It’s been a week since Easter and I’ve been meaning to write about it. Last Sunday morning we went to the Ramirez house, to celebrate the Resurrection. As we drove through town there was a striking contrast to what I observed on Thursday and Friday. For those who celebrated Holy Thursday and Good Friday by preparing alfombras or participating in the processions, the observances ended Friday night. On Saturday the town was noticeably quieter- a lot of families go swimming the day after Good Friday. Most of the stores were closed and hardly anyone was in the streets. Then on Sunday it was back to business as usual- market day in the square.
To a casual observer like myself, it seems that hardly anyone around here knows or cares about the resurrection of Christ. They choose to remember his sufferings- the crucifixion, his death and his burial- but the memory of his victory over death and sin is barely an afterthought, if even, in the celebration of holy week.
As we were sitting in a circle around the fire pit in the Ramirez yard on Easter morning, I looked out over the landscape- I could see the town of San Cristobal, and the Calvario church high on the hill in the distance, where so many had flocked to celebrate Good Friday. My heart was glad to remember that Christ is alive and that we have hope because of his life, death and especially because of his resurrection. It was good to open a hymnal and sing the old hymns we used to sing in Woodville on Easter- songs like “Up from the Grave He Arose” and “Christ the Lord is Risen Today.” It was good to hear other missionaries share their reflections about what the resurrection speaks to their hearts. But it was bittersweet to think of those all around who haven’t experienced the joy of knowing and understanding that Christ has risen, the hope of knowing that we can overcome sin by faith, not by our own efforts, but by the power of the holy spirit.
It’s sad to see how people are all too willing to identify with the suffering of Christ- they will commemorate it by carrying a heavy wooden float with a statue of Christ or Mary or John, and yet they can’t identify with the risen Christ. Just as many of them suffer daily and have to carry heavy loads of water or wood or flour sacks on their heads or backs, they carry the weight of their own sin, not knowing that they can be forgiven by believing in the risen Christ. I wonder how many of those who gathered in the square to see the processions know that Christ’s forgiveness is freely given by God- that it’s not earned by doing good works or acts of penance.
I don’t want to make it sound like there isn’t anyone in this town who celebrates the Resurrection, because I know there are certain churches here that do. But it’s sad to see that the traditions here don’t include a celebration, or hardly even an acknowledgement, of Christ’s resurrection.
