Manila - Civitas Sacra

Consider the following statement:

“The icon seeming to lurch towards onlookers, who were then considered blessed by the Virgin. Clergy touched pieces of cotton-wool to the icon and handed them out to the crowd […] a great crowd watched [sic] such a display, whilst a street-market for unconcerned locals continues in the foreground.”

Such was the observation of Pedro Tafur, a Spanish writer and traveller, who went around and explored the Mediterranean in the 1430s. And that indeed was the image I saw by the Basilica of the Black Nazarene in Quiapo Church.

But let us not get ahead of ourselves. Our story today started of innocently after breakfast. I checked in at the Mandarin Oriental, had a nice breakfast, and studied my map, planning my day.

I took a taxi headed straight to St Sebastian’s Basilica in the old part of Manila, north of the Pasig River and northeast of the Intramuros. I had a nice chat with the friendly taxi driver, and we talked about, oddly enough, high profile legal cases when I told him of my legal background.

Granted, it was Christmas Day, so I was somewhat expecting a large celebration. Alas, my taxi driver told me that Christmas Eve is the more important. He also cautioned me about the area where the Basilica is located. It is a predominantly Muslim area, and recently there have been violence between Muslims and Christians in the area.

Basilica of St Sebastian

The drive there was very smooth, contrary to the image of Manila being a convoluted, traffic-choked city, and it took me 20 minutes. It cost me just under US$ 4 to get there from Makati City, and for being such a nice guy, I offered my taxi driver a little extra. Granted, it wasn’t much, but to him, he felt glad and was truly grateful when I told him to keep the change.

Administrative Building, Basilica of St Sebastian

He stopped at the steps of the church and made the sign of the cross in reverence towards the church. Seeing his honesty and devotion was truly touching. Having wished him and his family well, and a blessed Christmas, I entered the basilica.

Interior, Basilica of St Sebastian, towards liturgical east

Stained glass, Basilica of St Sebastian, prefab in Germany

High Altar, Basilica of St Sebastian

It was there I the culture of the Philippines was laid bare, at least religiously. While most would be in their best when attending church with reverence amidst the ceremonials, there it felt like a ritual, a thing to do. Some easily strolled in and out during rituals, children were allowed to play around, some went through the motions, most were in ordinary street clothes, while some looked nonchalant.

Christ effigy, Basilica of St Sebastian

Tromp l'oeil, by High Altar

But the cultural aspects aside, the church was truly beautiful. As a friend in Holland remarked, the interior would not look out of place in the Low Countries. Unsurprisingly, the church was made, an all-steel church, pre-fabricated, in Belgium, in its entirety.

Tromp l'oeil, ceiling, Basilica of St Sebastian

Within, beautiful stained glass, tromp l’oeil artwork and effigies used for processions abound. When mass ended, I strolled through the building and structure, observing without being intrusive. A few nuns nodded in welcome, as I savoured in the beauty.

Furry friend on Paseo Hidalgo, Quiapo

Walking away from the church, I went down Hidalgo Street to the great plaza of the Quiapo Church, the Basilica of the Black Nazarene. This truly is a crossroads of cultures. If this was a mere shadow of its past, I could not begin to imagine what it was like when Manila was the jewel of the Galleon Trades.

Crossing over from the underpass, it was sheer chaos, a madness one would associate with a mad market. The grand Plaza Miranda was laid out in front of the basilica, with somewhat garish paint throughout. Markets and stalls surrounded the plaza, as throngs of people went in and out. Church service was on the hour, apparently.

Quiapo Church and part of the markets

From the colonnades and statues of the saints looking down on the plaza, I tried to enter the church. When I went in, an opening formed, amidst the crowd, so I strolled in, wondering why such an opening was present. People were lining in formation, and I squeezed in. And then I discovered why: mass has ended and the priests were out to bless the people.

And it was then did Pedro Tafur’s words ran through my head. As the priests were out sanctifying the people with their holy water aspergillum, everyone rushed forward, eager to get a drop. Some held out clothes and handkerchiefs, others bibles and icons. I couldn’t move; I felt as if I was in the way of the throng, and the priest just decided to sprinkle my entire shirt with a healthy dollop of holy water, along with dangling pieces of handkerchiefs and rosaries.

Eager to get a glimpse of the Icon of the Black Nazarene, I went further in the basilica, a large cavernous hall. People were everywhere, the mass felt orchestrated and without the reverence or ceremony of a mass I am used to. Yet the sheer size of the hall, and the number of people streaming in and out and remaining inside did not fail to impress. All for the reverence of a wooden statue of Christ, which survived a sea journey and fire from Mexico.

Interior, Basilica of the Black Nazarene, Quiapo Church

Outside, Pedro Tafur’s words again came to mind, as people once again were clamouring to get divine favour from drops of holy water and the image of an icon, following clergy who were out blessing, even to the extent of a priest who was trying to get every drop out of his aspersorium with his aspergillum, literally.

Blessings outside, mass inside

Surrounding the basilica, Plaza Miranda was indeed a mad sight. Makeshift stalls and shops abound, amidst the statuary of saints and images of the cardinals of the church looking down from their lofty heights. Icons and statues of the Santa Nino, the Christ Child were everywhere. Amulets for blessings and potions for maladies, makeshift pharmacies and stalls selling things that befuddle the mind.

Quiapo Church, from Quiapo Plaza

Not quite Byzantine Constantinople but still the feeling of a city immersed in the divine; a culture where Papal dogma and traditional belief blend so well together to create a unique hybrid; where traditional superstition combined with Catholic teaching made a handkerchief with drops of holy water a sacred object, where mere images of icons and statuary would protect against all maladies.