Holy Week In the Philippines: Holy Thursday

Author’s Note: I have written (but not yet published) a five book Saga on my clan’s adventures, exploits and tragedies in the Philippines, Indonesia and China called The Saga of Fray Paco.”

This chapter was taken from the fifth book, The Indomitable Contessina Lucrezia, which forms part of "The Saga of Fray Paco."

Fray Paco is a rare, white cockatoo captured by headhunters on the island of Nias, a part of the island chain of Sumatra. He was a smart-ass polyglot brighter than chimpanzees. These cockatoo are almost extinct today. I grew up with Fray Paco.

Manila, known as the Pearl of the Orient, had been crushed to dust under the brutal Japanese occupation and the relentless bombing and shelling by the Americans in order to liberate the city in 1946.

Military historians could not agree: Which city in World War II was destroyed the most - Dresden or Manila? The jury is still out even as I write this.

Filipino ingenuity, hard work and massive aid from the United States, their former colonial masters, came into play immediately after the war. Heavy investments from American, Canadian and Swiss multinationals helped as well. By 1957, Manila was once again a city bustling with panache and elegance.

Except for Intramuros, the superbly walled city fronting gorgeous Manila Bay that was built by the Spanish in the 16th, 17th and 18th century. Intramuros was no more. A chunk of every Manileño's heart was ripped out forevermore. The wounds of Intramuros ran so deep; no one could bear to enter it, not for curiosity and not to clear up the rubble. Everyone felt like violators. Sixty thousand souls had died there before they even had time to realize they were dead. No living thing wandered through. Not even rats and cockroaches.

In Holy Week of 1957, the Philippine peso was even money to the U.S. dollar. The country had the fastest growing economy in South East Asia. In the continent, it ran second only to Japan as the most prosperous. The rate of literacy was higher than Southern Europe's and its infant mortality, lower. Except for the world travelers such as Giovanni Agnelli, David Rockefeller and the Rothschilds, few upper class Europeans and Americans could afford to flit about willy-nilly around Europe and the United States the way rich Filipinos did.

Religious devotion among all classes of society was observed with passion. Nowhere was this lived with more ardor than during Holy Week.

I've adapted the story somewhat for my blog readers, and I look forward to your feedback – as this is the first story I've published from my Fray Paco Series; This chapter begins:

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1957. Manila. Santol Mansion. Dusk. Holy Thursday.

Lucrezia grimaced. "It's so sad. Why can't we go to our chalet in the mountains or our houses by the sea?" asked Lucrezia twisting a long, blonde curl.

"The Montebellos and the Madrigals are spending Holy Week in their seaside villas in Batangas," pouted cousin Zita.

"I mean, what are we rich for?" insisted a soon-to-be-eleven Lucrezia. "I never get to celebrate my birthday because it falls on Holy Thursday, Good Friday or Easter Sunday."

"Child! Doña Esperanza and your parents always give you bang! bang! Birthday party after Holy Week," stated a shocked Ah Wei, Lucrezia's Chinese Hakka amah (nanny) and a convert to Catholicism.

The cousins - indomitable Lucrezia, fiery Zita, sweet Jaime, darling Heinzie, frightful Freckie and pesky Dolly - were sitting in the vast veranda which encircled Santol Mansion, drinking fresh Alfonso mango juice with their respective nannies. Santol Mansion was a 40-room, "Gone With The Wind" house belonging to the rich and powerful Doña Esperanza, matriarch of the Nieto Ortigas clan. She was also their grandmother.

"It's useless to complain," sighed Lucrezia.

"Right. No one will pay attention to us," agreed Heinzie.

"Maybe Jesus would," suggested Jaime.

"You're a dunderhead, do you know that?" replied Freckie angrily. "Jesus can't even help himself," he added for good measure.

“Freckie’s mean and twisted,” thought Lucrezia who detested her twelve-year-old cousin. Today on Holy Thursday she felt guilty about her feelings and tried to dispel them from her heart.

“Nonna locuta, causa finita,” Rome has spoken and that is the end of it, declared Dona Esperanza paraphrasing the Pope’s statement regarding mass murder, abortion, divorce and other crimes against humanity and against the Church. – “Roma locuta, causa finita”

Her high heels clicked –clicked on the rare mahogany floor, her big black baroque pearls swayed with the soft cadence of her hips. Her Pacific blue eyes swiftly swept past her six grandchildren and their tiny Hakka amahs. Freckie was so unruly the Hakka amahs refused to deal with him. Only Librada, a well-muscled Filipina yaya with the patience of a saint, could cope with him.

“Prayer books?”

The children and nannies hold up their hands to enable Dona Esperanza to see them.

“Fans?”

The nannies pried them out of their long pockets.

“Bladders empty? I’ll not have any child urinating in the courtyards or squares of the churches!”

The children nodded without saying a word.

“Our Sikh bodyguards have pure Manila water and cases of Coca Cola in our weapons carriers. I know this is the height of our hot season. I won’t tolerate any fainting due to lack of water or electrolytes. Is that clear?”

The silence was unnerving. Lucrezia (secretly her grandmother’s favorite) cleared her throat. “I think we understand everything, Gran Gran.”

Doña Esperanza swiveled slowly, and then she changed her mind.

“One last thing. Before you all go to bed tonight, I’d like to explain what “The Passion” of Jesus really means and why, despite our wealth, we are staying put in Manila, in this horrifying heat, observing the Passion. Let’s go, everybody.” With that, Doña Esperanza swirled and left the veranda, leaving behind a trail of lightly scented ylang-ylang perfume.

At the porte cochere of Santol Mansion, their parents were entering their respective Buicks and Cadillacs. Edmund, Lucrezia’s father, was the only one behind the wheel, her mother, Camilla, beside him. Everyone else had uniformed drivers. In the Nieto Ortigas clan, almost all its members followed the example set by their great-uncle, Don Alcibiades the banker. He pilled up success after banking success in the Roaring Twenties. He also set many precedents. One of them was to sit next to one’s driver. The clan considered it demeaning and insensitive to be in the back of the car.

