In the Philippines, access to the Traditional Latin Mass is rare, only a handful of locations offer it, and not always consistently. So most of us attend the Novus Ordo. But in many places, the experience has become predictable: casual atmosphere, distracting music, weak sense of the sacred, and a general loss of reverence. These things are often tolerated, even defended, out of fear that stricter practices might drive people away.
Traveling to different towns, I’ve come to expect this pattern. It feels widespread, almost normalized. Perhaps structures like the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines aim to create unity across dioceses, but that same uniformity can sometimes make it harder for individual bishops to decisively restore more reverent practices, even when needed.
And yet, there are exceptions.
In Laguna, particularly in Liliw, I witnessed something different.
On two occasions at St. John the Baptist Church, I found myself unexpectedly moved to tears. Not because of spectacle, but because of silence. There was no unnecessary talking, no distractions. People were modestly dressed, recollected. The choir sang beautifully, accompanied only by the organ, no guitars, no drums. The faithful bowed at the Holy Name, remained prayerful throughout, and received Communion with visible reverence, many on the tongue, and some kneeling.
Even the smaller details spoke volumes: altar servers were disciplined and prayerful; the use of the paten was carefully observed; the commentator did not dominate but quietly guided. There were no interruptions for fundraising. Everything pointed in one direction, toward God.
All this took place in a beautiful old Spanish-era church, with an altar rail still intact. It wasn’t the Traditional Latin Mass, but it was unmistakably sacred. You could truly pray. You could encounter God without distraction, without being pulled into a performance or an emotional production.
Which brings me to this question: if priests and bishops in places like Liliw can foster this kind of reverence, why can’t others?
It’s a rhetorical question. The reasons are not hard to see. But continuing along the current path, where the liturgy is often treated casually, risks deepening the decline of Catholic life in the country. Reverence is not optional. It shapes belief.
Still, this is not meant to discourage, but to give hope.
If it is being done somewhere, it can be done elsewhere.
Even if we cannot directly correct what we see in our own parishes, we can begin with ourselves: how we dress, how we pray, how we receive the Lord, how we form our children. Awareness matters. Formation matters. And perhaps, in time, a new generation of Catholics will not only recognize what is lacking but will also desire, and ask for, a more reverent, more faithful liturgy.
Liliw Church is not perfect, but in some respects it surpasses even the Manila Cathedral in its strengths. Though small and old, it stands as a powerful example of what other parishes could aspire to if greater care for liturgical reverence were embraced.
Because in the end, the way we worship is not a small thing.
It is how the faith survives.
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