The chant of the Pasyón which fills the air in the stillness of the night either sends one in deep slumber or caught in a battle with insomina.
Waking suddenly at the wee hours of the morning, I can still hear the hymn and the melody of this epic narrative although I am unable to understand any of its lines or syllables. Lest I be thought of complaining, I see the Pasyón much like a lullabye sung by a mother to put her child to sleep, a canticle which paints to me an image of Michelangelo’s La Pieta.
In my Kapampangan Literature class, I never fail to include the Pasyón as one of the topics of the course. I want my students to appreciate the richness and beauty of our local literature with examples of this genre that speak of our deep sense of devotion.
But I likewise lament the seeming demise of the Pasyón which is even more evident with the scarcity of chanters who narrate it the traditional way and not belt it in some modern pop tunes. My childhood memories teem with images of the Pasyón. I remember how as a young boy my mother would tag me along in chapels, churches, and even in houses where there was Pasyón or Pabasa (as it is called in Tagalog). There were even times when we would stay in one place or a series of places for consecutive days and nights from the beginning (“Isandal” as termed in Kapampangan which is usually Holy Monday) until the end (usually in the morning of Good Friday).
As a child, I could not yet comprehend the meaning of the chants. There were even times when I found it amusing when some of the chanters would misread their lines. ( Yes, I still remember the names of the chanters to this day, like Apung Tana who I saw just last week. It’s great to know that she’s still alive and is perhaps a hundred years old already.)
I would go with my mother more for the food like the pansit and sopas. More often, I would end up sleeping in church pews and benches. The melody and the hymn of the Pasyon was music to my ears.
Looking back, I could somehow attribute my love and appreciation of the Pasyón to my childhood experience. Subconsciously, I learned the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ through the countless chants even if these were unclear to me during that time. I could say that this also served as part of the foundation of my faith.
More than an example of an epic narrative in literature that needs to be preserved and propagated, the Pasyón is a religious tradition that hopefully would remain and last to constantly remind us of how Jesus Christ loved us even if it meant suffering and dying in the Cross.
To me, the Pasyón is a chant and a canticle that tells the love of Mary to her Son. She weeps the death of her Son and puts Him to sleep, quite different from the typical lullabye hushed by a mother to her child. Mary’s was a lot more hurting yet liberating, more piercing yet celebrating, more losing yet sanctifying.
It’s almost the break of dawn and the chants are still on going. I almost thought it’s already the Holy Week but I realized this is an early Pabasa. Whether the Pasyón could begin this early, I think I need to confer with the chanters especially Apung Tana. I also wonder if they still serve pansit or sopas which would be a welcome treat at this hour of the morning. It would be a long day ahead, I think I need to go back to sleep with the melodious chants in the background sans the church pews and benches this time.
(The author is Education Program Supervisor at DepEd Regional Office III)