Happy Easter!

As described in my posts below, Holy Week celebrations here in Spain focus on the Passion, the suffering, the crucifiction and so little on the JOY of Christ's resurection and life. Easter Sunday is almost a let down after all the rituals they perform in their processions all Holy Week long.

So today I am focusing on the Joy of Resurection and Love of Jesus, to inspire me to continue in my desire to treat others as I wish to be treated out of love and generosity, not envy, mistrust or selfishness.

I wish you the same inspirations and blessings in God's love on this Easter weekend.

Personal Reflections on my Semana Santa

Eyes full of suffering fix on mine, guilt gags at the back of my throat, confusion quivers under my skin. Am I some how to blame? But for what? The beat of the drum changes, the trumpet’s wail intensifies, the paso continues its 45º turn and Christ’s eyes lock into someone else’s bewildered soul.
The Nazarenos follow in their white coned hats and black robes, their paschal candles illuminate the night. After all these years in Spain their covered faces are still sinister and anonymous to me like the Ku Klux Klan. The antique silver staff is tapped
three times on the pavement, the music ceases and the procession comes to a temporary rest. Spectators return to conversations, many weave in and out of the scene to get to a better spot, children try to cajole candle drippings from the silent Nazarenos to grow their wax ball like a snowball. Mistrust of these hidden penitents doesn’t exist for them.
I shift from leg to leg, rub my sore back, crane my neck to see if the Virgin is in sight yet. I think about Christ’s imploring eyes and wonder why I’m here. The trumpet thankfully interrupts, the drum beats again, brum brum, brum bum bum. A distant bell rings and the Nazarenos angle their candles towards each other forming a medieval-like arch over the street, they resume their silent shuffle. A slight hint of incense tickles my nose, the steady clanking of the swaying palio, (the canopy suspended over the statue) becomes clearer, flickering flames and the mourning Virgin finally appear in the distance above the white peaks. The second band, accompanying the Virgin, now marks the beat that the procession follows, sometimes slow and sorrowful, other times swift and exultant, but always steady and familiar. The costaleros (the men who carry the throne throughout the streets) sway the paso, gently rock it, inch it along or march it forward according to the music. The more frequently and elaborately they do this, the more the crowd applauds them. It is in hopes of seeing this spectacle that I wait so long for the Virgin to pass this corner I have staked as mine.
She is dressed in burgundy velvet, her black cloak, also velvet, is intricately embroidered in gold all the way to the end of it’s 4 meter train. The palio above her is embroidered to match. Her gilded halo shimmers in the night glow of candles and street lamps. The beautifully sculpted silver base overflows with white flowers: lilies, roses, carnations, freesias, gladiolas. She rests in front of us, I can hear the costaleros sigh in relief. A spontaneous saetero pays her homage, singing the traditional flamenco type song of pain and lament. At its end another admirer cheers Viva la Virgen, the crowd responds with Viva! They repeat this three times and the crowd breaks out in wild applause. The music begins again, the costaleros take their position and repay this homage with their beautiful display of maneuvers. As they progress down the street to the beat of the drum, the crowd’s applause lingers.
We have seen the entire procession, over sixty minutes standing still in the middle of a crowd, my body aches and I need air. I once again wonder why I do this, and why it means so much to me. My husband prods me on to the plaza to sit and have a drink. We watch the locals greet each other with kisses, and warm salutations and can’t help but notice the once-overs the women give each other in their show of new Spring fashions.
I ponder the contrast of the solemnity of Christ’s suffering paraded around town with this display of economic well-being, the full bars and restaurants, the festive atmosphere parading on the street corners.
Semana Santa in Andalucia, it simply magnifies what I have already concluded about the Catholic Church in Spain; it has become an institution of cultural rituals instead of spiritual support and moral guidance. What I find harder to conclude is what it has become for me.

Celebrating Holy Week in Andalucia

History, culture and a different form of religious devotion take on the principal role in the Holy Week celebrations in Spain, and most elaborately in Andalucía. Multitudes fill the streets to pay homage to their favorite images of the Virgin Mary or Jesus Christ, and to feel that certain spiritual energy that religious images paraded throughout their city or village neighborhoods often generate. Different “brotherhoods” take pride in the history, sometimes centuries old, of their particular scene of Christ’s Passion that their “throne” represents, and in the sorrow and purity that their “Virgin Maria’s” face portrays.
The emergence of this Holy Week processional tradition dates as far back

as the 12th and 13th centuries, appearing first in Italy and soon after in Spain. They began as a public showing of devotion to the crucified Christ, and penance for one's sins. These less ostentatious processions made up initially of men flogging themselves and small groups carrying rudimentary wooden crosses, quickly acquired great importance in those dark times. The penitents believed that they gained merit in the eyes of God so that He would not send the plague or other prevalent evils of the period on their families as punishment for their sins. Today they believe they are fulfilling their promise to participate in this annual ritual in exchange for prayers answered or to be answered. With the arrival of the Baroque period and greater affluence, the social importance and opulence of these processions augmented, developing into an event similar to what takes place today.
The current traditional garb, full of symbolism, was established during this period of the 17th century. The tunic, cinched at the waist with a rope, imitates Christ's vestments during his ascent to Calgary. The antifaz, or mask, covers the penitent's face and upper torso in shame for his sins. The capirote, or the cone-like hood holds the mask in place, and according to one source, represents drawing nearer to God, like the church steeples of the same shape. The many colors of vestments seen in the processions throughout Andalucia are symbolic of the related religious orders and other origins of the Brotherhoods. One can easily speculate as to the reason behind the American's Ku Klux Klan's adoption of these vestments for their own.

Today’s processions include the principal throne which depicts a scene from Christ’s Passion through artistically sculpted human like figures placed on a carpet of hundreds of flowers which cover the intricately carved base of polished or gilded wood or silver. They are accompanied at the end of the procession by a throne of the mourning Virgin Mary. The “virgin’s” vary in size and elegance, but they all don a manto or cloak usually made of velvet and embroidered in gold and silver to the end of it’s majestic length, which can vary from two to six meters. The thrones take up to 250 Hombres de Trono, men who carry them on their shoulders, to parade them throughout the city for 4 to 8 hours from sunset until the wee hours of the morning.

The procession is completed by its contingent of Nazarenos or Penitentes (Nazareans or Penitents) accompanying the thrones on their annual pilgrimage among the faithful. Anywhere from 200 to 750 of the up to 5000 Brothers of each brotherhood (please do not call them members) pay their annual dues and event fee for the right to don a velvet tunic in Brotherhood's colors that range from black and/or white to green, burgundy, blue or purple the liturgical color of mourning. They usually are composed of a 50/50 mix of men and women covered from head to toe in this Ku Klux Klan looking garb, forming a somewhat disconcerting army. And each throne is accompanied by it’s own musical bands, altar boys wafting incense along the route, brotherhood officials bearing their identifying banners, and a group of faithful followers sometimes barefoot, sometimes blindfolded, no doubt fulfilling one of their promises in exchange for answered prayers. It can take over an hour for the entire contingent to pass by.

These processions inspire abundant spontaneous applause, a clamoring of piropos, (old-fashioned prose-style compliments) and heart-felt saetas (Flamenco style songs, performed solo, as reverence to the Christ and Virgin images) from their passionate multitude of followers lining the streets throughout its several hour route. Malaga boasts 38 Brotherhoods, Seville - 42, and they exist from the other large cities to the tiniest pueblos all over Andalucía just to exemplify the cultural and religious importance of the Holy Week celebrations that Spain immerses itself in year after year.