MANILA — All his life, Rence Tomas has observed Catholic rituals consistently, having grown up in a family that places piety at the center of the home.

Raised by devout Catholics, Tomas, an entrepreneur who is now in his 40s, says he and his siblings were practically "raised in church." There were many devout Catholics in their neighborhood in Quezon City, and their parish, the Sacred Heart Shrine, was always full during masses.

"Talagang napaka-religious ng community that time '50s, '70s. Sa culture na ganon doon ako na-open, nakagisnan ko Catholic culture of faith na from Lenten season, di kumpleto 'pag isa doon na-miss ko," he says when reached by phone.

(People in the community were very religious back then, the '50s, the '70s. It was in that kind of culture where I was opened to and raised to the Catholic culture of faith. From the Lenten season, it's not complete if I miss one of them.)

But the onset of the pandemic has limited public access to churches, forcing many deeply religious Filipinos like Tomas to miss out on Catholic traditions.

Still, despite being forced to go to Mass virtually and having to forego physical observance of annual rituals, some Catholics with yearly "panata" have found ways to cope, their devotion unwavering despite the circumstances.

Tomas remembers the first time churches were locked during Lent last year.

"Last year wala talaga traditional na palaspas. Sarado lahat, ang lungkot naman. Sa akin nung in-announce na ganon, parang nalungkot ako kasi hinahanap ko naging tradisyon ko, panata ko," Tomas says.

(Last year there was no traditional Palm Sunday. Churches were closed and I felt it was sad. When that was announced, I got sad because I am yearning for my panata, which has become tradition for me.)

It was the first time for him to skip rites he and his family follows to the letter every Lenten season.

There's the morning praise throughout Holy Week, the Visita Iglesia which has brought him to pilgrimages to churches in far provinces, the Good Friday recollection and Santo Entierro (Holy Interment) procession, and the Easter vigil.

"Yearly isa lang diyan di ko ma-attendan kulang na sa akin. Di ako happy, di ako satisfied," he says.

(Yearly if I miss just one of those, I feel like I'm lacking. I'm not happy. I'm not satisfied.)

"So 'yun 'yung nawala at nakakalungkot talaga, iba pa rin 'yung physical kesa online ka lang. Iba pa rin nakikita mo 'yung mga tao, visually nakikita mo 'yung parish, nagkakaroon ka ng lakas ng loob, nabubuhayan," he adds.

(That's what we lost and it's really sad. It's really different to be physically present in those rites instead of just going online. It's different when you see the people, you see the parish, you get strength in spirit and it enlivens you.)

Tomas remembers how, after being unable to physically go to Masses for months, he returned to church at the start of Simbang Gabi (dawn mass) in December last year. At the time, quarantine restrictions allowed limited attendance in religious gatherings.

"Naiyak talaga ako non, kasi after how many months eh nakapasok uli ako ng church. Parang ang feeling ko non nakakulong ka, 'pag lumabas ka may takot. Nung December nandun ung happiness, pasalamat," he says, adding he was thankful at the time that none among his family and friends have been stricken with the virus.

(I really cried because after how many months I was able to go to church again. I'd been feeling like I was isolated, and when you go out, there's fear [of the virus]. But in December there was happiness and thanksgiving.)

But as he has adjusted to hearing Masses online over the past year, Tomas has come to appreciate its upside.

"Tumatagal sa kaka-online ko at ako lang mag-isa, mas nakaka-focus ako at mas nagninilay ako sa mga homily, mas may impact," he says, adding there are at times distractions inside churches when attending rites physically.

(As time passes and I've been doing online Masses by myself, I am able to focus more and I can reflect better on the homily, it has more impact.)

Tomas is, however, concerned about how the continuing restrictions due to the lingering pandemic might affect some among the faithful, especially the youth.

When before, families would go to church together, he is worried that some of the young ones may be turning away from online masses with all the distractions around them.

They are also missing out on formative youth church activities, including joining church choirs and taking part in Holy Week events that parishes assign to youth groups.

"Kaya tayong mga adult 'wag tayong bibitaw sa tradisyon, kailangan mo kasi ma-encourage kabataan eh. After this pandemic ibalik natin unti-unti 'yan," Tomas says.

(That's why we adults should not let go of traditions, we have to encourage the youth. After this pandemic, let us revive it gradually.)

The Nazarene Devotee

When it comes to youth involvement in church, the example of Ian Christian Fontanilla, a Black Nazarene devotee, shows promise.

Fontanilla, 25, a biomedical engineer from Bulacan, has also been adjusting to the "new normal" way of practicing the faith.

Now on his second year of missing Holy Week rites in Quiapo, where a solemn procession is usually held every Good Friday, Fontanilla says he misses the feeling of taking part in person in church rites.

But changes forced by the pandemic has not made a dent on his devotion, he says.

"Para sa akin wala namang epekto kasi ang panata naman hindi naman dahil sa event lang. Kasi para sa akin 'yung totoong mamamasan o totoong namamanata talaga, even wala 'yung mga event na ganyan, nandun pa rin 'yung kung ano, san ka nagsimula," says Fontanilla, whose devotion to the Black Nazarene began in 2014, influenced by his father Elmer, a long-time devotee.

