THE EMERALD ISLE

[Photo: Cliffs of Moher in Ireland. On one tourism website we read: “On the west coast of Ireland, the Cliffs of Moher are one of the most outstanding coastal features of Ireland and biggest Tourist Attraction. A visit to these cliffs should not be missed.” I visited this place in July 27, 2009.]

What comes to my mind when I hear the name “Ireland”? Eire. It is the Irish Gaelic name for Ireland. I learned about it in a crossword puzzle. Its poetic name is Emerald isle because of its green countryside. Ireland is home to leprechauns. They are a kind of fairy in Irish folklore who takes on the appearance of an old man dressed in green or red coat. They are supposed to be keeping a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The NBA team from Massachusetts is called the Boston Celtics because Boston like New York is home to the Irish.

History tells us that the Irish together with the Poles and Italians were the three European nations that produced the greatest number of migrant workers. While poverty was the common reason for their migration, the great potato famine of 1845-1852 also contributed to that of the Irish. That famine killed a million people. An equal number left for friendlier locations outside the country.

New York is home to St. Patrick’s cathedral. Every year 5.5 million visitors pass through its bronze doors. Every year too New York hosts the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. It was started in 1766 by the Irish military men serving in the American colonies. On that day New York might not color the city green but they make sure the river turns green-literally!

Although a Scot by birth St. Patrick is acknowledged as the apostle of Ireland. He converted all of Ireland after forty years of preaching. Many stories surround his preaching ministry. According to a one legend, St. Patrick was traveling and happened upon a number of Irish chieftains along a meadow. The tribal leaders were curious about the Trinity and asked St. Patrick for an explanation. So he bent down, picked a shamrock, and showed it to them, and explained how the three leaflets form one leaf. Similarly the three Persons, Father, Son, and Spirit, form one Supreme Being. For this reason the shamrock has become a symbol both for the Holy Trinity and St. Patrick and eventually of the Irish.

One interesting fact about Ireland is that it has no snakes. Legend has it that St. Patrick banished all the snakes from Ireland. And it was to this legend that one of our Irish confreres alluded to when he answered my query. “Father, is it true that St. Patrick drove away all the snakes from Ireland?” And with his typical dry humor he answered: “Yes. And that’s why I’m here.”

The Irish Redemptorists have left an indelible imprint in the heart of the Filipino people—the devotion to Our Lady of Perpetual Help. The center of this devotion is the shrine in Baclaran. It is one of the largest Marian churches in the Philippines, authorized by the Holy See to remain open 7 days a week for 24 hours a day. In that church we find one of the most venerated and celebrated Marian images in the country, the icon of “Ina ng Laging Saklolo”. (Wikipedia) In this tagalong translation of Mary’s title we find the secret behind the irresistible attraction of Baclaran. While the West refers to Mary as “Our Lady”, Filipinos look on her as “Ina” (Mother). And because she is “ina”, she can always be counted on for help (perpetual help) in time of need. And this is why Filipinos love her and why Filipinos have been called “un pueblo amante de Maria”.

WHY IS THE LOVE OF THE FILIPINO CATHOLIC FOR MARY BOTH TENDER AND FIERCE?

[Photo: Vietnamese version of the Blessed Mother with the Child Jesus on the top floor of a house. Taken in Ho Chi Minh (Saigon), Vietnam.]

I was fortunate to have visited Vietnam many years ago when the Salesians there celebrated their 50 years of presence in the country.

Since it was a communist-ruled country, you would expect some things to be done differently. When we visited Dalat, for example, we could not sleep at the local Salesian House. (Dalat is like our Baguio in the Philippines.) Foreigners are not allowed to sleep in the homes of the locals. So the Salesians had to book us at a nearby pension house. The grand finale of the golden anniversary celebration was at Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). The Salesians had to secure permission from the police to bring youth from different provinces to the city for the celebration. And they had to stop at various checkpoints in order to show the required permits.

Beyond that everything was a fine learning experience of a different culture.

For the culminating Mass for the golden anniversary of Salesian presence in Vietnam, the color was not gold but yellow. That color must have been dictated by the culture.

The items for the program after the Mass were cultural presentations. It was like being present for a “Linggo ng Wika” program.

The patterns of the costumes worn by the youth from the mountain communities looked similar to what I have seen in Baguio. Even their basket backpacks looked familiar. Do these mountain communities and the tribes from the Cordilleras share a common ancestry? Did the land bridges make the migration to the Philippines possible?

There are a lot of motorcycles in the streets of Saigon. The only other place where I saw a lot of motorcycles was in Jakarta. It presented me with a problem. How do you cross the street without being run over by them? Our confreres shared with us their secret. Slowly cross the street while looking at the riders. The riders will be the ones to avoid hitting you. I succeeded in crossing the street unscathed. And they declared me an honorary citizen of Ho Chi Minh City.

