THE GHOST OF GOOD FRIDAY

According to a tenacious legend circulating throughout Europe, after Pilate had delivered Him to the Jews for crucifixion, Jesus was being dragged out to the judgment hall when He paused for a moment  to rest. Seeing this, Cartaphilus, a porter employed by Pontius Pilate, cruelly struck Him on the back with his hand and jeered, “ Go quicker, Jesus, go quicker, why do you loiter?”

In reply, Jesus looked back at the porter and said, “ I am going and you will wait until I return.”
   
In some versions of the legend, Jesus was struck by Cartaphilus as he staggered past bearing his cross. Since that day, Cartaphilus  has roamed the earth unceasingly, unable to die until the last judgment.    ( Culled from Dr. Karl PN Schuker’s writings in the book “ Illustrated Guide to the World’s Natural and Paranormal Mysteries” )

My maternal grandma ,Fortunata Darocca Villalobos  or simply Wawa Ting  (meaning little grandma in Ilonggo)   to us children – was  the original tale spinner of the family and it was from her  I first heard this story.  It is  a heart warming  tale involving a young boy and  a  tormented soul who is up and about only on Good Fridays as he is forbidden to walk the earth on any other day.

          “And this was no ordinary spook,”  Wawating stressed. “When you chance to meet him along the way  after  sundown,  you will see a barefoot, shriveled, ancient beggar dragging his blistered , bloodied feet,  as he mumbles incoherently to himself.  And even at a distance you will know he is not of this world because of the greenish, phosphorescent glow that emanates from his person.”

           Listen to my grandma’s tale:

          I was an irrepressible youngster running wild and free in my grandparents farm in Mindoro. I still remember how  my old nanny, Yaya Duliang,  would admonish me to refrain from laughing too loud or rough playing with the neighborhood children on Good Fridays. She said it was a time for piety and prayers; that it was terribly disrespectful for people to enjoy themselves while our Lord was dying on the cross. She cautioned me and my brother not to wander off too far from our ancestral home because restless, evil spirits roamed the earth on that day.

            “ Remember God is dead on Good Friday.”

           Yaya took care of us children while our parents were busy. We were a rambunctious lot, my brother and I.  And the only way she knew how to keep us out of mischief was to bribe us with a promise of scary stories and sweets from the pantry. Even as children, we knew that behind those locked cupboards were bottles of yummy preserved yams, tubers, vegetables and  fruits no longer in season. And Yaya Duliang was a “magician” in the kitchen !  She could  easily turn leftovers into a feast  fit for the town mayor!

          And best of all, she never ran out of fresh stories. And her stories fueled our imagination. We made believe the birdcalls and cicada chirpings  around the ancient, woodland garden  were distant voices from another dimension, the enchanted world of fairies and elves. My brother and I also liked to imagine that every old beggar who came knocking at our door for alms was a saint or an angel in disguise. And because of this, we were kinder to indigents and children in tattered clothes. We became more aware of our religious duties  , like hearing mass every Sunday and holy days of obligation.  We also  became conscious of our late afternoon curfew and immediately ran home when church bells announced the Angelus.

           But the funny part of this story-telling activity was that my playmates considered  even Yaya Duliangs   most bizarre tales  as “gospel truth”. Most of them had been brought up believing in witchcraft, sorcery and magic and because a thin  line separates religion from superstition (or so I am told), they  easily believed  her  specially when she injected some biblical quotes.

         According to Yaya, it is written in the holy scriptures, that after realizing  his terrible mistake in betraying the Son of God for thirty pieces of silver, Judas Escariot went out to hang himself. But  before the rope snuffed out his life, Judas had cried out, begging the Lord God for mercy.

          It is said, that  days before the crucifixion, the entire army of angels had been placed on “red alert” , ready to answer His summons – for the  Son of God was at His most  vulnerable moments. The prophecy of redemption was now about to be fulfilled – the son of God would die on the cross but on the third day would rise from the dead. And so it happened that Archangel Michael  was passing by the very spot where Judas  chose to hang himself.  And this  powerful  archangel -commander of the heavenly host-  heard Judas’ heart-wrenching cry for God to give him a chance to see Jesus again.

     “Omnipotent  and all merciful God, forgive me for I have sinned terribly. Give me a chance to see your son Jesus again so that I may beg his forgiveness. “

         The archangel, took pity on Judas, and promised to relay his plea  before the Throne of God.  The Almighty One must have been also moved, because He granted Judas’ request under the following conditions:   Every Good Friday, Judas would rise from the dead and walk the earth in search for one needy soul who was “pure of heart”  and to this highly deserving person, he would give one silver coin. This would go on and on, one Good Friday after another until all thirty pieces of silver were exhausted. And then the empty pouch will automatically refill itself and the whole process would  begin all over again,  seventy times seven. 14,700 coins had to be  given away before Judas could be granted  an audience with the Risen Christ.

