by Teo Ricaforte
The author, who witnessed the Traslacion on the Feast of Hesus Nazareno last January 9, 2025 for the first time up close, shares his experience. Videos taken at the corner of Gen. Solano and Ayala Blvd in Manila.
A lot of us find God in the presence of quiet: the calm flow of the river, the cool grass on one’s feet, and other nature-inspired cliché imagery. Rarely, however, do we find God amidst the noise. I felt His presence last Thursday, when the Traslacion passed by our apartment building in Manila.
As early as the night before, as I walked back to my apartment, I saw response units from the Philippine Red Cross and UNTV News and Rescue already preparing their stations along Natividad Lopez Street, just at the right turn from Ayala Bridge. The bridge was going to be one of the locations the Black Nazarene would pass through. I didn’t think much of it, though, and went to sleep once I got home.
By the morning of the feast, I woke up to the noise of people I could just hear from my room. I didn’t intend to watch the Traslacion but the noise was too much for me to ignore. Half-asleep, I got up from my bed, brushed my teeth, haphazardly fixed up my hair with my hands, and headed outside to see everyone on full alert.
Emergency response teams hailed not just from Manila but from local government units nearby like Quezon City. Police and coast guard officers surrounded the area, ready to protect and guard eager devotees; you may have seen the video of a swarm of devotees breaking through the police's human barrier at the intersection of Casal and General Solano streets.
Several news organizations had already prepared their cameras atop their OB vans and setups. They looked focused on preparing and rather unfazed; this wasn’t their first rodeo, for sure. The gates approaching Malacañang had been closed, save for a small opening at the side for those who needed to pass through. Water bottles were laid out on tables by the hundreds. The streets were ready to face the incoming waves.
And the waves were big.
At around 6 a.m., devotees of the Nazarene were already flocking to Ayala Bridge bit by bit. They came from various parts of the country, barefoot and armed with banners, headbands, towels, and their faith.
I headed back to my room to consider my activities for the morning (i.e. take a nap), but I could already hear the noise from outside getting louder. “Viva! Viva! Viva!” I left my unit and went into the room next door: unoccupied, under construction, and with windows to see the crowds filling up the streets. The waves had gotten bigger.
By 10 a.m., seas of red and yellow filled Ayala Bridge. The noise in the streets was mostly a cacophony of shouts and whistles that would occasionally build up to chants of "Viva!" Quiapo Church counted more than 8 million attendees for this year's feast, and roughly 380,000 at the procession. Not even five percent of the total attendee count, but not a small group at all. I had only seen these images on TV; this was my first time seeing all this in person. Even at five stories above, the view and sounds are enough to overload one’s senses. And the Nazareno had yet to arrive by our building.
Around a quarter hour later, the Nazareno had already come into our view. As it made its way off the bridge and in front of the DBM building, the "andas," or carriage of the Nazarene, was down one rope; it had snapped off earlier as it crossed Finance Road. The devotees were moving in lines and bunches, and as you looked towards the andas, you could see them pushing, even climbing on top of others just to see the Jesus Nazareno they had devoted their lives to. Some attempted to climb onto the andas for a closer look. Those guarding the carriage had to push them with significant force to get them off the carriage while waiting for towels to be thrown at them for a blessing from the Nazarene. The towels would get a brief wipe on the glass and then be thrown back to the general area where it came from.
As I took a closer look at the devotees’ faces, one thing I noticed was that the fatigue had already gotten to them. The andas left Quirino Grandstand at 5 am. They were 5 hours in; the Nazarene would only make its way back to Quiapo Church 15 hours later. The devotees had dazed and exhausted faces drenched in either their sweat or the bottled water they used to cool themselves down.
And then there were the fallen — devotees who fainted were being ushered by Red Cross responders to one of their first aid stations at General Solano, with only whistles as the siren to make their way through the flock. At the time I was recording footage of the procession, I counted five stretchers that rushed to first aid. It wasn't surprising; if the heat wasn't going to get you, it was probably the lack of sleep given the early start, the claustrophobia from a crowd of 8 million, or the pushing and shoving from every which way.
Those devoted to the Jesus Nazareno know what they must endure: being caught in a web of bodies, making your way to a carriage tens of meters away, all with the rough concrete chafing your feet and sweat pouring from your forehead. For these devotees, the body may be weak, but for the Nazareno, the spirit has to be strong.
And yet, given all the chaos and noise, as I contemplated the images I had seen, I realized that maybe their dazed faces showed fatigue, but also relief for those who had gotten their towels blessed. Gratitude, even. I caught a glimpse of some devotees looking to the sky as they wiped their already blessed towels onto their faces. It was as if they were saying a little prayer. Thanksgiving, perhaps? Sending God a wish? It’s not for me to guess or assume. That was their moment with God. Their business, not mine.
But whatever it was, it looked like in that moment, amidst (and despite) all the noise, they felt God’s presence. Watching the Traslacion, I felt it too.
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