It is no secret that Catholicism has been used as a political tool, especially of colonial authority. We are painfully aware of the abuses and trauma caused by people of the Church who do not live out the actual teachings of the original, revolutionary Christ, the one who dined with outsiders and washed their feet, the one who called out the hypocrisy of those in power. We know then that there is a difference between what is taught and what is practiced, and it is a tragedy that, more often than not, religion serves to suppress rather than liberate.
In 2021, we celebrated 500 years of Christianity in the Philippines. Before the missionaries arrived, we already had a rich tapestry of beliefs. We already knew that there was life after death, that all the streams of the afterlife led to the world beyond. We were already having communion with the spirits. We didn’t have stone temples, but we spoke to the divine wherever they were—in the village center, the forest, the river, the mountain, and so on. Many friars were left unchecked by their faraway superiors, and many soon became corrupt. They imposed foreign hierarchies of morality and fed on the town’s resources. Religious power became exclusive. The natives then reclaimed their spirituality by appropriating Catholic imagery in their talismans, by turning mystical Latin into spells, and by calling on saints in the very same way they called on the old spirits. It is not merely “Folk Christianity”, which implies an “official” Christianity—it is something else entirely: animism baptized, or a “Christianized Animism.”1
Today, the Philippine Catholic Church holds so much power. Many people are still fighting for rights that are strongly opposed by the Catholic majority.2 Recently, a drag artist was arrested for performing a remix of a religious song. “Offending Religious Feelings” is an actual offense from our Revised Penal Code that can land a person in prison.3 That said, Catholicism has also played a role in many local liberation movements—most notably, the 1986 People Power Revolution, which ended the 20-year administration of the former president Ferdinand Marcos Sr.
When talking about Catholicism, we must recognize that there is a need for accountability and open dialogue. In this series, I talk to a good friend, Bernz O. Caasi, the Philippine lead of the Catholic app Hallow. I met Bernz years ago, when I applied to teach in a school run by the Opus Dei. I ended up pursuing a different path, but we have maintained contact ever since. In our conversation, we discuss the many similarities of indigenous beliefs and Catholicism as well as the realities of religious trauma. The road to healing may be tedious and painful, but acknowledging the problem is a great first step. We don’t have to do this on our own; we can walk with each other.
Further Reading
Juan Rafael G. Macaranas, Understanding Folk Religiosity in the Philippines, 2021
Ma. Crisanta Nelmida-Flores, The Folk in Filipino Catholic Christianity, 2021
Charles J-H Macdonald, Folk Catholicism and Pre-Spanish Religions in the Philippines, 2004
Antoine Vergote, Folk Catholicism: Its Significance, Value and Ambiguities, 1982
This is a term that I first heard from National Artist for Literature Resil B. Mojares.
Especially now on LGBTQ+ issues and the divorce bill.
Interestingly, a priest was also charged with this when he reiterated the Vatican’s ruling that the popular Marian devotion, Mary Mediatrix of All Grace, doesn’t have supernatural origin.