at the parish church of
Sts. Peter and Paul. He was received by the Archdiocesan
Administrator, Msgr. Jaime Villanueva, and the parish priest, Fr. Gilbert
Urbina.

After taking some refreshments in Ormoc, accompanied by a good number
of the clergy from Dumaguete, he made for Palo, where after a two-hour ride,
he was feted by the local clergy of Palo--his from now on.

Archbishop-elect Du and his predecessor, Archbishop Palma of Cebu.

I hope to post more pictures as they come...

The Sto. Niño and the Black Nazarene: Two Icons of the Filipino's Faith

This Sunday the Church in the Philippines distinguishes itself once again with the feast of the Sto. Niño, a devotion that not only is typically Filipino, but that which is at the very core of the people’s identity and history as a Christian nation (here, as a parenthetical observation, despite of a certain percentage of Muslims and of the fact that the majority of the archipelago’s pre-colonial inhabitants were animists, it could never be said that in any point of its history was the Philippines an Islamic nor an animistic nation. The evangelization wrought by the missionaries of the Spanish Crown was a big factor in the building up of our identity as a nation; where there were petty kingdoms scattered throughout the archipelago, the colonization brought about a cohesive unity between the islands under the Cross and the Crown). No doubt by this time, millions of devotees and revelers have congregated at what could be the centermost metropolis of the Visayas—denominated the Queen City of the South—Cebu, both out of devotion to the Holy Child Jesus, whose image was the first Christian image to be revered in this part of the Far East, and also to celebrate in what has become the Philippine’s answer to Mardi Gras of Rio de Janeiro and New Orleans. This multitudinous gathering comes almost a week after another one done as well during the first week of the year, though this one is marked more by devotion not lacking in fanaticism than by a reason for celebrating. This Monday’s feast of the Black Nazarene of Quiapo was marked by the usual confluence of millions jostling in order to touch the 17^th century image (a remnant of trade relations by way of galleons between Manila and Mexico) with their handkerchiefs and towels in the belief of its healing powers, while accompanying it in a procession that lasted fourteen hours. The annual feast and its highlight—the grand procession back to its normal place in the Basilica of Quiapo—was celebrated amidst reports of a possible terrorist attack, one which the President himself made out in a rare press conference made before the date. This didn’t even make a dent in the devotees faith, resolved to fulfill their yearly panata or personal vow. Urged on by their resolve and personal need, the same millions braved the annual pandemonium around the carriage that bears the darkened image of the Savior on the way to Calvary.

The proximity of both feasts calls my attention as we celebrate another feast that is typically Filipino, and this I mean in two ways: in the first place, liturgically speaking, because both are rarities, and from a foreign point of view, one that could not be easily understood. Secondly, both as images and devotions they give us a view of what the identity of the Filipino Christian is all about.

Regarding to the first point, refering to the Black Nazarene, as a liturgical feast it stands out like a sore thumb, having just ended the Christmas season days before (this year, it was celebrated on the day where in some part of the Latin Church people were ending Christmas with the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord). The feast of the Sto. Niño could raise some foreign liturgical eyebrows for the same reason, now that Christmas had ended. Secondly, it is truly Filipino because of the significance it has in the nation’s history. As I had pointed out earlier, among the numerous images venerated by Catholics in the Philippines, that of the Holy Child of Cebu is certainly the first that came to the islands, and consequently, not only is it the oldest, but certainly its devotion is among the most widespread among the Filipino people; at par with the Sinulog celebration in Cebu we have the Ati-atihan of Iloilo and the Pintados-Kasadyaan of Tacloban (the Sangyaw of the same city is a very recent invention). As historical records would tell us, the image was arrived to these islands as a gift made out to the premier wife of Humabon of Cebu by Ferdinand Magellan during the first expedition in march 1521. This first encounter between the Spaniards and the natives (which was to end tragically, for the Spaniards at least), though not enough to plant the Cross and the Christian faith firmly upon this part of Asia, was nevertheless the seed that was to grow with the evangelization of the islands, a movement that coincided with its political subjugation under Spanish rule, which was to last for three hundred years, form 1565 until 1898, the year that signaled the end of the Spanish colonial era. One merit of the this colonial rule was the unification of the islands under one government; where there was once a group of islands with petty kingdoms, the evangelization and colonization of what became las islas Filipinas under the Spanish crown brought about the a unified conscience, that was to grow and mature under the American administration, interrupted for two years during the Second World War with the Japanese Occupation.

