I am eagerly sitting by my window today waiting for a spectacle that comes down my street once a year. I experienced it for the first time last year on Good Friday and I hope to catch it again today.
Last year I set out of my apartment, backpack slung across my shoulder and ready to meet Josh at the local coffee shop. I stepped out of the door, fumbling with my keys and not really paying attention, when I suddenly realized that I was surrounded. A great mass of people–there must have been thousands–were processing down the street following a reenactment of the Stations of the Cross. Many of the reenactments were dressed as Romans. At intervals they would crack their whips near the cross-bearing Christ. Others, dressed in simpler robes, yelled, wailed, or jeered along the sides of the street. I made to step out of my apartment gate, but there was nothing for it. There were so many people in my street I couldn’t even open the gate door. They moved slowly, chanting in mournful voices in Spanish. I waited and watched. The throng took up about two city blocks. It took 10 minutes to pass.
I found this video from the 2010 procession that gives you an idea of what it felt like to observe this tribute to history’s most solemn scene.
Many years ago a spiritual mentor prayed that God might make His resurrection especially meaningful for me that Easter. I will pray the same for all of you this weekend.