You know you just have to go on a pilgrimage when people catch you sighing every five minutes. What do you know, the relic of St. Therese comes to town just in time.
St. Therese of Lisieux, France, is called the "Millennium Saint," "Jesus' 'Little Flower'," the 33rd Doctor of the Church as declared by the Pope, so far the youngest and one among only three women doctors, the other two being St. Catherine of Siena and St. Teresa of Avila. To those who recite a novena for her, she is known to answer petitions with a flower, specifically, rose or rose petals.
St. Therese was kind of controversial in her time or, more accurately, after she died, when her diary entries were published. She discovered that one could be great in God's eyes (i.e. in terms of sanctity) even if one leads an ordinary life, as long as it is lived with extraordinary love. She also unwittingly revolutionized man's image of God - from that of a stern-faced policeman who keeps an account of our crimes to that of a tender-loving, merciful Father who wants to be loved back and who understands our frail humanity.
The pilgrimage site happens to be a Jubilee Shrine, the National Shrine of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in Dao St., San Antonio Village, Makati. St. Therese was known to be a devotee of the Sacred Heart, thus the choice of the venue, which is too small for a national shrine. But the shrine is just about 20 blocks away from our workplace. Or one jeepney ride away. Hopes for and dreams of a journey to France are dashed, but we don't mind.
The trouble is, everybody seems to know about it, everybody's heading to the same direction at the strike of 5 PM. Needless to say, all roads leading to Dao St. are clogged and my companions and I couldn't help sighing. I changed my sigh, which I utter in the vernacular, to "Oh, brother!" for variety's sake.
At King's Court in Pasong Tamo aka Chino Roces Ave, the jeep is virtually at a standstill, so I have to suggest to A. and M. the possibility of...hiking. Upon which A. in particular threatened to wail like an ambulance or a police car siren. It's just one ride away, yes, but the thought of doing it on foot is unthinkable. Think about expensive Italian shoes beating a variable terrain that is typical of Metro Manila sidewalks. A pilgrimage like this can actually do a host of non-wonders to your feet.
Fighting off a giant smirk on her face, A. trudges on while M. ambles almost thoughtlessly. "Look guys," I say. "Think of this as a pilgrimage. It's part of the whole thing, the sacrifice, the travel on foot."
No reaction there. But I can feel A. muttering under her fuming breath, smoky fires shooting off her ears.
At the site, we are greeted by a mile-long queue of people who are apparently eager just like us for a miracle, carrying their one million petitions inside of them. The population of the entire parish plus visitors from all over seem to be there.
We law-abidingly line up. Only for someone to tell us to, "Rush! No need to line up. She's about to leave. Now." Naturally, he might as well have said, "People, now it's time to go on a stampede."
The Sacred Heart National Shrine turns out to be too cramped a venue for such a huge occasion and the huge turnout. We enter through the exit. Somebody tells us not to. Others echo his plea. They are completely ignored. "Oh God, help us." The crowd mentality should have been clear to them: "It's St. Therese or bust." I see an acquaintance. We exchange faces that say, "I'll get crushed to death here." A man stands on top of a monoblock chair and distributes pamphlets on St. Therese and Marian messages, which the throng eagerly takes.
After surviving the purifying furnace of being crushed within an inch of our life, we gloriously reach the steps of the church. "We're getting there, St. Therese, we're getting there." This is absurd it's actually funny. I laugh as fellow pilgrims near me laugh. As we make it to the door, what would welcome us but an impregnable barricade of a church pew with young men standing on top telling us to take it easy. Cordon sanitaire.
I can imagine our ancestors doing the same to a much-revered anito. I know that, to a believer, this is different but the parallelism is uncanny. There must be something ancient here, something animist, only Catholic.
Inside the church, lo and behold, it's not even half-full. There are people praying silently, paying homage to a famously interred then exhumed - I suppose - visitor whose bones, we assume, now lay inside a glass-encased - what's that again? - reliquary. The reliquary is made of a gilded, intricately carved dark-brown wood and looks much like a baroque coffin.
The event is practically a wake! We pilgrims are led gently and we file one by one in obedience, as though we are to receive holy communion.
I guess we've come because, we are hoping, we believe in miracles. We believe in blessings being channeled to us through the saints. We believe in healing and deliverance from the ills of this cruel day and age. All we need is just one touch and just one gaze.
We get what we came here for, if only for a brief moment in time. It's like a dream, a split-second dream. But where are the bones? We don't see any bones.
Well, there's no need to see any. I'm glad to see just the coffin of St. Therese. I make an act of faith that it's the genuine article we came lining up for. I'm not so sure which prayer request to say, too.
It's enough that St. Therese is there with us physically, glad that we all came. But what do you know, a man catches my right hand just when I am about to leave and places two rose petals on my palm. The guy barely hears my word of thanks. But I get this feeling that the 'answer' to my prayer has been forced on me.
We ease out of the crowd and there, outside the church, are many of my other friends from other circles huddled in post-contact conversations. I bid them hello and goodbye, saying I have to go, I came with my officemates.
My pilgrim companions and I are so tired and hungry that we have to find a place somewhere to repair. We find that the only one available is a dingy place. We're abck to sighing as when we started.
