Sunday is church day.
And that presents a dilemma for me.
Unlike San Miguel (and even Melaque), Pátzcuaro does not have an English-speaking church. But it is filled with the Spanish-speaking variety. Some quite grand.
And, even though I am not a Spanish speaker, I long ago learned to experience my faith even when not completely understanding (or agreeing with) English words that surrounded me. Why not take the same tack with Spanish?
So, I did.
I knew something different was happening in the morning. The usual bells calling people to worship are almost always just a few clangs. Not this morning. The bells rang and rang -- in an unusual order. And, of course, there were the dynamite-loud sky rockets. Something was up.
And that presents a dilemma for me.
Unlike San Miguel (and even Melaque), Pátzcuaro does not have an English-speaking church. But it is filled with the Spanish-speaking variety. Some quite grand.
And, even though I am not a Spanish speaker, I long ago learned to experience my faith even when not completely understanding (or agreeing with) English words that surrounded me. Why not take the same tack with Spanish?
So, I did.
I knew something different was happening in the morning. The usual bells calling people to worship are almost always just a few clangs. Not this morning. The bells rang and rang -- in an unusual order. And, of course, there were the dynamite-loud sky rockets. Something was up.
When I got to the Basilica, it was decked out in Mobil red and white grand opening pennants. I learned long ago that little flags outside usually mean grand decorations inside.
And I was correct. The Basilica looked like a Hapsburg coronation was about to occur.
This was a big Sunday on the liturgical calendar. Assumption Sunday. Not Jesus’ assumption, mind you. This was Mary’s non-scriptural assumption.
In my tradition, this day simply does not exist. But for the Roman religion, and especially its Mexican variant, it is a whale of a day. And the Basilica is a Mary church.
The nave was packed with worshipers. It was not just standing room only. It was elbow-for-space full. I could not get a good view, but it appeared there was an effigy of Mary laid out in front of the altar with candles at each corner of her bier.
And I was correct. The Basilica looked like a Hapsburg coronation was about to occur.
This was a big Sunday on the liturgical calendar. Assumption Sunday. Not Jesus’ assumption, mind you. This was Mary’s non-scriptural assumption.
In my tradition, this day simply does not exist. But for the Roman religion, and especially its Mexican variant, it is a whale of a day. And the Basilica is a Mary church.
The nave was packed with worshipers. It was not just standing room only. It was elbow-for-space full. I could not get a good view, but it appeared there was an effigy of Mary laid out in front of the altar with candles at each corner of her bier.
Being such a special Sunday, it was a great setting to celebrate first communion. The long line of young girls and boys dressed in white looked eerily like a Moonie wedding in West Virginia.
But the children could not have been more proud to go through a ceremony that would recognize them as communicants in their church community. For their parents and relatives, it may as well have been a wedding.
And, I suppose, in a theological sense, it was.
They made me feel proud. Even when I had to wonder who was the watcher and who was the person being watched?
But the children could not have been more proud to go through a ceremony that would recognize them as communicants in their church community. For their parents and relatives, it may as well have been a wedding.
And, I suppose, in a theological sense, it was.
They made me feel proud. Even when I had to wonder who was the watcher and who was the person being watched?
