Mags GarganHoly Week processions are true community events with thousands lining the streets each year
Spending Semana Santa (Holy Week) in Andalucia, a region in Southern Spain, is an experience that assaults all the senses, as communities gather to continue a centuries-old tradition of devotion.
From small towns to major cities the streets of Andalucia are transformed into a form of religious theatre by local brotherhoods and confraternities, where processions of elaborately decorated floats with statues of Jesus depicting his last days or of a mourning Virgin Mary surrounded by flowers are led by hundreds of pointy-hood wearing Nazarenos (penitents) carrying candles and burning incense, all followed by brass bands or drummers, walk slowly through the streets from their parish church to the cathedral and back.
Dating back to the 16th Century, the processions began as a way to present the story of the Passion of Christ in a way that uneducated laypeople could understand. The tradition creates an atmosphere that can transport even the most casual observer to another time and place.
The streets become alive with colour and sound, and it is difficult not to be moved by the slow rhythmic beating of the drums and processional marches, the swaying paces of the determined bearers carrying the floats and the poignant singing of the ‘saeta’ (a form of almost Sean Nós singing with sacred song) through the Holy Week processions, which brings a tear to many eyes.
The celebrations are true community events with thousands lining the streets each year, dressed up in their Sunday best, explaining the proceedings to their children and gathering for a family meal afterwards.
The Semana Santa processions continue to be a proclamation of community, tradition and faith, and watching them each day made me wonder how the events of Holy Week were being celebrated back in Ireland. More active and visual elements have become a popular part of our Easter celebrations in recent years, from Passion plays and walking the Way of the Cross to lighting a Paschal fire and celebrating Mass at dawn.
These occasions capture the imagination, offer people an opportunity to feel part of a community and a tradition, and make them part of a ritual that speaks to something deep inside of us. It would be wonderful to see these more of these Holy Week celebrations become a traditional part of parish life across Ireland, reclaiming the Easter festival from the chocolate eggs and bunnies.
Strength of devotion
While the links between the processions and the official Holy Week celebrations of the Church have become tenuous, and for an increasing number it is now more of a cultural tradition than a religious devotion, participants and spectators do experience emotional and spiritual nourishment that they struggle to put into words.
The men [and now increasingly also women] who carry the floats can spend hours in procession shouldering these heavy burdens in very hot conditions, with their faces often covered by hoods and sometimes barefoot. It is a huge challenge of resilience and endurance. The precise and practised step of their feet beneath these enormous floats are also an example of team work, solidarity and friendship, which translates into their daily lives the rest of the year.
Many do it for reasons of honour and family tradition, some say they do it as penance or as a ‘promise’, in the name of a loved one who is struggling or suffering, and for most it remains a religious ritual.
Not outfits for intimidation
The pointed-hat costumes of Nazarenos or penitents can seem sinister for first-time observers, especially for American visitors. Although coming in different colours and styles according to each brotherhood, the pointed hoods (capirotes) do resemble those worn by the Ku Klux Klan. However, the Spanish tradition far predates the KKK and, rather than offering anonymity to white supremacists, they are a sign of humility, penance and mourning with the point symbolising a rising toward the heavens and search for forgiveness. On Easter Sunday, each person removes his capirote in jubilation at Jesus’ resurrection from the dead.
There is no connection with the KKK, but perhaps someone from the clan familiar with Holy Week in Spain chose the costumes for their unsettling ghost-like quality.