Every culture has developed its own alcoholic beverage. Goa (India) has feni (also spelled fenny and feny.) It is a country liquor fermented from the juice of the cashew fruit. Vietnam boasts its own liquor, the snake wine. It is an alcoholic beverage produced by infusing whole snakes in rice wine or grain alcohol (Wikipedia). It is supposed to possess curative properties.

I have visited the US several times. And one of the things that surprised me was the number of obese people walking in the streets. I place the blame on their diet and the size of the servings in restaurants and fast foods. I remember our first morning in California. We went to a diner for breakfast. We had to share. The servings were so huge that it was impossible for one person to finish the food by himself. In contrast I did not see obese people in Dalat and Saigon. I attribute this to their diet. They eat plenty of vegetables.

There’s another thing that caught my attention. We were on our way to Dalat when we passed a certain locality. I noticed that many of the new houses were three-storey’s high. And on the verandah on the top floor of some of these houses one can see more-than-life-size statues of Mary and the Child Jesus. More often than not these were dressed in Vietnamese traditional clothing. I asked our Vietnamese confreres about this. They told us that when the communists took over the North, many Catholics fled to the South. There they established themselves into communities. These statues signal the presence of these Catholics in that particular locality.

The presence of Mary in the religious consciousness of Catholics is not surprising. It is in fact one of the signs that identifies a Catholic. And if that Catholic is a Filipino, then you can almost be sure of a Marian devotion that is both tender and fierce. This fierceness can only be understood if one also understands that to the Filipino, Mary is above all “ina”.  It is for this reason that Filipino Catholics have earned the well-deserving title of “pueblo amante de Mara”.

TRAGEDY

[Photo: Korean garden at the Botanical Garden of Baguio]

I have been to Baguio so many times that I have grown tired of it. But at the same time, I feel so sorry for it. Through the years uncontrolled development has made Baguio ugly. What do you see when you look at the mountains and hills? Houses crowding each other for available space. What do you see at Mine’s View Park? Roofs!

The first time I went to Baguio was with the family. We took a PAL flight. At that time food was still served. I know I did not enjoy the meal. I just had my braces and my teeth were still painful. Taking a bite and chewing food was an agony. But that did not prevent me from enjoying the vacation. I remember we took a hotel along Session road. That hotel no longer exists today.

When I was a fourth year aspirant in the minor seminary called the Juniorate, we decided to do a rolling camp for the summer. For the past three years we had been going to Calapan, Mindoro for the summer camp. I can only remember three of the places that we went to. We went to a beach in Bagac, and also to Don Bosco Tarlac. Our last stop was Baguio. I remember staying at a seminary near the Crystal Cave. In later years, I was able to see it again but from afar every time we visited the Assumption convent. On the last night of our stay we, the seniors, gave a farewell program. We said good-bye to the aspirants. We were moving to Don Bosco Seminary College in Canlubang for the next stage of our formation.

I was in Baguio another time for family bonding. It was my father’s idea. Our mom had just passed away. So he thought it would be a good idea for us to come together for a summer holiday. We took a Pantranco bus. It no longer exists. We stayed at the Hyatt Terraces Hotel. It also no longer exists. It collapsed during the 1990 earthquake. We went to the usual places. We visited Burnham Park where we rented a boat. We climbed the steps of the grotto. It was drizzling then. I know because I had my hood on in the picture taken at the top of the steps. We went to PMA, Mine’s View Park, Camp John Hay, the Mansion, Wright Park and the cathedral. We bought the usual souvenirs: leis of Everlasting flowers, strawberries, kulangot ng intsik (although I read that it was called sundot kulangot), a couple of brooms, and a jar of Good Shepherd ube jam. And no. We did not buy the man in the barrel.

When I was a student of theology, our community decided to go up to Baguio. But the trip turned into a tragedy. We rode in two buses. I was in the Elf. The other bus was what we called the American bus. 

Because the Elf was faster, we found ourselves far ahead. So we decided to stop and wait for the American bus to catch up. After a long while, we saw the driver of the American bus running bare-foot and shouting the name of Jovit. We boarded the Elf and turned around. The sight of the American bus shocked us. It was on its side and its direction was towards Manila rather than Baguio. Jovit was wrapped in a blanket. We loaded him into the Elf and hurriedly made our way to the hospital. Six of us volunteered to give blood. But by 3 pm we received the bad news. Jovit was dead. The community left Baguio early in the morning the following day. A few of us remained behind. We waited for the embalming of Jovit. We left late in the afternoon and arrived in Manila late in the evening of the same day.

At that time Jovito Soberanno was the youngest Salesian who ever died in the Salesian Philippine Province. And it was a tragic death. He did his practical training among the college students of Don Bosco Mandaluyong. I heard good things about him during his stint there. I know he managed to gain the confidence of the students. Had he lived longer he could have done a lot of good among the young people to whom he would have been sent. But God in his infinite wisdom had other plans. He took him away in the prime of his life. Why? We may never know the answer. But certainly the only faith-full response would be to bow our head in acceptance of God’s will, knowing full well that everything works for good for those that love him.