Bastions of faith, history and art

The Visita Iglesia or church visit is one of the centerpiece activities of Filipino Catholics during Holy Week. We observed this Lenten tradition by visiting churches tucked along the byways and crowded streets of Manhattan, which turned out to be gems of ideal getaways for contemplation.

Unlike the followers of Jesus more than 2,000 years ago who hiked craggy roads until their feet caked with dirt, we did the day’s mission along well-mapped streets (the product of a highly sophisticated urban planning), some help from a directional phone app and a comfortable pair of shoes. But we certainly observed the same spirit of reverence and remembrance as we visited seven churches.

We were among a pair or two, a middle-aged woman, an elderly in his lonesome and a young family of three, that speckled what I thought were oddly empty church naves (except St. Patrick’s Cathedral which always teems with people) on a Holy Thursday. I say oddly because I pictured churches back home filled with pilgrims, booklet or phone in hand, praying the Way of the Cross under sweltering heat. As we meditated on the first two stations at St. Patrick’s, I watched how people were harmoniously gathered inside and by the staircases of the splendid church. Not a tinge of racial, religious or ideological divide was evident in such sights. If only scenes in this place of worship and tolerance could be replicated in our oftentimes fragmented and polarized world.

At St. John the Evangelist-Our Lady of Peace Church, a church with minimalist trappings by the ground floor of a medium-rise glass building, it was no coincidence that our prayers centered on the sorrowful meeting of Jesus and Mary, because on each side of the walls hang two huge soothing tapestries. The one to the left depicts a shepherd holding his staff looking toward an optimistic direction while the one to the right is that of a stooped young man receiving a blessing.

When His then Holiness Pope, now Saint John Paul II, addressed the UN General Assembly in 1995, he extended his blessings to the nearby Holy Family Church. Also significantly etched on the wall is a commemorative marker of the 1965 visit of Pope Paul VI along with representatives from Catholic, Protestant and Jewish organizations.  In the spirit of ecumenism, the leaders collectively made an “appeal for peace” and Holy Family responded by making its church the “voice of the poor, disinherited, the suffering, those who long for justice, the dignity of life, for well-being and for progress.” I reflected on how these messages could fill one’s soul with burning expectations in humanity’s shared hope for lasting peace. Of the sites we visited, I will most likely frequent this because of its peculiarity and the tranquil Mary’s garden, which on that pleasant spring day was blushing with graceful blooms being readied for Easter. In front of the multi-colored ceramic Stations of the Cross, where portraits of modern day Saints Padre Pio, Mother Teresa and John Paul II are mounted, we offered prayers for victims of wars.

As we negotiated the city lanes to pray for our children and all vulnerable children at the Church of St. Agnes in the East side of Manhattan moving westward to the Holy Cross Church-St. John the Baptist church, an oasis within the densely tourist populated Times Square area, I realized how contemplation can still remain a profound spiritual exercise amidst the clatter of the urban jungle. We only have to find that perfect haven which, to our gladness, was everywhere. We were grateful to have sought and found them.

It is perhaps through this courage of seeking that St. Malachy-The Actor’s Chapel came into being more than 120 years ago. What delight it was to find a church nestled among the theaters in Broadway, which I later found out is the place to go for actors who, on opening night, light candles for the success of their shows. After clocking over 21,000 steps and two subway rides, we wound down our pilgrimage to head home to our parish church, Our Lady Queen of Martyrs, for the mass of the Lord’s Supper and washing of the feet.

In his book “City of Saints, A Pilgrimage to St. John Paul II’s Kraków,” which happened to be my Holy Week read, bestselling author George Weigel in describing Wawel   Cathedral said: “To stand on Wawel is to be immersed in a millennium of history.” He explained how the church architecture, sculptures, paintings, tapestries and stories of men and women who made pilgrimages or were buried in the royal castle are all intricately woven to its “rich historical texture.” This similar sense of wonder enveloped me as I read details from markers, narratives, pamphlets, images and an array of vintage or modern art pieces in the churches we paid homage to.  It is through these visits where I gleaned more from centuries-old traditions of this multi-cultural city, which became more meaningful when we united them with our own treasured traditions.

Then I thought of scenes from home, such as in my native Sorsogon where pilgrims join the Good Friday procession barefoot. The hubby remembered his bosom buddy and our college schoolmate, who is currently on a passionate crusade to preserve Agoo’s (in La Union) cultural relics and Semana Santa practices like the procession of antique carozas around town. I recalled the fascinating stories of historian Marianito Luspo a few years ago as we visited the magnificent heritage churches of Immaculate Conception in Baclayon, Our Lady of Assumption in Dauis, San Pedro Apostol in Loboc and more in Bohol.  Not to mention the historic San Agustin and Manila Cathedral in Intramuros and ancient churches of Cebu. I imagined how packed these churches were during Holy Week and why they will, in many centuries to come, remain our own bastions of faith, history and art.