The Tanager Blog

{Note: I have created a slideshow of the best images from Good Friday on my portfolio website. Please visit, and let me know your impressions. Critiques are welcome in the comments box below}

Just outside San Miguel de Allende lies a village named San Luis Rey, where the Passion is enacted with such brutal devotion on Good Friday, they actually tie three men to crosses and hang them up in the hot sun. Such is the intensity of faith in this part of Mexico.

But in San Miguel de Allende, it was appearing that Good Friday was just as much a spectacle for visitors as it was a community event. What had seemed like a sleepy hamlet in the middle of nowhere on Monday, had by Friday become the center of attention. El Jardin — the charming tree-lined square set underneath La Parroquia — was swarming with Mexicans on vacation, gringos clammering for a spot on the parade route, and Indian women aggressively selling dolls. By the time the procession began to flow from the stairsteps of La Parroquia, the hot April sun was directly overhead, the makings of a sunburn and a brain-boiling headache underway.

A steady drumbeat once again set the even and slow pace. Women in all black lead with a large altar bearing a sculpture of Mary, followed by a small boy in a purple tunic carrying a skull. More children followed, dressed as angels or wisemen with beards painted across their cheeks, and then the centurions — the brutish, stone-faced warriors who were so effectively played by the men of the town. They marched with a swagger and a touch of subtle arrogance, as if they were the embodiment of man’s flawed sense of justice.

Pontius Pilate emerged, a sneer spread across his face as the hot wind blew his white cape. He lurched from step to step, stopped, produced a microphone, and read the death sentence of Christ to the hushed crowd.

As the drum beat picked up and the procession threaded through the streets, barefoot men in purple robes with thorny crowns followed in twos bearing large wooden crosses, and just beyond them…

…two shirtless men, tied to posts with nails dramatically positioned as if they’d been nailed through their palms. These were the two thieves who had been crucified alongside Christ, and they were covered with rusty paint to signify their profuse bleeding.

Two centurions handled them with a taunt rope, and occasionally would unleash a ghastly flog across the men’s back. The audience gasped in horror, an exasperation of disbelief that these men were actually being whipped. Despite all of the gringo tourists (and I do not pretend that I was not one of them), Good Friday would not resign itself to a quaint cultural festival. This was the supreme sacrifice, a moment of deep meaning and transcendence, and by reenacting the cruelty of their savior’s death, these people were somehow closer and more intimate with his suffering. It was a level of devotion that was all at once remarkable and rare.

The thieves were followed by a richly decorated altar of Christ carrying the cross, and then more figures on more altars — St. Peter, Mary Magdalene, Joseph — each weighing a few hundred pounds and bearing the scent of lilies. Scattered girls dressed as angels dropped herbs and petals on the streets. It was a beautiful set of contrasts and juxtapositions. Pain, suffering, death. Beauty, rebirth and fragility.

The parade redefined our notions of endurance; we had thought we were enduring physical distress just by standing, locked legs, in the 100-degree heat. As the parade tapered off, we ducked back into El Jardin’s shade and I quickly deleted images I knew were no good. A blocked face here, an out-of-focus subject there. In a mere 45 minutes I had fired off 300-some shots.

As the procession circled back to the square, we headed back out into the sun and found a prime viewing spot for its return. The procession’s players were looking exhausted: the angels seemed restless, the men behind their fake beards were clearly melting, and the barefoot devotees who had carried their crosses through town for 90 minutes looked utterly spent.

And then again, there were the two thieves — one looking down the whole time, the other gazing into the distance. A centurion flogged the older of the two, who winced and then returned to his far-off gazing. Guilt spread on the centurion’s face, a moment of humanity in a role of utter brutality.