The Image of the Nazarene, Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno, came in the midst of a prosperous era marked by trade relations between Manila and Mexico. Ships would ply the route from the Spanish port in Asia—Manila—laden with goods destined for markets in Nueva Castilla (Mexico) and the old world. The same galleons would return from the other end in Acapulco back to Manila laden with Mexican silver and other goods. In one of those trips came the image of the Nazarene. No, better still, one could talk of images since there were two of them. I won’t elaborate on this here though, as I would be digressing from my point.

Both the images and the devotion that Filipinos have towards these representation of Jesus Christ in two instances of his life—both as a child and as a grown man, could say something about their spiritual life as a people. I have long wondered about the devotion that my people have towards the Sto. Niño and the Nazareno, a devotion that is seconded only by the Filipino’s love for the Mother of God (the Philippines, to use a well-known phrase, is a nation in love with Mary, un pueblo amante de María, and its love affair with the Virgin is as interesting as its strong devotion to the ones highlighted in this present reflection).

In the first place, I could well say that these January devotions reflect how the Filipino sees himself in relation to God. With regards to the Holy Child, the Filipino has always known himself to be small before God, a child in the arms of his Father. Without prejudice to people of other nationalities, I could say that the Filipino is instinctively religious. Of course religion as a human phenomenon could be given in man himself, but the Filipino has no qualms in praying in public; given the circumstances, he is at home with the spiritual, and this spirituality is one that is trusting, a spirituality in which surrender to the higher power occupies an important part. The Pinoy is accustomed to living surrounded by children, and is quite fond of them; anyway, who isn’t fond of a cute baby? The country’s population is relatively young, a promising one that could yield a veritable workforce, given the chance. Just as a child is desirable and lovable in the eyes of its parent, the Filipino, seeing himself as a child, also knows himself to be loved, and this love is that which makes him strong, even in the darkest of times, even in the midst of suffering. There is never any doubt that the Filipino finds his strength in hard times surrounded by his family and those who care for him most; however, one source of strength that he can dispose of as well is prayer, drawing from those deep spiritual reserves that find its roots in his Christian faith.

Speaking of suffering, everybody would agree that the present generation of Filipinos had never known a period of bonanza or prosperity as such; each turn of history would seem worse than the last. Philippine contemporary history, either lived out individually or as a nation, seems to pass from one crisis to another. The image of the Black Nazarene seems to be the incarnation of the image of the suffering Filipino himself; better still, I could say that the Filipino is able to recognize himself in the image of the suffering Savior on the way to Calvary, which is perhaps the reason why there he has so much devotion to the suffering Christ. This identification with the Nazarene, carrying the Cross on the way to Calvary, is perhaps the reason that lies at the root of its attraction for the Filipino.

The Black Nazarene is the image of a God who is never from the situation of those who suffer, never distant because he shares their suffering, and manifests it for all to see.

But there is another reason for its being attractive: though suffering and the perspective of certain death is evident in the black face of the Savior, within this sign, we might say, there is the glimmer of the final victory. The Filipino, though suffering and being accustomed to it, knows and recognizes the transient nature of suffering, and foresees in a certain manner the glory of the Resurrection. He knows that suffering will cease, and that life still goes on. This is something that lies at the heart of the Filipino psyche; this is the reason for the Filipino’s ability to smile, laugh and celebrate despite of the bad times; ever a musical people, Filipinos are known to express their pain even in singing, as they do in times of joy. This is the reason of the Filipino’s affinity to telenovelas, which show the long-suffering of the innocent protagonist, whose story always culminates in triumph.

The profound reason perhaps why these devotions have so much popularity among the Filipino people is because they see themselves associated with Christ himself. When the devotee gazes at the obscure face of the Christ bearing the Cross, he does not only see his own pain, he also sees his own resurrection. In the same way, when he celebrates and dances with the image of the Infant in his hands, he sees himself as a child loved by God, one who would never abandon him to his fate, as a popular religious Filipino song would say (hindi kita pababaya-an).

