Denelli Villanueva Sir Louie Sanchez

En 11- R47 30 October 2015

“Within the Holy Walls”

There’s this idea stuck in our minds that creaky wooden floors, and termite infested
walls give authenticity to a parish. That the smell of musk and burning candles give the
feeling of peace. The sound of wings flapping, right outside the walls of the cathedral, gives a
sense of peace as white doves fly away. A great oak tree a few yards away from the
structure’s back door, where young adults, such as myself, hang around. The benches that
carry the people, and the weight on their shoulders. I used to believe that these are what give
a sanctuary its identity. But I was wrong.

Along the busy Commonwealth Avenue, in the middle of high-rise and commercial
buildings, call center agencies, and scattered ​chop-chop c​ ar shops, small-time furniture shops,
and advertisement boards, stands the home of faith. This place is a stronghold of years-old
traditions, a fortress of peace— a sanctuary. She is pretty hard to miss, with her great pillars
and magnificent front. With its old ambiance, you would not expect her to be sixteen years
old.

As I looked at this glorious infrastructure, I couldn’t help but marvel at the

complexity of her architecture. Like a mother with welcoming arms— her main entrance of
arched bricks, is waiting for her children’s reciprocated embrace. Her walls as ears, listening
to probably thousands, if not millions, of prayers, wishes, confessions, and dreams everyday.
The stained-glass windows brings color to her face. Just by looking at her, would give anyone
the feeling of being special. Her skylights, would shine light upon her children’s faces, as if
giving them her full attention. Her walls, beautifully decorated with the story of her Father’s
sacrifice. The marble basins that stand waiting by her doors, intricate carvings of angelic
designs, as if watching over each child that enters. Blessed water, to wash away her
children’s sins. The wide marble-tiled isle, making a path to the gold and white platform,
complemented by the oak-brown of its pillars. This is her heart— the center of worship.

As I stared at the beautiful craftsmanship , I cannot help but wonder about what
stories are waiting to be told. Yes, she may have been standing for only a little over a decade,
but the shared experiences of the families, the the amount of tears that have been shed, the
laughter that has echoed through her walls, the stories, the memories— these are what make
her old.

Outside, near the entrance of the majestic palace of faith, is an area for lighting
candles. The candles come in different colors: white, red, blue, green, and yellow. Each color
represents different powers. White candles represent truth, unity, and harmony, it is often lit
by those who seek protection, healing, and purification. Red candles are lit by people who
seek for passion and love, courage and bravery, respect, and power. Blue ones usually stand
for loyalty, happiness, and guidance. Green is the color of success and abundance, nature and
growth, and luck. Yellow candles embody creativity, intellect, and stability; yellow is usually
related to the power of the mind. People believe that the lighting of a candle would unfold
one, if not all, of its divine potential.
 Whilst I observed the flickering lights of the tea-light candles, I also took notice of the
people burning the wicks. Their eyes are glistening with hope. Their mouths whispering
prayers. And in their hearts: great desire. One stood out among the lot. It was a young girl,
about eight years of age, wearing a rose-pink dress. She was struggling to reach the white
candles on the shelf atop the bed of the lit wax-cylinders. I was just a few feet away from her,
so I gave her a hand. I was curious as to why the candle she chose was white. My curiosity
got the best of me, so I asked. As her sad eyes met mine, she answered: ​“May sakit kasi si
Nanay, kaya sabi ni Ate na magsindi ako ng puting kandila para gumaling siya agad”.​ It
isn’t everyday that we come across people like this— heart and soul like an angel’s. Her
intentions, pure. Her unwavering hope. It is rare to see someone with faith in the unseen, as
strong as hers. She may seem naive and innocent to some who have little to no faith in the
unseen. Though, to me, I think she’s lucky to see more of what good is left in this world, than
the bad. Her face held the innocence of a baby’s. I feel very fortunate to have been able to
come across this kid, glowing with purity. She is like a light of hope and wonder in the
middle of a crowd of people with tainted intentions, and (maybe) somewhat selfish prayers.
Our encounter may have been the most insightful in my visit to the church.

Although it was a Monday, there were a lot of people in the cathedral. What struck me
wasn’t the amount of people present, but their ability to blend together as one, and together
with God. As I sat on one of the pews, I observed the faithfuls. It seemed as though to each
was his own. But this observation of mine was proven wrong as I saw an old woman and a
young lady, from far ends of the holy area, speak a words of understanding by just looking
into each one’s eyes. Maybe it is true, what they say about the eyes being a window to one’s
soul.

I looked around again, feeling slightly overwhelmed as my eyes went over the wide
array of devout people, and the grand walls of the church bearing the story of Jesus Christ,
hoping to find yet another magnificent discovery. My eyes rested on a man opposite to where
I was, probably around his forties, with his whole leg wrapped in a brace, and his crutches
resting against the bench. He was kneeling behind a pew, his hands together, and under his
chin in a praying form. His already small frame seeming smaller, in the august edifice. What
stood out were his glazed over eyes, reflecting the light from one of the skylights. Heavy with
raw emotion, sparkling with hope, containing tiny specks of desperation, his eyes showing his
vulnerable self. This shows how the environment of this church, brings out the innocence in
everyone.

This is the power of the sixteen year-old church, she is young yet wise. She shows the
vulnerability of everyone. Even the brave and confident, and the shy and silent would yield to
her power. Vulnerability brings out the innocence of a person— the untainted child buried
underneath all his/her sins.

After this epiphany, I looked around the parish once again, but now with new eyes.
The old and the young, both exhibit the purity of their soul. The men and the women, and the
ones in between, radiate a similar kind of hope. People who use different languages, speak
one thing. The rich and the poor, all share the wealth of God’s love. This is a place of unity.

Being located at the area of convergence between wealthy city life, and the lives of
the less fortunate, Saint Peter Parish brings together the different social classes. Inside this
church, I saw the true meaning of equality. Within her walls, everyone is pure. The amount of
stories she holds is unimaginable. My visit to this church, showed me the truth behind what
gives the holy place her identity. Contrary to what I first thought, the age of a church does not
define the wisdom one can find behind its doors.

The walls of the holy place, holds many secrets and many truths. The stories she bears
are far from what people think. Everyday more than a hundred people enter this church.
Some come bearing questions, and with the hope of being answered. The structure of peace,
ironically placed along a very busy and noisy road. She gives the people around her a sense
of peace, and a touch of innocence, to be a breath of fresh air from the stress and problems of
the real world.

As I entered the church once more, with my new set of eyes, I felt like entering
another world. Like a sort of escape from university stress, and the quick-paced living in the
messed this messed-up world. Saint Peter Parish, to me— after my very insightful visit, is a
sanctuary in the middle of a chaotic reality. Her walls are like shields, protecting her children
from the madness that surrounds them, even it it is for just a while. This place of holiness, is a
safe haven for the troubled, the source of strength for the weak, and the home for the needy.

As I exited the parish, I felt better. I felt like the innocent child I once was, if that’s
even possible. I entered the place with certain expectations, and I left with my expectations
exceeded. I may not be religious but my experiences here surely touched my heart, in a way.
It was a beautiful moment of my life, when I saw the change in the people from the minute
they entered the church and the minute they left. From being heavy with burden, and burning
with desire to calm and collected, hopeful and renewed.

To conclude my very inspiring adventure, Saint Peter Parish isn’t just the house of the
Lord, but is the home of humanity. She is a world of peace. She is the light of devout people,
in this dark and dangerous world. She is their confidant, their keeper of sanity. She brings
clarity to the confused. She is the sanctum of all.