Jesucristo y Dios were interchangeable in my family where the Old Testament and the New Testament only made a difference when whatever you did was grave enough to merit the old time religion that justified the punishment. Semana Santa did, however, always remind us that there was a difference and the 40 days leading up to the death of Jesucristo were in many ways singular opportunities to interweave the sacred into the mundane in a much more intentional way. You gave something up, you contemplated your mistakes, you waited in long lines to confess, you were nicer to your mom, you prayed everyday, you thanked the Pope (¿Porque El Papa abuelita?) and you tried not to talk back because at the end of the day all these things are connected, through this bridge, this person, a historical figure, a saint, a social outlier, that joined you to something outside your small world, smaller worries, and small self capable of more – at the very least a procession or two.
Thus did Cuaresma and Lent kick-off in La Antigua with a Friday bringing out of the Christ from La Catedral:
Then the meticulous and intricate carpetas or rugs made out of flowers, palms, fruit, vegetables by people on Sunday morning – laid out on the dull gray road we normally don’t think twice about laying down rubber as we speed by. Here’s my favorite one:
Although we couldn’t make it home by car to get our hiking gear for our hike up Vulcan Pacaya that afternoon, we did have a primo view of the culminating procession:
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Yep, file this one under: “Things that would never happen in the US in a million years.” Unless of course someone organized a procession of angry transgendered atheists. That could actually happen. Anyway, what a TRIP! I’m stoked that we have a procession every Sunday from now until Semana Santa.