Today, the last Friday before Holy Week, the school performed the Vía Crucis, or Stations of the Cross, a Catholic (what should I call it--a ritual? a sacrament?) practice that reminds us of the cruxification of Jesus Christ in a series of 14 stations, each marking a point in the story. The entire school prepared each station with chairs or desks, and adornments like flowers, crosses, and rosaries.
As the students at the primaria are between pre-Kinder and sixth grade, they had trouble standing still during the readings and prayers. They mumbled through the Hail Marys and Our Fathers, but isn´t that chorus prayer never above a garbled whisper so quintessentially Catholic? No matter where you go, that´s just how it is.
(They just wanna take pictures. That´s all they wanna do.)
But for some reason it was all very odd to me. Having been to other Latin American countries and understanding, more or less, the culture, I should have understood the deep religious sentiment that permeates every facet of their lives. Especially out in the campo. However, attending secular public school and having Separation of Church and State drilled into my head my whole life made today an entirely foreign experience. Shoot, I thought. I´m part-Mexican. And Catholic!
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