Good afternoon everybody.

I would like to start by thanking the Pro Semana Santa Board of Villafáfila, and I do so from the most sincere sentiment. Convinced of the value and importance of this moment.

It is an honor to announce our Holy Week with an act that we have been celebrating for ten years and with which we want to continue writing the history of our town and one of its most deeply rooted traditions. We want to share what unites us, what shows an essential part of who we are and how we are.

I want to thank our mayor, José Ángel Ruiz, the priest of our parish, D. Agapito Gómez and especially and as one of you all the neighbors who accompany us.

With humility I assume the role of herald and also with the enthusiasm and strength provided by the sun that illuminates these fields of Castile, fields sown with cereals that feed our souls.

My only intention is to share with you some memories and experiences, that which links me and unites me with Villafáfila, that which links me for life to this Holy Week. And I say that it unites me for life because it couldn't be any other way if I was born on Good Friday 52 years ago, after the procession, here, on Suspiro Street, in my grandmother Angela's house.

And it is as if a deep and prolonged inhalation, that of an instant, that of a sigh, continued to lighten my life and my character. In a way, I am also marked by my name, which leads me to the mother of Jesus and the son of God, and makes me follow the procession of Mary and Jesus year after year.

ALWAYS clarity comes from the sky;

said the Zamorano poet Claudio Rodríguez.

is a gift: it is not among the

things but far above, and the

occupies making of it life and

own work.

This is how the day dawns; so the

night closes the great room of

their shadows ALWAYS the

clarity comes from heaven;

I am the daughter of Tino, “el Use” and Marciana, from the family of “los cabritos”, humble and hard-working people, who undoubtedly lived through very difficult times. My father worked as a child in the forge of my grandfather Felicísimo, next to the church of San Martín and boasts of having been the last one who rang the bells of that church. On the other hand, my mother, from a very young age, began in the sewing trade, continuing to stitch throughout her entire life.

To them I owe what I am, as teachers and as examples. They instilled in me the value of tenacity, effort and self-improvement. They, my sister Begoña and me set the pace to overcome difficulties and lift our spirits when our strength weakens.

I was born and grew up in this town, surrounded by dear neighbors and friends, of whom I have great memories and much affection, and next to this font I received my baptism. I attended the nursery school, located in the town hall square with all the children that were in the town at that time, and with Don Camilo I learned the catechism for the First Communion, nervous afternoons and a few laughs to relieve tension.

When I was 6 years old, I began my EGB studies at the San Marcos regional school, today the Colegio Rural Agrupado, a large center that unfortunately suffers today due to the demographic decline in the area.

I will always remember Doña Antonia, a teacher who taught me to read and write, a person of strong character but who awakened in me the true vocation towards teaching. Since then I knew that she wanted to be what I am today.

My life is tied to this town. My childhood and my roots belong to Villafáfila, those that sustain me today. Here I lived happily, running around the streets, playing hide-and-seek, having a snack at "la piedra fina" and on Sundays as an extraordinary day after mass , taking a look at the billboard window of Benito 's cinema and going straight to the square to buy some sweets from the Romicha drawer, always with an order that amazed us...

Here I lived without internet, or social networks and with black and white television. I still feel the cold from the ice earpieces and I notice the mud that we tramped through these streets. Here I also met my husband, Chema, and without him none of this would have been possible.

I make mine the verses of our beloved poet Jacinto Fuertes:

I always loved my people,

I can never forget it!

and in my verses I remember it,

Although I don't live in the town

I want it more and more.

There I spent all my childhood with my full youth, and those Holy Weeks where the whole town sings to their Jesus with the cross.

Holy Week is one of the moments that sink into the history of Villafáfila to relive every year. A celebration that dates back to the Middle Ages and that exceeds the artistic value of its carvings and the tradition of its processions, which have emerged over the centuries. History repeats itself because it is part of our being, of our feelings, because in some way it responds to a shared longing to meet the deepest part of ourselves and our beliefs.

This is how we express what we feel, this way we can share it and take our religiosity to the streets. And by doing so we manifest our faith, we value our artistic heritage, we recreate our culture and our traditions or we strengthen ties with those around us. This is how we grow inside while we manifest ourselves on the outside.

