The opening ritual of fire-starting at the 2013 Center for Babaylan Studies at Westminster Woods brought me to tears. Mamerto Tindongan’s invocation – in a dialect I do not comprehend – brought me to a place of unvarnished memory and longing for home.
I fully appreciated the planful execution of a full and structured schedule of academic anthropological discussions and current practices of indigenous ways. I was moved by the healing and culture-bearing work of Grace Nono and Mamerto Tindongan, and leadership of Ka Leny Strobel, Ka Lily Mendoza, et.al.
When I learned that the 2015 gathering will focus on reflections about indigeneity and Christianity, I wasn’t quite sure that I wanted to attend.
A little bit of background: I grew up in a Christian sect in the Philippines whose teachings center around vilifying the Catholic church. It was cult-like in its exclusivity and laser focus on "othering" doctrine that presented its members with a false sense of superiority over non-believers.
Even though my immediate family did not practice Roman Catholicism, the influence of the Church was all around us. I spent a great deal of my childhood indoctrinated in the protestant Christian tradition, while also fully immersed in my Lola’s Catholic faith (she had a Santo Niño in every room of her house in Manila).
I hadn’t been a Christian for a long time. In my youth, I was unceremoniously kicked out of the church for falling in love with a Muslim man. I have since explored other spiritual paths, including Sufism, O.T.O., and Buddhism.
I fully embrace the lifetime challenge and struggle of decolonization. Since the 2013 CfBS symposium, I have become more interested in exploring the spiritual path ingrained in our indigenous memory.
Decolonization is deep and lifetime work. Personally, I know that Christianity is not for me. Yet, I also am fully aware that my psychic programming is heavily weighted by the Christian / Catholic moral code. I continue to wrestle with the notion of decolonization, and whether we, as a Filipino people, can really become decolonized while still holding on to the mythology of Christianity.
I came to the Ohi’yo symposium with these questions: Why do millions of Filipinos continue to worship a god brought by people who colonized, oppressed and enslaved? In the journey toward decolonization, why is there still room for Christianity? Is it really possible for our colonized people to break free from the shackles of the cross and the sword?
The conversations, the rituals, and the power of togetherness generated and sustained transformational energy. Surely for me, the experience at Ohi’yo did not inspire a “come to Jesus” revival. You won't see me running for the nearest church, pleading entry back into the fold.
But …
There was depth in Paring Bert’s narrative about working for peace in Mindanao, engaging Catholics, Muslims and indigenous tribes toward better understanding and lasting peace. Creating connections by empowering tribes to lean more pridefully upon their indigenous knowledge and wisdom.
There was sincerity in Ka Grace Nono’s explanation of her indigenous awakening. Realizing the hypocrisy of the representation of Jesus, a peace-loving prophet made into a bigot by a church that needed to control and coerce, in order to pillage resources and destroy cultures. Hearing the chants of the babaylan provided Ka Grace a renewed purpose to amplify the songs and voices of our ancestors long muted by centuries of colonization.
There was vulnerability in Carmen Manalac Scheurman’s transformation to “Lamuwan Kata,” healing the divides of her Aeta ancestry and advocacy for her beloved tribe, with her chosen spiritual home as a Methodist minister.
There was rhythm in James Perkinson’s poetry, and his truth-telling about the enduring indigeneity of Christianity in all its forms and practices throughout the colonized world.
There was strength and affirmation in the intersection of vulnerable and raw emotions in song, dance, art, spirituality, literature – all the things that make us human. I thank the poets and singers, storytellers and malong-dancers who brought their full selves to Ohi’yo, without reservation.
There was solemnity in the last ritual I attended, officiated by Paring Bert. He built a makeshift altar for a Catholic mass. Behind the altar was the Ifugao healing hut, still a work in progress by Mumbaki Mamerto Tindongan.
With the pines and the forest as witness, I stepped a bit closer to quieting the incessant and critical voices that have prevented me from opening up to “kapwa,” and making my “kalooban” known. I am closer to making meaning of the true and essential essence and identity as a decolonizing Filipin@, indigenous by history and destiny.
When I learned that the 2015 gathering will focus on reflections about indigeneity and Christianity, I wasn’t quite sure that I wanted to attend.
A little bit of background: I grew up in a Christian sect in the Philippines whose teachings center around vilifying the Catholic church. It was cult-like in its exclusivity and laser focus on "othering" doctrine that presented its members with a false sense of superiority over non-believers.
Even though my immediate family did not practice Roman Catholicism, the influence of the Church was all around us. I spent a great deal of my childhood indoctrinated in the protestant Christian tradition, while also fully immersed in my Lola’s Catholic faith (she had a Santo Niño in every room of her house in Manila).
I hadn’t been a Christian for a long time. In my youth, I was unceremoniously kicked out of the church for falling in love with a Muslim man. I have since explored other spiritual paths, including Sufism, O.T.O., and Buddhism.
I fully embrace the lifetime challenge and struggle of decolonization. Since the 2013 CfBS symposium, I have become more interested in exploring the spiritual path ingrained in our indigenous memory.
Decolonization is deep and lifetime work. Personally, I know that Christianity is not for me. Yet, I also am fully aware that my psychic programming is heavily weighted by the Christian / Catholic moral code. I continue to wrestle with the notion of decolonization, and whether we, as a Filipino people, can really become decolonized while still holding on to the mythology of Christianity.
I came to the Ohi’yo symposium with these questions: Why do millions of Filipinos continue to worship a god brought by people who colonized, oppressed and enslaved? In the journey toward decolonization, why is there still room for Christianity? Is it really possible for our colonized people to break free from the shackles of the cross and the sword?
The conversations, the rituals, and the power of togetherness generated and sustained transformational energy. Surely for me, the experience at Ohi’yo did not inspire a “come to Jesus” revival. You won't see me running for the nearest church, pleading entry back into the fold.
But …
There was depth in Paring Bert’s narrative about working for peace in Mindanao, engaging Catholics, Muslims and indigenous tribes toward better understanding and lasting peace. Creating connections by empowering tribes to lean more pridefully upon their indigenous knowledge and wisdom.
There was sincerity in Ka Grace Nono’s explanation of her indigenous awakening. Realizing the hypocrisy of the representation of Jesus, a peace-loving prophet made into a bigot by a church that needed to control and coerce, in order to pillage resources and destroy cultures. Hearing the chants of the babaylan provided Ka Grace a renewed purpose to amplify the songs and voices of our ancestors long muted by centuries of colonization.
There was vulnerability in Carmen Manalac Scheurman’s transformation to “Lamuwan Kata,” healing the divides of her Aeta ancestry and advocacy for her beloved tribe, with her chosen spiritual home as a Methodist minister.
There was rhythm in James Perkinson’s poetry, and his truth-telling about the enduring indigeneity of Christianity in all its forms and practices throughout the colonized world.
There was strength and affirmation in the intersection of vulnerable and raw emotions in song, dance, art, spirituality, literature – all the things that make us human. I thank the poets and singers, storytellers and malong-dancers who brought their full selves to Ohi’yo, without reservation.
There was solemnity in the last ritual I attended, officiated by Paring Bert. He built a makeshift altar for a Catholic mass. Behind the altar was the Ifugao healing hut, still a work in progress by Mumbaki Mamerto Tindongan.
With the pines and the forest as witness, I stepped a bit closer to quieting the incessant and critical voices that have prevented me from opening up to “kapwa,” and making my “kalooban” known. I am closer to making meaning of the true and essential essence and identity as a decolonizing Filipin@, indigenous by history and destiny.
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