XXXIX. SS-Files: Holy Week in Bayan, Malolos, Bulacan, Part One

Having been a resident of Malolos, Bulacan from when I was brought home shortly after being born in a hospital in the city, it was not until much later in life that I realized that most non-Malolenyos were not aware of the fact that the town was not made of just one Roman Catholic parish.  Until just a few years ago, Malolos had three parishes – Barasoain, where our home was located; Santa Isabel, the south-east part of the town that one would enter from coming from Manila; and the “Poblacion” or town proper where the “municipio” (town hall) and public market where, which genuine Malolos natives simply referred to as “Bayan.”  (Today, there are at least eight parishes in total in the city of Malolos – it’s really that large and populous.)

This three-part division of the town traces back to the 19^th century, when for a brief period, there were actually three municipalities – perhaps not too surprisingly, called Barasoain, Santa Isabel, and Malolos.  Later in that century, the three were regrouped as “Malolos,” but the three parishes remained, as the three 19^th-century church structures still standing and functional to this day prove.

The “Bayan” parish was then, as now, the Parish of the Immaculate Conception (or as 19^th century folks would have called it “La Purisima Concepcion”) but since the 1960’s has also been the seat of the Diocese of Malolos.  The old parish church is therefore now the Cathedral of the Diocese.  So if you take a tricycle after alighting from an ex-Manila bus near “Crossing” (okay, another Malolos factoid of place) on MacArthur Highway, with the intent of going straight to Mass, don’t just say “Sa Simbahan.”  Be sure to specify either “Barasoain” or “Katedral” or you might wind up in some cultists’ worship place (of which there are plenty in the general area, unfortunately).

Another little-known fact to non-natives is that Barasoain Church and “Katedral” are very close to each other – by my reckoning, just about a kilometre apart, and by my admittedly brisk pace, just a ten-minute walk from each other.  The two old towns and parishes were originally divided by the Malolos river, which does indeed still provide the formal division between them; one walks along the main “Paseo del Congreso” road westwards from Barasoain, takes a left at the “Casa Real” (the old municipio), crosses the steeply-arched bridge, and sees the wide open Plaza and Cathedral façade right in front.

So it’s a bit inexcusable to have been a devotee of the Holy Week activities in Barasoain, and not even have the time to peep in in Bayan.  Well, to my credit, I do go to Holy Week confession at the Catheral (more priests and shorter queues there), but I avoid staying for the Holy Thursday and Good Friday services, since unfortunately the Cathedral is not spacious enough for yet another not-strictly-a-parishioner like me, whereas Barasoain is.  Another disincentive is that unlike Barasoain, and again because of limited interior space, only a few processional carrozas can be accommodated within – usually just three or so, parked in the entry foyer, and preventing the safe entry and egress of devotees.  So there isn’t really much to see by way of processional images and tableaux for most of the day.  And that’s my excuse for spending more time in Barasoain.

It’s a pity, really, because just like Barasoain, this old and wealthy colonial-era parish should have some remarkable religious images in use.  Over the past few years, I have tried popping in as late as possible on Holy Wednesday and Good Friday to take some photos of whatever carrozas were in the process of being parked in the Cathedral plaza right before the processions.  Since these were never very numerous (or perhaps I was simply too early), I would also make use of my by-now-notorious akyat-bahay skills to insinuate myself into the garages, driveways, front yards, and even backyards of private homes in the area, just to take a look at the carrozas that I would miss seeing in the procession later.

Just like in most places, the Holy Week processions here are led off by San Pedro.  Unlike in most others, the whole gang of apostles, all twelve, obviously except for Judas Iscariot but perhaps a bit too indulgently including San Matias (who replaced the traitor much later) are each on separate carrozas, bringing up the first section of the processional line-up.  Except for Saint Peter and Sain John (more on him later), the ten others are presumably newly-made images, and if reports are to be believed, not really all that impressive, which is just as well since I don’t have photos of any of them.  (Sour graping currently enabled.)

