Our third event of Holy Week on Good Friday, after the Visit to the Seven Churches and the Stations of the Cross, was unlike anything I have experienced before.
I’ve known that Lent is the time of preparation for baptism in the Catholic Church, and that people are baptized at Easter. I have not known about the tradition of penitents, or nazarenos, undertaking a walk of repentance and gratitude. The penitents take classes together to prepare for the day and select a cross to carry in the procession. On Good Friday, they completely cover themselves in a habit representing the color of their parish; their penitence is between themselves and God, not for others to see. The habits have been worn since medieval times in Spain where this tradition originates.
Around 4:30 in the afternoon, the streets near the Temple of San Francisco, where we had participated in the Stations of the Cross, began to fill again. Fortunately for us, Tim has keys to a building a few blocks from the temple. We climbed to the roof and were soon joined by Wheaton College students who are participating in the semester in Mexico. Below us vendors sold potato chips and drinks to the people gathered on the sidewalks. Clouds gathered above us and thunder rumbled in the distance.
Finally, a bugle sounded from the temple. The crowds fell silent. Drums beat in the darkening sky. We watched from above as a liter carrying the figure of Jesus, his back bleeding from whip lashes, bent under a cross, was carried past by figures in white followed by women carrying the symbols of the cross and barefoot figures covered in white.
Next, a group in grey carried a figure of Jesus’ body in the tomb. They were followed by penitents in grey carrying crosses. The sound of the chains shackled to their feet echoed down the street.
We watched a figure of Mary followed by penitents in purple habits. The drums sounded and a group of figures in red slowly processed past us. This is the first time I’ve tried to include a video, but this experience seems worth trying to share.
The silence, the sound of the chains, the toiling of the penitents was all deeply profound, but what brought tears to my eyes was watching the ways in which the penitents were cared for. Men and women in black or in the color of their parish but without a cross, walked among the penitents, giving them juice, making sure that they avoided any potholes, helping one person adjust his cross. One helper pushed a penitent in a wheelchair.
I watched one helper carry someone’s cross for a few moments.
As I watched, I thought of an incredible graduate student who had defended her dissertation shortly before I left. Her meticulous anthropological research explores how people live with Borderline Personality Disorder. In her defense as she described the continual forgiveness, love, and care that it takes for people who suffer from Borderline Personality Disorder to live a healthy life, I wondered, how could anyone provide that level of care for a person? As I watched the Procession of Silence, I remembered her defense and felt like I was seeing an enactment of how that type of care appears.
Hundreds of people carried their crosses in the street below us. It was 9:00 by the time the procession had passed. But when Tim asked us if we wanted to circle around to see the conclusion of the procession, we agreed that we did. Watching the barefoot penitents dragging their chains and crosses was deeply riveting. A helper put his hand on a penitent’s shoulder, “You are almost there. Take it slow.” He encouraged him.
Finally, I said we should go. It was late, and we pulled ourselves away. A few houses away from the procession, we could see a man inside his house watching the television. “He is less than a block away!” Simone wondered at the fact that the man was inside when something so tremendous was almost literally at his doorstep. “Maybe he watched earlier,” Marie reasoned. And it occurred to me that we are all like that man most of the time. Paraphrasing Jane Hirshfield, immensity taps at the window.
