Several days before the Fiesta ng Quiapo, social media highlighted the grand preparations being made for the Feast of the Black Nazarene, the highlight of which is the traditional Translacion from Quiapo Church to the Quirino Grandstand. Rigid safety and security regulations are imposed to protect the millions of devotees from all over who are expected to attend the religious ritual.
My mother was a Black Nazarene devotee. One of the images in her collection of antique images on our family altar is that of the Black Nazarene.
I remember her going to Quiapo Church every Friday dressed in a brown “habito.” She would hear Mass and, as was the practice of devotees, would walk on her knees to the altar to ask the Black Nazarene for favors and blessings for her family. Maybe it was this great devotion that saw us through after the death of my father in 1954.
But I must confess I never went with her to Quiapo Church.
This year, on the feast day of the Black Nazarene, I decided to watch the procession on television. When the camera panned out to show the sea of humanity jostling to get near the image, unmindful of possible harm, injury or even death, just to get a glimpse of or to touch the image of the Nazarene, I was totally in awe.
Main concern
As a former health secretary, I have as my main concern the public’s health and well-being. This massive out-of-control action was definitely not in the best interest of public safety. I was fearful of the consequences of such a huge gathering of people who seemed determined, nay, almost desperate, to reach out for the sense of hope, forgiveness or cure that one touch by hand or by handkerchief on the Black Nazarene could give them.
I only wished they would express their devotion in a safer and more somber way. And as I continued to watch, I also found myself praying, asking for His intercession for my family’s health and safety and the complete recovery of my son from dengue.
I also thanked Him for all the blessings we have continuously received. In that moment of solitary meditation and prayer, I had no doubt he heard me even if I was not part of the crowd out there.
My son was hospitalized for dengue and was discharged New Year’s Day, Jan 1. On Jan 12, he had not completely recovered his strength and, as a mother and a physician, I was worried and concerned. He had atypical dengue, which meant he did not have any rashes throughout the whole course but high fever, severe headache and general body malaise and weakness.
Thoughts of the worst possibilities came to my mind, and I prayed really hard for his complete recovery.
Strong desire
That night, I had a dream. Beside the bed, in front of me, appeared the image of the Black Nazarene. And, as though feeling I was part of the crowd on TV, I began squeezing and fighting my way up the carrosa to touch a strand of his hair. But I suddenly fell.
At that point, I woke up and wondered what the message of the Black Nazarene might be for me. Could he possibly be chiding me for having so little faith in him as the protector of his own devotees?
I shared this dream with my family and friends and found myself driven by a strong desire to visit the shrine in Quiapo Church.
I hadn’t been there in a very long time. I sat at the very front pew to hear the 12 noon Mass. There, I knelt in front of the Black Nazarene and prayed for my son’s full recovery.
Relief
I noticed a young man, whose left upper extremities were paralyzed, praying beside me. I could feel his great devotion and faith; I saw tears rolling down his cheeks while he prayed. It was a relief to see that, contrary to my expectations, the Mass turned out to be very solemn, the Church generally quiet and Mass attendees quite orderly as they prayed and sang in one harmonious voice.
I was also moved by the intensity of their devotion, particularly when they sang the “Our Father.” I could not help but sob uncontrollably. The last time I felt that way was when I was touched and blessed by Pope John Paul II in the Vatican in 1996. I could not explain what had come over me then, as I could not explain it again this time. But one thing I’m sure of, like the first experience, I will never ever forget it.
I will also never look at the procession of the Black Nazarene the same way ever again. I will see through the health hazards and chaos, to find the love and devotion of a people who, like me, believe.