By Rex Catubig

 

YEARS ago, a friend of mine took me to an impromptu whirlwind spiritual tour in the heart of Metro Manila. In what felt like a modern-day ferry across the innards of the city, and after enduring apocalyptic traffic, touring the St Jude church and the Padre Pio chapel, we wound up at the other end of our circuitous pilgrimage route at the Quiapo shrine on the eve of the Feast of the Black Nazarene.

We were caught in a sudden downpour as we walked through Plaza Miranda to go inside the church. At that time, a long queue of replicas of the Nazarene carried aloft carriages were making their way to the church grounds. The beloved icons, garbed in the royal garment of red and gold, did not escape the spite of the unholy rain and were drenched, too.

But the rain in no way dissipated and melted the torrent of palpable devotion that was inexorably welling up and would culminate in the storm surge of humanity the day after.

The plaza of this matrix of spirituality, became the crucible where commerce, spirituality, and humanity all merged in a fusion of faith, devotion, and merchandise. It was a marriage of diversity sanctified in heaven, with no question about its incongruity.

It took a leap of faith to take all this in, precluding the incursion of doubt and trusting the inclusive benevolence of the merciful heart.

As the rain let up, the setting sun unleashed its rays and the godawful filth and debris became awash with color and golden glow. The place, the people, the goods, the produce, gleamed and were ablaze, as if on fire, against the darkening surroundings.

At that moment, at the instance of the fading sunset, the miracle of transfiguration happened before our unbelieving eyes. Bereft of doubt and prejudice, cleansed of the mire of skepticism and bigotry, we ourselves were transformed.

The supernatural force of the Black Nazarene suffused us with the radiance of renewed faith. He set our soul on fire.

We believe.

Share your Comments or Reactions

comments

Powered by Facebook Comments