Bashir and Ranjit, their giant turbaned Sikh bodyguards, lifted all of the children as if they were rag dolls. “Intjou go,” they said. By now, all the Hakka nannies were a few centimeters shorter than “their children” who seemed to grow by the day. Because many of them had been sold into slavery and prostitution as children, they recoiled from any human touch other than that from “their charges”. Without a word, Ranjit set up a ladder next to the weapons carrier where they and the children were to ride, to enable the nannies to climb inside.

The Sikhs, not being Christian, were not required to follow the Via Crucis (the Way of the Cross) with Doña Esperanza, her children and grandchildren. They kept alert in the churches to any changes in the mood of the churchgoers or unusual occurrences. Like duelists they studied every movement of the elements. They were resplendent in their pristine white Kamezz and Kurta and towered over most of the faithful.

The Catholic domestics of Doña Esperanza were active participants in the Via Crucis. All donned their blackest clothes and their expressive faces betrayed their anguish. They had all lost a relative or a beloved friend during the Japanese Occupation and the ensuing American bombing.

The Amahs always wore their traditional black silk trousers with white ramie shirts. The black sheen of the silk was unmatched by anything the West could reproduce. The Hakkas stubbornly refused to divulge the secret of the shiny black silk.

The children looked somber in plain white frocks, white leather shoes with matching white linen socks. As postwar children they had not actually heard the Mitsubishi zeros screeching eerily down toward their targets They had never heard the screams of the victims but their elders never stopped reminding them how Uncles, Cousin, Aunts, and Great-Uncles had perished in a holocaust of fire.

Dona Esperanza and the Nieto Ortigas clan dressed in black cotton or linen. This practice was followed by all the illustrious families in Manila (be they of Chinese, American or European origin).

Aunt Allegra, mother of Zita and Freckie, was always the coordinator of funerals, baptisms, christenings and the rituals of Holy Week.

Their first stop: Saint Augustine’s Cathedral. Thousands upon thousands of mutilated corpses had lain grotesquely in the aisles, altars and basements of Saint Augustine after the ferocious bombing and shelling in 1946. Pieces of shrapnel, fragments of marble and slivers of wood, which tore through heads and vital organs at a speed and force never witnessed before, killed them.

“There wasn’t a family, rich or poor, white, brown or yellow, who had not lost relatives, loved ones or friends,” Doña Esperanza would say often and sadly.

Thus, the Passion - the final hours of Jesus on earth - was something Filipinos of every color, race or creed could identify with even more than most people.

Miraculously, Saint Augustine, on the outskirts of the walled city - Intramuros, now the Ghost City, was still standing after the smoke of endless bombs had cleared. There was heavy damage to its lateral naves.

“Let’s not wait for American or Philippine bureaucracy. We will all dip into our deep pockets and do what has to be done,” said the rich.

Each family and clan competed in generosity. In less than six months, San Agustin was almost restored. The Father Superior, an outspoken critic, anti-war activist and a pious Basque from Guernica, Padre Pedro Rocha, purposely left a gaping hole about a meter in circumference. During the rainy season, the faithful were pelted with water. Superstitious Filipinos (after all, what more could happen to them?) refused to use umbrellas in church. In the summer, the sun fried their heads but no one dared open a parasol. So why did they persist in standing underneath? An act of penance? A sense of guilt? Horror at the consequences of war? Who was right? Who was wrong? It didn’t matter anymore.

The Stations of the Cross were always recited in impeccable Latin by Uncle Matt (for Mattias), Doña Esperanza’s eldest son. (She had wed at fifteen; her Latin was faulty compared to her son’s. Esperanza was self-taught, cultured and street smart, not erudite.) Everyone knelt on the uneven marble floor. The children followed the way of the cross from their prayer books, which were in Latin. Lucrezia stared at the bronze bas-reliefs realistically sculpted by an unknown Filipino master in the late 16th century and tried to think about the suffering of Jesus. Each station of the cross took about five minutes. Then they would all walk as quietly as possible, looking straight ahead until the next station: fifteen in all. This ritual would be repeated three times as the family would troop out of San Agustin and re-enter to begin once more the ritual of the Way of the Cross.

Camilla, Dona Esperanza's eldest daughter, would take over from Matt. Aunt Dahlia, daughter number two, was unable to master Latin in school so her husband Uncle Rudolf filled in the third time around and saved her “face”.

Seven churches in all were visited, creating the number twenty-one which was a mystical number for the Judaic and early Christian observers of Holy Thursday. Other than black pearls and black diamonds, no one wore jewelry. Everything was a sea of black. The courtyards, squares, the aisles inside the churches, the areas for prayer and reflection by the Stations of the Cross, wherever one gazed. Even the statues were all shrouded in black or dark purple.

Dusk came early in the tropics. In keeping with the profound religious mood, the lights emanating from the vast chandeliers were dimmed low. The sounds and whispers of thousands of faithful appeared deafening to Lucrezia’s ears. Many wept silently yet no one reacted. The faithful all concentrated on their own prayers despite their tears.

Rich and poor worshipped at the same churches. In close proximity to the Churches and Cathedrals parked trucks filled with Manila water, Coca Cola and Pepsi Cola kept a silent vigil. The Haves in silent Christian charity had quietly paid to avoid heat exhaustion and heat stroke in the Have-nots.

It was a time honored custom for the rich to leave 500 to 1,000 Pesos/Dollars anonymously in black or grey envelopes delivered personally by one of the young children of the family, into the hands of the parish priest. This was done in accordance with Jesus' admonitions regarding the Pharisees who praised themselves loudly for their generosity. Those who behaved and spoke in an ostentatious manner about their donations were sharply rebuked and quickly brought into line.

