A quiet night, a burned memory
On the night of December 31, 2007, after the New Year’s Eve Mass, a fire broke out at the Mary Immaculate Parish Nature Church in Moonwalk Village, Las Piñas. A rocket-type firework landed on the roof and started the fire.
The Mass had already ended. The church was empty. No one was inside. No one was hurt.
The church, founded in 1987, was known as a quiet place. It was built using natural materials and designed to feel calm and open. People went there to pray, sit quietly, and think. That night, after everyone had gone home, the church was peaceful—until fireworks from outside reached it.
The roof was damaged by the fire. Later on, the church was repaired and reopened. Life continued.
Fireworks are often used because people believe noise drives bad luck away. The louder, the better. That night showed something else. The noise did not drive danger away. It brought it closer.
It is also good that no one was inside the church when the fire happened. If it had happened earlier, people could have been hurt. Silence, at that moment, kept everyone safe.
Sometimes, when things are very loud, people forget what already went wrong in the past. Injuries. Fires. Close calls. The noise outside becomes so strong that it covers the noise inside—the part that remembers and learns.
The peaceful church shows a simple truth. Loud does not always mean safe. Quiet does not mean weak.
Maybe welcoming the new year does not need explosions.
Maybe it starts better with calm.
Maybe it starts with peace.
⌨ ᴛʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᴏᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʙˡᵘᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵉᵐ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜ ᵇˡᵒᵍ
