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This particular one caught my attention.
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At least 12 Filipinos are to be nailed to crosses to re-enact Jesus Christ’s suffering in a Good Friday tradition that is rejected by the Catholic church but draws huge crowds of devotees and tourists to the Philippines.
The real-life crucifixions in the farming village of San Pedro Cutud in Pampanga province, north of Manila, were resuming after a three-year pause due to the coronavirus pandemic. At least 12 men would participate, including 62-year-old sign painter Ruben Enaje, who would be nailed to a wooden cross for the 34th time in Cutud and two other nearby villages, organisers said.
Enaje said he would use his extraordinary penance, probably among his last because of his age, to pray for the eradication of the Covid-19 virus and the end of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, which has contributed to gas and food prices soaring worldwide.
“I really want to retire from this because of my age, but let’s see if my body can still bear the pain next year,” Enaje said a few days before the crucifixions.
The father of four has been portrayed in some media reports as among the bravest men in the world for the annual feat. “But to be honest, I always feel nervous because I could end up dead on the cross,” he said.
“When I’m laid down on the cross, my body begins to feel cold. When my hands are tied, I just close my eyes and tell myself: ‘I can do this. I can do this.’”
Surviving nearly unscathed when he fell from a three-story building in 1985 prompted Enaje to undergo the ordeal as thanksgiving for what he considered a miracle. He extended the ritual after loved ones recovered from serious illnesses, one after another, turning him into a village celebrity as the “Christ” in the Lenten re-enactment of the Way of the Cross.
Ahead of their crucifixion on a dusty hill, Enaje and the other devotees, wearing thorny crowns of twigs, would carry heavy wooden crosses on their backs for more than a kilometre (0.6 miles) under the scorching heat. Village actors dressed as Roman centurions would later hammer 10cm (4in) stainless steel nails through his palms and feet, then set him aloft on a cross under the sun for about 10 minutes.
Other penitents walk barefoot through village streets and beat their bare backs with sharp bamboo sticks and pieces of wood. Some participants in the past opened cuts in the penitents’ backs using broken glass to ensure the ritual was sufficiently bloody.
The gruesome spectacle reflects the Philippines’ unique brand of Catholicism, which merges church traditions with folk superstitions. Many of the mostly impoverished penitents undergo the ritual to atone for sins, pray for the sick or for a better life, and to give thanks for miracles.
Church leaders in the Philippines have frowned on the crucifixions and self-flagellations, saying Filipinos can show their deep faith and religious devotion without hurting themselves and by doing charity work instead, such as donating blood.
Robert Reyes, a prominent Catholic priest and human rights activist in the country, said the bloody rites reflected the church’s failure to fully educate many Filipinos on Christian tenets, leaving them on their own to explore personal ways of seeking divine help for all sorts of maladies.
Folk Catholicism had become deeply entrenched in the local religious culture, Reyes said, citing a chaotic procession of a black statue of Jesus Christ called the Black Nazarene each January, which authorities say draws more than a million devotees each year in one of Asia’s largest religious festivals. Many bring towels to be wiped on the wooden statue, believing it has powers to cure ailments and ensure good health and a better life.
“The question is where were we church people when they started doing this?” Reyes asked, saying the clergy should immerse itself in communities more and converse regularly with villagers. “If we judge them, we’ll just alienate them.”
The decades-long crucifixions, meanwhile, have put impoverished San Pedro Cutud, one of the more than 500 villages in rice-growing Pampanga province, on the map.
Organisers said they expected about 20,000 foreign and Filipino tourists and devotees to gather for the cross nailings. As villagers peddled bottled water, hats, food and religious items, police and marshals kept order.
“They like this because there is really nothing like this on Earth,” said Johnson Gareth, a British tour organiser, who brought 15 tourists from eight countries, including the United States, Canada and Germany, to witness the crucifixions. “It’s less gruesome than people think. They think it’s going to be very macabre or very disgusting but it’s not. It’s done in a very respectful way.”
In the past, Gareth said, tourists were “genuinely inspired and I think they left with a newfound respect for people’s beliefs”.
