After extended goodbyes with our host families in Tacna, we flew to Cusco. Some of us got headaches from the 10k foot altitude, but after a late lunch all were feeling fine enough to go shopping and touring. After visiting the immense Cathedral filled with gold-leaf reredos and hints of Incan theology hidden in the artisanship, some of us went to where the sound of a band announced a procession in honor of St. Blaise.
Most of us are familiar with the blessing with candles in early February on his feast day, but I did not realize that he was an Armenian bishop who was also a doctor and the patron saint of gynecologists. For that reason the statue here has red gloves. Also why many expectant families come to pray in this church.
I got to the church just when the band entered the square after a procession. The statue, at least 15 feet tall, including mini statues of assisting priests and acolytes, was sitting on a platform in the square outside the church.
Suddenly, around 30 men in San Blas vests emerged from the crowd and took their places at three poles beneath the statue, which must weigh as much as a car. They lifted it on their shoulders as the band struck up as reverent a tune as a brass band with drums could muster. The men began shuffling forward, then turning right and left. When the band struck certain notes, the porters all genuflected and made the sign of the cross. It was an arduous prayer, taking strength and coordination. I thought it was the male counterpart to the efforts of childbirth. The stature swayed and bobbed.
The band struck up a second piece, this one faster, and the carriers shuffled around in circles even faster. I was terrified that they would stumble under the weight. I didn´t know who to be afraid for more, the statue, the men or the crowd, which had to give way repeatedly to the swaying, almost drunken lurches of the men. Then, the doors of the chuch swung open, and the statue started to surge up the 20-foot flight of stairs, just as suddenly, it slipped back down the steps toward the crowd.
That was when the firecrakers went off. To call them firecrackers does not do them justice, for they were more like sonic booms. One series, two series, three, four, five, interspersed with the wild allegrettos of the band, until finally the men squeezed into the portal with the statue, the miter of Bishop Blaise and his shepherd´s crook just barely fitting into the space.
For a moment, the statue was poised at the door, as if to say his goodbyes, to the sound of even more sonic explosions.
When the statue was finally swallowed into the church, I joined the rush to enter. I made it in just before the band leader held more of the crowd back, so that the musicans could enter. Their brazen horns, which filled the plaza outside, were nearly deafening inside.
The whole event was a form of excessive, passionate prayer. One could not help but be swept up with the power of childbirth, which San Blas´ intercession is meant to protect.
I stayed in the ensuing silence for a few minutes with the men in vests and the faithful who pressed close to the statue, once more near its place at one side of the nave. I prayed fervently for my daughter-in-law Anya, about the give birth in August to our first grandchild.
Most of us are familiar with the blessing with candles in early February on his feast day, but I did not realize that he was an Armenian bishop who was also a doctor and the patron saint of gynecologists. For that reason the statue here has red gloves. Also why many expectant families come to pray in this church.
I got to the church just when the band entered the square after a procession. The statue, at least 15 feet tall, including mini statues of assisting priests and acolytes, was sitting on a platform in the square outside the church.
Suddenly, around 30 men in San Blas vests emerged from the crowd and took their places at three poles beneath the statue, which must weigh as much as a car. They lifted it on their shoulders as the band struck up as reverent a tune as a brass band with drums could muster. The men began shuffling forward, then turning right and left. When the band struck certain notes, the porters all genuflected and made the sign of the cross. It was an arduous prayer, taking strength and coordination. I thought it was the male counterpart to the efforts of childbirth. The stature swayed and bobbed.
The band struck up a second piece, this one faster, and the carriers shuffled around in circles even faster. I was terrified that they would stumble under the weight. I didn´t know who to be afraid for more, the statue, the men or the crowd, which had to give way repeatedly to the swaying, almost drunken lurches of the men. Then, the doors of the chuch swung open, and the statue started to surge up the 20-foot flight of stairs, just as suddenly, it slipped back down the steps toward the crowd.
That was when the firecrakers went off. To call them firecrackers does not do them justice, for they were more like sonic booms. One series, two series, three, four, five, interspersed with the wild allegrettos of the band, until finally the men squeezed into the portal with the statue, the miter of Bishop Blaise and his shepherd´s crook just barely fitting into the space.
For a moment, the statue was poised at the door, as if to say his goodbyes, to the sound of even more sonic explosions.
When the statue was finally swallowed into the church, I joined the rush to enter. I made it in just before the band leader held more of the crowd back, so that the musicans could enter. Their brazen horns, which filled the plaza outside, were nearly deafening inside.
The whole event was a form of excessive, passionate prayer. One could not help but be swept up with the power of childbirth, which San Blas´ intercession is meant to protect.
I stayed in the ensuing silence for a few minutes with the men in vests and the faithful who pressed close to the statue, once more near its place at one side of the nave. I prayed fervently for my daughter-in-law Anya, about the give birth in August to our first grandchild.
Thank you for not only all your efforts with the young men (I feel confident enough, seeing what they are doing and the spirit undoubtedly involved). But, then the stamina and caring to write about your days so we may partake from here. I'm impressed and very proud of my nephew and indeed all the young men you've brought along in this very worthwhile and memorable journey.
Many thanks for yours, and all the other chaperones. care, watchfulness, and grace in this project.
All the best,
Perry and Kristy Senn