(Editor’s note: Father Bill Hoffman is a priest of the Archdiocese of Atlanta. Ordained in 1961, he has exercised a variety of pastoral ministries within the archdiocese. Until a year ago he was pastor of St. John Vianney Church in Austell. At that time he volunteered for missionary service in South America. In this report he describes his first Holy Week in Peru.)

Customs here in the Andean Mountains have changed very little for the last 200 years, and people continue doing things for reasons which are now confused. Before I try to describe Holy Week and my impressions, I should try to give something of an explanation of the way things were done long ago.

The practice of the early missionaries has left a powerful stamp upon the religious practices of the Andes. The missionaries who came during the Spanish colonization of the area found they had a tremendous area to cover and that transportation was very difficult. They made their rounds of the settlements when they could, trying to make each stop such an occasion that the maximum number of people gathered for the event – and that was the beginning of the fiesta, the practice of periodically getting people to gather for feast days of the Lord, the saints and Lent.

The missionaries set things up such that they would be in a certain village, say, on March 19 for the celebration of the feast of St. Joseph and stay there for a week or so. The whole village and surrounding countryside became swept up in the preparations.

Dancing, music, eating, drinking (not infrequently to excess), marriages, baptisms – everything took place during the fiesta. The processions with their images of Jesus and Mary offered a lot to see and do. The holy day was really a holiday, the oasis-time in a tough life. To understand Holy Week here, one must understand the origins of the fiesta and the procession in the Andes.

How effective was the missionaries’ work? – That’s the question which will shed more light on our present customs. With the Conquistadores came Christianity – for better or worse.

Like in other parts of the world, there was a long-standing tradition in the Andes of accepting the religion of the conquerors, for in their minds there is a connection between power and God’s favor: the more powerful have more powerful gods or are the more righteous before God. Of course the conquerors could see the advantage of a uniform religious practice in consolidating their gains. That was the custom in these parts prior to the coming of the Conquistadores.

The Spaniards won; that meant that Jesus had vanquished the divinity of the Incas and an accommodation had to be made. The acceptance of the God of the Christians was often little more than an accommodation to the power structure and remained for the most part an external acceptance, adopting Christian forms but retaining much of former belief and practice (out of sight of the European conquerors and their missionaries).

The missionaries mistook acceptance of Christian practices as evidence of the conversion to Christ. To be sure, there were some real conversions, but the groundwork had been laid for a wide acceptance of Christianity that was only token.

The fiesta, the procession and the externals of Catholicism have come down through 400 years to the present time, and mark profoundly our Holy Week here in Andahuaylas.

Since the Fourth Lateran Council in 126, the faithful have been seriously obliged to confess their sins and receive communion during the Easter season, which was commonly taken to mean from Ash Wednesday to Pentecost. That minimal requirement stuck with the people of the Andes, especially in the area of Andahuaylas. Even though they might not be very regular in their participation otherwise, during Lent and particularly during Holy Week they want to fulfill their obligations.

Throughout Lent we make a special effort to get to all the barrios and pueblos for the interminable confessions and communions and weddings. A strong custom from Inca times, still surviving to some extent, permits cohabitation prior to a formal wedding ceremony; another custom, also widely followed, permits putting off a formal wedding until the “proper” kind of fiesta can accompany it. One couple, living together some seven years, with four children, came to get married during Lent, at last having the wherewithal to put on the fiesta.

No other parish around has the crush of confessions like Andahuaylas. Maybe the others have more processions during Holy Week, but nowhere near the number of confessions we have. Al and I divided the week accordingly; he was to lead the Palm Sunday procession and the Easter Vigil service. I was to lead the services on Holy Thursday and Good Friday.

Palm Sunday

The summer rains began to let up and Palm Sunday was a beautiful day, a rarity since the first of the year. The day before, campesinos from the surrounding area began pouring into town. That meant that we were in the confessional boxes most of the day and they were anxiously getting their palms for the Sunday procession. The palms are given out for a small contribution to cover some of the cost of getting the palm fronds up here in Sierra. They came all day long, beginning much earlier than we gringos believe the day ought to start. When the light of day arrives, the campesino’s day is in full swing, regardless of what clocks may say.

Our first two Masses Sunday were about as usual, but before the 10:00 Mass the procession takes place. Traditionally it begins at a bridge on the edge of town, some 10 blocks from the church. The palms were blest there; a statue of Jesus was mounted on a donkey and everyone processed to the church singing all the while. Needless to say, by the time the procession reached the church, the crowd had grown so large that it could not fit into the church. Yes, the donkey stopped at the door, and the image of Jesus was carried on into the church.

