Devotee struggles to kiss the image of the Jesus Nazareno during the annual Traslación on Jan. 9 in Manila. | PHOTO BY EARL ALPAY
Every year, on January 9, hundreds of thousands of mostly barefoot Roman Catholic devotees wearing maroon shirts join in pulling and pushing a carriage of the life-sized wooden icon of Jesus Christ carrying the cross.
Millions also gather around the crowded and small Quiapo district, an old commercial area in the Philippine capital, and in the nearby areas from Rizal Park to the Minor Basilica of the Parish of Saint John the Baptist, where the religious procession crawls at snail’s pace.
The annual 5-kilometer procession, which starts at dawn in Luneta and ends at the church past midnight, usually takes 20 to 23 hours to complete.
The Feast of Jesus Nazarene is the biggest and most popular festival in the Philippines, as it is also celebrated elsewhere across the archipelago.
Most non-Catholics, and even many non-practicing members of the Roman Catholic Church, would not understand the devotion and faith displayed in the Feast of the Nazarene’s procession.
They say it’s a classic show of idolatry with roots from ancient Filipinos’ pagan rituals. They also say it was a misguided practice tolerated and encouraged by the Roman Catholic clergy.
But, for the devotees of Jesus Nazarene, it’s simply faith and trust in Jesus. It’s widely believed that the impossible can happen due to the devotion to the blackened religious icon.
Mario Bautista, an ordinary driver, prayed to the Black Nazarene to heal his infant daughter who had congenital heart disease. His daughter survived and lived up to 75 years old.
For Mario, it was a miracle. He was so thankful that every year until he died in early 2000, he never missed pulling the ropes of the carriage.
Devotees pray to Jesus Nazarene to cure dreaded diseases, get jobs, hurdle difficult government exams, and get their other wishes.
They say touching the ropes, the carriage, and a part of the icon would be enough for miracles to happen.
There were answered prayers, but some were unheeded. However, the devotees were not discouraged. They continued to put trust in the Nazarene.
“Maybe, it is not yet time. God knows the perfect time for my wish,” said Alberto Santos, a security guard who skips work every January 9 to walk barefoot behind the carriage. He was doing it for a bedridden father.
A Spanish galleon from Acapulco brought the Black Nazarene icon from Mexico to the Philippines in 1606.
An unknown artist carved the life-size relic from a Mexican native tree, blackening it over time. In the early 18th century, the Augustinian friars donated the icon to a church in Quiapo on January 9.
That’s when the practice of “traslacion” or the transfer of the Nazarene icon from its original home in Intramuros to Quiapo began.
Before the 1970s, the procession was solemn until devotees mobbed the icon, turning it into a chaotic procession.
A similar icon from Mexico, the Nuestra Senora de la Paz y Buen Viaje (Our Lady of Peace and Good Voyage) in Antipolo, the capital city of the eastern Rizal province near Manila, appeared to have been charred.
Millions of devotees also walk miles to the cathedral every Good Friday and go on pilgrimage every May to pay homage to the Virgin Mary.
No one knows how the devotion to Jesus Nazarene started and grew into the country’s most popular religious festival.
But it has spread not only in the Philippines. Replicas of the image have been donated to Roman Catholic churches in Hong Kong, Las Vegas, Singapore, and Israel (in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem), where the icon is also venerated. Perhaps Filipino overseas workers in the five cities abroad took the lead in spreading the devotion.
A non-Catholic and a non-believer have to feel and experience the faith displayed by devotees during the annual procession to understand why they do it over and over.
To dismiss it as pure idolatry, a pagan ritual, and a symptom of fatalism lacks a deep understanding of the Filipino Roman Catholic faith.