For me, the beginning of Holy Week took place after the celebration of “compadres and comadres” Thursdays, with those snacks that we enjoyed so much, and it began with Ash Wednesday, when we went to church accompanied by the teachers for the imposition of it. It was something special, a moment of enjoyment that allowed us to escape from school in the middle of the morning. We spent the day waiting for that sign of ashes on our foreheads that little by little was disappearing although somehow it permeated us.

When writing this proclamation I looked back and plucked from oblivion those memories that allow me to express what I want to share today. Like that feeling of admiration that invaded me, as a child, when I listened to the tradition of sermons performed by the figure of the preacher. A tradition that was maintained until the 1970s. In general, this role was performed by a Franciscan or a Dominican, from the convents in the area, and his word was heard especially on Good Friday.

That same day, very early, it was customary to see women dressed in the basquiña, a black skirt used for solemn acts, remaining seated on the floor of the church and saying their prayers. The Nazarene and the Virgin Mary left the church of San Martín to meet in the Plaza del Ayuntamiento. What emotion aroused just one sentence "... run Juan to see Maria..." put in the voice of who said it. Later the Via Crucis began with its route through different streets to the Plaza del Salvador, ending the procession in the church of San Martín and ending with mass in the Church of Santa María.

“Our Father Jesus Nazarene, eternal king of love and peace.

Always reign in your faithful Slaves and of the world, Lord, have mercy "

(Verse so many times heard)

Also among that heritage that I treasure, I keep in my memory “the afternoon of darkness”, which took place on Holy Wednesday in the Church of San Martín.

After the services and with the church in darkness, the children shook rattles and rattles, producing a tremendous noise, simulating an earthquake at the end of time. It is a pity that this tradition is not maintained today to be able to live it with that intensity of then.

Holy Week for me is all those sounds, it has the smell of incense, even the taste of French toast and footprints that do not fade.

Holy Week is the blessed laurel branches waved in procession on Palm Sunday. It is the Auction or Adjustment of the Saints. A transcendent act that dates back to the beginning of the 19th century and that is maintained in few places in Spain. It is to show willingness to carry the images, to pay to have that privilege, to compete to occupy that place in a procession. We never got out of our amazement when years ago, when we were 10 or 11 years old, the Urn of the Holy Burial reached the scarce value of 1 peseta or 1 duro, due to its weight.

Our Holy Week is also the Trumpet , which marked the rhythm of the puja and this celebration, which announced the religious acts and accompanied us throughout the night of Holy Thursday, with a harsh sound that was lost in the streets and entered our souls.

But our Holy Week is also the silence of Holy Wednesday and the Brotherhood of the Holy Christ of Mercy. Founded 25 years ago on the initiative of a group of residents of the town in order to promote Holy Week in Villafáfila and recover this image of great beauty and expressiveness in the Baroque style of the 17th century that is preserved in our church.

For me this procession has a very special meaning for different reasons or rather for different links that have names. Among its promoters, Agapito, my father-in-law, recently deceased, to whom memory insisted on placing what he lived in the corner of the forgotten...

It is also special because of the trust that Jesús Ruiz, a great promoter of Holy Week and someone very appreciated in our town, placed in Carmina and my mother, Marciana, when he commissioned them to make the robes of the brotherhood in delicate green velvet. dark, with beige cloak and cap .

I have to say that I had to remove some basting and some hem to sew so that the order arrived on time.

And essentially because my sons Gonzalo and Jaime are members of that brotherhood, which makes me feel very proud .

“Young people who carried it with enthusiasm and with faith, May you carry it for many years

Just like in ninety - three.” (Fine words from Jacinto)

After the act of the oath of silence, by the brothers in the church, the procession of the Santo Cristo de la Misericordia begins, slowly passing through our streets and making its way through the chiaroscuro produced by the lights and shadows of the lanterns that illuminate the Christ. And so we walk wrapped in the sound of the drum, a bell, a rattle, which the younger brotherhoods make to sound so that silence prevails and thus keep their promise.

The tour begins with the song of the Miserere in the Plaza del Ayuntamiento, when the Cristo de la Misericordia demands our attention, with a sad countenance, in perfect balance, leaning only on the forks and his gaze extends before all the brothers.

This same Brotherhood has recovered the DESCENT, a moment that is repeated every four years. Christ freed from the cross, an instant that in some way also relieves our burdens and personal sorrows and strips us of ties.

