Black Nazarene

Black Nazarene | Daily Tribune

Tomorrow is the feast of the Black Nazarene. Once again, we will witness the much-awaited annual Traslacion, or the procession of its iconic image, along the streets of Quiapo, Manila.

Devout Catholics will celebrate their faith as the Black Nazarene holds a special place in their hearts. It goes beyond tradition; it’s an expression of devotion that resonates deeply with millions of Filipinos.

I rarely visit Quiapo Church in Manila because I live in Quezon City. However, like many devotees of the Black Nazarene, I eagerly look forward to the procession and make sure to watch it on TV or through livestreams.

As a journalist of 40 years, I have written countless stories about individuals who have experienced miracles amid the chaos of life — illnesses healed, past grievances forgiven and hope rekindled. These stories strengthened my belief and inspired my worship.

My connection to the Black Nazarene is deeply personal. It represents a blend of faith, cultural identity and unwavering hope.

Sixteen years ago, when my mother was in the hospital dying of cancer, a small image of the Black Nazarene was by her side. She lay unconscious and all the attending doctors told us that she would not last another day, advising us to say our goodbyes.

I held the image of the Black Nazarene. I silently prayed for my mother to have a painless death. I repeatedly whispered in her ear to wait for her two surviving siblings, who had to take the first available bus from Sorsogon in Bicol to Manila that early morning. I had been told by elders and even by nurses, that the ears of a dying person are the last to go as death approaches.

We were concerned about her siblings, two senior citizens who needed to transfer to another bus when they reached Quezon province because of a minor accident involving the first bus.

When we heard this news, we panicked, but I quietly whispered in my mother’s ear to hold on as her elder sister and younger brother were on their way. I placed the small image of the Black Nazarene in her hand while we all silently watched the monitor, which showed her blood pressure steadily dropping.

Incredibly, her siblings arrived at the hospital 10 minutes past midnight, before my mother passed away. Finally, they had the chance to offer their prayers and say their final goodbyes to a sister they had not seen for more than 10 years.

Reflecting on that time, I truly believe the Black Nazarene answered my prayers. My mother passed away peacefully, surrounded by all her children and two of her siblings. The tranquility in that room as the hospital attendants wrapped her body was overwhelming. No one cried — not even her young grandchildren.

Miracles like this, big or small, need no scientific explanation. Like the Black Nazarene, that moment represented our collective and unparalleled resilience.

The statue’s history is a testament to survival and strength. To worship the Black Nazarene is to pay homage to the trials and tribulations Jesus Christ endured. It invites us to mirror that strength in our own lives.