Good Friday in another language
When we were planning our Camino trip we quickly realized that we could organize our schedule so that we would arrive in Santiago on Maundy Thursday and then stay through Easter Sunday. It felt like an amazing opportunity to experience Holy Week in a completely new way.
And this has turned out to be true.
Because of the torrential rain that we’ve been having, many of the Holy Week processions that are typically held outside, through the streets of the city, have had to be moved inside to one of the churches. This evening Kate and I attended the Stations of the Cross procession at the Church of San Domingos de Bonival. This was supposed to have been the Procession of the Holy Burial.
The procession lasted about 90 minutes and included readings, hymns, classical music with two bands and a choir. The procession was long, involving probably over 200 people and three large statues (this does not feel like the right word but I can’t think of another). One was Mary, one Jesus in a glass coffin and one Jesus on the cross. The Santiago Holy Week Facebook page has photos and video - https://www.facebook.com/share/1CRYJhEhMy/?mibextid=wwXIfr
As I was observing the procession I recognized that this whole experience was in a foreign language to me.
The language of the liturgy and hymns was Spanish, a language I mostly don’t understand, though some repeated refrains were familiar… santificado es soy nombre - holy is your name.
The procession, the statues, the robes, the symbolism, this also felt like a completely foreign language to me. Certainly some of it looked familiar - I could resonate with the images of Jesus, and understood what they represent. And Mary’s presence at the cross and in this procession obviously makes sense too.
But a lot of the symbolism is not something I connect with.
And that is totally fine. This procession was not for me. It was mostly for the people of this city. It means something deeply to those here. This is their faith language. This is the language they’ve been taught from birth. I imagine generations from the same families have been participating in these processions maybe even for centuries.
As I was watching the procession, I realized that there is another faith language that used to feel like home to me, but it no longer does. The faith language of my previous non-denominational, charismatic, evangelical church used to feel like home. But not any more. The words to many of the songs embrace a theology that I now find repellent.
So I’ve been asking myself - what is my faith language this Good Friday?
This Good Friday my faith language is thinking of and praying for the men who are in the El Salvadorian prison, the barbaric photos are seared in my mind. Jesus’s death is supposed to be a wake up call. The barbarity of the cross and this inhumane prison, are what happens when we fail to see the humanity in all people. God forgive us.
