The night is old and the morning is coming on strong. We’ve just left the insides to feel an old night-new morning air on our faces. The streets of Sitges do not look as if they’re becoming sleepy, for the morning is young. The people are not all old, they’re not all young, but they’re all the town up for a celebration. We sweep along until we’re caught in a thinning street. We step back to line the walls, just like the rest of the crowd is doing. A hush (shhhhhhhhh) quietens the people.
What is coming? Something is coming up through the streets, weaving it’s steady way towards us.
It’s music from a young walking orchestra. The steady beat of a drum beats the solemnity into the town. It’s the death march taken over 2000 years ago that we remember on this Friday. A ‘good’ friday, I’m not so sure it was thought of that way in the moment over 2000 years ago.
This small Catholic Spanish town remembers the death of Jesus with this midnight march. Heavy music keeps on filtering through and the different scenes of Jesus’ death are carried through by people dressed in thick dark robes. They carry huge monuments to each moment leading up to His death on their shoulders, bearing the heaviness of each scene. It’s the crown of thorns. It’s the disciples mourning. It’s Mary, Mother of Jesus, grieving. It’s the Jesus stretched out on a cross.
Onwards they continue into Sitges’ depths, way past where we stand. They remember that moment of pain experienced over 2000 years ago. Does that mean ‘life’ is all the more celebrated?