It is not that Holy Week is gaining in importance as the days go by, our Holy Week is these moments and others such as the Offices, with the reading of the Passion of Christ or the Ecce Homo Procession. That image of Jesus tied to the column, which dates back to the 18th century and comes from the church of San Salvador, which parades every Holy Thursday afternoon with rhythmic steps along with the purple color that his brothers wear.

Also on Holy Thursday and along a path lit with candles and candles, the Procession of the True Cross walks slowly, a carving of great artistic value, belonging to the Gothic-Flemish style of the 15th century and which participated in the exhibition of the Ages of Man in 2011 in Medina de Rioseco. This procession has been recovered for 9 years, at the proposal of the Pro-Easter Board, and after 130 years it disappeared. Thanks to his initiative we can remember its essence and the origin of that time, identified with the traditional Castilian black cape.

These memories transport me to times of rites and penances that formerly took place on the night of Holy Thursday, a vigil night that many groups of young people lengthened waiting for the dawn that comforted us, with the custom of making lemonade, playing “Ballato” ( with his strings… “You lie, Mr. Ballato”) and have some good churros for breakfast, if possible, before going to the procession.

Our Holy Week is made of all those steps that represent the Holy Passion of Jesus Nazarene in the slow and agonizing walk towards Calvary. Jesus with the cross, Mary and Saint John.

Emotion contained throughout the entire Good Friday procession to be able to contemplate Our Nazarene Jesus. An image that penetrates our heart and transmits serenity to us as if we found protection in its encounter.

Mary walks alone in the footsteps of Saint John. Her mother full of pain on all four sides of her. With her dejected look, in her defeated hands, her son who will soon be Holy Christ of the Passion.

“Seven words of love Jesus said in anguish

In them the pain of crucified Christ is expressed

The procession runs slowly, harmoniously and accompanied by the songs of the women. Barefoot feet that walk fulfilling some promise or request. And the penitents who closely follow the image of Jesus until the moment of the "Encounter". There they meet, there we meet, with Saint John and with Mary who bow down.

Our Holy Week is the procession of the Holy Burial, it is the Virgin of Sorrows, it is Mary invaded by sadness, it is the Virgin of Mercy, it is the Christ of the Urn, as real as life and it is the Sorrowful Mother who comes out to our streets for 12 years accompanied by women worthy of admiration. She is the Mother tormented by seeing her lifeless son... she is the son nailed to the cross. He is a black velvet tunic and a silver medal, it is a banner that announces it and makes its way, it is bare feet and some candles that illuminate its path and silence….

My Holy Week is that of my grandmother and that of a glass lantern and a candle, in which my main concern was whether it would go out due to the effect of the wind and if it would be consumed along the way. And it is also my fear of staining myself with wax. It is the Salve, always excited in the church.

It is Easter Sunday and the morning of meetings, is to accompany Mary, stripped of her black mantle to celebrate El Salvador. It is the risen Jesus.

Holy Week is mourning and suffering, it is joy, passion and longing. For me, they are the people I love and those who make it possible and share it. Holy Week, our Holy Week is mine and it belongs to Villafáfila. It belongs to everyone. And I thank everyone for allowing me this honor of proclaiming it.

There is so much dedication and work behind our Holy Week that it would not be fair for me to forget all the people who spend so much time preparing the church, dressing images, preparing their mantles and tunics, making them shine in all their splendor accompanied by precious floral decorations. . Without forgetting those people who with effort and dedication share the work of making posters, images and videos projecting our Holy Week through social networks. There is so much commitment that it is necessary to value so much selfless effort and so much love. To all of you, my most sincere and fraternal recognition and tribute this afternoon.

That is why I end as I began by paying homage to the town where I was born and in which I grew up, to its people, who accompanied me and continue to accompany me, to its Holy Week, which is part of my life, which was part of my yesterday, it is part of who I am today and will always be.

Thanks for the attention.

Ms. María Jesús Alonso Ferrero.

April 14, 2019, Villafáfila.

Author:

Jose Luis Dominguez Martinez.

Text:

Mrs. María Jesús Alonso Ferrero.

Herald of Holy Week 2019

Photography:

Jose Luis Dominguez Martinez.

Transcription and montage:

Jose Luis Dominguez Martinez.

All text, photographs, transcription and montage, their rights belong to their authors, any type of use is prohibited without authorization.

All text and photography has been authorized for storage, treatment, work, transcription and assembly to José Luis Domínguez Martínez, its dissemination on villafafila.net, and any other means that is authorized.