The first tableau I do have a photo of is the Agony in the Garden.  Obviously a relatively-newly-made set of images, the folksiness of the Christ is not helped by a color-mismatched wig, which the properly-posed Angel tries to outdo by pretending to be a redhead.

A fair attempt to redress these aesthetic shortcomings is the inclusion of the three sleeping apostles in the foreground.  Unfortunately, the fact that they are fully-carved rather than dressed mannequin images, and are not-too-well-painted besides, doesn’t quite set things right.

The one saving grace of this paso, and it is a significant one, is its carroza, which appears to be a vintage or perhaps even antique piece. 

It is a structure very finely crafted in silver-plated hammered-brass on wood, at once longer and very-slightly wider than usual.  I imagine that it must have been originally made for a “Pagkarapâ” or some other impressive processional tableau, but now has been conscripted into the service of a not-too-impressive “Panalangin sa Halamanan.”  A pity, really.

The processional line-up has two versions of Christ Carrying the Cross, the first one a “Standing Nazareno,” owned by the parochial school attached to the Cathedral and given over to the care of one of our family friends.  This is a relatively new image, also used for the Way of the Cross processions on Lenten Friday evenings.

This image is actually quite tall – perhaps at least six feet – and its standing position only adds to the difficulty of storing it.  It helps slightly that it is a bit hunched, as if it had anticipated such difficulties.

And then again, we can just choose to venerate the large head and hands and put the oversized body in storage somewhere.

The other Nazareno is a more conventional kneeling one, perhaps making it easy to refer to it as “The First Fall of Christ” if ever anyone complained about the apparent duplication in the line-up.

This is an antique image originally commissioned in the early 20^th century by Rosa Tantoco Reyes, a wealthy, religious, and unmarried lady from a prominent Malolos family, reputedly from the Maximo Vicente Workshop. 

Today, the descendants of Rosa’s older married sister Juana Reyes Buendia (actually one of Rizal’s famed Women of Malolos) care for the image and its equally-interesting silver-plated-brass-on-wood carroza.

Another Malolos heirloom is the Tercera Caida, “The Third Fall of Christ.”  Like the aforementioned Nazareno, this too has Women of Malolos connections – it was commissioned by Alberta Uitangcoy Santos, the de facto leader of the Women, in the early 20^th century, perhaps also from the Maximo Vicente Workshop.

A few years ago, Alberta’s heirs turned over the care and custody of this processional tableau to their next-door neighbors and relatives the Tantoco family, who now ensure that it is made ready for the annual Holy Week processions.  It was in the Tantoco garage that I managed (with the help of my legendary akyat-bahay abilities) to take numerous photographs of this ensemble.

This “Pagkarapâ” not only has your requisite Simon of Cyrene attempting to help Christ carry the Cross, but also a couple of Jewish temple guards with whips and chains, a Roman Captain in the rear, and a Roman trumpeteer / SPQR standard-bearer.

The antiquity of this paso is highlighted by its unusual Art-Nouveau-style long-curved-metal-stem “arboltantes” (virina stands), often blocking my camera’s view,

and by the carroza itself, yet another beautiful silver-plated-brass-on-wood specimen from Malolos.

For 2007, the tableau’s previously Egyptian-inspired costumes are replaced by definitely more appropriate, maybe even sumptuous, threads,

the Roman Captain now holds a scroll,

and one of the Jewish temple guards morphs into what appears to be a Jewish High Priest. 

Even the remaining Jewish temple guard and Simon of Cyrene benefit from richer-looking duds,

and the Roman trumpeter / standard-bearer looks super-hero dashing in a red cape.

Throughout all these changes, the pathetic figure of the Fallen Christ continues to beckon the devout.

And its consistently outstanding carroza still carries this exceptional tableau, like its equivalent in Barasoain still my favourite in Bayan, through the Holy Wednesday and Good Friday processions.

We pause here and hope to meet up with some more heirloom processional images from Malolos’ storied past – if my akyat-bahay abilities continue to hold up.