If a third blog entry about Holy Weeks seems like a lot, imagine being a teenager attending all the events. My brother-in-law, Tim, was an enthusiastic guide. I was an enthusiastic participant, but I knew it was a lot for the kids. So, I (mostly) let the kids choose which events they wanted to attend. And they were terrific, participating in most of the events. I don’t know how we will return to Easter bunnies and thin plastic eggs next year.
Between the Holy Week celebrations we ate paletas, visited a pyramid, had tacos in a market, and toured the beautiful city of Querétaro
After the Visit to the Seven Churches, the Stations of the Cross, and the Procession of Silence, the time for the Easter Vigil had arrived. I didn’t take photos at the time, so these photos are from earlier or from other churches. Tim knew that the Temple of San Francisco would be crowded, so we arrived forty minutes early for the service. Outside of the church, people were selling Easter candles. We got a one-dollar candle for each of us.
Forty minutes early was not early enough. The church, which was entirely dark, was packed, and some people already had their camping stools set up along the aisles. We navigated the darkness into a little chapel off the side of the main sanctuary and found a pew with enough room for us and one of Tim’s students. We waited in the darkness and the kids, who had been incredible for all the events, began to fight in whispers. I threatened them and they began to argue with me. I refused to whisper back. A car backfired. A baby tested out his lung capacity with bellows.
In the darkness, a clear voice rang out, “Dear brother and sisters.” We quieted. In the chapel, we could not see the lighting of the Easter candle, but we heard the beautiful words:
Christ yesterday and today
the Beginning and the End
the Alpha
and the Omega
All time belongs to him
and all the ages
To him be glory and power
through every age and for ever.
Amen.
There was more rustling and quiet. The voice announced:
May the light of Christ rising in glory
dispel the darkness of our hearts and minds.
Slowly, we could see a glow spread through the main sanctuary as people lit their candles. Finally, the light spread to us, surprisingly bright in the cavernous space, illuminating the angels in golden robes at the front of the side chapel.
The kids and I struggled with our melting candles, too thin to handle the heat of the flame, as the priest prayed a long and beautiful prayer.
Simone winced as wax hit her finger. The priest reminded us in Spanish that this was the night that restores innocence to the fallen, and joy to mourners, drives out hatred, fosters concord, and brings down the mighty. Marie used her face mask (brought as thin protection from incense) to hold her candle. Wax dripped onto my shoe.
Finally, the priest proclaimed that Christ, coming back from death’s domain, has shed his peaceful light on humanity, and lives and reigns for ever and ever. And we blew out our candles.
In complete darkness, the nuns and priests led us through creation, the weird story of Abraham being asked to sacrifice his son, the Israelites rescue from the Egyptians, God’s promise to Ezekeil to take our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh, and through singing several psalms. We sat and stood, sang and prayed.
Finally, bells rang out. Voices sang, Glory to God in the Highest. After sitting in darkness for about two hours, the light appeared. Flowers, angels, and gold appeared around us. The bells continued ringing.
I’ll just say. Our Spanish is not great. I could basically follow along with the service, but the kids less so. It was almost 10 p.m., and the service would continue with baptisms and Eucharist. I decided that the point was to experience the resurrection, and people would appreciate our seats. We wound out of the sanctuary through families, couples, grandparents, out the grand wooden doors, and through more people.
Easter Day
On Sunday morning, before we returned to Puebla, we attended an Easter morning service at the Baptist church that Tim attends. After the simple service, church members served tamales and atole de elote (a sweet, warm drink of corn) to everyone.
Tim sat next to an older woman that he had not met before. After a brief conversation, Tim realized that he was friends with one of her family members who lives in Chicago. Langston discovered a person sitting near him was an engineer and began asking about his career. This is the resurrection, the triumph of life over death in these day-to-day moments.
The light shines in the darkness, but we were quickly reminded that all that is illuminated is still a bit grimy. I had bought four seats next to each other on the bus, and none of the kids wanted to sit next to each other. Then, on the way home, I got a text on how the politics of the larger Methodist church had reached into my own sweet home church in Arizona. I thought of the Easter Vigil, how our Spanish is not quite good enough for the words and the candle was not strong enough for the light.