One last thing that this reveals about Filipino Christian religiosity is that it is Christological and Christ-centered. All of this identification with Christ that I’ve been talking about, about how Christ shows who and what God is, and how Christ shows man about man himself—these point to the fact that Filipino Christianity is in the right route. There is a lot of purification to do, of course, there is no doubt about this, the experience of the procession and the fanaticism of many of the Nazarene’s devotees are proof of that, but I guess that deep within, the Filipino has grasped one central concept of Christology, which is that of the Incarnation. This is one concept in which through the person of Jesus Christ, man is able to see and know—and even touch and caress—that who and which the invisible God is. Also, in the face of Christ, man is able to know more about who he truly is. In the case of the Filipino devotee, both in the Sto. Niño and in the Black Nazarene, he sees a God who has come down to man so as to be embraced and carried, in whom he knows himself to be loved and cherished. Here he realizes that he is not alone in his suffering, and that, despite of the darkness of the times, the gloom is not enough to snuff out the flame of hope that would inevitably lead to the bright day of the Resurrection. 

The Philippine President and a lost moment of valor

I’m not a fan of Pnoy, as the occupant of the country’s highest political office is fond of styling himself. I haven’t been since the beginning, when he was a nobody in the Senate, who was suddenly thrust into the limelight because his mother died. Suddenly, overnight, under the steady rain of yellow confetti, Benigno Simeon Aquino, Jr. becomes almost something akin to a Messiah come to save his people, a role that he believes is his by divine right of the people, and which gives him the power and the audacity to work for reforms, hurling thunderbolts here and there.

Don’t mistake me, I’m not a fan of the previous administration either. Ganun ba yun—quipped a friend in that modern Aeropagus we more commonly call Facebook—Basta hindi ka sang-ayon kay PNoy, Pro-CGMA ka ka? (is this how things are right now, that just because you don’t agree with Pnoy, you’re for CGMA (Congresswoman Gloria Macapagal Arroyo)?). These words were no more than an observation of the ambiance of current opinion. You could see that where the action really is: in the comment boxes of news articles in the webpages of the more prestigious Philippine dailies. These com-boxes could be as dirty as the hidden alleys of Barcelona and as busy as a hive. Here you would see people who differed from Pnoy’s view of things being attacked by his lackeys for being CGMA cronies. Is reality that merely two sided? Are we going the way of another dictatorship? I’m inclined to see it that way, a rather silent one, a dictatorship of public opinion, I might say. Pnoy won’t be so audacious as to do a Marcos; he would rather be caught dead than do a Gloria, though I won’t be surprised if, after four years, the same charges be leveled against him, irrespective of whether they be truthful or not, Philippine traditional politics being as it is. But yes he is being tyrannical in a way, vindictively tyrannical. I am digressing.

As of the moment one thing that had people buzzing much like bees in a hive is his delay in visiting typhoon stricken northern Mindanao, first explained by his staff as due to careful planning and work in assessing the situation and how to best respond to it. Later on it came out that he was in a party with the PSG, laughing and having good time with his people, as a comedienne would later tweet. I don’t have much against him spending time having good time with people who work for him, but then for a lot of people this appeared to be exactly the opposite of the image that people would like him to have at the moment. His sisters and the rest of his office have come to his rescue (what would one expect? Were I to trip at least I would expect my own to do the same for me right?) but it seemed to boomerang instead. People would always have their reasons; I’m sure Pnoy would be having his (and I won’t be surprised if it were a really lame one).

Everybody has the right to party, especially during this season, but one thing that Pnoy might have grasped is that, if he were seeking to have that burnished image of a president that really cares for greater things that incidentally fall beyond his political agenda, he could have grabbed this opportunity that literally fell from the angry skies. A lightning visit would’ve given the image of a president who wanted to handle things firsthand, and to be one with the people. When the skies poured water in lethal abundance, and when tears of disconsolate grief rose up in return, the whole country was in Cagayan de Oro; the president was somewhere in the capital. He could have went there immediately. Just being there could have been enough. I could imagine that at certain moments words are superfluous; there are times when being there is more than enough. Disaster plans come minutes later. Just as his immediate presence could have said something, his delayed presence in those ravaged areas had aroused much comment and consternation.