Back at Santol Mansion, part of the household staff had volunteered to stay. Most of the Sikh bodyguards and the pygmies also kept a watchful vigil. Robberies and heists took place more often than not during the observance of Lent than at any other time.

Only one-meter tall bees wax candles were lit inside the house. The gardens and the grounds looked like daylight. The Sikhs patrolled them relentlessly with the German Shepherds Rex and Fritz.

Every painting, objet d'art, statue sacred and profane, was covered in black cloth. The absence of freshly cut flowers, which adorned every room of Santol Mansion most of the year, was like a stab in Lucrezia's heart. Only Fray Paco was allowed to enjoy the sight of yellow orchids in his Jungle Room. In keeping with the Passion's spirit of reflection, no radios or televisions were turned on during Holy Thursday or Good Friday.

"Yet this is a family which can't function without music, so we shall have the most sublime sounds man ever created for God," said Uncle Matt. The Dies Irae of Mozart, Beethoven's Missa Profundis, and Bach’s Saint Matthew were played softly as background music on the hi-fi system.

The healthy adults observed the Lenten fast, particularly on Holy Thursday and Good Friday. That meant no alcoholic beverages - a heavy sacrifice for the Nieto Ortigas clan who savored fine wines and Malt Whiskies. The menu was simple, similar to what the majority of poor Filipinos ate. Small, tasty fish called tuyo, tiny freshwater shrimp fried in fresh garlic and eaten with plain white long-grained rice. Tahong, sweet water clams from the tributaries of the Pasig River was always served. A fish sauce, bagoong, made from a variety of fish eggs, abhorred by foreigners, was ever present. Like the ancient Roman fish sauce, garum, one had to acquire a taste for it, Doña Esperanza used to tell her foreign friends to no avail.

The clan's views regarding fruits grown in the temperate zone were well known.

"Poor Europeans! Having to make do with apples, peaches and oranges."

"Paradise must have been a poor place. Imagine getting into trouble for an apple."

"The serpent wasn't a gourmet either."

"No wonder God threw them out."

"They were tasteless nincompoops."

"The Philippine carabao mango is so delicious, one should eat a peach only in desperation."

"They are supposed to come from the same genus."

“So are we and the apes but look at the difference.”

“Don’t remind us of Darwin during Lent.”

“Once you tasted calamansi juice with honey, why would you ever drink lemonade again?”

Calamansi was a tiny, sweet lime which grew only in the Philippines and in Indonesia.

“Freshly squeezed calamansi juice with pure acacia honey is bliss,” thought Lucrezia, draining her glass quickly.

The majestic acacia trees which towered a hundred meters in the gardens of Santol Mansion provided the best honey. Lucrezia went into one of her reveries as she gazed at the acacias.

“Hola chicas! Hola chicas!” Fray Paco had made his entrance on a pole entwined with hemp so that his talons could hold on. His two attendants, heavily muscled twin dwarves (retired acrobats), Eneas and Achilles, proudly bore the bamboo pole on their shoulders. Fray Paco quickly flew and alighted on Doña Esperanza’s shoulder, nuzzling her neck and cooing “Espe! Espe!” into her ear lobe from which dangled a single black baroque pearl.

A chorus greeted the rare, white cockatoo with affection.

“Hola!”

“Ciao!”

“Hello!”

“Fray Paco came to our clan by an act of God,” said Doña Esperanza.

During the Christmas and Lenten seasons, the story of Fray Paco was repeated.

“He was found chained to a branch of an ylang-ylang tree by Great Uncle Alcibiade,” Lucrezia began.

“In the middle of a destructive typhoon in 1907,” said cousin Zita.

“It was New Year’s eve,” stated Jaime with conviction.

“The tycoon, Don Cesar, our great great uncle, had vowed to ruin the De La Rama family,” said Dolly.

“That was because they had tried to kill him several times,” clarified Lucrezia.

“Instead of going to parties or celebrating, Don Cesar, his two brothers Torquato and Mamerto, and an assortment of sons and nephews spent New Year’s Eve at the warehouses of the De La Rama clan by the port of Manila,” Aunt Camilla, Lucrezia’s mother explained.

“Ruined by vices and inept management, the vast empire of the De La Ramas, especially their international shipping lines to Mexico and California, now belonged to Don Cesar and the family’s bank,” Uncle Matt stated patiently.

“The Night of the Long Winds of 1907 was the most destructive typhoon to hit Manila,” Doña Esperanza said, patting Fray Paco who preened, a born showman.

“Trapped in the warehouses, Don Cesar and his family carried on like troopers, doing the inventory of the De La Rama properties and possessions,” Aunt Allegra said, smoothing her wrinkled black dress.

“Precisely! Then as the winds died down, they heard someone crying ‘Help! Help!’” Dramatically declared Uncle Rudy who had always wanted to be an actor and ended up running one of the clan’s international shipping lines.

“Don Alcibiade ran out to investigate. He couldn’t see anyone although the cries for help continued,” Uncle Edmund said, twirling his fingers nervously.

He was a chain smoker of cigarettes. Doña Esperanza loved her cigarillos and the others smoked cigars. Nicotine was a no-no during the observance of The Passion. The tycoon Don Cesar, addicted to cigars, accustomed to giving orders, had begun this tradition in the clan: total abstinence from alcohol, nicotine and sex in observance of the Passion.

Freckie excitedly cried out, “Then Fray Paco yelled, ‘Down here, coño!’” (Cono means vulva in vernacular Castilian)

“Trust Freckie to use dirty words whenever he can,” mused Lucrezia.

“So Don Alcibiade looked down and around and there he was, our hero, our amor, Fray Paco, standing upright but chained to a broken branch of an ylang-ylang,” exclaimed Uncle Arthur, who had the gift of gab and became a gambler.

“The entire Nieto Ortigas clan had been spared; all their plantations, houses and commercial properties intact. Don Cesar interpreted the arrival of the foundling Fray Paco as a message from God,” said Dona Esperanza.