Between Palm Sunday and Holy Thursday, there was a heavy stream of people wanting to confess their sins, asking that we come to visit the sick who could not leave home. We visited the local military post and jail where a goodly number wanted to go to confession.

Holy Thursday

On Holy Thursday, the legal holidays started at noon: schools closed, offices closed, though not all the stores (there were too many people in town to be served). The afternoon was largely devoted to, yes, confessions. The evening Mass began at 7:00, but the church was full 15 minutes before seven. Nearly everyone wanted to receive communion, which is a great change from the usual Sunday practice here. I washed the feet of 12 men from the parish. The officials from the town were present in the front pews – a “command performance” for them, required by law. That included our reputed-to-be-Communist mayor.

Good Friday

Our afternoon service started at 3:00, with the church very full, although a few standing spaces remained. The town’s officials were “officially” there too, in their “official” places. Following the solemn entrance of the crucifix the veneration took about 30 minutes (and we were using three crucifixes), accompanied all the while by singing in Spanish and Kechwa.

As soon as the afternoon service was over, the Hermandad de Nuestro Senor de los Milagros (the Fraternity of Our Lord of the Miracles) took over to prepare the church for the Desclavacion (literally the un-nailing or taking down from the cross) ceremony. A 25-foot high cross was placed in a hole beneath the floor tiles in front of the altar. A plaster image of Jesus, with moveable arms, was put on the cross with silver nails. There was a silver crown of thorns and “rays” coming from the head of Jesus. A large purple backdrop was strung across the width of the church; some trees were placed on either side of the cross; a statue of the Sorrowful Mother was waiting to one side; statues of Mary of Magdala and John were at the foot of the cross.

Around 7:00 the Passion was read, interspersed with hymns. At 7:30, the Hermandad began taking down the figure of Jesus. The trees were shaken to indicate an earthquake. The man at the top of the ladder began removing the silver pieces (nails, crown, and “rays”). He held each piece up for everyone to see clearly, made the sign of the cross with each one, kissed it and handed it down to the next member of the Hermandad. The pieces came to a rest on white pillows carried by two little girls dressed as angels (with wings and all).

After all the silver pieces were removed, venerated and put on the pillows, the figure of Jesus was lowered very gently with sheets. It was then put into a glass coffin atop a portable platform. The procession started, led by a group of singers (using a portable loudspeaker), followed by the little angels with the relics of the passion, then me, the coffin of Jesus and lastly the Sorrowful Mother.

We traveled a total of perhaps 12 blocks, and practically everyone in town was on hand for the procession. As we passed through the streets, people would throw flowers into the coffin. Once back in the church, Jesus was placed in position under a side altar where He will rest until the next Good Friday. The Sorrowful Mother was returned to her resting place, too.

This was truly an event of high drama. Children were scurrying around with eyes full of wonder. They will be drawn back to this every year for the rest of their lives. The lights, the singing, the pageantry of it all not only draws the people from here, but it brings a lot of tourists to the Sierra for Holy Week.

Easter

I had been thinking during Holy Week that Thursday and especially Friday were the high points of the week with the town’s officials putting in their formal attendance on Thursday and Friday only. Since Easter is celebrated without a procession, that was somewhat true. But still the people were there Sunday in great numbers, both for the Vigil service at 7:00 p.m. Saturday and the other Masses on Sunday.

The Vigil service was done completely by candlelight, every adult receiving a candle as they entered, but few having much of anything left when the service finally ended.

The blessing of the water offered a peculiar variation on what is unusual in the States. It seems so many people want some of the blessed water, that scarcely can we find large enough containers. They bring to the Vigil service their own buckets, bottles and what-have-you, full of water. In addition we put a 50-gallon steel drum in the sanctuary, full of water and decorated it with a white sheet and flowers. By the time everyone got the water they wanted, the drum was almost empty, so we filled it up again.

For those readers who have been to Lourdes, the use of the water here is very similar to how it is used at Lourdes; people drink it (after the manner of a medicine), keeping some on hand for sicknesses. All day long people kept coming for some of the water.

The people at St. John Vianney parish perhaps will recall the candlelight services at Easter and Christmas, as well as the “sprinkling” with a branch full of water at the renewal of baptismal promises on Easter. Remembering that they will be pleased to know that we here began doing the same this year (my suggestion!). I might add that the people here aren’t as afraid of the water as many seemed in Austell.

No, it all didn’t end with Easter. The week following was devoted to the celebration of the centennial of the Department of Apurimac (a department in Peru is a political subdivision roughly equivalent to our state in the U.S.). So by the time those two weeks had passed, you can believe that I was in no mood to celebrate anything else except, of course, the end of it all.