It made me think of something a leader once did in a time like this. It was wartime, and the clouds of war loomed darkly above, even over a place as eternal as Rome. The morning of July 14, 1943 was promising to be just like any other, where it not for the arrival of 521 Allied planes who suddenly flew over Rome and dropped their lethal load of bombs over the district surrounding the basilica of San Lorenzo outside the walls. The walls shook, and the shock waves reached the windows of the papal study. Once it was established that everything was clear, it didn’t take an hour for Pius XII to be out in the papal automobile speeding towards the devastated area, unaccompanied by the usual escort, but with an aide, Msgr. Montini (the future Pope Paul VI) and the chauffeur. He went to the shattered basilica and stayed for two and a half hours. Peter Hebblethewaite, a distinguished expert on Vatican affairs, wrote about the scene in his biography of Paul VI:

“It was the first time the Pope had been outside the Vatican since the mobs had hooted him in 1940. He knelt among the ruins and recited the psalm De Profundis (Out of the depths O Lord). The crowd gathered to pray with him. He comforted the wounded and tried to console the bereaved. His white soutane was soon flecked with blood. The Pope failed to save Rome from the bombs but he was closer to the people of Rome than Mussolini had ever been”. (Peter Hebblethwaite, Paul VI, Paulist Press, New York 1993, p. 184)

By the time Rome was completely occupied by the Germans, the King, his ministers, and Mussolini with his, had all but abandoned Rome to her fate. Pius XII was the only figure of authority that the city had during those hard times, and the people never considered the figure of the Pope a distant one. He was immersed in trying to do the best in every situation, in trying to provide safety and shelter to everyone—either Jews or Christians—within the walls of churches and ecclesiastical domain, safe within the limits of Vatican neutrality. The daw the armistice was announced, the city filled the square of St. Peter’s to pay homage to Pius XII, Defensor civitatis (defender of the city of Rome).

What was the point of this flash back? Well, certainly Pnoy is no cleric, much less a saint, nor did Pius XII do it in order to earn pogi points among the Romans. But both offices hold within their bounds the obligation to be with their people most especially in times of adversity, in which the presence in its initial moments is enough balm to strengthen the ailing soul.

Perhaps Pnoy should’ve considered this, that in being at the scene in its first moments he wouldn’t only be fulfilling something that falls within his office, but he would also further his image which is important in any political career, and which is also helpful in allaying any further criticism from those who do not take kindly to him. But more importantly, he should’ve properly considered the fact that being with these people was of far more urgent importance, than being in a party. Well, he can have his party in the evening if he wants to, but would that keep him from going to the depressed areas the next day?

What is certain is that he hadn’t considered them, and that he had botched this opportunity, this moment of glory, unlike many other leaders whom history had enshrined in its memory because they had known to take charge of a situation that called for valor. How he would get out of this episode, and what pathetic reasons and excuses and even possibly —and dare I say it, lies—that he may have to concoct to save face is another story, one that does not capture my fancy at the moment to elaborate.

The Heroism of my Ancestors: Fr. Nicanor Acebedo

I was doing some historical readings on Philippine Church history lately just to pass away the hours when I stumbled across this excerpt from a letter of Bishop Thomas Hendrick of Cebu, who narrated the atrocities which had been committed on priests in his diocese during the war years at the turn of the 20th century, during the American occupation. The atrocities were committed by American soldiers under orders from General Jacob Smith, who verbally ordered them to "turn Samar into a howling wilderness".  At this time the whole of Eastern Visayas was still under the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the Diocese of Cebu.  

"One of them, Father Nicanor Acebedo, parish priest of Basey, Samar, was watercured by Captain, now Major Erwin F. Glenn of the 5th U.S. Infantry now stationed in Nebraska...his assistant priest was also watercured, at the same time; both were injured for life, the assistant's reason being impaired...I forgot to say that Fr. Nicanor was tortured because he rowed from Basey to Leyte to get rice for his people, which was against military orders..."