         The number of coins he had to give away turned out to be the least of Judas’ concern; it was centuries  later when he realized that the real challenge was  finding  that needy someone who was “pure of heart.” Sometimes it took  more than a century for him to stumble upon  such person  with the  short time given   him to roam the earth -  which was from sunrise till sunset of Good Friday.  And it was this soul- searing frustration and excruciating pain of knowing that he was again  in the wrong place at the wrong time  that  defined the punishment of Judas Escariot.

           And from this “biblical reference” sprung forth  Yaya Duliangs tale about a boy and  helpful, wandering ghost.  And she swore  by all that is holy that this was a true story.

         Dadong’s mother, Aling  Rosa, had been very sickly that year. When she finally decided to consult with her doctor-cousin, her x-ray and lab tests confirmed  her cousin’s  worst suspicion – there was a mass growing in her belly. The prognosis was bad. She needed to go to a well-equipped hospital for surgery and her cousin urged her to go to Manila.

     “ I am a general practitioner, Rosa,”  her cousin gently explained to the weeping woman. “ I cannot operate on you. But I know a good surgeon at the PGH. I can accompany you to Manila if you wish.”

       It had been a bad year for the family. A series of misfortunes had completely wiped out their small savings. It all began when a swarm of grasshoppers stormed in from nowhere and consumed their harvestable crops. This was followed by a big fire which razed several establishments, the small factory where his father worked, included. Mang Toribio’s employer had no choice but to close shop.

      And now, this terrible illness. They were neck deep in debt and even the tiny farm where they got most of the food they ate  was already mortgaged and in danger of foreclosure. Where could they possibly turn to for help when all their relatives and friends were in similar predicament?

     It had been three weeks since Aling Rosa consulted her doctor. She was now visibly weaker and her belly was swollen  like that of a woman about to give birth. Every night, through the thin walls separating  their bedrooms, Dadong could hear his father’s muffled sobs of helplessness and despair.

      “ Tahan na Mahal, may awa ang Diyos,” was his mother’s constant reply. And Dadong , unable to bear the agony of his parents any longer, turned to the only person he knew would be able to help  rhem. Didn’t his religion teacher say that Jesus turned away no one, that He was always there when you needed Him?

        It was late in the afternoon and the Good Friday crowd who had come to listen to the “Seven Last Words “ had long dispersed. Only a few devotees stayed behind to pray and to do the Stations of the Cross. Only a few bulbs were lit in deference to the somber mood of the day.

        Dadong, barefooted and in threadbare house clothes, tiptoed self-consciously to his favorite, forlorn corner behind the ancient pillar where a large, wooden crucifix, blackened with time was stationed . He had slipped out of their house without permission, running all the way to the old village  church two kilometers from his home. He just had to talk to Papa Jesus and beg for help.

       “Please don’t be mad at me Papa Jesus. Mama says we must always be presentable when we visit you  but I needed to see you immediately and I must  hurry back again before Papa and Mama notice my absence. I cook supper now, you know, because Mama is always so very tired.” he whispered as he looked up to the figure on the cross, now covered with purple cloth.

       As he prayed, the kneeling boy was unaware of the soft beam of light that suddenly came through from nowhere and illuminated the dark corner with a misty glow. At that moment, he was the forlorn angel talking to the King of Kings and heaven was listening.

          “ Please, my dear Papa Jesus, come to my parent’s aid. If you may, take my life instead. Papa  and Baby An-an need Mama but I don’t think they’ll really miss me. I love my Mama so much I don’t think I could bear to live without her.” Dadong pleaded, tears streaming down his pinched face.

         At the far end of the altar, a silhouette  moved out of the shadows and slowly made his way towards the kneeling child. Dadong, with his eyes  closed in supplication, did not see the tall, barefooted figure dressed in something akin to a shroud, stand behind him. The gaunt-looking stranger whose features bore a striking resemblance to a statue in the church yard, watched the weeping child in silence. After a while, he slowly dipped his hand into a pouch tucked to his waist band and  took out a silver coin.

         “Son,” the bearded stranger reached out, gently touching the boy’s heaving shoulders. “Don’t cry. Your mother will be all right. Take this coin  to your father and tell him to show it to Mr. Silvestre,  the Jewish coin collector. It will bring you enough money for your family’s needs.”

        True enough, the rare silver coin took care of his mother’s medical bills and more. Mang Toribio was  able to redeem their mortgaged farm on time for the next planting season, pay off all their debts  and still had enough to put away in the bank.

         Dadong, now Padre Diosdado of the Franciscan Order, is an octogenarian who continues to  live among the poorest of the poor in a  far-flung fishing village somewhere in Mindoro.  And every time someone would ask him to recall his experience, his face would  break into a beatific smile:  “ The Lord sent down one of His saints to help us that day.”

         But Yaya Duliang vehemently disagreed.  To the day she died, she continued  to affirm  that Dadong, the boy who was pure of heart, had been one of the few  beneficiaries of Judas Escariot,  the soul cursed  to roam the earth until judgment day or until 14,700 coins had been given away.