Last night, I headed to Manila to attend my first ever Misa Mayor, the main mass on the eve of the Feast of the Black Nazarene. Since most of the capital’s major thoroughfares had already been closed to traffic, I alighted along Mendiola, one of the flashpoints of the First Quarter Storm and a popular venue for mass demonstrations. Walking from Mendiola to Luneta was in itself a pilgrimage to the places that nurtured my political consciousness, as well as my Catholic faith. 

I’ve been a devotee of the Black Nazarene since I was young. I can’t remember how this devotion started, though I’ve always been drawn to the energy of the devotees I saw on the news. Though I frequented the Quiapo Church during my childhood, I only started joining the yearly Traslacion when I turned 18. Around that time, I had just been admitted to the University of the Philippines, a bulwark of academic freedom and student activism. As expected by most of my teachers back in high school, I did get myself involved with progressive groups. 

I can fondly recall a conversation with a former comrade, who was mesmerized by the Traslacion and the fact that a wooden statue is capable of sending throngs of people out into the streets every year. “This crowd can trigger a revolution,” I told him. My political views have changed immensely since I graduated from college. Nonetheless, my introduction to activism and my first Traslacion radically transformed my personal theology.

While some Christian groups have condemned the religious spectacle as idolatry and as a display of fanaticism, many devotees commit to the annual Traslacion because of their “panata” (vows), which express our deep adoration for Christ and His suffering on the cross; at the same time, this comes with the expectation that fulfilling the yearly panata will answer one’s prayers, especially those concerning one’s health, career, studies, and family life. 

Political ideologies act in a similar way, offering a compelling reflection of the human experience and projecting some sort of message of salvation. But can our political and social movements inspire the same kind of zeal? Definitely. But Catholics belonging to these movements should reflect first on how they understand Christ’s suffering, as portrayed by the Black Nazarene.

The physical image itself holds a special allure for devotees; from its dark complexion (supposedly the result of a fire that erupted on the very ship transporting the image from Alcapulco, Mexico to Manila) to its posture reflecting the Christ’s agony during his journey to Golgotha, many devotees see themselves and their personal trials in the image of the Black Nazarene. 

Political ideologies act in a similar way, offering a compelling reflection of the human experience and projecting some sort of message of salvation. But can our political and social movements inspire the same kind of zeal? Definitely. But Catholics belonging to these movements should reflect first on how they understand Christ’s suffering, as portrayed by the Black Nazarene. He willingly embraced the human experience, including its pains and hardships, as an ultimate act of love. 

God is telling us through the Black Nazarene that we cannot empathize with His pain unless we empathize with the sufferings of our brothers and sisters and offer relief amidst their burdens. We cannot claim to share in Christ’s passion when we turn a blind eye to the victims of immeasurable injustices and atrocities around us. In recognizing these victims, we are allowing ourselves to witness Christ. In lending them our ears and giving them a hand, we are giving Christ the opportunity to use us in making Himself known to the rest of humanity. 

In building God’s kingdom on Earth, Catholics must regularly reflect on Christ’s passion, which culminated in his death on the cross, and live out His message of love and justice in our social and political lives. This does not mean that we should impose our religious views on non-Catholics; rather, we are called to follow the examples of the earliest followers of Christ, as well as the collective spirit and fervor of the Black Nazarene’s devotees.

Simply put, we should organize as if we’re evangelizing. From mobilizing local associations of devotees (i.e. Hijos del Nazarenos) to facilitating mutual support for the faithful (e.g. food distribution, assistance to the sick and weak, etc.), from making the rich and powerful walk barefoot in our streets to celebrating the hope of the poor and downtrodden, our debotos can teach organizers a thing or two.