Guardian
==
At least 12 Filipinos are to be nailed to crosses to re-enact Jesus Christ’s suffering in a Good Friday tradition that is rejected by the Catholic church but draws huge crowds of devotees and tourists to the Philippines.
The real-life crucifixions in the farming village of San Pedro Cutud in Pampanga province, north of Manila, were resuming after a three-year pause due to the coronavirus pandemic. At least 12 men would participate, including 62-year-old sign painter Ruben Enaje, who would be nailed to a wooden cross for the 34th time in Cutud and two other nearby villages, organisers said.
Enaje said he would use his extraordinary penance, probably among his last because of his age, to pray for the eradication of the Covid-19 virus and the end of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, which has contributed to gas and food prices soaring worldwide.
“I really want to retire from this because of my age, but let’s see if my body can still bear the pain next year,” Enaje said a few days before the crucifixions.
The father of four has been portrayed in some media reports as among the bravest men in the world for the annual feat. “But to be honest, I always feel nervous because I could end up dead on the cross,” he said.
“When I’m laid down on the cross, my body begins to feel cold. When my hands are tied, I just close my eyes and tell myself: ‘I can do this. I can do this.’”
Surviving nearly unscathed when he fell from a three-story building in 1985 prompted Enaje to undergo the ordeal as thanksgiving for what he considered a miracle. He extended the ritual after loved ones recovered from serious illnesses, one after another, turning him into a village celebrity as the “Christ” in the Lenten re-enactment of the Way of the Cross.
Ahead of their crucifixion on a dusty hill, Enaje and the other devotees, wearing thorny crowns of twigs, would carry heavy wooden crosses on their backs for more than a kilometre (0.6 miles) under the scorching heat. Village actors dressed as Roman centurions would later hammer 10cm (4in) stainless steel nails through his palms and feet, then set him aloft on a cross under the sun for about 10 minutes.
Other penitents walk barefoot through village streets and beat their bare backs with sharp bamboo sticks and pieces of wood. Some participants in the past opened cuts in the penitents’ backs using broken glass to ensure the ritual was sufficiently bloody.
The gruesome spectacle reflects the Philippines’ unique brand of Catholicism, which merges church traditions with folk superstitions. Many of the mostly impoverished penitents undergo the ritual to atone for sins, pray for the sick or for a better life, and to give thanks for miracles.
Church leaders in the Philippines have frowned on the crucifixions and self-flagellations, saying Filipinos can show their deep faith and religious devotion without hurting themselves and by doing charity work instead, such as donating blood.
Robert Reyes, a prominent Catholic priest and human rights activist in the country, said the bloody rites reflected the church’s failure to fully educate many Filipinos on Christian tenets, leaving them on their own to explore personal ways of seeking divine help for all sorts of maladies.
Folk Catholicism had become deeply entrenched in the local religious culture, Reyes said, citing a chaotic procession of a black statue of Jesus Christ called the Black Nazarene each January, which authorities say draws more than a million devotees each year in one of Asia’s largest religious festivals. Many bring towels to be wiped on the wooden statue, believing it has powers to cure ailments and ensure good health and a better life.
“The question is where were we church people when they started doing this?” Reyes asked, saying the clergy should immerse itself in communities more and converse regularly with villagers. “If we judge them, we’ll just alienate them.”
The decades-long crucifixions, meanwhile, have put impoverished San Pedro Cutud, one of the more than 500 villages in rice-growing Pampanga province, on the map.
Organisers said they expected about 20,000 foreign and Filipino tourists and devotees to gather for the cross nailings. As villagers peddled bottled water, hats, food and religious items, police and marshals kept order.
“They like this because there is really nothing like this on Earth,” said Johnson Gareth, a British tour organiser, who brought 15 tourists from eight countries, including the United States, Canada and Germany, to witness the crucifixions. “It’s less gruesome than people think. They think it’s going to be very macabre or very disgusting but it’s not. It’s done in a very respectful way.”
In the past, Gareth said, tourists were “genuinely inspired and I think they left with a newfound respect for people’s beliefs”.
Guardian