By this time, Fray Paco had perched on Lucrezia’s shoulder, kissing her on the lips with his beak which could tear apart walnuts as if they were jelly.

“Don Cesar offered Fray Paco his freedom. ‘Fly away,’ he ordered on that New Year’s Day,” Lucrezia told them. “Fray Paco turned his raptor’s gaze on Don Cesar. They looked into each other’s eyes. Raptor to raptor. Then he understood. Fray Paco wanted a home and a family. He yearned for love and yet… and yet… he wanted to be free.”

“I promise you, no more cages. You’ll have your own jungle room. You can wander into any part of my villa. You can even fly but not too far, else the hawks will get you,” Heinzie quoted Don Cesar verbatim.

“Time for our prayers.” Doña Esperanza stretched out her black clad arms. “Come, Fray Paco.”

Lucrezia rose from her chair with Fray Paco holding on to her as she walked towards her grandmother. Once he was settled cozily on a small silk pillow on Doña Esperanza’s lap, she called out, “Let’s kneel”.

Almost in unison, everyone in the clan, the domestic staff, the dwarves Eneas and Achilles, followed without a word. Doña Esperanza placed Fray Paco, whose talons had dug into the silk pillow, on the floor in front of her. “As the oldest member of our clan, Fray Paco, please lead us in the Pater Noster.”

The white cockatoo puffed up his plumes and barked hoarsely, “Pater Noster, quis in coelis, sactificeturrrr nomen tum…”

Fifty voices joined Fray Paco in his mangled Latin. Although they pronounced the words properly, did that act alone bring them closer to the creator?

After the Pater Noster, the domestic staff, led by Macario, the majordomo, rose, walked to the far end of the veranda and brought back twenty-five porcelain bowls filled halfway to the brim with water. The ritual washing of the feet just as Jesus had done so lovingly to his apostles and disciples in the gardens of Gethsemane nearly two thousand years ago was re-enacted year after year in Santol Mansion.

The tycoon Don Cesar and Don Torquato and Don Mamerto, his brothers, had begun the practice after the terrifying typhoon of 1907. Indeed, Don Cesar had renounced his religion after winning the notorious lawsuit against the Catholic Church and the Dominican friars of Santo Tomas University in Manila. His hostile takeover of all the De La Rama holdings and wealth with the assistance of the American Marines had not endeared him to many of his fellow oligarchs – even if it had been a perfectly legal act.

The typhoon, which came soon after, their survival unscathed and the discovery of the foundling white and talkative cockatoo touched his heart and soul. He returned to the folds of the Church, preferring always to deal with the Jesuits with whom he remained on affectionate terms until his untimely death.

The clan drew lots, as did the domestic staff. Often one of the clan would be washing the feet of his driver or her maid. The children were instructed by Doña Esperanza whose feet to wash.

“Rats!” reacted Lucrezia silently. “Why did Gran Gran assign me the task of washing odious Freckie’s feet? He must have come out of the womb of a thug!” “Were all of Jesus’ apostles good and just men?” an inner voice (her guardian angel perhaps?) asked. “No,” answered Lucrezia. Then the image of Judas flashed by quickly as she watched Freckie, his soft, brown eyes, curly hair and disarming dimpled smile. “Jesus knew Judas would turn him in, yet He washed his feet. Who am I to complain?”

Freckie gave Lucrezia a self-satisfied smirk. She ignored it and began washing him. A wiggle here, a splash there… In no time at all, her face was soaked. She looked up and smiled like an angel. She could tell her cousin was seething but pretended not to notice. “Judas! Judas! Judas!” she kept telling herself. By the time Lucrezia was wiping Freckie’s feet with the small, white, linen towel, the mantra had become “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!” Poor Freckie. Why was he so lost?”

Fray Paco squealed. Only Doña Esperanza could bathe him and not face the fury of his beak and talons. He had a small, inflatable pool of rainwater changed twice daily, much as his life long ago in the rain forest.

Now that the basins of water were removed, Doña Esperanza immediately began her explanation.

“I know it’s hot, sticky and difficult to breathe in this oppressive heat. Why then, with all our money, do we not escape to somewhere pleasant? We own dozens of ships. An inter-island cruise on one of them would be lovely. Many Filipino families go on these cruises. Vilas on the beach and chalets in the mountains beckon. We have chapels and diocesan priests who recite Lenten services. We choose to stay here in Manila as our way of participating, in a small way, in the Passion of our Lord. None of us present tonight will ever leave this world alive. Jesus himself died a most excruciating death on the cross.

Four years ago, forty of our friends, supporters and relatives were ambushed and massacred at Montalban by Victor Vencer and his band of Marxist guerrillas. One individual the Mayor of Montalban, our beloved Ben Flores, whose family has been linked to our clan for two generations - and our own precious Lucrezia - survived. None of us know the reason why the terrorist Victor Vencer spared them. (She knew but she would never reveal this to the members of her family and clan) The horrors of the war in the Pacific still haunt us. Otherwise, why are we all in denial about Intramuros?”

No one moved. No one spoke. Doña Esperanza went on.

“As long as God wills it, I will continue our observation of the Passion. Except for the children, you are all here of your own free will. I would not ever think of retaliating if any of your family or staff did not participate. It’s a personal choice. I hope my grandchildren will continue to commemorate the Passion and pass it on to their children when the time comes. Thank you for listening with such patience.”

Uncle Matthias (Matt for short) intoned.” The agony of Jesus really began in the gardens of Gethsemane – Holy Thursday. He was aware of the fate that awaited him. He pleaded with God; he feared he could not go through with the horrors.

“Let this cup be lifted from me.”

Jesus sweated blood from every pore. In medical terms it is called Hematidrosis. It occurred when the tiny capillaries overflowed with blood in the sweat glands and then burst. This caused blood to ooze throughout his scalp, face, neck, arms, back, legs and feet.

