MAGNET OF LOVE: The Unburned Child of Cebu’s Heart

What does love feel like when it pulls you in without asking? They say magnets have this invisible force; you don’t see it, you don’t even know how it works, but when it grabs you, it grabs you. That’s what Sinulog is — a magnet of love, a force drawing you closer no matter how far you try to walk away. It’s Cebu’s heart, echoing like a drum, loud enough for the world to hear.

The moment you step into Colon Street, the city grabs hold of you. The drums start beating. People move in sync, dancing the two-steps-forward, one-step-backward rhythm — a step that mirrors the old Pahina River that once ran through Cebu. This dance, called Sinulog, is a celebration of the Señor Santo Niño, the Child Jesus: the same image Magellan gave to Queen Juana of Cebu in 1521, and the same image that now sits in the Basilica Minore del Santo Niño de Cebu, where millions of people line up to pray for miracles.

Magnets work because of a fundamental property of physics: their magnetic field. Every magnet has two poles, a north and south, and when opposite poles meet, they pull toward each other. Sinulog is like that. It’s the meeting of two energies—devotion and celebration—that draw you in, no matter where you’re from or how far you’ve traveled.

It was a moment that seemed to defy both fire and fate. In April 1565, when Miguel Lopez de Legazpi’s men landed on the island of Sugbu (former name of Cebu), they did what conquerors often do: burn the land to the ground.

The settlement they discovered was reduced to ash, its people driven away or lost to the flames. Among the rubble, though, was something that should have been destroyed, something that endured the fire's wrath and somehow survived. Wrapped in white cloth and resting in a Spanish-crafted wooden box, the Santo Niño was found.

Juan de Camus, one of Legazpi’s sailors, unearthed the image, and the moment was seen as miraculous. The icon’s survival became a symbol of divine favor, and Legazpi himself saw to it that devotion to the Holy Child would spread throughout the islands. This marked the beginning of many devotions to the Santo Niño in the Philippines, each one carrying with it the whispers of that first miraculous discovery. 

Six years later, on the very site where the Santo Niño was found, a church was built. Dedicated to the Holy Name of Jesus, it became the first Christian church in the Philippines, now known as the Basilica Minore del Sto. Niño de Cebu.

The story of the Santo Niño de Cebu begins long before its discovery in those smoldering ruins. It is said that Ferdinand Magellan brought this image with him when he arrived in the Philippines in 1521, one of several religious icons carried from Spain. 

This figure, carved from wood in the Spanish colony of Flanders, was no ordinary statue. Clad in the courtly dress of Spanish children from the 16th century—long-sleeved shirts with lace ruffles, gold-embroidered vestments, and royal accessories—the image exuded power. With its right hand raised in benediction and holding a scepter, it symbolized justice, authority, and the might of Spain. The orb in its left hand, crowned by a cross, spoke of dominion over all creation, the child Jesus presiding over the vast territories Spain claimed in the name of the crown.

The Santo Niño’s attire and adornments carried their own weight in history. Draped in red, standing on a pedestal etched with intricate designs, it was a symbol of wealth, devotion, and sovereignty. Among its treasures were old Spanish gold coins and a golden ram pendant, gifts from King Charles III, which would be passed down through generations. Though the image was once ebony in color, it was repainted after World War II, concealing a scratch on the child’s cheek with a pale yellow hue — perhaps a sign of the enduring nature of this miraculous image despite the scars left by history.

But it was not just the power of the icon that made Santo Niño significant. It was the story of how it was first received by the people of Cebu, particularly by Hara Amihan, the wife of Rajah Humabon.

In an emotional moment recorded by Magellan’s chronicler Antonio de Pigafetta, the Queen, baptized as Juana, saw the Holy Child for the first time. As she gazed upon the image, Juana was moved to tears, so overwhelmed by the sight that she asked for the image to be left with her. And so it was, as Juana, with her handmaidens, danced in jubilant celebration, a dance that would eventually be known as the Sinulog.

From that moment, the Santo Niño became more than a statue—it became a symbol of faith and devotion for the Filipino people. The Sinulog festival, born from Juana’s joyful acceptance of the Holy Child, continues today, filled with dances and chants of “Viva! Pit Senyor!”

 

Like a magnet, love does not ask. It simply pulls. You don’t need to know the words by heart. You don’t need to be a theologian or a choir member. All you need is to be there, to raise your hand with the crowd, to sing Batobalani sa Gugma and you’ll feel it. Whether it’s peace, love, or a hunger for something more, that’s the invisible pull of Sinulog.

Batobalani sa Gugma has been around for centuries. First recorded in 1788, the hymn is as old as the faith it represents, but its resonance only grows stronger over time. The first version of the song, recorded by the Archivo de la Provincia Agustiniana de Filipinas in Valladolid, Spain, was printed in Manila at the Seminario Conciliar y Real de San Carlos by Agustin de la Rosa y Balagtas.

 It was written in Cebuano, capturing the culture and devotion of the people it was meant for. This early version of the hymn was more poetic, a carefully crafted piece of literature that showcased both the beauty and depth of Cebuano faith. Over the centuries, it underwent subtle changes, but its essence remained the same — an expression of love and devotion, a song for the Sto. Niño.

Batobalani sa Gugma wasn’t always the simple, accessible version we know today. By the 1980s, there was growing concern that the true religious roots of Sinulog were getting lost in the sea of street dancing and revelry. 

The Archdiocese of Cebu recognized that while Sinulog was a celebration of faith, it had become more of a cultural spectacle than a religious observance. So, in 1985, the hymn was revised to make it simpler, easier for people to connect with, and more in tune with the religious essence of the festival. They made the decision to add a ceremonial gesture: the hand-waving motion, which became symbolic of being drawn closer to the Sto. Niño. This physical act of reaching upward is a representation of the spiritual drawing of the faithful toward the object of their devotion.

And much like magnets, the attraction doesn’t stop at the individual. Batobalani sa Gugma has a way of bringing people together, regardless of background or belief. The act of singing this hymn together creates a bond that transcends differences. As if the very sound of the song forms a connection between all those who partake in it.

"I'm not really a devotee of the Señor Sto. Niño, but there is this one time (in 2020) nga nakahilak kog kalit while singing the Gozos,” (I suddenly cried while singing the Gozos), said Charry Lane Coronel, assistant multimedia editor of SunStar. There's a different kind of feeling. A feeling [of] yearning for acceptance and forgiveness, and the feeling nga naay nipuno sa hollow within you," (and the feeling that something filled the hollow within you), Coronel said.

"Pit Señor!" is a deeply rooted Cebuano expression that is an integral part of the Sinulog Festival, which honors the Sto. Niño or the Child Jesus. The phrase is short for "Sangpit sa Senyor," which translates to "call on the Child Jesus" or "pray to the Child Jesus." It is both a chant and a plea, echoing through the streets of Cebu as millions gather to celebrate the festival in honor of the miraculous image of the Sto. Niño.

Legend says the first Sinulog dance—two steps forward, one step back—was born from a healing miracle. A sick advisor to King Humabon was cured after the Sto. Niño was brought to his side, marking the beginning of a deep devotion that would take hold of Cebu and spread across the islands.

Over time, "Pit Señor!" became the rallying cry during the Sinulog celebration. As dancers perform the Sinulog dance, a prayer and petition are often included with their movements. Devotees would approach the dancers, share their names and prayer requests, and the dancer would shout "Pit Señor!" as they danced, offering the prayers in unison with the rhythmic steps.