Let me start by saying that this isn't a post on Religion. If I had to label myself anything, it would be that I'm a Syncretist.
I'd like to dive much deeper. But I don't want to miss out on the fun touring you around and introducing you to the Filipino tradition called Visita Iglesia.
Here, we visit 7 churches in memory of Jesus' 7 last words.
It's a uniquely Filipino tradition rooted from Roman Catholic faith. I've posted the pictures here in order:
We started our journey at 2:00 pm Thursday. Grabbed a quick snack at Jollibee and headed to the nearest church: Immaculate Heart of Mary in Minglanilla.
We were supposed to leave much earlier but we hoped for and waited for the weather to cool down.
Yesterday was a very hot day. It registered 34°C. Still, we made it happen.
I was born, baptized and raised a Roman Catholic. I have studied some of my Elementary and High School years in Catholic schools. I sang in church choir and participated in our local church events as a kid.
At 16, I found a different kind of faith in a Born Again Christian ministry. At 21, I had more intellectual questions and found myself a member of the Theosophical Society.
Theosophy taught me that all religions have a portion of the Truth.
But even that didn't cut it.
I was never decisive of my spiritual choices. At 24, I studied the philosophies of both Taoism and Tibetan Buddhism.
It was until I found Unity, an inclusive spiritual movement of all religions, races, age and gender, that I made peace with my understanding.
I found out that you can spiritually grow whatever your religion may be, as long as you understand the common thread that binds all religions.
There's only one Truth. That God is Love, and everything that is not love isn't God.
It was during the hardest days of my life that I went back to where I came from. I was looking for a way to practice my faith in actions that made sense to me.
I returned to the practices I am so familiar with and dug deeper on the reasons behind the traditions.
All while understanding that all the other traditions from other religions are just as valid as long as it's aligned to the Truth.
I initially wanted this post to be a church tour. But the Holy Week is, above all things, an introspection. A closer look inside our faith more than anything else. These churches are only a facade to the inner journeys we seldom visit.
Whether or not we should light a candle for healing, offer flowers to a saint or adorn our walls with images, one thing is true.
Rituals create and relive memories that bind people together.
Without rituals, memories in history will die with time.
Coordinated actions create a sense of unity, and we have organized actions, institutions and societies in ways that make sense to our limited understanding.
After all this search for meaning, we are still after all, limited creatures.
To debate whether one tradition is right or wrong, or one better than the other, is a testament to our limited perspectives.
It was already 5:15 pm when we arrived at Sibonga for our 6th church. One more to go but we're still a long time away.
We wondered what the road on our way home looks like this far South in the countryside. The old Acacia trees across the church was a diversion from this thought.
I can't help but wonder, under the shade of these old Acacia trees, how many lives these trees have witnessed. The wars that came, the church bells that echoed in their trunks, the lives that have fallen together with the dead branches.
The night sky has already revealed itself on our way to Simala. The church closes at 6:00 pm and we had to catch up.
When we got there, the gates were indeed closed. But for some reason it opened to give chance to the rest of us five or six people who wish to get in to read the last words.
While climbing up the stairs, I was covered with this strong feeling of love. I was holding back my tears for an emotion I can't name and wasn't there at the first place.
Was it the tiresome trip on a hot day? That same feeling you get when you reach the summit after the dangerous trail?
I can't help but feel that it's the mother's love, when I arrived home, after a strong devotional battle.
I read the last words "Father, into your hands, I commend my spirit" and like some kind of a release, the tiredness lifted and I felt whole.
It was a gruelling travel on our way back. On a motorbike, with the alternating roadworks and sometimes lack of streetlights, it was a test of mental strength.
We arrived at the town of Carcar, had dinner and ended the stopover marvelling at how beautiful the moon was.
2 hours in and we got very tired. Stopped over at the Naga City baywalk, spread a mat and laid down for a rest under the sight of the beautiful starry skies.
We arrived home and called it a day. Lying on the bed, my son still had questions to ask.
What happened next? Was there really an earthquake? What's going to happen tomorrow?
This is the reason. So the generations to come will know...
That there was once a wayshower who lived and is still alive, a Christ in each one of us, a life and passion to remember.