(For me it [pandemic restrictions] has no effect because the devotion is not based on having events. For me there is true devotion if your faith remains even without the events, and you remember where you started.)

Instead, the situation has made him hang on to his faith stronger, especially as he has experienced the grace of being spared even after COVID-19 befell him.

"Actually mas naging ano pa kasi in times na ngayon, mas kailangan ng mas kakapitan. Sa field ng work ko kasi medyo delikado, di natin masabi, although malakas katawan," he says.

(Actually, my faith became stronger now because I need someone to hang one to. In my field of work, it's a bit risky, we cannot say although I'm strong.)

Fontanilla, who works in a company that supplies medical equipment including those used for RT-PCR COVID-19 testing and vaccine storage, contracted the coronavirus in November 2020.

He is unsure where he got the virus, but he works in the field, visiting molecular laboratories that handle COVID-19 testing.

He had mild symptoms- he lost his sense of taste and smell- but did not even take medicine, he says.

He just drank a lot of water, took Vitamin C, and did steam inhalation. And every 6 p.m. during his 14-day quarantine, he still joined the family's daily prayer via a loudspeaker from his isolation room.

Months since his recovery, Fontanilla continues to venture out to the field for work and is counting on prayers for daily protection.

He also pursues his devotion, helping organize an online Pabasa in his community in San Jose del Monte town, Bulacan, similar to what his group did last year in place of physical rites.

Aware of the risks of the virus, Fontanilla is not eager for the church to resume physical events, even if it means missing another Traslacion in Quiapo.

"Kung zero na talaga, siguro feeling ko kahit isang taon, 2 years para talagang OK na," he says, noting that communities of devotees are getting used to new ways of showing their devotion even without physically going to church.

(When there are zero cases, I think we should wait one or two years for the situation to be OK.)

The Mt. Banahaw Regular

For Mansley Kimhoko, devotion means going up Mt. Banahaw in Dolores, Quezon every Holy Week.

Until the pandemic hit, Kimhoko had been trekking and camping out at the dormant volcano since 1990. It's about two hours from his hometown Pagsanjan in Laguna, and since visiting the mountain known for healing waters and mystical spots 30 years ago, it has become his annual "panata."

He had just missed his personal ritual on a year he had to go overseas, but in 2020, canceling his annual trip was forced by circumstances due to the pandemic.

Kimhoko, Pagsanjan's tourism, culture and arts officer, says spending a week up the mountain with the barest minimum- a tent and food supplies- helps him disconnect from the grind of daily life and recharge his spirit.

"For me, it's back to basics. What if may mangyari sa ating mundo na mawala lahat ng comfort ng buhay? In-attach ko, dumikit 'yung prinsipyo, to do it once a year. Back to basics, no technology, walang ilaw," he says.

(What if something happens and all of life's comforts are gone? It has become a principle for me to do it once a year. Back to basics, no technology, no power.)

For Kimhoko, it's a place "to connect with nature and disconnect from technology."

It began with a visit with his mother in 1990 to bathe in the mountain's natural healing pools. The following year, he led a trek with friends— one filled with rookie trekker mistakes along with the awe experienced by novice hikers— and he has been coming back annually since.

"Nakita ko mga mamang mga nagdadasal sa bato, mga ermitanyo... hindi 'yung common na makikita natin. So sabi ko ang ganda, kakaiba," he says.

(I saw men praying on rocks, hermits... not the common things we see. I told myself it's beautiful, it's different.)

By now he already knows spots in the mountain by heart, notable among which is the natural formation said to have Jesus Christ's footprint, the water on which is believed to have healing powers.

There's also the Kweba ng Diyos Ama (The Cave of God the Father).

"I was fascinated with this one kasi it's a big rock, na may mga campers, maraming nagdarasal (there are campers and many are praying)," he says.

"It's beautiful, parang cathedral. Hindi malalim na cave, you can view it from the outside and wow iba 'yung feeling. It’s the attachment or feeling that makes it different 'di ba. Sa akin, I learned to respect what people are doing or paniniwala nila," he adds.

(It's beautiful, like a cathedral. It's not a deep cave, you can view it from the outside and wow, the feeling you get is different. It's the attachment or feeling that makes it different, right? For me, I learned to respect what people are doing or what they believe in.)

Over the years of going back to the mountain, Kimhoko has made friends with fellow trekkers and members of the local community. He also pays day visits to source coffee from locals there.

"You learn how to be down to earth. Then ang mga tao doon, tao pa, sila 'yung magalang, nanganganopo, Pilipinong tao. It's a community talaga, marami na rin akong naging kaibigan," he says.

(The people there, they are still human, they are polite, they are the real Filipino. It's really a community, and I've gained many friends there.)

While the pandemic has become an obstacle to his annual vow to visit Banahaw, it has not dampened his belief in the mountain's restorative powers.

"Walang choice, OK lang, siguro it’s God’s will. Hindi talaga pwede eh. Sa akin, it's more of a reunion, camping, attachment sa nature. 'Yung bundok tinatawag ako taon-taon. 'Pag lumuwag ito aakyat ako," he says.

(We have no choice, it's OK, maybe it's God's will. It's really not allowed now. For me it's more of a reunion, camping, attachment with nature. The mountain calls me every year. Once the rules are relaxed, I'll come back.)

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