Mumbakis
For many Ifugao, practicing the native traditions conflicts with their Christian beliefs. Auntie Lourdes told me a story the other day after dinner. We started to talk about the traditional Ifugao practices, and she mentioned that her father was a mumbaki (Ifugao priest).
“I never thought it was any problem,” she said. “When we left for university, he would sacrifice a chicken and pray for our safety, and when we returned he would sacrifice another chicken. He was just thanking God, and we always ate the chicken. The problem was when we looked inside the chicken to know answers about the future [a common ritual—to look for omens in chicken bile or liver placement]. That’s where there was a conflict.”
Now her family is Catholic, except for Lola, her mother-in-law, who is Evangelical. In many ways, the Catholic Church has offered the most support to Ifugao locals who wish to remain Christian as well as hold onto some elements of their native heritage. But Auntie Lourdes doesn’t have any interest in practicing the traditions now. She did, however, describe an event she witnessed as a child that she never forgot.
“There was a time when we had a smaller harvest than usual. The people in our village gathered all the rice bundles together and stored them under the [native] house.” (The space between the ground and the bottom of a native house is usually around five feet high.) “When we stacked all the bundles they only came to about halfway up—this meant we had a very bad harvest and we wouldn’t have enough rice for the year.
“Well,” she continued, “The mumbaki in our village got very angry. He shouted at the sky and shook his fist. He yelled out, ‘Why? Why did you give us such a bad harvest? We have done our rituals, we have sacrificed our chickens to you—why did you give us this bad harvest?’” Auntie Lourdes paused and smiled at me. “So then he did some small rituals; he went away for awhile and prayed. We did not know what he was thinking. Then, he came back and gathered us together. He told us we had to unstack the bundles and spread them all around again. So the people did that. Then he told us we had to restack the bundles again. Se we did.” She paused and her eyes widened. “And when we did, you know what happened? The bundles went all the way to the bottom of the house!” She was quiet for a moment as she watched my eyes widen. She added, “It really happened. It was like a miracle.”
I know Auntie Lourdes, and she’s an accountant—a very practical woman. Yet I hear stories like this all the time. I don’t really know what to make of them, but they help me understand the depth of faith the locals have, as well as their very personal relationship with God. Though their religion may have changed form, they still view God as a force interacting very deeply and personally in their lives. They still worship a God that blesses them with miracles.
For many Ifugao, practicing the native traditions conflicts with their Christian beliefs. Auntie Lourdes told me a story the other day after dinner. We started to talk about the traditional Ifugao practices, and she mentioned that her father was a mumbaki (Ifugao priest).
“I never thought it was any problem,” she said. “When we left for university, he would sacrifice a chicken and pray for our safety, and when we returned he would sacrifice another chicken. He was just thanking God, and we always ate the chicken. The problem was when we looked inside the chicken to know answers about the future [a common ritual—to look for omens in chicken bile or liver placement]. That’s where there was a conflict.”
Now her family is Catholic, except for Lola, her mother-in-law, who is Evangelical. In many ways, the Catholic Church has offered the most support to Ifugao locals who wish to remain Christian as well as hold onto some elements of their native heritage. But Auntie Lourdes doesn’t have any interest in practicing the traditions now. She did, however, describe an event she witnessed as a child that she never forgot.
“There was a time when we had a smaller harvest than usual. The people in our village gathered all the rice bundles together and stored them under the [native] house.” (The space between the ground and the bottom of a native house is usually around five feet high.) “When we stacked all the bundles they only came to about halfway up—this meant we had a very bad harvest and we wouldn’t have enough rice for the year.
“Well,” she continued, “The mumbaki in our village got very angry. He shouted at the sky and shook his fist. He yelled out, ‘Why? Why did you give us such a bad harvest? We have done our rituals, we have sacrificed our chickens to you—why did you give us this bad harvest?’” Auntie Lourdes paused and smiled at me. “So then he did some small rituals; he went away for awhile and prayed. We did not know what he was thinking. Then, he came back and gathered us together. He told us we had to unstack the bundles and spread them all around again. So the people did that. Then he told us we had to restack the bundles again. Se we did.” She paused and her eyes widened. “And when we did, you know what happened? The bundles went all the way to the bottom of the house!” She was quiet for a moment as she watched my eyes widen. She added, “It really happened. It was like a miracle.”
I know Auntie Lourdes, and she’s an accountant—a very practical woman. Yet I hear stories like this all the time. I don’t really know what to make of them, but they help me understand the depth of faith the locals have, as well as their very personal relationship with God. Though their religion may have changed form, they still view God as a force interacting very deeply and personally in their lives. They still worship a God that blesses them with miracles.
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