I studied abroad in Granada, Spain my junior year in college. It’s in the region of Andalucia in southern Spain and Granada, along with Sevilla and other southern cities, are world famous for their holy week processionals that fill their city streets. Different parishes will parade their icons from church to the plaza and back, for example, carried on the shoulders of “penitentes”- the penitent and followed by parishioners and a church band. The most alarming part, I recall, is that penitentes are dressed in garb that, to the American eye, appears to resemble a certain white-sheeted hate group known for all things bad and terrible originating in the Southern U.S. post-Civil War.
I was shocked. They were not. It was just Semana Santa.
Holy Week, in the Christian church, begins with Palm Sunday when we remember Jesus’ “Triumphal” entry into Jerusalem. He knew Jerusalem was where he’d be arrested and he’d meet his end. He rode in a donkey. Tradition says that kings riding on donkeys were a symbol of a king riding out to wage peace with his enemy. On Thursday, Maundy Thursday, we remember Jesus and his disciples celebrating the Passover and the “Last Supper” where he tells them He is the Cup of Salvation. On Thursday night we remember him being arrested and on Friday, Good Friday, he is crucified and buried.
During Semana Santa, the penitents carry big statues of Mary or the suffering Jesus depicted in the stations of the cross, through the streets and, it was told to me, that some make promises to God to perform this act of penitence and devotion in thanksgiving for answered prayer or as a way to show faithfulness before the Father so that He might answer their heartfelt plea. Some might perform the penitence without shoes as they move through the narrow, ancient corridors of these ghostly cities.
And it made me ponder what we might ask of the Father in these holy week days. It made me wonder what we might do to convince Him to act on our behalf.
I actually don’t believe in that part at all. God doesn’t need convincing. He doesn’t need the lowly behavior of foolish humans to sway his will. That’s not a thing. Like a good good Father who asks his children to go to bed so that “Santa” might come in the morning, there’s no doubt that the gifts will be there no matter the actions of the child. As a gentle, caring Father there is no refusing the embrace of the most rebellious son or daughter. Like a Good Father, the best Father, He wants the best for us. He hurts when we hurt. He delights in our delight.
And here we are. Semana Santa- holy week. For us, believers, there is no gathering of the faithful in the house of the Lord. There is only the computer screen propped up on the coffee table and we gather around. There is no grand procession from the plaza to the Cathedral, there is only the tolling of a church bell breaking the silence of these empty days.
And isn’t it like a vigil? And isn’t it like those final days when the disciples knew something was happening and were powerless to stop it? And isn’t it like a surrender to something bigger and isn’t this silence open to prayer, penitence, and devotion? And there’s a letting go, and a taking in, and there is a death to bring about new life.
Some have said this Lent will last until the shelter is broken. Some have said the vigil will continue until the breaking of this collective fever.
When times are good we can have processionals and church bands and costumes and fanfare. When times are bad, kinda like now, we are faced with the underlying themes of sickness and healing we typically like to dress up with flowers and candles and incense and grandeur. The symbol is always easier than the crown of thorns. The icon is so much more hauntingly beautiful than flesh fading from life.
This is not the year for symbols and icons and processionals. Not the year for Cathedrals and Easter bonnets and honey ham.
Semana Santa, I fear, this year, is closer to the bone, closer to the tomb, watchful and weary, less like the symbol and more like the truth. Less like the symbol and more like the truth.
While symbol might stir up our senses and creativity, the truth stirs up something deeper and more transformative. Like now. The notion of lock down and the reality of lock down are two very different things. There may have been a time two weeks ago when this season might have become a shadow if it had quickly come and gone. But now? Now, it’s clear, that this season demands our attention and demands our honesty and is not asking our permission as to how we might be changed. It’s a kind of truth that will change you no matter what. The symbol is gone and we are closer to the bone, closer to the tomb, watchful, perhaps weary, far from symbol and nearing, ever nearing, this thing called the truth.
Peace to you.