banahaw and rizal's legacy.

(Around this time last year, we trekked to Mt. Banahaw and interacted with members of a Rizalist group, learning all about their ways of living and their idea of religion. I must say it was truly an enlightening experience.)

The road leading to Mt. Banahaw is not exactly an appetizing one. After a butt-scraping two hour bus ride from the metropolis, you alight at Dolores town in Quezon and board a jeepney plying the thirty-minute uphill route for a nonstop spectacle of dust, dirt and disconcerting bumps. You instinctively whip out your hanky as the vehicle chugs and teeters along the narrow potholed lane, and finally when you get off relieved and visibly shaken, don’t forget that you still have to endure the walking part – certainly not for the weak-kneed and faint-hearted. But all this becomes nil when you see it before you: the real thing, the mystical marvel.

That’s what they often say, that Banahaw is a mystical mountain, and they’re not saying it for nothing. If this were so, how then can the feelings of awe and wonder be explained as one slowly beholds the sight of this peak towering up into the clouds? How else can one not reach its summit, not even set foot on its slopes yet still become very much inspired and captivated by its grandeur from a distance?

It's one of the holiest and most revered places in the country. Holy in the sense due to the mountain’s aura of sanctity and stillness, making it a favorite site of pilgrimages from all over; yet holier still if one sets aside communing with nature and admiring the scenery per se for a sneak peek into the beliefs and traditions of a people who have made Banahaw the core of their being, whose ways of living have given rise to a striking and perhaps subtler definition of the word “holy”.

Enter the Iglesia Ciudad Mystica de Dios, a millenarian movement centered on the area. From the name itself (“Mystica”) it might sound a passable inference at first, though greatly unsupported, to say why the movement was based around Banahaw, and conversely, why Banahaw until now remained largely mystical. With tenets primarily ascribing to nativistic Christianity, what’s conspicuous about them is that they emphasized the heroism and invaluable contributions of Dr. Jose Rizal, considered the Filipino epitome and who appeared to have taken over Christ’s place in 19th century Philippines preaching and promoting goodwill among his compatriots. A sprinkling of other heroes follow suit, a select few reckoned to really stand out and were termed the “12 Lights of the Philippines.” It might be interesting to note that as I perused the pictures of the 12 Lights in their chapel, erstwhile president and revolutionary general Emilio Aguinaldo was obviously absent, as the movement did not consider him a true hero for being the master brains behind the treacherous murder of Katipunan Supremo Andres Bonifacio and his brother.

The group was founded during the American period by a woman named Maria Bernarda Balitaan, believed to be sent by no less than the Lord Jesus himself to the world in preparation for his second coming. She lived during a time when the Philippines witnessed Rizal’s martyrdom and suffered successive foreign hegemony, her lasting words an assurance of religious salvation: “That a white dove shall descend from above and land at several chosen places to sow the seeds of change; that one day, a piece of bamboo would suddenly shoot up from the top of Banahaw from which a golden Philippine flag shall emerge, and from which a New Jerusalem similar to that of St. John’s vision would be formed.” To the ordinary bystander who knew not an inkling of this prophecy, it seemed grand enough; and I was only able to gain a satisfactory foothold, fortunately, when someone from their lot patiently explained the course of things.

The bamboo symbolized the concept of genuine brotherhood, which essentially revolved around natural worship and heartfelt prayer; while the golden flag represented the act of reaching out to the populace about this true concept of religion. True religion, we were told, is founded on a spirit of selflessness and wholehearted dedication to God, since it was pointed out that the pre-Hispanic native religions didn’t exactly base a large chunk of their worship on fiestas and processions, and on religious ornaments and images of saints (except the wood carvings of anitos, perhaps?) Ironically, this brings to mind the memory of what I had seen earlier that day, somewhere back along the heart-stopping stone steps leading to the Sta. Lucia River where a statue of the saint stood surrounded by numerous floral offerings and myriad candles burning in the wind.

But whether or not to tolerate images of saints, I guess that’s a thing best left to experts. More than that, I learned about the group’s principle of doing good works on earth by merit of conscience and pure intentions and not out of fear or sheer force. Most of Ciudad’s funding relied heavily on its members who felt it their duty to shell out some of their blessings and share it with the community. They also believe that man only does what he is meant to do, i.e. merely work out things on his own and has neither the right nor the responsibility to judge others. It is God who punishes; He alone can see one’s true intentions deep inside. So whenever they feel that a certain member has not been aptly performing his duties, they leave it all up to Him to carry out the necessary retributions.

Although the Ciudad Mystica de Dios is still a form of Christianity, this does not mean that they wholly and blindly accept the present Bible as it is, what with the centuries-long revision, restatement and deletion of items in the original version which were deemed offensive and detrimental to the growth and progress of the Church. (I'm getting shades of Dead Sea Scrolls cum Gospel of Judas here). This is one aspect of modern-day Christianity which the movement hopes to rectify. They have attempted to modify the Bible in such a way that its deviation from original sources is more or less minimized, which together with the teachings of Rizal and the other heroes, serve as the group’s collated ideology and guidelines for living.

While this ideology serves as the group’s cornerstone and furthermore keeps them aiming for a “reform” in religion from a materialistic and concrete perspective to one that is more spiritual and abstract, its mosaic nature does not necessarily make it intact. On my part, it would be hugely unthinkable for one to successfully reconciliate the doctrines of Rizal and most of our national heroes who were liberal freemasons with that of the Church which adheres to its strict, unbending and conservative doctrines. Add to this lack of coherence the fact that a realistic movement would endeavor to “seek a major and rapid change in society”, but the Ciudad does not – for the change that it seeks is rooted passively, one that it believes must come from every individual and shall reach its crowning zenith at the given period stated in the prophecy.

Indeed, everything was all about change. And for this particular experience, it was especially a change of heart – change of heart towards one’s outlook in religion, towards discovering once again the significance of true worship in its simplest, least elaborate form. Just like the people of Ciudad Mystica de Dios, I know that Banahaw will continue to leave me pensive, with its trademark imprint of mystery and sacredness. I might not have raced to its summit before sunrise just to drink in the breathtaking view from a decidedly vantage point, or even just stepped on its hallowed slopes for posterity, but then, I was there. I had succeeded in deciphering the silent yet all-encompassing message which it brings to humankind.

Rizal couldn’t be any happier in his grave.