There is a place in the Philippines where a relic of the original cross of Jesus is kept: Monasterio De Tarlac. Reaching the place though, is an exercise in patience and great trust in the Lord that you're not going to get lost -- pretty much like trying to live a Christ-like life.
We were on our way back to Lipa from a Tour De Force of Northern Luzon. I've been driving for several days, which took me, my wife, my mother and my dog to Manaoag, to Pozzorubio, my mother's birthplace in Pangasinan, and to Baguio. Our stop at the Monasterio would be our last programmed destination.
My Kuya Gary, who has been to the place, told us it's a must pilgrimage. But after taking a right turn from Tarlac City, it soon become apparent that the search for the Monasterio has become an Amazing Trace. The map says its approximately 25 kilometers from Mac Arthur Highway where we made our initial right turn. So it should appear any moment.
But I've been driving for almost an hour after that turn, and still no Monasterio, only directional signs after every 2 kilometers or so, courtesy of Cindys, that say our destination is straight ahead. I had a heavy breakfast before we left Pangasinan, but at 1 o'clock in the afternoon, I was already feeling lightheaded.
But I trust in the goodness of the Lord and the guidance of Cindys that we are near. We were passing one small barangay after another, until finally there are just carabaos, rice fields and the occasional nipa huts, greeting our eyes. Slowly, this landscape gave way to another -- a mountainscape.
I thought I've had enough of these towering land features after I drove to Philex Mines, which was a good hour away from downtown Baguio, crossing mountain after imposing mountain. And there I was again, traversing the hills and peaks of Tarlac. Well of course, it made sense. When you have something as valuable as a piece of the cross where Jesus died, you would definitely keep it in a place where its sanctity may be preserved -- away from everyone, and in a place conducive for veneration and meditation.
When we reached the Monasterio, it was everything we imagined it to be, plus more. It was immaculately clean, tranquil, and on a Thursday -- which was the day of our visit -- closed. At least that was what the sign said: Closed on Thursdays for regular maintenance.
But it was not closed, no, not on this Thursday. In fact, a mass was being celebrated. Later on, Brother Eric,a seminarian we met outside of the chapel, narrated that the Monasterio would really have been closed that day if not for a visiting priest who offered to hold mass, the one that we chanced upon.
The mass, inside the quaint chapel, was solemn and sincere. And though the air was hot and muggy, you could really feel a special presence about the place. The priest in his sermon said that we were there, at that place, on that time, because we were called, and not because of some accident or coincidence. Come to think of it, we were destined to be blessed in that mass. If we did not forget the vegetables my mother bought in Baguio and wasted two hours going back to retrieve it, or if we only made a stop at a restaurant or any roadside eatery to satisfy our hunger, then we would not have come on time for the mass, nor experienced what came after.
The priest recited a special prayer to end the mass which echoed what me and my wife have also been praying for in years. Then the announcement: The relic will be made available for veneration. This does not happen everyday.
The mass-goers were instructed to form two lines facing the altar where, underneath, the relic is housed. Lines were quickly formed, and we found ourselves at the back, right before the church entrance. But we were not the last in line, for beside me, a handful of old women, like the nice ladies you would see serving in church during offertory, were trying to squeeze themselves into the orderly line. To my annoyance, they were trying to insert themselves in front of me, which did not sit well with me because I religiously follow lines and do not like taking short cuts even if I see people I know much in front of me whom I can pretend to strike a conversation with so I can blend into their line. But I also cannot tell the old ladies to go at the back, where the line ends.
No one knew it, but I was having a moral dilemma. Am I doing right when Jesus is practically in front of me and yet, I want to play it cool and orderly? Are the old ladies behaving correctly when they can't wait to be in the presence of a relic that God, himself, bled on? Why, even teenage girls would show more enthusiasm when they find out that Justin Bieber is just around the corner. And there I was, wishing that the old ladies fall in line, believing that what they were doing was cheating.
When the line finally moved, I held my ground to let two old ladies go in front of me. When a third tried to squeeze in, I politely told her, "Huwag naman po kayong lahat." She smiled and said, "Baka kasi pumayag ka pa, eh."
The queue continued moving until it was me on the side of the altar, ready to touch the relic. Maybe it was just me, or my faith, or the missed lunch, but I felt lighthearted and freed from my fears and anxieties.
We left Monasterio De Tarlac at around three in the afternoon. We arrived in Lipa after more than six hours, only then did I take lunch And I was not even hungry.
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