Criminology student Michael Calay portrays Jesus Christ in the annual Buhing Kalbaryo religious reenactment on Good Friday, April 18. | CDN Photo/ Pia Piquero
CEBU CITY, Philippines — It was nearing noon, and the sun hung high over Barangay San Nicolas Proper when the clash of spears, the wails of bystanders, and the scrape of sandals against the sunbaked asphalt signaled the start of Buhing Kalbaryo.
Now in its 28th year, the annual Good Friday reenactment drew hundreds to the narrow inner streets of Cebu City, where ordinary people shed their identities to portray extraordinary pain.
There was no stage, no curtain call. Only the open road, where every scream and stumble echoed the final hours of Jesus Christ.
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Faces painted with dust and devotion
Michael Calay, a graduating criminology student playing the role of Jesus Christ for the third consecutive year, bore the suffering with grace as Roman soldiers shoved him forward, a crown of thorns pressed against his forehead.
His face, already smeared with sweat and fake blood, was contorted in a raw, wordless prayer.
Each line he delivered—“Amahan, pasayloa sila, kay wala sila masayod sa ilang gibuhat”—was spoken not with theatrical polish, but with the hoarse sincerity of someone who had spent hours under the beating sun, dragging a splintered wooden cross uphill.
His eyes, bloodshot from exhaustion, occasionally scanned the crowd, not for applause but as if searching for something deeper: “forgiveness, redemption, maybe even a quiet miracle.”
“Katong naa na ko sa krus, akong gi-ampo ang tanan nga nanginahanglan karon; mao ra pud na ang akong ikahatag,” Calay told CDN Digital in an interview.
Behind him, Roman soldiers screamed with cracked voices. Their brows furrowed in fury, cheeks flushed from the heat, and eyes squinted under the weight of helmets and responsibility. Some were fathers. Others were students.
For this day, they became tormentors, with every whip cracked, their eyes betrayed a sorrowful reverence for the man they were condemning.
The Last Supper—and the last gasp
From the joyous entry into Jerusalem to the heartrending betrayal at the Last Supper, each scene was layered with symbolism and emotion.
One could see it in the way Judas clenched his fists before planting that infamous kiss, in how Peter wept after denying his Master, hands trembling, shoulders slumped as if crushed by invisible guilt.
The silence during the sentencing scene was thick. Pontius Pilate, played by another volunteer, spoke in a low, conflicted tone. Even as he washed his hands, his expression said otherwise. His jaw clenched, lips pale, eyes darting downward.
Then came the walk to Calvary.
Four kilometers of faith and ‘flesh’
From San Nicolas to Guadalupe, the procession moved slowly, measured not in steps but in labored breaths. Some performers winced as sweat dripped down their foreheads with every step. Others carried props so heavy their arms trembled. But no one stopped.
The path was long, and the scorching heat of the sun, combined with a reported heat index of over 35 degrees Celsius in Cebu City, made the journey even more grueling. Yet, it was not uncommon to see tears rolling down the cheeks of performers, not just from the physical pain, but from the weight of the story they were telling.
Spectators, many of whom lined the route with handkerchiefs pressed to their mouths, watched in solemn silence. Some cried. Others clasped their rosaries. Children clung to their mothers’ legs, eyes wide at the sight of a bloodied Christ stumbling under the cross.
And when Calay was finally hoisted onto the makeshift cross, his arms stretched and tied with ropes, a sudden hush fell over the street. The birds, the motorcycles, even the impatient honking from distant cars seemed to pause.
A woman in the crowd whispered, “Mura gyud og tinuod oy.”
No pay, just purpose
For all its intensity, Buhing Kalbaryo remains an “all-volunteer” effort. There are no paid actors, no lighting rigs. Only hearts. Only bodies willing to break for the story of salvation.
Former Cebu City mayor Michael Rama, who serves as the overall chairman, said that the production is powered by faith and fueled by community.
“This is purely bayanihan. Zero ang assistance from the city. We don’t spend anything from government funds. Everything is given—from materials to meals—by the people who believe in this tradition,” Rama previously said.
And for the cast, their reward is not monetary, he added.
It was only spiritual. It was seeing a mother bow her head as Peter wept. It was hearing a child ask who Jesus is. It’s watching a stranger make the sign of the cross in the middle of a busy road.
This year, for the first time in its nearly three-decade run, the Buhing Kalbaryo introduced a new ending—one that artistic director Almarie June Jacaban described as “more powerful than ever before.”
“If the opening touches your heart, the ending will shatter it in the best way,” Jacaban said.
And it did.
As the final scene played out, with Christ on the cross uttering his last words, the crowd stood still. Then, a quiet sob. Then, another. The grief was collective, shared between performer and audience, between faith and flesh.
The passion lives on
For all its grit and sweat, Buhing Kalbaryo is not just a retelling of the Passion. It is a living testimony to what people will do for faith, for tradition, and each other.
There are no fancy backdrops or celebrity headliners, only a community willing to resurrect hope every Holy Week, with nothing more than worn sandals, weathered scripts, and hearts wide open.
On the streets of Cebu, under the searing sun and the shadow of a wooden cross, the Passion lives—not in silence, but in every cry, every prayer, every footstep of devotion.
