A week ago, I received a text message from one of my best friends, Sherwil, inviting me to attend a Saturday evening healing mass in her village’s church. Like most of the text messages I receive these days, I let it sit in my inbox, vowing to decide on it when the time came. And, like most messages in my inbox, I promptly forgot about it. What I would soon find out, however, is that it hadn’t forgotten about me.
On Friday night, Sherwil texted me again, asking if I wanted to come. I was stressed, exhausted, and badly needed sleep, so, again, I told myself I’d reply in the morning. In the morning, I was awakened by a phone call, from the same friend again, who said that if I wanted to hitch a ride to the healing mass, we could meet at the mall near her village. I said I had to clean my laptop’s keyboard—which was true, as I had inflicted upon it the utmost stupidity of a glassful of spilled milk—so I would decide by afternoon.
Afternoon came, and I was still prying key after key off the keyboard, and by five o’clock, I had given up on the idea of going to the six o’clock healing mass. Still, I found out it hadn’t given up on me.
Just as I was about to text Sherwil my regrets, I got a phone call from another friend, Emily, asking if I wanted to go with her to the same healing mass because she was on her way and she could pass by my house—something she rarely offers to do, as she is rarely allowed to use the car—if I could be ready within fifteen minutes.
Well, I could be dense at times, but even I couldn’t ignore the signs pulling me to mass. As if it hadn’t hit me hard enough, the sky suddenly darkened and it started raining in torrents, as if to highlight the comfort that was going to carry me to the place I had to be at.
Later, I would read testimonials on the Blessed Virgin Mary—Mama Mary to us Filipinos—truly being mother-like by providing unexpected comforts or improving a place’s accessibility for would-be pilgrims.
The healing session was carried out by the mystic Emma de Guzman, a former overseas domestic helper, who has been blessed with visions of, or better yet, visits from Jesus, the Blessed Virgin Mary, saints, angels and even Pope John Paul II. She has also been blessed with healing powers, the ability to “read” people’s present states, be it emotional, spiritual or physical, and messages specifically for the Filipino people, who, she says, are very dear to the Blessed Virgin’s heart.
Emma is the foundress of the La Pieta Prayer Group. I hadn’t heard of her before—and this could be attributed to her awe-inspiring humility and simplicity—but also available at the church was a DVD of a June Keithley report on the mystic, simply called “Emma,” which delves into her background and how she first encountered Jesus and the Blessed Mother.
Now, despite having recently discovered the beautiful peace of praying the Holy Rosary, I wouldn’t call myself a Marian devotee. I wouldn’t even consider myself a devout Catholic, as I, by default and ignorance, don’t subscribe to all its tenets and don’t observe all its traditions. But when Emma spoke, I was immediately overwhelmed with an unexplainable sense of joy, peace and love. Tears started welling up in my eyes, and I instantly recognized I was in the presence of someone, something, holy.
I was blessed to have heeded the call to be in its presence.
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