Eight Filipinos were nailed to crosses to reenact Jesus Christ’s suffering in a bloody Good Friday tradition that is both an enactment of faith and a tourist spectacle in the Philippines, despite the Catholic Church’s rejection and disapproval of such extreme displays.
The real-life crucifixions in the farming village of San Pedro Cutud in Pampanga province north of Manila resumed after a three-year pause due to the coronavirus pandemic. About a dozen villagers registered but only eight men participated, including 62-year-old sign painter Ruben Enaje, who was nailed to a wooden cross for the 34th time in San Pedro Cutud.
In a news conference shortly after his brief crucifixion, Enaje said he prayed for the eradication of the COVID-19 virus and the end of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, which has contributed to their hardship as gas and food prices have soared worldwide—including in their village.
Enaje said he wanted to end his extraordinary penitence because of his age but would decide with finality before Lent next year. While the pain from the nailing was not as intense as anticipated, he said he always felt edgy before each crucifixion.
“When I’m laid down on the cross, my body begins to feel cold,” he said. “When my hands are tied, I just close my eyes and tell myself, ‘I can do this. I can do this.’”
Surviving nearly unscathed when he fell from a three-story building in 1985 prompted Enaje to undergo the ordeal as thanksgiving for what he considered a miracle. He extended the ritual after loved ones recovered from serious illnesses, one after another, turning him into a village celebrity as the “Christ” in the Lenten reenactment of the Way of the Cross.
Much as Jesus did in his time, Enaje and the other devotees, wearing thorny crowns of twigs, carried heavy wooden crosses on their backs for more than a kilometer in the scorching heat, on the way to the hill where they would be crucified. Village actors dressed as Roman centurions later hammered 4-inch stainless steel nails through his palms and feet, then set him aloft on a cross under the sun for about 10 minutes.
Other penitents walked barefoot through village streets and beat their bare backs with sharp bamboo sticks and pieces of wood. Some participants in the past opened cuts in the penitents’ backs using broken glass to ensure the ritual was sufficiently bloody.
The gruesome spectacle reflects the Philippines’ unique brand of Catholicism, which clings to church traditions and its iconography.
Many of the mostly impoverished penitents undergo the ritual to atone for sins, pray for the sick or for a better life, and give thanks for miracles.
Church leaders in the Philippines have frowned on the crucifixions and self-flagellations, saying Filipinos can show their deep faith and religious devotion without hurting themselves and by doing charity work instead, such as donating blood.
The religious spectacle has become a commercial success as well, as the “crucifixion festival” has put impoverished San Pedro Cutud on the map.
Organizers said more than 15,000 foreign and Filipino tourists and devotees gathered for the cross nailings in Cutud and two other nearby villages. There was a festive air as villagers hawked bottled water, hats, food and religious items, and police and marshals kept order.
Some tourists choose to attend for what they hope will be the thrill of the forbidden, but sadly for them, they walk away disappointed. “It’s less gruesome than people think. They think it’s going to be very macabre or very disgusting but it’s not. It’s done in a very respectful way.”