“And being in agony, He was praying very fervently, and his sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground.” From the Gospel of Saint Luke, the physician.

Dona Esperanza crossed herself on her forehead, neck and across her chest. Everyone followed her example in silence.

“Then she said,” Let us then retire to our rooms to rest, pray and meditate. Tomorrow is Good Friday. Laudate te Deum.” We give praise to Thee O Lord.”

Easter Message from Bhau Kalchuri (2007)

Bhau Kalchuri is an Indian author, poet, trust administrator, and one of Meher Baba's mandali (close disciples). Bhau Kalchuri is also the principle biographer of Meher Baba's life and was Meher Baba's night watchman.

When asked -- what really happened that Easter. Bhau wrote the following message, which I reprint here in its entirey.

Some questions I cannot answer, because such questions cannot be answered by anyone except God.

Jesus wanted the world to know that He had been crucified, but he never wanted people to know that He had survived the crucifixion. It was the main sign of His Universal Work. He kept this secret, and nobody came to know about it.

Meher Baba (1927)

When I went to England in 1985, somebody told me that a recent book on Christ said that it had been found that He had come to India after the Resurrection. I cannot say anything more about this, because I am quite ignorant.

I do know this much: Baba told us this was the truth. In 1929, Baba went to Kashmir. He remained in seclusion in Harvan, six miles from Srinigar, the village where Jesus had dropped His body. When Baba came out of seclusion, He disclosed that when He had been Jesus, He had been buried there.

There is no reason to feel amazed that Peter did not know that Jesus had survived. Nobody knew. The Lord did not tell anyone. After the crucifixion, none of the Mandali of Jesus could think of anything. They were all hiding here and there. The time was quite unimaginable. No one thought about Peter, Thomas, Bartholomew or anyone else.

Those who were with Jesus -- Peter, John and others -- were so full of grief that they did not think of anyone except the Lord, not even themselves. Those who were with Jesus when He was crucified and placed in the tomb may have felt as if their own life had departed from them, though their mind and body lingered in order for them to experience the pain [of separation]. Peter did not know about the resurrection; even the mother of Jesus did not know.

Peter and Jesus had been separated such that they never again met. Then they were crucified. I feel that Peter was also crucified for the cause of Lord Jesus, as he was a medium for His Universal Work. Whatever the Lord wanted Peter to do, Peter did.

The Ancient One's ways are innumerable, and He uses those that are suitable at the time. He came out of the burial pit after three days, and perhaps His two Mandali members, Thomas and Bartholomew were there. Thomas did not believe that He was the same Jesus Who had been crucified, but Lord Jesus showed him the wounds in His side inflicted during the crucifixion.

Everyone knows that Lord Jesus performed many miracles. He gave life to the dead. He gave sight to the blind. Could He not save Himself? Why did He allow this crucifixion?

That is the glory of the Lord. The One Who was All Power, All Knowledge and All Bliss was crucified. What a glory! Can anyone understand this?

He was crucified for the world. But on the day of the resurrection, He came out of the pit.

Then He walked to India with His two Mandali members, Thomas (now called "Doubting Thomas") and Bartholomew. It was He Who made those two Mandali members accompany Him. They walked to Burma and from there to India. Jesus visited all the places of pilgrimage in India, walking and walking. Really speaking, this was His seclusion work for the universe.

Age after age, the Avatar comes down upon the earth. He spends time in seclusion for His Universal Work. Beloved Baba also did this. Generally, Mandali members would be with Him, but once, it so happened that when Baba was in seclusion, He said, "This is My seclusion-in-seclusion."

No Mandali members except Eruch and me were allowed to see Him. I would keep night watch and do correspondence. Sometimes, He wanted the letters He had received read out. Eruch would read those in English, and I would read those in Hindi. Baba would not dictate any replies. He would just listen.

He was deeply engrossed in His seclusion work. This seclusion-in-seclusion made other Mandali members restless. He would not come to Mandali Hall; He would remain in His own room, not seeing anyone. That last phase of seclusion, which started in 1967, was really most exhausting."

In 1969, when Baba was getting spasm after spasm, He said, "When I was Jesus, I was only crucified for one day. But no one knows how now I am crucified every day."

Those two years of His seclusion were unimaginably hard because He remained so engrossed with the world. Not only did He take upon Himself the burden of the world, but He also created a situation for the world to free itself from that burden, so that the world might get awakened towards God.

During one night's watch, I was thinking, "Baba does not see anyone. His lovers write letters, but sometimes He does not have them read out. His lovers expect a few loving words from Him, but He neither listens nor responds to their letters. How must they be feeling?"

"What are you thinking?" Baba asked me.

As usual, I replied, "Nothing, Baba."

"Nothing? You are thinking, and still you say nothing? You think that I don't meet My lovers, that when they write letters to Me, I don't listen or respond to them?

"You have no idea what will happen to those who have seen Me physically, as well as those who have not. Do you have any idea what I am doing for them?"

He pounded His legs, the sign for His seclusion work. "This I am giving to them. Afterwards, you will see what will happen to them, who have seen Me physically as well as those who have not. You have no idea what I am doing for them. If they come to Me, what will they see?

"This physical body. What is there?

"I am giving them the Real thing."

And again He made the sign for His seclusion work.

Another night, again after I had received many letters, I was thinking, "How to reply?"

Once more, Baba asked, "What are you thinking?"

Again, I said, "Nothing."

"You have no idea what I am passing through because of My seclusion work," Baba said. "I am stretching and stretching My bow. When I release My arrow, that arrow will touch every heart in the world. You will see what happens afterwards."

During His seclusion work, He continued to stretch and stretch that bow. Ultimately, on 31st January 1969, He dropped His body and released His arrow.

This is the reason more and more people are coming to Him. A day will come when the whole world will come. That will be His Universal Manifestation.

