Holy Week

Easter represents one of the most important days of the year in my family.  It is the day that we gather with extended friends, grandparents and cousins to celebrate the Resurrection of Christ and for this reason, it has always marked important stages of my life.  When I think of the crazy Easter photos we take every year when at least one child cannot survive the session without shedding a tear, I am reminded of how drastically different and new the past twenty years have been.  As exciting and noteworthy as Easter is year after year, this was the first in which I was not cracking eggs and sprinting through Grandma’s yard ducking and dodging the waves of confetti being thrown about. 

Sure, I was not shattering colorful eggs or hunting for jelly beans, but Easter in Spain had surprises of its own.  Andalucía, the autonomous community in which I live, is famous for its Holy Week processions and traditions, and I returned from Barcelona on Holy Thursday with just enough time to take to the streets and witness the 17^th century icons and statues being carried through the crowded roads and sidewalks.  Each procession was unique and different, but some were as big as school buses, and each was supported by an organized group of men who marched in unison in such a way that the statues appeared to be dancing.  Older women, families, children and study abroad students lined the streets in anticipation of the processions that lasted close to an hour, and the scene was incredible.  Some were there to enjoy the spectacular, others cherished the religious significance.  Regardless of others’ motivations, I was moved by the unbelievable reality of the Easter season and was amazed at the opportunity to watch 400 year-old statues dancing through the same streets that I hurry down to make it to Islamic Culture class on time.

I woke up Easter morning with the same excitement that I had ten years ago when I found my Easter basket overflowing with Reese’s and Nerds.  After a decade, my enthusiasm was not motivated by the candy resting by my sleepy head, but by the connection I felt with my family back home as we celebrated such an important day together in the celebration of the Mass.  I whipped out my nice slacks for the first time, and I walked with my host mom through the tourist crowded streets to Fray Leopoldo, my new favorite church in Granada.  Carmen showed Alli and me around the small underground chapel where its patron, a life-long beggar for the poor was buried in plain sight.  We soon proceeded to the main church upstairs where we celebrated Mass, and I spent the rest of the day enjoying the sun with friends, but never forgetting the beautiful significance of such an important day.

As May is fast approaching, I am being struck by the realization that this semester is nearing a close.  A month remains, and I have resolved to make it the best yet.  I have spent this week planning my last trips through Europe and with Greece, Italy, The Vatican, Portugal, England and Germany awaiting my arrival, I have no doubt that I will make the next forty days some of the most memorable in my life.  Stay tuned for next week’s entry where I will be sharing my experiences in Los Lagos, Portugal!