Father M. Does The Macarena

Ex Ossibus
Father M.

Someone recently asked me to participate in one of the great traditions of the first week of school and write on, “What I did on my Summer Vacation.” In short, I did the Macarena. The Macarena is the baroque, red-marble basilica in Seville which houses the image of Our Lady of the Macarena (also called Our Lady of the Tears) one of the patron saints of the city of Seville and the neighborhood surrounding the Basilica is, of course, called The Macarena as well. Seville is a city made famous for its ancient tradition of magnificent Holy Week processions. The processions consist of statues carried aloft by members of a variety of ecclesiastical confraternities, each group clothed in distinctive penitential garb which, startlingly, resembles the outfits worn by the Klan here in the U. S. Adjacent to the Basilica of the Macarena is the museum which houses the solid silver platform upon which the image is carried, numerous costume changes for the statue, as well as tributes sent to Our Lady of the Macarena from all over the world. The fascinating thing about the museum is that unlike many church museums in Europe, the various ecclesiastical doodads are not careworn, frayed and tarnished but rather perfectly polished and in perfect repair as if, at any moment, an occasion might arise for the statue to be brought out again into the streets attended to by a phalanx of Her curiously attired friends. The Macarena is just one of the many images iconic of the city of Seville.

Seville is a marvelous and unique town. With its sweltering climate it is one of the few European cities to really understand and truly relish air conditioning. Many Europeans love to lecture Americans on the evils and bad health effects of air conditioning (usually while smoking unfiltered Galois’ and enjoying several beers well before lunch…) Upon my arrival the hotel room was refreshingly cool and contrary to the many dooming admonishments I had received in Italy, Portugal and elsewhere, I did not suffer paralysis and my liver did not fall out from the evil effects of the air conditioner. Rather, while indoors I stayed blissfully cool while the thermometer outside showed temperatures to be in the triple digits. The custom of the siesta is truly alive in Seville’s home state of Andalusia where everything closes at noon and only the tourists appear in the streets before the city’s second shift of vibrancy begins at seven. Most restaurants open at nine or ten at night when the cool breezes are more inspiring to the appetite. Chilled sangria and cold Andalusian gazpacho help conquer hunger post-nap and the dry heat outside until the nighttime meal.

Seville is a place, entirely devoid of political correctness, where the small people dream big as the little girls all want to grow up to be Flamenco dancers and the little boys all want to be matadors. The bloody and noble sport of bullfighting is as integral to the city as its bloody and noble Faith where the statues all have blood and tears and Lenten penance and Easter joy are publicly and vividly practiced throughout the city. The three hundred-year-old bullfighting ring, with a baroque chapel at its core, stands in testimony to the Faith, the blood, the tears, and the unapologetic masculinity of the men and the unbridled femininity of the women. The city, once a Moorish stronghold, was captured by the Christians, and after demolishing the central mosque, the inhabitants built the largest gothic Cathedral in the world in its place, with a reredos surrounding the high altar in sterling silver and another one in gold leaf, and then began peppering the city with marble-clad, Murillo and Zurbaran-flecked, statue and candle-filled baroque churches and chapels which remain lovingly used and remarkably well-kept. Fortunately, the Faith is loved and practiced by many inhabitants as the blood and tears of the statues find echoes in the daily life of the city. The best souvenirs to bring back are, of course, are the Faith, confessed tearfully and bloodily and the energy and life which give the Andalusia its soul.

Comments

[A Visitor]

Dear Fr. M., speaking of the Faith (although regrettably not of Seville, and apologies to all for the off-topic post), can you recommend a priest in the Diocese of Wilmington, Delaware, to whom to refer potential Tiber-swimmers of conservative Episcopalian extraction?

[Old Dominion Tory]

Father M's post about Seveille prompted me to remember one of my all-time favorite films--and its extremely uplifting ending.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5e1L5ocXUw
For God, the King, and Spain!

[Father M.]

Tory,
That is one of my all-time favorites as well.

Visitor,
I am researching that for you...

[Andrew Cusack]

One of my favourite statues in all of New York is that of El Cid by Anna Hyatt Huntington in the monumental sunken plaza of Audubon Terrace. (The sculptress also did a very good one of Joan of Arc which is gilded in St. Louis, I believe, and a copy of which is somewhere in Washington, DC).

[Robbo the Llama Butcher]

ODT - Ever since his crack-up as Chief Inspector Dryfus in the Pink Panther movies, I can't watch Herbert Lom without expecting him to start giggling and twitching his eye.

Father M - You're developing a regular pipeline thing here!

[Basil Seal]

I always remember Herbert Lom being pushed off the bridge by Sir Alec Guinness in The Ladykillers...Nice post Father M...Sounds like my kinda place.

[The Maximum Leader]

I loved Seville. Granada too. Andalusia is beautiful. My regret is that I didn't visit there for long. I had only three weeks for the whole of Spain. Day here. Day there.

I wouldn't mind going back to Seville or Granada for a very extended vacation some day.

[Robbo the Llama Butcher]

And speaking of Seville, perhaps if you shove enough Black Velvet into me, I'll do my Stupid Lawyer Aria Trick some time:

La vendetta, oh, la vendetta
È un piacer serbato ai saggi;
L’obliar l’onte, gli oltraggi,
È bassezza, è ognor viltà.
Coll'astuzia, coll’arguzia
Col giudizio, col criterio
Si potrebbe ... Il fatto è serio:
Ma, credete, si farà.
Se tutto il codice devessi volgere.
Se tutto l'indice dovessi leggere
Con un equivoco, con un sinonimo
Qualche garbuglio si troverà.
Tutta Siviglia conosce Bartolo:
Il birbo Figaro vostro sarà!