Christmas in Guatemala

I was loitering in the streets of Antigua with our housemate and fellow student, Frances, waiting for our pedicure appointments, when a funeral came into view. Children scattered flower petals in the street; the mourners followed, dressed all in somber black, marching slowly down the middle of the street to the ponderous beat of a bass drum. The giant flower-decked bier came next, carried by at least twenty people, marching and swaying together from side to side. Wait, twenty people? Then we realized that atop the bier was a huge statue of Jesus in a purple robe, carrying an even huger cross.

Was it a celebration, a mourning, a memorial? People on the sidewalks either stood and watched the procession go by with varying degrees of fascination, or they completely ignored it and carried on with their daily business. Sadly, neither Frances nor I had a camera or even a phone, so we had no pictures. And the pedicures weren’t all that great either.

A few days later, we wandered into the Cathedral of San José in Antigua’s Parque Central. It happened to be Sunday, so the interior was full of locals in addition to the usual crowds of tourists. The sanctuary was clearly dressed up for the holidays. Isn’t it lovely?

And, lo! There were several biers of the sort we had seen in the procession–clearly they were floats of a sort, with statues of saints. I think these two are San José (as this is his cathedral) and perhaps The Archangel Michael (because of the dragon). Perhaps my Catholic-educated friends can identify him, and explain the book and quill pen.

A group of men were preparing the floats; we watched while they carefully hoisted the figure of Mary onto the float, and then spent nearly an hour securing her and tucking and pinning her velvet, star-spangled robe to shine to best advantage.

We had sat down on a pew to watch the preparations, and before we realized it, a mass had begun in the sanctuary. I have not attended many masses, and this one was interesting. In addition to the priest, two different women gave readings; one a section of the Christian Bible in Spanish, and the other in a Mayan dialect (I think Quiché, but I’m not sure). Is that usual? I don’t know. We sat and listened long enough to figure out that it was the first Sunday of Advent, and therefore a day of celebration–hence the floats.

Eventually we gave up waiting for the procession to start; Frances headed home to do some Spanish homework, Henry and Joe went off to find wi-fi, and I went shopping for a special 16th birthday present for a special niece.

I was crossing back through the main square several hours later when I heard firecrackers. This in itself is not unusual–we’ve heard firecrackers at all hours, day and night, ever since we crossed the border into Guatemala. They are hugely popular here; I don’t know if it’s the season, or all year round. But this time, I also smelled frankincense. Then I saw the crowds. I rushed over and saw, not a small, funereal procession, but a grand pageant.

There were ladies in traditional Mayan dress, and ladies in Western dress. There were gentlemen in black suits, and gentlemen in Mayan outfits. There were men in white robes carrying censers, and men in white robes carrying colored lanterns, and men in white robes carrying banners. There were drums in the front, and a marching band in black suits in the back. The whole parade was preceded by firecrackers–a big cannon boom and a whole mess of crackling sparklers. And at the center of it all were the floats we had seen in the cathedral that morning, carried by droves of men and women marching and swaying so that the figures on top moved and swayed as well.