This week is Santa Settimana (Holy Week) in Italy.  Italy is a Catholic country, and most people in the country still practice the religion even if just doing so at important holidays. 

Growing up in the Presbyterian Church, my family celebrated Holy Week at our church acknowledging Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and then Easter Sunday.  Italian Catholicism recognizes these days as well but in a way that is steeped in local tradition.

We did not attend Palm Sunday events in Guardialfiera because we spent the day in Abruzzo with family and had a wonderful time there.  On Monday, Guardialfiera had a Via Crucis event that we didn’t know about.  (I think this was something to do with Stations of the Cross.)  Then there was a break on Tuesday and Wednesday.  Thursday night was a Community Adoration which we didn’t know about.

Finally, on Friday afternoon, I got the bright idea to go to the church bulletin board and look at the schedule.  I lamented the events that we had missed, but then noticed there was a procession through the village in the evening.  There was holy mass at 6 pm followed by the procession at 7 pm.  Chad and I went down to our little bar at 6:30 to have a beverage, sit at a table on the sidewalk and check out the scene. 

A few minutes before 7 pm, people started gathering on the street in groups of two or three.  Then, as soon as we could see the procession approaching, the lights went off in the bar out of respect, and everyone came into the street.

The procession started at the church after mass, came down the hill, and then went down the main street, all at a solemn pace.  The sidewalk spectators removed their hats, stopped their conversations, put out their cigarettes and generally ensured that there weren’t any beer glasses or wine glasses on the outdoor tables.  As the parade passed, the spectators crossed themselves.

As far as the parade, the first person carried a wooden cross that had a white cloth stole wrapped around it.  This person was accompanied by young boys.  Then there were about 50-60 citizens following.  Then a silver-plated cross on a large pole which is a sacred object from the church treasury.  Then 50 citizens.  Then a very large cross with a statue of Jesus hanging on the cross.  Then the priest,  Then 50 citizens.  Then a large statue of Mary carried on a platform by four men, with Mary having a silver crown and a blue fabric cloak.  Then 50 citizens.  Then a small bed carried by four girls.  Then 30 citizens.

During the procession, the citizens and leaders sang songs and recited the Hail Mary phrases in Italian.  I was able to recognize a lot of it because it was recited slowly and the words were familiar, even to a Presbyterian.

The procession then went around a corner, and everyone either went back into their houses or went back into the bar (because it was cold outside).  I wondered why so many elderly people hadn’t gone to mass, but then I realized that the elderly have trouble walking, the church is up the hill, and the procession lasted for one hour.

While the procession went to the other end of the village, had a ceremony, and then turned back to head up to the church, the rest of us finished our little apperitivo inside the bar where it was a little warmer and we ate some snacks.  We all knew, however, that the procession would pass by again. 

When the procession arrived at the outskirts of the village out of our view, the Jesus was removed from the cross and placed onto the bed carried by the little girls.  We knew that the procession would come back through the main piazza where the bar was located, the people would stop to do some singing, and then walk back to the church in stages.  And we knew that there needed to be respect for the ceremony.

So the older men went back onto the sidewalk at a certain point to keep watch for the procession.  At one point, one watch-guy opened the door to the bar and said, “It’s coming!”  The bar owner switched off the lights and everyone abandoned our drinks and prepared to go outside to see the return of the procession.  And then the bar cat Tigre slipped in.  Tigre was the “it” that was coming – for dinner – not the procession.  We all had a good laugh.  But we were all still attentive to paying respect to the procession.

Shortly thereafter, the procession returned.  The group was singing a solemn song and Jesus was lying on the bed in a re-enactment of his death story.  On this return of the procession, little girls (instead of the boys) were at the head of the parade with the leader of the procession.  I expected to observe the  end of the procession as a dispassionate observer, but I got teary-eyed watching everyone go past.  There was the sound of the song with so much emotion, the traditional ritual of the procession, and the dedication of the local citizens, even the dedication of those who weren’t participating in the parade. 

Certo, I didn’t take any photos.  That would have been a very high level of disrespect.  But I did take mental and emotional photos that I will remember for the rest of my life.

I saw a woman documenting the procession with a camera and a man documenting with a videocamera, so I will do some research over the next few days to see if I can find links for posting.

In the meantime, we are soaking up the culture, food, history, and traditions here.