The Holy Week That I Remember

By Mariel Fleur Loredo

As a child, I remember the celebration of Lent as a festive occasion. I know it doesn’t sound religiously correct to use “festive” and “Lent” in the same breath, but it really was a joyful time.

 I knew that Holy Week was just around the corner when the men started preparing to build a “kapilya.” I would kibitz while a small crowd gathered around in the “kanto” to discuss the building materials they would use and the design they would adopt. Young as I was, I could sense the one-ness in the community, of people working together to put up something they could be proud of, and that continued the tradition they held dear.

When the week finally arrived, folks from far-flung villages arrived in troves, either by “bagon” (truck) or carried downstream by “balsa” (bamboo raft), or by walking the distance.  Every night everyone gathered at the Plaza.

The procession started from the church at Plaza Libertad, then on to Allones Street, turning towards the central school, to Magtanong Street, then to San Maximo Street, around the market square, toward Libo-on Street, then back to the church. It sounds like a short tour, but believe me, if you’re walking in slow motion, while listening to the latest “tsismis”  from the person walking next to you, at the same time craning your head to view the newest big houses built by kasimanwas working abroad, the procession felt like one long but exhilarating trip.

In the evening, starting at around 7 o’clock, a crowd would gather around the monument of Jose Rizal to witness the re-enactment of the Last Supper and the “washing of the apostle’s feet.” The priest took on the role of Jesus, and 12 young men, most of whom could pass for “artista” in local showbiz (or so we thought at that time), served as the apostles. The scene was solemn and well-acted.

            After we had taken our dinner, my cousins and I would make the rounds of the kapilyas. At that time, the decorations in the kapilyas were works of art.  They were like the Stations of the Cross coming to life. The special effects of thunder and rain were always crowd-pleasers. In the kapilyas, old women in the neighborhood recited and sang the “pasyon.” I remember giggling at the sounds of the words I could hardly understand; they seemed magical, like at any minute Christ would appear in front of us. We tarried around at our kapilya of choice, watching people pass by, and then we would make the rounds again, all the time feasting on “forbidden” food like balut, barbecue, ice cream, mani, or sinakol, the list was endless. No one cared that we were supposed to be on “puwasa” (fasting).

            The Plaza was so crowded you could hardly find space to park yourself. Most would be sitting on the ground, chatting, laughing, and reuniting with friends, classmates, or relatives. It was a Celebration -- more so than the town fiesta’s or the Christmas season’s.  The following day, the street sweeper could hardly cope with the amount of garbage left behind.

            On Good Friday, devotees would trek up the Agony Hill as soon as dawn broke. Others would join the 5 o’clock morning procession of the Santo Entierro (Dead Christ). At around 6 in the morning, my parents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and I would start walking towards the Agony Hill. We would cross the Aganan River at the end of Nichols Street. At that time there was only a make-shift bridge managed by entrepreneurs for the day who charged “toll” if you didn’t want your feet to get wet. I chose to wade through the ankle-deep water and enjoy the cool sensation.

            My cousins and I would run, marathon-like, each one trying to be the first to get to the First Station of the Cross. By the time we got to the First Station, we would be huffing and puffing already, and the journey was just starting.  We passed by people praying at each station of the cross.  However, for me it was simply another picnic with the family, a morning to enjoy the spectacle under the scorching heat of the sun. And when we got to the last station, the fourteenth, the whole crowd would be there, eating snacks and drinking refreshments before going down the hill back to home. In the afternoon, as if the penitence of climbing the hill wasn’t enough, mother would prod us again to join the Good Friday procession.  The idea almost made me cry – my feet ached badly from too much walking.

            In the evening, there was another crowd, much larger this time, standing in line for their turn to kiss the feet of the Santo Entierro.  As a child, I did not understand what it meant to kiss the feet of the dead Lord. Would he wake up and I would be blessed?

            On Black Saturday, we would be warned not to play because if something untoward happened, our injuries would not heal.  Jesus was dead and he wasn’t there to look after us.  So we contented ourselves in watching the young men and women practicing the routine for next day’s “Bitay”.  In the evening, we waited for the statue of Mater Dolorosa (Sorrowful Mother) to pass by, trailed by the Viernes de Dolores devotees (young women in bare feet), as it moved around the kapilyas in search of Jesus.

            On Easter Sunday, my cousins and I would watch the Bitay at around 7 o’clock in the morning. The “Bitay” was a princess (sort of) inside a giant flower (or other contraption) that hung from the roof of a kapilya.  She sang “Hosanna,” a “Resplandor” recited a declamation, little angels dangled above, and the climax was the burning of Judas.  The spectacular tableau never failed to mesmerize us. 