2.4.2000
01/01/2004 - 02/01/2004 02/01/2004 - 03/01/2004 03/01/2004 - 04/01/2004 04/01/2004 - 05/01/2004 05/01/2004 - 06/01/2004 06/01/2004 - 07/01/2004 07/01/2004 - 08/01/2004 08/01/2004 - 09/01/2004 09/01/2004 - 10/01/2004 10/01/2004 - 11/01/2004 11/01/2004 - 12/01/2004 12/01/2004 - 01/01/2005 01/01/2005 - 02/01/2005 02/01/2005 - 03/01/2005 03/01/2005 - 04/01/2005 04/01/2005 - 05/01/2005 05/01/2005 - 06/01/2005 06/01/2005 - 07/01/2005 07/01/2005 - 08/01/2005 08/01/2005 - 09/01/2005 09/01/2005 - 10/01/2005 10/01/2005 - 11/01/2005 11/01/2005 - 12/01/2005 12/01/2005 - 01/01/2006 02/01/2006 - 03/01/2006 03/01/2006 - 04/01/2006 04/01/2006 - 05/01/2006 05/01/2006 - 06/01/2006 06/01/2006 - 07/01/2006 07/01/2006 - 08/01/2006 08/01/2006 - 09/01/2006 09/01/2006 - 10/01/2006 10/01/2006 - 11/01/2006 11/01/2006 - 12/01/2006 12/01/2006 - 01/01/2007 01/01/2007 - 02/01/2007 02/01/2007 - 03/01/2007 03/01/2007 - 04/01/2007 04/01/2007 - 05/01/2007 05/01/2007 - 06/01/2007 06/01/2007 - 07/01/2007 07/01/2007 - 08/01/2007 08/01/2007 - 09/01/2007 09/01/2007 - 10/01/2007 10/01/2007 - 11/01/2007 11/01/2007 - 12/01/2007 12/01/2007 - 01/01/2008 01/01/2008 - 02/01/2008 02/01/2008 - 03/01/2008 03/01/2008 - 04/01/2008 04/01/2008 - 05/01/2008 05/01/2008 - 06/01/2008 06/01/2008 - 07/01/2008 07/01/2008 - 08/01/2008 08/01/2008 - 09/01/2008 09/01/2008 - 10/01/2008 10/01/2008 - 11/01/2008 11/01/2008 - 12/01/2008 12/01/2008 - 01/01/2009 01/01/2009 - 02/01/2009 04/01/2009 - 05/01/2009 05/01/2009 - 06/01/2009 06/01/2009 - 07/01/2009 07/01/2009 - 08/01/2009 08/01/2009 - 09/01/2009 09/01/2009 - 10/01/2009 10/01/2009 - 11/01/2009 11/01/2009 - 12/01/2009 01/01/2010 - 02/01/2010 02/01/2010 - 03/01/2010 03/01/2010 - 04/01/2010 04/01/2010 - 05/01/2010 05/01/2010 - 06/01/2010 06/01/2010 - 07/01/2010 07/01/2010 - 08/01/2010 08/01/2010 - 09/01/2010 09/01/2010 - 10/01/2010 11/01/2010 - 12/01/2010 01/01/2011 - 02/01/2011 02/01/2011 - 03/01/2011 03/01/2011 - 04/01/2011 04/01/2011 - 05/01/2011 05/01/2011 - 06/01/2011 06/01/2011 - 07/01/2011 07/01/2011 - 08/01/2011 08/01/2011 - 09/01/2011 09/01/2011 - 10/01/2011 10/01/2011 - 11/01/2011 11/01/2011 - 12/01/2011 12/01/2011 - 01/01/2012 02/01/2012 - 03/01/2012 03/01/2012 - 04/01/2012 04/01/2012 - 05/01/2012 05/01/2012 - 06/01/2012 06/01/2012 - 07/01/2012 07/01/2012 - 08/01/2012 08/01/2012 - 09/01/2012 09/01/2012 - 10/01/2012 10/01/2012 - 11/01/2012 11/01/2012 - 12/01/2012 12/01/2012 - 01/01/2013 01/01/2013 - 02/01/2013 02/01/2013 - 03/01/2013 03/01/2013 - 04/01/2013 04/01/2013 - 05/01/2013 05/01/2013 - 06/01/2013 06/01/2013 - 07/01/2013 07/01/2013 - 08/01/2013 08/01/2013 - 09/01/2013 09/01/2013 - 10/01/2013 10/01/2013 - 11/01/2013 11/01/2013 - 12/01/2013 12/01/2013 - 01/01/2014 01/01/2014 - 02/01/2014 02/01/2014 - 03/01/2014 03/01/2014 - 04/01/2014 04/01/2014 - 05/01/2014 05/01/2014 - 06/01/2014 06/01/2014 - 07/01/2014 07/01/2014 - 08/01/2014 10/01/2014 - 11/01/2014 11/01/2014 - 12/01/2014 01/01/2015 - 02/01/2015 03/01/2015 - 04/01/2015 04/01/2015 - 05/01/2015 05/01/2016 - 06/01/2016 07/01/2016 - 08/01/2016 08/01/2016 - 09/01/2016 02/01/2018 - 03/01/2018 03/01/2018 - 04/01/2018 07/01/2018 - 08/01/2018 04/01/2019 - 05/01/2019 05/01/2019 - 06/01/2019 09/01/2019 - 10/01/2019 02/01/2020 - 03/01/2020 04/01/2020 - 05/01/2020 05/01/2020 - 06/01/2020 06/01/2020 - 07/01/2020 07/01/2020 - 08/01/2020 08/01/2020 - 09/01/2020 09/01/2020 - 10/01/2020 01/01/2021 - 02/01/2021 10/01/2021 - 11/01/2021 11/01/2021 - 12/01/2021 12/01/2021 - 01/01/2022 05/01/2022 - 06/01/2022 06/01/2022 - 07/01/2022 08/01/2022 - 09/01/2022 10/01/2022 - 11/01/2022 02/01/2023 - 03/01/2023 08/01/2023 - 09/01/2023 10/01/2023 - 11/01/2023 12/01/2023 - 01/01/2024 01/01/2024 - 02/01/2024 02/01/2024 - 03/01/2024
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]