By Mitzi Stark
Good Friday of Holy Week, which this year fell on April 22, is the only day of the year that the whole village is together. This particular village is a rural community near Alajuela. Here, people were off of work. Stores were closed. The cantina was shut.
There was no school, the buses weren’t running and nobody had money to go to the beach. Although the old myth that you turn into a fish if you pursue your regular activities is no longer creditable, Good Friday was still a day for reverence and reflection. Everyone went to “La procesión de silencio,” or the procession of silence.
This procession is meaningful because it is as much a tradition as pickled vegetables, fish for dinner and empanadas de chiverri. Even for those whose faith is failing, the spiritual significance of this day comes back strong. The procession includes an enactment of the passion of Christ, complete with cross, crown of thorns, apostles, saints, Pontius Pilate and a platoon of Roman soldiers, and the march stops at 14 homes along the route to act out the 14 Stations of the Cross.
At each station there is a simple altar decorated with lace curtains borrowed from the bedroom, a crucifix, a Bible, flowers, plants and other appropriate decorations.
The two-mile stretch of road becomes the church aisle. For the young people dressed in biblical costumes and acting out roles, the procession is theater, their stage is the street or soccer field and the entire town is their audience.
Called the Stations of the Cross, or the “Via Dolorosa,” at each station a scene from the passion of Christ is acted out. Although this is a centuries-old tradition, today’s processions differ from those of the past in that electronics have entered the picture. A sound system made it easy to hear, but with only one headset microphone it had to be whipped off and carried ahead to the next station in time to hand it off to those with speaking parts. And cellphones made it easier to communicate to those waiting at the soccer field for the final act to know how far along we were.
But the best innovation of all was bottled water for the soldiers and saints wilting away in the hot April sun.
As the procession set off to the funereal cadence of drums, we all fell in behind the cadre of Roman soldiers.
There was no traffic, so we spilled across the whole street. Even though it is called the procession of silence, it was anything but.
Some 200 people who’ve known each other for years greeted each other, asked after extended families, gave reports and offered advice. Dogs ran to fences barking and growling at the strange scenes passing by.
Children giggled and ran from shade tree to shade tree. Microphones squawked. Umbrellas raised against the sun made us keep our distance. Spokes poked some people.
A mischievous six-year-old strutted and danced to the drum beat and inserted himself in every scene, ignoring his mother’s entreaties to behave.
At one station a nervous calf penned in a roadside stall panicked and tried to escape. Two of the marchers climbed into the pen to calm her down. Cellphones rang and were answered.
Occasionally, someone, looking around and unaware that the procession had stopped, marched into the person ahead, causing a breach in the silence as the injured party yelped and the offender offered disculpas.
But there was also a big, silent something intangible that is present at a Good Friday procession: a sense of community, a linking of all of us together and uniting us with the past and future. The actors today were the babies in their parents’ arms in past processions, and today’s babies will some day act out the same roles of saints and soldiers.
And each year during Holy Week we look forward to being part of the not-so-quiet Silent Procession.
Mitzi Stark is a contributing writer to The Tico Times.
