(Miag-ao Church in Iloilo)
Our parish church in Canaman is one of the oldest in Camarines Sur. It remains standing amid all the typhoons that visited our place in the past years. It’s made of bricks and other sturdy materials.
I have visited quite a few historic churches in the Philippines. I’ve been to Miag-ao and Paoay churches in Iloilo and Ilocos Norte, respectively. Both belong to the UNESCO World Heritage List. Recently, together with my officemates, we visited the Baclayon church in Bohol. I learned that it’s the oldest church built by the Jesuits in the country.
In college, after or before an exam, I used to spend some time in St. Therese church in UPLB. I love its style—open, no dwarfing walls, air could pass freely. I spent a lot of good memories there. When I was at the brink of failing my math subjects, I spent a good number of hours there.
Big or small, churches always fascinate me. Whenever I miss a Sunday mass, I feel empty. What I love most is when I go there with no special occasion whatsoever. There are no crying kids, no chatter, no one to share a story with—when it’s just me. I love the silence. It gives me the chance to reflect well—being true to myself; until, unknowingly, tears are falling down on my face.
I love the after church effect. There’s an indescribable feeling of lightness. I feel cleansed. It’s like everything around me is new even though I know that they’re just the same. It’s only me who has changed.
1 comments:
Your post about churches reminded me of an episode from one of my favorite TV series ever "Six Feet Under." Not sure if you've heard of it but they're a quirky American family and they run a funeral parlor. In one episode, David, the gay son, was talking to the priest while inside their neighborhood church.
Priest: How happy are you?
David: You're right. I'm not happy. My life is very complicated and confusing. I've experienced a lot of loss recently - my father and my--. And the one thing that helps me to deal with it is having a place that hasn't changed like everything else in my life. There's a reason they call it a "sanctuary."
His words resonated with me as I strived to find my own sanctuary here in the US. I craved for the familiarity of the churches I went to in Manila and in Los Banos. I knew the songs there, I knew the priests and how long their homilies were. I knew that we would hands during our Father, and all those little things made me feel I belonged.
It was not that easy here. I guess it's fair to say I didn't find the sanctuary I craved for in a church. In fact, I didn't go to Church often because I felt alone.
The rare times I went, tears formed as I listened to the soloist practicing before mass in Athens. Sometimes, I was furious at the old couple who held hands all throughout the Mass. In my brain, I wanted to scream at them "stop being sweet! you are making me feel alone!"
So when you talk about feeling lighthearted, I feel glad for you. Because sometimes I asked myself if I felt God was inside the Church, or maybe he was there and my heart wasn't. I guess the answer came when I went to mass in Seton Hall after a long absence last Sunday.
The old priest who always forgot who I was called me by name and he said "How are you? I hope you enjoyed your year in South Orange." I managed to give a weak smile because I was never that happy here. He said I should come by before I leave and he will pray a special intention for me.
And I realized how much I needed that quiet sanctuary you spoke about and how I longed for the comforting silence that will allow me to hear God speak.
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