Pakil, Laguna was our last stop before going to Siniloan to catch a jeep to Tanay, Rizal province, which is our way home. After touring Paete, we waited for nearly an hour on the rainy side of the highway for another Siniloan-bound jeep. Pakil is tucked in a hilly patch of land near the shore of Laguna de Bay, and one of its most important features is the Parish Church of San Pedro Alcantar, which houses the famed Our Lady of Turumba, an image of the Virgin of Sorrows venerated and flocked by devotees because of its miraculous origin.

The church itself was a beauty to behold. Tired from the Paete walking tour, B and I sat in the windy courtyard which had a nice little garden. B was tired and aching all over so he decided to sit down for a bit while I toured the church alone.

As I proceeded with the rest of the church, I caught a group that was being given a brief tour by the church’s caretaker. The caretaker explained that the church houses an important religious and historical relic of the Virgin of Sorrows. According to the local lore, the Our Lady of Turumba was a painting brought by a missionary from Spain. During his evangelistic travels, his boat was tossed in a storm in the middle of the Laguna Lake, and the painting was lost during a particularly torrential downpour. A few days later, a group of fishermen cast their nets into the lake only to find the canvas painting caught with their fish. The fisherman decided to bring the painting to a nearby church, but everytime their boat would approach the shore, there would be a strong wind blowing them back. When the boat approached the shore of Pakil, the wind aided them along. The fishermen went on with their duties and left the painting on a rock near the lakeshore.

A few women noticed the painting on the rock and tried to take it to the nearby chapel, but for some reason, nobody could pry the painting off the rock. As if by miracle, the painting would not budge even if they tried with all their might. Convinced that it was a mysterious painting, they called the local priest who then lifted the painting off the rock effortlessly. Realizing that a miracle just happened, the townsfolk present at the scene fell to their knees, trembling, uttering words of praises in strange tongues. To this day, the scene is being reenacted during the feast day of the Lady of Turumba. Turumba, according to the caretaker, means to fall on one’s knees in joy and worship.

The caretaker took me to the chapel where the relic was enshrined. I was trying to take a photo of the painting but every shot was just bad and blurry. I thought it was the light bouncing off of the glass that protects the paintings, so I asked the caretaker to adjust the dimmer switch in the chapel. We dimmed it, brightened it and turned it off altogether, but to no avail. The caretaker freaked the hell out of me when he said that one should ask permission from the Virgin first before taking a photo of the painting. I thought he was nuts, but he was totally serious so I talked to the painting, no matter how silly it felt. For some weird, supernatural and outlandish reason, the subsequent shots I took with my digital camera showed a relatively huge improvement. I’m one heck of a skeptic, and I have long forgotten Catholicism and it’s little traditions but it was enough to remind me that faith sometimes has basis, and there is a reason why hundreds and thousands flock to Pakil every year just to gaze upon the painting. A Mona Lisa in its own right, the Our Lady of Turumba attracts a hefty number of devotees from all over the Philippines each year. So that’s it. A miraculous painting, indeed.

I thanked the caretaker for his help and rushed downstairs to tell B about what just happened. Intrigued, he forgot about his achy feet and joined me and the caretaker with yet another tour around the church. After the tour, we took the jeep to Siniloan, capping off our Laguna trip with a little miraculous incident that still baffles me up to this date.