Last week, this paper published an article of entitled "The Youth and the Penafrancia Fiesta." It instantly caught my curiosity. Aside from the fact that the opinion page rarely features the views of another generation, the recent well-meaning exchanges in print and radio regarding the Penafrancia Fiesta are more than enough to make me want to know a new take on the topic. Allow me to join the fray.
I am glad that the author, young as she is, found the Fiesta worth her time to comment on and write about. I am glad that the author came forward with her thoughts; although I have to acknowledge Fr. Wilmer Tria's efforts that the article saw the light of day.
I am edified by the moral high ground from which the article is written. I appreciate the fact that it led me to revisit my own experience; then came an onslaught of questions which, aside from oxygen, make my heart pump blood day in and day out.
What confused me is the fact that even when the author called for a genuine observance of the devotion, it is evident that she sees the procession as merely something to be watched. The article says "the youth love fun more than watching the procession." I had to underline the words. Why didn't it say "join" or some other word that would reveal more commitment and less passivity, to contrast the love for fun? We are talking about able-bodied adolescents and young adults and not the graying men and women in the twilight of their years.
I am not attempting any linguistic exploration; it is beyond my capacities, and I wonder if it's even applicable here. But yes, I am trying to understand to my wits end what the words really mean. I had to read again until I had to surrender. I have to accept that this is how we value the procession. It is something to be watched – like watching a pageantry of men tugging from all directions.
Then why do we risk getting crushed along the streets when we could all just watch the telecast? Why do people from other provinces choose not to watch comfortably in air-conditioned rooms so their prayers would not be distracted by the heat and the throngs of people? On the other hand, if I organized a fundraiser for a charitable organization and decided to count the proceeds instead of attending Mass a few blocks from my place, am I remiss in my devotion?
A priest once told me very emphatically that we should not judge other people's devotion. This happened when I was arguing quite strongly about how the line between the solemn expression of the devotion and the unbridled desire to make a huge fast buck seems to have been cancelled, erased and deleted. I saw his point. Although the mad scramble to strut one's clout in the corridors of power - another phenomenon highly evident during the Fiesta - still does not sit well with me, I thank him profusely for broadening my narrow mind.
May I then say that it appears that we are judging the devotion of the parents who are "occupied with the groceries and guests? " The article admits that only God could know intentions, then the intention of parents who welcome guests cannot be judged as neglect. Even our priests gather for games and collegiality within the weeklong celebration. Imagine the food and drinks it involves. Do we throw stones at them? I won't. Enjoying the reunions will not make us less of a Catholic. If a rich guy does not give a peso to a hungry child along the street and prefers to give his fortune to the Church, is his act of charity shallow or worse, tainted with mal-intent? A donation is a private matter between the donor and the donee. Let us leave them to their intentions, after all intentions cannot be known by mere mortals as the article says. As I was chastised by the good priest, it is uncharitable to judge the devotion of other people.
May I also take this opportunity to ask to be catechized, once again, on our relationship with Ina. Do we "idolize" her? My bedside dictionary defines "idolize" as "to worship as a god; to love or admire to excess; to practice idolatry, the worship of a physical object as a god or an immoderate attachment or devotion to something." Believe me, the last time the word idolatry was hurled against me, I didn't need to check its definition. The tone of the, well, "hurler's" voice is enough to tell me it is against Catholic doctrines.
Or perhaps the use of the word "idolizing" is a classic example of what we are always told but we often disregard: a foreign language has nuances that sometimes a Thesaurus could only get in the way of what we really want to say.
I am neither a college student nor a parent, I am far from both ends. I wonder how I would fit in. Perhaps, I would be pinned as the advocate of a distorted devotion. I treasure the traditions of the Penafrancia Fiesta - the shouts of Viva la Virgen, the pealing of the bells, the candles that light the Basilica patio after the Fluvial Procession - they never fail to give me goose bumps; I am overwhelmed by the queues that never seem to end, where everyone agrees more than four hours in line is nothing in exchange for four seconds to touch the image. I am stunned when I hear devotees from different ages and income tax brackets sing Resuene Vibrante. It is heartwarming that even when they do not understand the words, Jose Enryque and Yzabella Rae, would candidly sing for a round of applause and the all important "wow" from the adults.
While I do not understand why the voyadores prefer to be rowdy, or why the military are the only ones we trust to put order at certain junctures, I will not trade the "traditional value" for a revolutionary move introduced for its own sake. If many join, or watch, for the traditional value, I am thankful that we have these traditions that unite us to centuries ago. And I proudly look forward to seeing Budoy and Sable grow into these traditions and find in these traditions, a sense of the Holy. And many Fiestas from now, they will discover that warm sunny feeling to bring food to the table as thanksgiving for a year of love and friendship.
In my time, Theology and Philosophy were not yet called core subjects. Maybe that's where I lacked. And that is exactly why I still ask Ina to help me look for my keys or to prevent the baha from reaching our living room floor. (I never asked to win the lotto, though; I never bought a ticket but I just might.) Maybe that's why obedience has never been my strong point; I always need to be convinced. And when I am silent, that's when I am fiercest. I struggle with myriad questions. I grapple with frustrating issues. I can bet my life on it, if an angel appeared before me, either I would cry out for my mother so she would assure me that I am not yet totally insane or I would run to the nearest door, pretend I am just between awake and asleep and head to the refrigerator to restore normality.
Recently, my Philosophy teacher from way back said I am irreverent. I took it as a compliment, however he meant it. My bond with my Ina is undefined like a silhouette of light, but I know she takes care of me and holds me close although I may lack what others seem to have already figured out. And the least I could do is not to allow this devotion I was born and raised into be wasted and wilted.
I am past the age of impressionable hormones. I will not publish coffee-table books to be circulated worldwide. I cannot compose talismanic words of wisdom that will be echoed three hundred years from now. But my relationship with her is something that I celebrate not only in September. The expressions of my devotion are not worthy of any emulation, but they pulsate and burn deep. It moves me to be there for Mama, to guide Budoy and Sable as they "suck from the marrow of life," to commit to the welfare of family and friends, to charge to the future in the land of the serene Mt. Isarog and the fiery Mt. Mayon.
In one Bailey's animated colloquium, I heard it takes more than a million daily reflections to deepen one's faith and devotion. Cheers to that.