I cannot say anything more. But this much I know: When Beloved Baba dropped His physical body, there was no thought in us except that of Him. I cannot furnish you with an explanation about this time, because I cannot express it or put it into words. It was so painful. It seemed as if this world were receding away from me, and I had nowhere to stand.

Before He dropped His body, Baba had arranged a darshan program for April 1969. During this program, despite His physical absence, we were wonderstruck to see many new faces. How did this happen?

Since then, we always see new faces coming to His Samadhi at Meherabad.

What Lord Jesus was doing after He was crucified, no one has any idea. He lived in India, many, many years, secluded from those who knew Him. He was wandering and wandering with His two disciples to different places. He went to Rameshwaram, where Rama had killed Ravana, and Dwarka, too, the kingdom where Krishna ruled.

He would walk and walk, never staying in one place. Ultimately, He went to Kashmir, and after completing His Universal Work, He dropped His physical body at Harvan. Then, after a hundred years, His Universal Manifestation took place.

Generally, His Universal Manifestation takes place one hundred years after He drops His body. But for Lord Jesus it took more than one hundred years from the time He was crucified. Why?

Because He did not die on the cross. Instead, He started His seclusion work for the universe. Actually, when He was crucified, He remained unknown to the world except for His Mandali members. How is it that the West and some parts of the East accepted Him?

How He suffered for humanity! How He would walk all the distances in India! No one understands even an iota of His suffering for the universe. It is unimaginable.

The Lord always comes down to give a Universal Push, not only to humanity, but also to all kingdoms of evolution and involution. He is love. And He is compassion. How He suffers for Creation. How He has bound Himself to it for all time, though in His own form, He remains eternally free.

He is our only Compassionate Father. No one has any idea why He is called this.

Because He does not find anyone, anywhere, other than Himself. He is active, infinite consciousness. And He's the One Who remains active, even after dropping His physical body.

But there is a difference. Until His Universal Manifestation, He helps everyone, whether a saint or a sinner. At the time of His Universal Manifestation, the devil bows down to Him and remains bowed down. After His Universal Manifestation, the Lord will help those who remember and follow Him. He will not pay attention to those who do not call Him, nor those who forget Him or do not care for Him. Once again, the devil will start raising his head. Ignorance will gradually grow and grow and grow.

When ignorance crosses the limit, He has to come back again. Sometimes, He is called the Son of God, sometimes the Messenger of God, sometimes the Avatar or the Christ. But He's one and the same, the Ancient One.

Nobody thinks, "Who did all His work?"

The Lord Himself did it, and He remains always in the form of the Holy Spirit. He is very active, infinitely active.

You find people performing prayers to the Holy Spirit in their churches. Who is that Holy Spirit?

It is the Lord Himself, Who remains active.

And what is Easter?

Easter is the time to remember Lord Jesus wholeheartedly, to become attached to Him and try to detach yourself from the devil. The devil is in everyone, and it is because of the devil, that the world forgets the Lord.

But what a Compassionate Father He is!

Whether someone is a saint or whether they are a mischief monger or thief, He is for them. He cannot neglect them. They are all His children, because He IS them. [No one can be with Him.] He is thousands of times closer than our very breath. He is our life. There are none except Him, and besides Him, whatever appears as existing is nothing but Illusion, which does not exist. If at all it exists, it exists in non-existence.

As we celebrate this Easter, let us resolve to dedicate our lives to Him and live for Him and die for Him in His love. We should become desireless. We should create longing to be with Him, so that nothing remains for us except Him, the Beloved Avatar, the Compassionate Father, the real Oceanized Ocean, Who looks after us all the time. Let us therefore not hesitate to make this resolution and dedicate our life in order to surrender to Him for all time, so that our false self may disappear, and our real self remains to see the beauty of the Lord.

