So while here, it happens to be the Feast of Christo Rey - or, Christ the King. Yes, I blinked, too. I had no idea that was a feast to celebrate. Apparently it ends the calendar before Advent starts. Who knew? You learn something every day.
I was told that we'd be traveling high into the mountains, to a place called, Cervantes - yes, the guy who wrote "The Adventures of Don Juan". I can't be sure they named the town after him, but it's not a terrible guess.
Anyway, everyone said we were going into the hinterlands. I stared back. "Weren't we already there?", I inquired? Everyone laughed at my question. Good joke. Um.
So we ventured out at 5am because it takes four to five hours to get there. Alright. We piled into the car and I was greeted with some gorgeous country:
High in the mountains, my sinuses took a serious tumble. I was already starting to feel sick from allergies. This mass it worse, but it was worth it.
When we arrived in Cervantes at 10, we were happy to get out of the car. Until we learned the mass started at 2. Two?! I was pretty incredulous. I was peeved about having to sit through a mass I'd barley understand, let alone wait for four hours for the thing to begin. Throw in "Filipino time" and we were looking at a five hour wait. In the sun. But we had left early because my grandmother feared parking would be bad. I'm certain we were one of the first people besides the people who already lived therre who showed up.
Anyway, we ate our lunch, enjoying the breezy air and me enjoying an episode of NCIS to bide my time. But soon after, I was told we had to sit down and find seats because otherwise we wouldn't have a place to sit. I checked my watch. It was 11:30am. I steeled myself to keep my big mouth shut as we walked back up the big hill to the square to find seats as they rehearsed their parts. I quickly found a book and my iPod to keep me occupied.
An hour later, sticky from the heat and still sitting in our chairs, we find out the mass is to start at 2:30. Dear God in heaven.
Thirty minutes from then, the place starts to really fill up. My uncle played games on his iPhone while my mother and I busied ourselves watching these adorable kids find their seats in front of us and out on their matching headbands. We assumed they were there for a first communion. Which was adorable until I remembered how long first communion masses are - on top of a feast day. Sweet Jesus Christ in a manger.
Thirty minutes later, the place is packed. I mean, packed. I've never seen this many people at mass - forget it, this many Catholics in one place. There are people standing on the street outside the square. Finally, the bells start to ring and we know it's gonna get started. My mother then turns to me and says, "They're gonna do a program first." One quick glance at my mother and uncle confirm that all three of us a thinking the same thing, but know better than to say a word. We quickly avert eyes so that we don't slip. Mother of...
There are a few skits that have the crowd laughing and my mother and my uncle and I shaking our heads. The skits are about politics. We're not entirely used to - and I'm certainly not comfortable - with such a bully pulpit. As they rail against the Mayor of the town and his corrupt cronies, I can't help but grimace. I fully admit I disagree with my church on a few things and while they may be right about such a disgraceful politician, I know these people will accept what they are selling without question. They are devout and true believers. And this goes against my rational mind, my better angels and even my belief that religion is a private matter. I cannot help but feel even more frustrated as I am forced to sit and endure such pandering. Yes, even a person as jaded from politics as me believes strongly that politics has a place and church is not one of them. I am thankful when the gongs and drums start and they start a native dance that will eventually start the mass.
I am busy counting the pages in the program - all 24 of them - when the mass starts and the people start to sing. I immediately lose count. Its not that I understand what they a singing. It's that all of them - with or without programs in front of them, are singing with a full voice. I almost drop the program and fan in my hands. I am amazed at the surround stereo sound of hundreds of voices all singing as one. I have NEVER seen nor heard this many people singing in church before. Suddenly, I'm interested.
This soon dissipates as I have no idea what is happening. Instead, I busy myself with finding where we are in the program. I focus instead on how the words look and are pronounced than to concentrate or even try to guess what's happening. Before I know it, the priest gives a 25 minute homily. I have no idea about the words coming out of his mouth so I just sit and count chairs. I'm on 156 when communion starts and I'm really amused, watching all these Filipinos try to do this in any kind of manner. Eventually, it becomes a strange bedlam and we just try to hold onto our seats as suddenly someone decides to use our row to pass by and a bunch of people come through. Like 50. Seriously.
Finally, the procession starts to leave. Only to return. More prayers are offered. My uncle tells us that we have been sitting in those seats for 6 hours now. I have officially spent more time at church in one day than I have the entire year. Hmm.
As we leave in bedlam in a bottleneck and try to prevent from getting trampled, I realize just how devout these people are. They have made a long pilgrimage to sit in the heat for a mass and then nothing more but leave. They tell us that next year, they will celebrate Christo Ray in Santo Domingo, the town just next to ours.
It figures.
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