          Afterwards we went hunting for Easter eggs that our aunts buried in the yard, getting money or candies for prizes.  Then we had contests in cake-eating, coke-drinking, and egg-throwing, and played games like palosebo. Oftentimes we invited guests to join in; one year it was the family of Nong Teban from Malamhay, in another, an “Aeta” we knew.  This was a day we loved while growing up – bonding time between families and friends – and I remember it now with great fondness.

            Ah, those were incomparable times. They made my childhood full of life, vibrant, and magical. I remember a community that had a culture that was unique and wonderful, so much so that I kept promoting it to my friends as a town that celebrated the Passion and Death of Christ joyously. Why not?  After all, we have been saved from the sins.

            Sadly, the tradition, as I knew it, has died.  The crowd at the Plaza has dwindled.  The joy has gone out of the celebration.   

           And no one seems to care.

How to make palm Crosses to tuck behind
picture frames or hang on your wall

Palm Cross Drawings Copyright 2000 S. A. Keith of www.christiancrafters.com

	Take a palm that is about 2 feet long and 1/2" wide (if it tapers at the top, this is good!). Hold the palm upright, so the tapered end points toward the ceiling.
	Then bend the top end down and toward you so that the bend is about 5 or 6 inches from the bottom of the palm.
	About a third of the way from the bend you just made, twist the section you've pulled down to the right, forming a right angle.
	About an inch and a half away from the "stem" of the cross, bend this arm of the palm back behind the palm so that it is now facing to your left. Make the bend at a good length to form the right arm of the Cross.
	Folding that same section at a point that equals the length on the right side, bend it on the left side and bring the end forward over what is now the front of the cross.
	From the very center of the Cross, fold that arm up and to the upper right (in a "northeast" direction) so that it can wrap around where the upright post of the Cross and the right arm intersect.
	Fold this down and to the left behind the Cross...
	...and then fold it toward the right so that it is parallel and under the transverse arms of the Cross.
	Bring it up behind the Cross again, this time folding it up toward the "northwest" direction.
	Tuck the tapered end into the transverse section you made in step 7...
	...and pull through.
	Turn the Cross over; this side will be the front. Trim the tapered end if necessary, remembering that the palm is a sacramental and any part you trim away should be kept and respected as a sacramental! Use that piece for burning during storms.

Bishop: Palm Sunday no April Fool’s joke

STRICTLY SYMBOLIC. Palm fronds (“palaspas”) decorate Santo Domingo Church in Quezon City for blessing on Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week. The Church says Filipinos should give the palaspas no other meaning than a symbol of welcome at the triumphant entry of Jesus to Jerusalem. It’s plain superstitious to use a blessed palm to ward off evil spirits or as protection against lightning and other disasters. RAFFY LERMA

Roman Catholic Filipinos should mark Palm Sunday, with piety and contemplation on the Passion of Jesus Christ and not with superstitious beliefs, an official of the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) said Saturday.

Msgr. Pedro Quitorio III, CBCP media office director, said Palm Sunday, which coincides with the observance of April Fool’s Day, should not be marked with pranks and jokes.

“We should not deviate [from the message of Palm Sunday] and not focus on superstitious and pagan practices,” Quitorio said.

April Fool’s Day is said to have its origins in the ancient Roman festival of Hilaria and in the Festival of Fools in the Middle Ages, where people played pranks on others and indulged in foolishness.

Pranksters are also active on Holy Innocents’ Day in December.

For Quitorio, the belief that the palm fronds (palaspas) blessed on Palm Sunday can ward off evil spirits and lightning strikes are examples of Fool’s Day foolishness that should be discarded.

“A person becomes a fool if his being a Christian is reduced to becoming superstitious,” Quitorio said. “Our concentration should be on [the Palm Sunday] Mass, on the gospel about the Passion of Christ. We should not veer away from it.”

Quitorio said the palaspas has only one symbolic meaning: “To welcome Christ as He enters Jerusalem and into the will of God.”

The Church, Quitorio said, is partly to blame for the persistent superstitious beliefs about the palaspas.

“Maybe [the people] think that way because of the Church’s failure to catechize [them],” Quitorio said. “So I think there is really a need for parish priests to teach the people … to understand its real meaning.”

Cebu Archbishop Jose Palma, CBCP president, called on Catholics on Saturday to commemorate “the important mysteries of our faith” with the start of the Holy Week.

“Let us have time to participate, especially in the many important and significant activities of the Church like Palm Sunday, the Paschal Triduum, Chrism Mass, Last Supper Mass, the Seven Last Words and Easter,” Palma said in an interview over church-run Radio Veritas.

“If others are thinking about going on vacation—and it’s true that we need to have rest from work—I [hope] they can still participate in the celebrations of the Church [this Holy Week],” Palma said. “We should pray to have renewal in our country. Let us pray that we can improve.”

 Jairahbelle Jamolin, 10, helps her mother weave coconut leaves ahead of Palm Sunday in front of the Sto. Domingo Church, in Quezon City. INQUIRER /RAFFY LERMA

Too much partying