With all love and Jai Baba to you,

In His love and service,


Bhau

Trust Office
Kings Road
Ahmednagar, Maharashtra, India

Midnight Mass in Manila

Midnight Mass on the Eve of Easter marked the first time since the horrific War in the Pacific had ended in 1946, that an Easter Mass was being celebrated publicly in the evening, The Japanese had taken particular delight in the mistreatment and maltreatment of Filipinos during the war. Manila was the Pearl of the Orient, the capital of the American Empire. Under MANIFEST DESTINY, Presidents McKinley and his successor Theodore Roosevelt had set their sights on the Philippines, then a colony of a ruined and self-destructive Spain. The principal reason was to thwart Japan’s expansionism and hegemony in the Pacific. America badly needed a colony in a strategic area of the Pacific. The Philippines was perfect. A population of twenty million souls with a high rate of literacy, higher than their South. Its position in the Malacca Straits meant that its dominion of the Straits constituted an important first step towards the American Empire. Being clever men, the American Rulers did not fail to see the vast natural resources. Sugar, gold, hemp, tobacco, cotton, pearls and copper. Then there was the most precious of all resources – the Filipinos themselves. All this and it was a Christian country too!! Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan had witnessed first hand the horror of several hundred thousand corpses burnt and fried by radiation in a matter of seconds. The Japanese forces in the Philippines not only continued to fight on, they turned as brutal as they could towards the brave-hearted Filipinos who battled on in the swamps, mountains, rain forests and boondocks (boondocks) The Japanese executed 400 Filipinos for every Japanese killed by the Guerillas, They grieved but continued their struggle. The liberation of Manila was a mass slaughter. The American forces had to take it room by room, forget house to house. Manila bore the brunt of the ugliness and inevitable Death of War. Monsignor Enio Alberti and the Catholic Church in the Philippines as well as its most enlightened political, business and cultural leaders decided that the Celebration of Holy Saturday would be a genuine act of moving forward and looking ahead rather than turning constantly back to their irreplaceable loved ones and unspeakable anguish. "As Manila goes so will the rest of the archipelago,” declared the Monsignor in his apostolic letter to the Bishops in the Philippine Dioceses. In an unspoken but eloquent gesture, the people of Manila had accepted the challenge and their attendance at this High Mass in Latin was the proof. Dona Esperanza slowly walked down the central nave if the Church of San Beda (Saint Bede) Her son and daughter-in law and then her daughters with their husbands in tow came closely behind. The Hakka Amahs held the hands of their respective "children". Dona Esperanza had given them the choice of staying at home in their cozy beds and enjoying their well deserved sleep or coming with her, in other words no choice at all. “Thank you, my Dona. I speak for us all. Even if we are a bit tired. We not miss this event for our Hakka people suffer and die too in Manila,” Ah Wei had replied. “I have never seen so many people, there must be thousands inside and outside San Beda, marveled Dona Esperanza. The thousands stretched from E. Mendiola Street where the Benedictine monks to honor Saint Bede, the learned and erudite monk, all the way to Aviles Street, had built San Beda Church in the early 17th century. The people stood before the locked gates of the Presidential Palace – Malacanang. It had been the official residence of most of the Spanish Governor- Generals who had ruled the 3,700 plus islands in the name of the King. The American military Governors had picked the splendidly white marbled Malacanang as their residence as well. They governed in the name of the President, Theodore Roosevelt, an imperial and illuminated political leader. Giant loudspeakers placed atop trucks laden with heavily armed soldiers to enable the masses of faithful on the streets to follow the Mass inside San Beda. The leaders of the Philippine communities and its religious leaders led by the Nuncio feared terrorist attacks by the Marxist guerillas. Hence the soldiers armed to the teeth. It was a joint military exercise. American soldiers could be spotted armed with rifles and telescopic sights standing on armored tanks. “We are at peace? I would like to know from what and from whom. The war never ended. This is just called by another name – the Cold War. I think it is even more deadly than the one we have just survived. Helpless and Innocent people are being murdered in this War with the ugly name - Cold War. God help us,” prayed Esperanza. “San Beda looks intimidating,” whispered Lucrezia. “It’s scary,” agreed Zita. Few candles were lit inside the church. The Faithful used flashlights to find their seats. “It’s like scenes from the movies,” remarked several voices. “Ssh. Quiet. “ Unseen voices murmured. “I think they may be right. This is a form of spectacle,” said Esperanza softly. “It’s a sacred spectacle Mamma,” affirmed Matthias, eldest son of Esperanza. ‘The waiting is the worst part,” stated Allegra, her youngest daughter, mother of Zita and Freckie. ‘Why did we come so early? “ Asked a perplexed Freckie. "Cuz…Monsignor Alberti decided not to allow reserved seats for any of the VIPs." “That would be our family and others like us,” pointed out Dolly. “It’s first come, first served,” explained Heinzie. Lucrezia turned her head slowly. Her pupils had by now adjusted themselves to the blackness, but she had difficulty making out the outlines of the altar of gold facing her. The gold glistened. “Ahhh, that will guide me,” observed Lucrezia. The Blessed Sacrament – the golden chalice holding the sacred host, which symbolically was both the body and blood of Jesus, was not exposed. There was a larger and more opulent chalice on the altar, but it was empty. The fragments of light striking it from the dome reminded the faithful it must be so.” Multitudes terrorized her. “Since the ambush in the blue and green hills of Montalban, floods of people make me feel faint. It seems as if elephants are sitting on my chest. If I keep on thinking about it, I shall surely pass out. I must not and I won’t,” resolved Lucrezia. She turned towards Ah Wei and clutched her hand. “Terrible and sad visions are appearing before my eyes. Why don’t we recite the sorrowful mysteries of the Rosary? (It dealt with the Passion and agony of Christ.) “Child, you always forget. I pray in Hakka,”Ah Wei reminds her softly. “Bad memories must never crush you. You are never alone.” Lucrezia sighed deeply. The darkness, the tumult, the roar of the masses of faithful praying sends icicles through her arms, chest and legs. “Dear Jesus. Dear Guardian Angel Mahasiah who forms part of the chorus of the Seraphim – the Archangel Metatron, help me please. Remove my fears “ She closed her eyes and repeated over and over until she no longer felt her heart beating in her chest and her breath was slow and faint. She let the calmness descend over her. A symphony of small bells suddenly began ringing. Dozens of altar boys in white carried them and rang them as they walked down the three aisles of the Church towards the Altar. A lone acolyte carrying a candle preceded them and lit the way for Monsignor Alberti. He wore dazzling orange vestments and he was carrying the sacred Chalice containing the body and blood of Christ to bring it back to its rightful place. On Holy Thursday and Good Friday it is removed from the altar. The High Mass in Latin was about to initiate. “Porca Miseria, dirty filthy Misery,” swore the Monsignor. He had tripped over a handbag, which had been thoughtlessly left in the aisle. No one took a breath. Even those who did not understand Italian could tell from the tone of his voice that he had tripped. He recovered his composure quickly and