Thursday, April 1, 2010

 Last Holy Monday, we went to this free Healing Recollection in San Juan Gymnasium in welcome of the Holy Week. It was ill attended at first but there was an increase in the number of people as the day went on, about half were Senior Citizens.

I was not really keen on doing the uber cheesy song-and-synchronized-dance worship routine fit for grandmothers and children alike (I prefer rocking out with Hillsong) and was cringing like crazy for most of the day but it ended pretty well. I was so amused by the last priest because it was believed by many followers that he can heal all kinds of illnesses. Testimonials of his supernatural ability told by ordinary people who got through extraordinary trials preceded his talk so it was no wonder how sought after he was once he got onstage.

After his lecture, while preparing for the Holy Mass, he was talking with members of the audience, some people decided to come up to him and have his Healing Hands upon their wretched vital organs. And since it is a Healing Recollection, ( and most people took that pretty literally) mayhem ensued. 

Said priest almost didn't make it to the back of the auditorium intact. Grandmothers were touching and tugging at his priesthood like their lives depended on it.

It was surreal.

Anyways, after the mass, they hosed down the crowd with holy water to make them feel all holy and deter them from jumping on the stage. Father stayed on the platform until some people decided to leave the premises then when the backup guards arrived, he also made his escape route still with throngs of faithful followers following his wake.

I watched in awe and incredulity at the scene before me. It reminded me of the rock concert events all around the globe and found almost no difference. I almost half expected Father to do a Bon Jovi power chord and jump off the stage and do a mosh pit performance.

How ironic that grandmothers in the prime of their lives and hormonal teenagers behave similarly when faced with the same kind of Idol-driven stimulus. But quite frankly, I'm more afraid of reckless grandmothers than prepubescent ones.


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