Every year in the Philippines, a scene unfolds that looks like something straight out of a historical epic—but it’s happening live, in real time, in front of thousands.
In a small village in Pampanga province, Christian devotees go to breathtaking—and often bloody—lengths to show their devotion during Good Friday.
It’s more than just a performance. For those involved, it’s a deeply personal and spiritual journey.
A Scene That Stops Crowds in Their Tracks
In the village of San Pedro Cutud, just north of Manila, locals and tourists alike gather by the hundreds to witness a ritual like no other.
This year, 64-year-old carpenter Ruben Enaje took part in the reenactment of Jesus Christ’s crucifixion for the 36th time.
That’s right—36 years of literally being nailed to a wooden cross.
Wearing only a crown of thorns and a white cloth around his waist, Enaje allowed actors dressed as Roman soldiers to hammer two-inch nails through his palms.
Ropes and fabric supported his body as he hung high above the crowd, replicating the suffering of Christ.
Onlookers stood in stunned silence as he stared out into the sea of faces.
Blood, Whips, and Unflinching Faith
But the crucifixion scene is only part of the story. Leading up to it, dozens of barefoot men walk through dusty village streets, rhythmically whipping their backs with bamboo flails tied to ropes.
Their bodies are quickly covered in blood, with deep cuts forming across their skin.
Some even lie face-down on the ground while others lash them, razor blades sometimes used to speed up the bleeding.
It’s a brutal display, no doubt, but for many, it’s a sacred form of penance.
The tradition began nearly 60 years ago as a way for poorer communities to ask for divine intervention—whether it be healing, forgiveness, or help in times of need.
“The Pain Numbs, But the Purpose Remains”
For Enaje, this reenactment is rooted in a miracle. When he was 25, he fell from the third floor of a building at a construction site and miraculously survived.
He made a vow to God to offer a sacrifice of gratitude each year—hence the crucifixions.
Over the years, he’s continued the tradition not only for himself, but also to pray for loved ones and sick villagers who often seek his intercession.
He shared that while the first few seconds of being nailed to the cross are excruciating, the pain dulls after a while.
Still, this year’s event felt especially intense as the Passion Play was extended, leaving his body sore for hours afterward.
A Ritual That Transcends Borders
Although this dramatic practice is most visible in the Philippines, similar events have taken place in countries like Mexico, India, and Lebanon.
In the Lebanese village of Qrayyeh, men in white robes carry wooden crosses through the streets, followed by others dressed as Roman soldiers, acting out the whipping and crucifixion of Jesus.
In India, where Christians make up a small minority, one man was seen with blood streaming down his face as he carried a massive wooden cross, soldiers trailing behind.
Despite being outnumbered in population, these communities still put on passionate and emotional reenactments every Easter season.
A Mix of Reverence and Spectacle
The Philippines’ Good Friday rituals have become both a spiritual event and a tourist attraction.
Visitors from around the world flock to see the intense reenactments. Enaje has even become something of a local icon.
And though there was a brief pause in the tradition during the COVID-19 pandemic, the performances have since resumed in full force.
These Passion Plays typically walk viewers through the final hours of Jesus’ life—his trial, the carrying of the cross, and finally, his crucifixion.
It’s an emotional journey, whether you’re participating or watching.
Controversial, Yet Unwavering
It’s worth noting that the Catholic Church itself doesn’t officially endorse these extreme acts of penance.
Leaders encourage prayer and reflection over physical harm.
Still, many Filipinos feel that this raw, visceral display of faith is the truest expression of their devotion.
As Holy Week unfolds each year, many of the country’s 110 million people—about 80% of whom are Roman Catholic—participate in quieter ways, through processions, prayers, and acts of kindness.
But for others, especially those in small villages, bloodied backs and nailed hands are how they choose to honor their Savior.
Faith, Pain, and Purpose
In the end, this practice isn’t about shocking outsiders—it’s about fulfilling promises, expressing gratitude, and keeping traditions alive.
As Enaje once said, this act is his way of thanking God for saving his life and giving back to his community.
While the world watches with curiosity and sometimes disbelief, for those involved, it’s a deeply personal expression of faith that words can’t quite capture.