proceeded ramrod straight to the central altar. “Introibi ad altare Dei,” I will go into the altar of God,” he intoned in his fine baritone voice. “Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam,” replied the faithful. “It means To God who is the joy of my youth,” Matt translated in a loud whisper for the benefit of is nephews and nieces. “I know, thank you Uncle Matthias,” Lucrezia whispered back. “Show off,” said Freckie standing with his parents Allegra and Armand in the pew in front of her. “Silence,” ordered Dona Esperanza. The High Mass was being sung entirely in Latin, except for the sermon or homily, which Monsignor always kept short, sweet and to the point. The choir was composed of some of the country’s finest sopranos and tenors. “It’s electrifying. I have been transported somewhere else. As long as I live, I will never forget this moment,” mused Lucrezia as tears of joy and sadness rained down her face. Freckie continued to fidget.” He is like those children in the Middle Ages who had been bitten by the tarantula spider. Their nervous systems induced them to move jerkily. In Spain and in Italy it was known as Saint Vitus’s dance,” said Camilla, Lucrezia’s mother. Aunt Allegra swatted him lightly with her gilded fan. Freckie went on. “Let us all ignore him,” suggested Dona Esperanza gruffly. “Frightful Freckie has finally done it. We are embarrassed and mortified. Gran’s right. We must pay no attention,” reasoned Lucrezia. “Gloria in Excelsis Deo,” Glory to God in the Highest.” proclaimed Monsignor. And then there was Light once again the Universe. San Beda’s massive chandeliers blinded the faithful with light. They lit the candles which they had all brought with them and sang with the choir,” And on earth peace to men of good will.” The reason why Saturday of Glory or Holy Saturday was so portentous to the early Christian converts as well as to the Roman, Catholic, Apostolic and Universal Church was because Jesus’ spirit and soul on that night between midnight and dawn of Easter descended into Hell. Some call it the blackness, the Satanic Hole and the dwelling of the Luciferian forces. Jesus’ death had released many of the condemned. They could accompany him back into the forces of Light if they had once been human. They could once again join the Legions of Angels, if they had once been cast down into the bowels of the earth. To enjoy eternal life they had to do two things. “Forgive me Lord for my sin of pride. I believe in you as my Savior.” The lights suddenly appeared in Aviles and e. Mendiola Street. The huge spotlights on the trucks turned midnight into daylight. The thousands shut their eyes for a few seconds. “The Gospel on Easter Sunday is the longest ever. It takes about twenty minutes, because it recounts the passion and the agony of Christ as well as his Resurrection. Let us steel ourselves. The faithful realize they have now entered the first few minutes of Easter Sunday,” mused Dona Esperanza. Monsignor Alberti did not ascend the steep steps into the pulpit to read the long Gospel. He steps down from the altar, and walks among the faithful. This is the first time the people have ever witnessed this. The long wires of the microphones are smoothed out for him, as technicians try to follow him unobtrusively. All three national radio and television networks are broadcasting this important Easter mass. “There’s our own DZRH,” pointed out Matt proudly. Monsignor Alberti adjusted the height of the microphones and begun reading from the longest Gospel in the Easter Mass taken from John the Apostle. They listened so quietly even the nervous coughing and clearing of throats ceased as if by divine intervention. When he had finished, he closed the golden missal of the New Testament. He gazed at all the faces around him. "Happy Easter, Maligayang Pasko, and Felices Pascuas,” he boomed in English, Filipino and Spanish. His greetings had stunned the people. For a few seconds they did not know hot to react. “Well? Are you not going to wish me a Happy Easter too?” “Happy Easter,” replied the thousands gaily. “Louder please. His Holiness would like to hear a special and affectionate greeting from the only Catholic country in Asia. Ready? One, Two, Three. Go!” Wave after wave of thunderous roars swept the church and the streets. “Happy Easter Monsignor. Happy Easter Holy Father!” He waited serenely for another 15 minutes until the thunder abated. Then he went on. “Listen to me. You all know after all the years I have spent with you in the Philippines that I am not one for long and wordy sermons. I don’t like to preach to the faithful. The Resurrection of Jesus is about renewal. It is also about change. Jesus means eternal Life, Hope and Love. Many of you here present or watching us on television or listening on the radio must remember the Easter Sunday of 1946. There was Death, Devastation and some of you felt Despair. The stench of death never left our nostrils. Until June, masses of corpses kept being recovered from the ruins and the rubble. You allowed Jesus to take hold of your hearts and souls. Suddenly you felt joy even as you sobbed in grief. Despair had fled. You pulled up your shirtsleeves and began to remove piece by piece the signs of destruction. Manila was struck so horribly; many ruins are still among us. “The Resurrection of Jesus gave you there-assurance that you would someday be reunited withal your dead. Jesus reminds us constantly that we should always look ahead, to our future and to our children and the future of our children’s children and so on…ad infinitum. This is timeless. I am talking about a future for all, rich, middleclass and poor. Those of you who think the poor want handouts and charity are wrong. Then, I must say that you don’t really know the poor. They want to work. They want jobs where they can give value for value. I pray that you will leave this celebration of Life and Light with the Love of Jesus, therefore with the love of your fellow men in your thoughts and deeds. This is not easy to do. Not for those listening neither to me, nor for me as I speak these words. Those of you, who can kneel, please do so now. The rest of you, please remain standing. I promise you the Lord understands. I am about to bestow His Holiness, Pope Pius Xll’s papal blessing on the Philippines.” Iit was a very moving scene. Filipinos made room for each other so that many of them could kneel on the pavement and on the streets for the blessing. The soldiers laid down their rifles. Those standing on tanks descended and knelt on the ground. Monsignor raised his hands and then made the Sign of the Cross. “In the name of the Father, the Son ad the Holy Spirit. Amen." He raised his arms once again. “May Jesus bless each and every one of those present at this celebration of Easter; all of you who are devoutly listening by your radios wherever you are in the Archipelago, all who are patiently watching on television. The men and women in the prisons and in the jails. The beloved lepers in our own colony of Culion, a thousand miles from Manila. May Jesus bless those suffering from tuberculosis, malaria, dengue fever and meningitis and polio. Dear Jesus, bless the urchins peddling gum and cigarettes who have dropped out of school to help out their poor parents. May Jesus bless Tondo (a notorious slum) Remember Chinatown, where many pious Chinese work and live according to your tenets. May Jesus enlighten the misguided and duped terrorist Marxist and Communist guerillas that are devastating our country-side. “Our own Manila has risen from the ashes, like a Holy Phoenix. The Pearl of the Orient no longer exists. But let us not forget that Manila is blessed with an incomparable moon shaped bay. The city has a potential to bea turquoise or even a sapphire. We beg Jesus to bless all the Philippine islands. May she bloom, thrive and grow. Thank you and Salamat." (the Filipino word taken from the Arab Salaam for thank you). In a strong and beautiful voice Monsignor chanted, ”Ite Missa est.” The Mass is ended. Go in peace.