Human tapas

We were so sad that our timing was slightly out and we were doomed to miss the famous Easter Parades of the religious brotherhoods in Seville. 

We had seen pictures of the 'Nazarenes' wearing pointed Klan-style hoods, parading the narrow Mediaeval streets, a great ornate silver cross at the front of each procession, a massive Baroque float at the rear, bearing Mary in all her glory surrounded by candles and vases of white flowers, each accompanied by a separate marching band. How disappointed we were that we would miss it. 

Until we discovered that it all kicked off while we were still there on Palm Sunday (Domingo de Ramos). We discovered this by being trapped heel to toe, nose to back-of-head with hundreds of thousands of Spanish people as we tried very hard to get from A to B.  A (our hotel) should only have been eight minutes from B (the restaurant), but under these conditions, it took over an hour and a half. Every so often we managed to break free and scuttle down an unfrequented alley, only to become wedged in another knot of people, with the distant view of pointed hats parading slowly past the end of the street. It felt like being trapped in a particularly fiendish level of a computer game.

At one point, when we were forced to bide still, a lovely young woman who was an English teacher explained to me that there was a brotherhood (hermanidad) associated with each neighborhood church.  The people wearing the pointed hoods were Nazarenes or penitents. For le Paz, which was the group we were watching, there were two thousand Nazarenes and around five thousand other supporters, present in their Sunday best.  The Nazarenes trudged around the city for many hours, day and night, some barefoot, some carrying crosses. The tall hoods hid their identity and pointed to God. They were thus not claiming admiration for their act of penitence.

By the time we returned from our restaurant at night, the streets were even more packed. 

However, what really struck me was that the whole festival still had religion at its heart. There was little visible drunkenness, the young people's smart clothes were colourful and tight but displayed little flesh. And touchingly, whenever a Mary float was heaved past, the boisterous crowd shushed one another, crossed themselves, and watched in respectful silence.

Easter bunny - a new generation

Generally at our house the Easter bunny lays a trail of little pastel-coloured  eggs around the garden for younger members of the family to find. 

Since the offspring have got older and wiser, the eggs now have to be fair trade and vegan (Oxfam supplies – if you’re wondering) and the pretty foil is now carefully recycled rather than being turned into a butterfly wing collage.

However, this year, the Easter bunny was locked down miles away from younger family members.  

The bunny posted a few eggs she had obtained before lockdown.

Pascoe ingeniously provided his own hunt by standing in his sitting room, throwing the eggs over his shoulder, then going to look for them.

However, the Bunny was worried about Carenza who particularly values this tradition (and indeed the chocloate it brings).

However, she needn’t have worried.  The family has a new Easter Bunny who stepped up to the mark, obtained Easter eggs and hid them around the flat for his sister.

He even wore a set of pink ears while doing so – surely beyond the call of duty.

Our usual Easter bunny is certainly going to have to up her game next year.

Celebrating Easter alone together

Our vicar often says, “The Church isn’t the building – it’s the people”.

So the thought of spending Good Friday and Easter Sunday without being able to grieve and rejoice alongside other members of our church family, made Nigel and I feel subdued.

In the end, our vicar and curate rose to the challenge and services were available not only on Facebook, but also YouTube, AND Zoom.

I felt like emailing to complain that there was no Skype or Teams version available.  But when you are not face to face, people sometimes don’t realise you are joking.

It was a comfort to wave to our lovely friends on Zoom.  But my favourite moment was when, with the Good Friday service just about to begin, a black square appeared on the grid, labelled “Unknown Host”.

I muted our mic and nudged Nigel.  “The Holy Ghost really is present with us today.”

God doesn’t have Good Taste

One of the best things about God is that he doesn’t have good taste.

We just visited Copenhagen with shops famous for Danish design.  All that pared-down, smooth-edged beige and grey!  Step outside however, and the contrast actually made me laugh.

What was on offer was ridiculous abundance – armfuls of white and pink cherry blossom, the million tassels of lime-green willow catkins, hosts of bulbs pushing up flowers of scarlet, yellow and purple.  

The first bees humming purposefully and brimstone butterflies flittering through.

Why are there so many yellow flowers at this time of year?  Is it in case we didn’t get the point?  The sun is back!

And the birds burbling incessantly like the cascade of a snow-melt river.

It is going to be the promise that is implied by this encompassing beauty which gets us through the dark moments of Good Friday as we remember Christ’s crucifixion. 

But it’s going to be Easter Sunday when we truly receive the message of the Resurrection – Christ rises up after death.  And all around us, the trees that have looked grey and dead through the winter, and the lifeless stretches of beige earth are suddenly dazzling and brilliant and overwhelmed with colour.