On Korean centurions and ‘gothic’ Mary
During the recent Holy Week, netizens were buzzing over two creative interpretations of the cast of the annual Procession that precedes Easter Sunday. One was the use of Korean elites in place of Roman soldiers, and the other was a more “gothic” depiction of a grieving Mary in flowing black robes with red streaks.
A communal core memory
Historically, the Procession (or Prusisyon), which re-enacts the Passion of Christ, has been a core community memory of Filipino barangays since our Christianization. Aside from a religious activity, it was also a social occasion.
An actor-artist friend who attended this procession of religious floats talked about the silent communication between float bearers, knowing when to pause and when to resume, the synchronized heave-ho-ing and steps born from bonds formed at each Prusisyon.
Many community members also chip in, filling in varied roles to make each occasion a success—from Lola and Lolo lay ministers, traffic aide uncles, and LGBTQIA+ kin, often taking care of the statues in the floats for the rest of the year.
The issue’s resonance is no surprise given how deeply-woven the Prusisyon is in communal Filipino life. Critics of the creative reinterpretations of the Passion scenes argue that “departure” from “accuracy” harms the faithful.
Accuracy based on history
But this calls into question what “accuracy” even is, given the Church’s movement across time and cultures. The history of Christian art shows us that no one civilization—European, Ethiopian, Slavic, Syrian, or Asian—has a monopoly on the images of Jesus and other biblical figures. Whatever the culture, the goal was always the same: to make the core message of the Gospels resonate in the adapting culture.
In fact, if we really want to go far back “for accuracy,” the Gospel writers themselves didn’t provide any physical descriptions of Jesus. And perhaps our popular images of the New Testament’s cast need to be reconsidered in light of archeological evidence and the bigger context of the co-opting of religion for colonization.
Jesus in the Philippines is often depicted as a Caucasian man, closer to the likeness of Westerners who used conversion to Christianity to subjugate Indigenous populations in South America and Southeast Asia in the last centuries.
Subconsciously, we might begin associating whiteness with our “saviors.”
And yet, anthropological evidence points to the historical Jesus being most likely an olive-brown-skinned man, closer to how most Levantine Arabs today look like.
What if our depictions of Christ largely moved toward this image? Would our colonial mentalities begin eroding?
Universal, all-embracing, and inclusive
Here, I can’t help but recall what Catholic school Christian Living Education classes actually taught us in high school—that the “Catholic” in “the Catholic church” means universal, that is, all-embracing and inclusive.
This same secondary school Catholic curriculum also taught the decisions from the Second Vatican Council—held from 1962 to 1965—where church leaders gathered for a major synod (one with this scale and number of changes was last held … 500-ish years ago) to “renovate” the church.
Two decisions from this Council come to mind: First, interfaith dialogue, and second, the localization of the mass. I think we need to remember these developments in light of the recent controversies around the 2026 Prusisyon.
Traditionally, the mass was held in Latin, the priest facing away from the congregation, as lay participation was limited. Today, we have masses in Tagalog, Cebuano, Ilokano, etc., where the priests often adapt jokes and jargon from pop culture to situate the core messages of the Gospel and make them more resonant.
They’re not exactly “accurate” masses if we go by tradition, but the goal has always been to help the faithful plant better roots.
Outside the Philippines, interfaith dialogue went hand-in-hand with localizing the mass, as Catholic churches in India and Japan met with yogis and monks to better understand the home culture and local psyches. And while Jesus, Mary, and the Testaments’ cast were depicted in local dress using local art styles (my favorites are the Chinese paintings of Mary and Child, or the Annunciation), the main content of the masses and Gospels did not change.
My spiritual director, a Cenacle Nun who participated in such exchanges—under directions from no less than Jaime Cardinal Sin himself—told me that since those days, retreat centers in the Philippines have incorporated breath-watching meditation, just as monks in Japan have adapted the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola.
Remember that scene in “21 Jump Street”? If Koreans can better identify with a buff Jesus, doesn’t that mean more people receive the blessings of the Good News?
Creative reinterpretations
As such, creative reinterpretations, which may depart from tradition, can still be “accurate” on deeper levels, if they lead viewers to identify with the core experiences of the faith. The designer who depicted Mary in gothic black and red saw how many also better identified with the grief she felt while Jesus lay in the tomb.
Even Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel painting, which many revere today, was initially controversial, as it was a departure from the artistic conventions and religious depictions of the time. It seems the debate around “accuracy” is as old as tradition itself.
More importantly, a varied range of interpretations can also highlight the timelessness and universality of the messages inherent in the Passion of Christ—forbearance, humor, and kindness in speaking out against injustice, faith in the final triumph of truth, a reckoning with one’s own faults, and the restoration of a community of individuals motivated by inner transformation, ready to meet the world with love.
If in the distant future we meet an alien civilization that also worshipped a prophet who was executed by the people he was trying to help, but resurrected on the third day, teaching love for one’s neighbor, I hope we don’t forget what “Catholic” really means.
