By: Iris P. Concepcion
I never knew what to do during the Bisita Iglesia.
I do not own booklets of prayers and I do not know how to talk to emblems on the walls signifying the ways of the cross.
I do not own booklets of prayers and I do not know how to talk to emblems on the walls signifying the ways of the cross.
Nonetheless, I just learned today, I have a lot of friends from way back. The better other was merely a part of the audience and it was great looking at him scooping for food in times when people ought to be fasting. He was mimicking somebody.
I saw the structures of Japanese and the United States coalition of aid via the church. I think, the children of the corn and the kids wanted to improve even the mass celebrations. Some had mocked me for lack of food and money (hehehehehe) but the people in the ring made sure I would not be verbally harrassed this time. I fed the cats opening their mouths instead of my wards as they placed themselves under my feet. The pedicabs are aplenty.
I think the usual celebration of Tagalog masses are again the subject of improvement as well as the content of homilies. I was with my "real" Dad this time around. I felt safe around him and his people.
The sides of the church were converted into pieces of contrasts and familiar settings. I placed myself right into the center of the centerpiece and saw some of the people walkaway, teary-eyed. I have seen this in malls. I have seen it duplicated in churches. A statue of Mary was looking at chandeliers beside botched medical missions. I saw my women clicking, helping me out with their visual explanations.
I guess, in New York, this is called shocking art installations. Even I was privy to the verbal passing around of tidbits. One character I obliged a comment: "I think that's your gate."
She said another name and headed to the confessional box. I believe her. This is the warning of the priest to head to confession while the time is still ripe for it.
I saw this on a tee-shirt: " You might be surprised to see how many things we can all agree on." They were mocking themselves, atoning for their sins even those that are not theirs. It was touching.
I have to edit the line though. I prefer this: "You might be surprised to see how many things go unseen."
With all the warned mob who shall crawl, my people put up their best scenes. Silently, they made people see themselves through things. And I began to realize why I was returned and who are the people who benefited from it. Somehow, this Lenten season, I forgive the trespasses. Surely, God has His ways of mending things.
Thank you friends for sticking it out with this crazy woman who dreamt of gardens and playgrounds and words filling the world.
And better other: Great, great shirt. Your stall is smashing.
Fathers and mothers: thanks for looking at the world through my eyes this time. And yes, I liked that mute guy who made the homily a whole comedy routine act.
I was keeping my mouth from further strengthening. I need to coach my ward how to speak another word instead of heckling "stupid." It was hilarious.
To the prexy: God Speed and Congratulations!
Postscript:
Good Friday emerged as another tableau of realizations. I went to another Church and saw a replica of what normally happens in a famous church worship house. Here, the mayhem is better handled. There are basket bins to throw the garbage out. I did pass by Quiapo and it was rowdy as a rally. People do not have direction so I basked inside the flow of the crowd and went to the smallest of places where I could pass my frame in.
Intramuros is such a delightful place to lounge around nowadays. Even its churches had been improved. From what I gathered, some of the donations and tithing given were not used to repair the ceilings; the new engineers, witty as they are, placed house ornaments inside the Church instead. The chandeliers were shipped from Turin, Italy and they are indeed magnificent. The sign at the entance goes: "Look Up! Ceilings from Italy." When I did, it was mansion-like.
Nearby was the 400th year of Augustinian Service where the passion and death of Jesus was also celebrated. The museum adjacent to it has offices and comfort rooms. The amiable cleaner told me: "The owner is gay." The projects, I suppose, were meant to manufacture detergents and fun snacks.
It was a brutal exercise of the fredom of expression without being pompous nor gangly. There were R.I.P. signages but what was hilarious was this inscription: Manuel Encarnacion de Roxas and above it were the letters D.O.M. Reverse lay-up and it went in.
Of course, one who shall trumpet his success in governance will continue shouting and howling but you already get the comparison there. Between two people I shall outline here, whom would you choose?
Someone who raised our medicine prices down and who cleans up other people's mess (the garbage in Quiapo left by today's festivity shall still be combed by Leonel's people) or someone who had left almost six 6 digit bill of operation bills to a mistress so he could fool around again with other holy women's places? That is responsibility.
The answer is clear. The structures are costly but they had served their purpose of reminding everyone that the confessional box is just a stone's throw away from anyone's house.
Where did the airport taxes go must be coupled with: where did all the tithing go?
Go to Intramuros for the surprise and bonanza. If you are truly brave, visit this Manila spectacle of aesthetic excess. You might just want to punch a gate there and curse yourself for being sane enough not to be humbug about the loot.
You can even eat the best kakanin there, in red stalls served by hospitable ladies.
The Seven last Words came in quite in contrast too. The first two speakers made us all fall asleep. The fourth and fifth (5th especially) was a good gdeclamator as he intoned:
"I have given you everything (speaking as God), what else do you want?"
He even sang and that better other voice is already familiar. Mousy G, thanks.
Clear as a sky, I pray the book title: "One who sings well, prays twice."
A Blessed Lenten Season to Everyone from your brainy flamer.