About a Mistress

In my latest post I mentioned about digging into this interesting work by Eleanor Herman about Olimpia Maidalchini. I found this book while poring over the shelves at FullyBooked at Bonifacio High Street about a month or so ago. Actually I first read some pages of it in a friend's ipad but it didn't catch my fancy then. It did when, with nothing particularly interesting in my hands and with a lot of time to kill, I finally came upon it in the history section.

 It would be imprecise to call it a novel, because it's not. I think it could comfortable called a resource, except that its written in such a way that it's different from the typically heavy and bearing history tomes about obscure figure that history has conveniently swallowed up. It's substantial but not heavy, entertaining and juicy but not frivolous. Yep, just the right mix. I enjoyed reading it I had finished by the time I arrived back in Tacloban.

The book cover discloses very little about the author, Eleanor Herman, who had also written other books on historical matters. She had hosted episodes for the National Geographic Channel and the History Channel (which has a revisionist tendency most times).

The title of the book says it all: Mistress of the Vatican, though I thought the next line pushed the envelope a little too far: The true story of Olimpia Maidalchini: the secret female pope. For all her machinations and power wielding she may have truly been the mistress of Rome, but its quite absurd to call her pope.

Anybody can learn about her here, so I'll go straight to some of the things which make this an interesting read.

It was interesting to note that in those times, women didn't really have much of a choice on how to manage their lives, if they were really able to manage them. It seemed that only two options were open for them: to be wed or to be locked up in the convent. I would imagine that convents during that time would have to be full, but that didn't exactly mean that the convents were filled to capacity due to genuine vocations. 

A nun slept alone in a narrow cell, on a hard bed, with an unlocked door through which the abbess could enter anytime to see what she was doing. fraternization was frowned upon as nuns, having devoted themselves to God, were not supposed to have any friends, even among their fellow nuns. Nuns who laughed and gossiped when cooking together or sewing in small groups could be subject to severe punishment. Forbidden to have pets, many nuns adopted chickens they raised for eggs. Some nuns sent letters to their bishops complaining bitterly that the upstairs corridors were ankle deep in chicken turds because other nuns, looking for love where they could find it, kept so many pet chickens...

...Nuns were allowed to meet relatives in the convent parlor, a gathering place where laypeople waited for a religious relative to come to the grille that separated the nuns' world from the real world. male visitors were limited to a short list of fathers, brothers and uncles, but female visitors could be more distant relatives, former neighbors, and friends. An older nun past the age of indiscretion--forty--was instructed to stand nearby and listen to younger nuns' conversations in he parlors to make sure nothing inappropriate was being said.

Usually the relatives would bring food and drink and make merry in the parlor, slipping wine and food through the grille to the nun while she, in return, slipped them delectable convent cakes. Bishops routinely tried to clamp down on such excesses but just as routinely failed. It was, after all, the only fun a nun could have. And the rowdy relatives were not nearly as troubling as another problem in the parlor, which was becoming the favorite pastime of Italian youths. Boisterous young men--drunk, bored or on a dare--pretended to be nuns' brothers, snuck in, and exposed themselves, waving their members and grinning at the shocked virgins behind the grille. The Neapolitans were the worst, some of them making the grand tour of Italy with the express purpose o flashing all the nuns.

Well, I'm glad such things and such reclusion don't happen in convents nowadays, and I haven't heard of any nun who was forced to enter the convent.

Here's something that reminds me of some local--and I mean local--politicians whenever they careen down the roads with their convoys and flashing lights:

The dignity of a Roman nobleman was measured in the number of his retainers, most of whom rode noisily down the streets following his carriage no matter where he went--to church, to a friend's house, to his tailor, even to his mistress. When the maestro di casa rang a particular bell, within fifteen minutes all male members of the famiglia were required to be mounted on a horse, ready to fly through the streets of Rome behind their master. Those who were not ready would forfeit a week's meals. Even the cooks, gardeners, and servant boys would fling on the family livery and raise madly through the streets, creating as much din as possible.