Bundok Banahaw

We were told that Bundok Banahaw is practically a huge church—a church with lichened trees for marble columns, cold stones for pews, and creeks and rivers to provide the holy water. I find the idea of a leviathan natural church fascinating. I have lost my faith a some time ago but the symbols of faith have a certain majesty and mysticism which reels me in to explore.

Before we went up to the forest, we visited two Rizalista churches. The first one was called Iglesia del Ciudad Mistica de Dios, which claims to be a Christian sect headed by what they call a “Suprema”. They do not exactly worship Jose Rizal, but they do revere him as one of the heroes of our country, along with Ninoy Aquino and Andres Bonifacio. The name of the second church we visited escapes me at the moment, but I remember that they are what one might call “hard-core” Rizalistas.

They believe that Rizal is one of the manifestations of god and that the Bible corroborates this belief. Specific verses can be found in the Songs of Solomon “referring” to Rizal as god. I find this belief…strange, for lack of a better term. As an agnostic I feel strongly about people interpreting the Bible any way they feel like, because really, all those thousand pages can tell you anything anyone might like to hear if looked at from a certain perspective. But of course—it's this thing they call faith. It's never logical, and this group of Rizalistas is a very good example.

It's relatively young, only three generations of priests spanning less than fifty years or so. The man who gave us a talk was probably no more than forty. The zeal of his religion was clear in his eyes as he explained. I wondered whether Bundok Banahaw inspires this zeal in people—according to the man, there are 77 sects in that small barangay. I was surprised by this piece of information. How do they live with each other when the small population is divided in 77 ways?

“We don't argue about our religion,” he explained. “This is what we choose to believe and there is no need to prove it.” I am incredulous. There must be tensions, at least. It may also be that their religions are not fundamentally different from each other, with only few differences in interpretation and practice. Or maybe it's because Rizal is a stubborn pacifist.

It was time to go up. We were told not to smoke, drink, or throw our garbage in the place. It's actually law, as yearly pilgrimages quickly converted Bundok Banahaw into a big trash can. Its popularity among the both tourist and the pious merited regulation unless the locals wanted the beauty of their mountain wiped off by garbage irresponsibly disposed of.

Consequently, the trek up the mountain was exhausting. Trying to keep one's balance while stepping on sharp, slippery boulders was difficult enough under the sweltering heat. It reminds me of the repentant who approaches the altar on his or her knees while praying for forgiveness—the trek was a hundred times magnified. The silence was perfect for reflection, only if it wasn't broken by frequent groans from my classmates getting more and more tired with every step, just as I was. Finally, we reached a puwesto called Husgado, or judgment.

Husgado is a small crevice that open from a lower point in the mountain to a higher one up. Getting in and out is a challenge: there are holes that aren't wider than half an arm's length. The locals believe that if one goes in and out unscathed, he or she is not sinful. It was difficult but I got out without injury. This does not say much about the extent of my sinfulness though, thank you very much.

Next, we went down to a waterfalls and took a cool dip. The almost-300 steps were daunting, but we made it down and more importantly, up. As we walked back to the tourist bus, I thought about the things I learned during the trip. Definitely, Bundok Banahaw is beautiful. I can understand why people revere it and treat it as a holy place not just during the Holy Week, but all throughout the rest of the year. Mountains in general have a way of inspiring awe in people as their tree-crowned peaks reach up to the sky; Bundok Banahaw, however, is a special mountain. It is where the primitive desire in people to worship something greater than themselves awaken—the folklore, the quiet aura, the mysticism—all of these combine to magnify belief in the god in the sky.

Or in this case, the god in the history books, too.