Location: Sevilla, Andalucía, España
Soul Site: Basilica del Gran Poder
Alimento: Tocino del Cielo
Highlights: Jesus del Gran Poder, A. A. Torrico's Estaciones de la Cruz, Cateral de Sevilla
Sunday, 30 October, 2022
Another post about meat? You MUST be joking.
No! Believe me! (Well, except for the last two paragraphs.)
But I have to admit something.
I think I'm in love, and I'm ready to share my darling's name.
Seville.
It was really just one whirlwind weekend, and I feel like in revealing this I'm being unfaithful to my dearly beloved Logroño, but isn't this the year to have un poco de summer city fling (see: it was still summertime there)? And can't love sometimes be found...just...that quickly?
Okay, I was putting far too much on the Internet before I said that. Ehem. Let's take a step back.
Last weekend, I traveled to Seville with two Notre Dame friends: one's a fellow Fulbrighter teaching in the Canary Islands this year, and the other's doing an intensive language study in Morocco this semester. Both were originally mutual friends, but now I consider them two of my greatest friends y punto. One was a close friend for the majority of college (hey, Annie) and the other sat next to me for the entirety of our last semester of Spanish literature class and quaked in her boots right alongside me for those tense last few weeks waiting to hear if we'd both be named finalists in the end... (hey Isabel; love you).
Rolling up to our stay for "Seville Weekend" felt like one of those Girls Trip movies where they finally arrive to The Destination and everyone shoves their suitcase handle to the side of the road, yanks off their oversized sunglasses, gapes at each other for a moment, squeals, and hobbles toward each other for a jumping bear hug: GIRLS, we made it! To squeeze these friends when so much has happened since we let go from the last one, and then to find ourselves sitting with a glass of agua con gas in the sun-drenched afternoon, basking in the realization that this trip finally, as they say, left the group chat, felt more than wonderful.
Scenes from around Seville.
These friends made it fun because they're so my speed. We cannot run out of things to talk about, and we talk a mile a minute while doing it. They're down for the Cathedral visit and cool with nixing plans to stroll and stroll and stroll (and shop); we forget how to use keys but we never forget to sit down for a full meal or grab a third coffee, musing a bit about the books we wish we had more time to read while we sip. We hit the "other" palace, the underdog one, which hasn't made it onto most of the itineraries yet; we're giggling way too loud, but a minute later we blatantly forget to round the side chapels since we 're so lost in conversation about why so many crowds of people are here to see, anyway. How does one reconcile this silent, joyous space with this Halloween-hyped place; what is hope in so much change? (I hope that you, too, have friends like this).
Seville's Cathedral, Cathedral of Saint Mary of the See
Seville's Cathedral was gorgeous and it did smell like oranges. I can confirm. But, the landmark was swimming with tourists, and we visited on our first day, so I admittedly whisper-chatted my way through much of our time on the grounds. It was stepping inside a much smaller church we spotted (on a charming plaza's corner in the San Lorenzo barrio on Sunday evening after a simple nighttime walk along the river) that I felt an acute voice shouting to me, "Hello, hi, it's me, Seville, I'm here!!"
The front facade of the Basilica del Gran Poder
Annie'd had to fly back to Morocco by this point, so it was just Isabel and me that decided to check the church out after we noticed some families, young people, and tourists strolling out of its tall wooden doors after evening Mass. We folded into a smaller crowd that replaced them and were immediately enveloped inside a quiet, grooved, domed white nave as we entered. We found an empty pew and then a moment of silence, but I could not wait too long before mentioning to Isabel how I was being struck by the set of simultaneously vivid and foggy paintings of the Stations of the Cross surrounding us.
Remember those heavy, eyes-are-following-you, velvet-and-wood-type statues and art pieces I've been sharing? These canvases were so different, quite contemporary in style. My eyes still couldn't peel away from the way the artist (Antonio Agudo Torrico, 1996) had captured the intense dreariness of those snapshots in time. It brought to mind a rain cloud fallen over all of the images, and even so, the church was possibly the most inviting one I've found myself in, in a long time.
This was the Minor Basilica del Gran Poder. Its website indicates that it was incorporated in 1992 by (now Saint) Pope John Paul II. The Hermandad del Gran Poder (Brotherhood of the Great Power), an order of religious brothers, arrived to the Sevillian parish and barrio of San Lorenzo in 1703, yet I see that their roots go back to the 1400s (Source: Hermandad del Gran Poder). The Basilica itself was built "as a place to welcome and accommodate the great devotion that the people of Seville had professed for centuries to the blessed image of the Lord," or the image of Nuestro Padre Jesús del Gran Poder (Source: Turismo Sevilla). This image of Jesus carved in wood by artist Juan de Mesa in 1620 presents Him mid step on the path to His crucifixion, carrying His very heavy cross, downtrodden, lost in thought.
And it makes very clear: God is suffering. This has come to represent for many Sevillians God Himself (Source: Hermandad). As I had surmised, images like this are meant to "become dynamic, real and close, both in the altarpieces in which they are venerated every day, and in the streets, on the steps and processionals" (Google's translation for you; find the original here). I think the webpage paints this picture beautifully for us here, so I'm just going to paste in this entire tidbit:
Culminating the formal beauty of Mannerism (Manierismo), the Sevillian baroque free-standing sculpture raises in the effigy of Nuestro Padre Jesús del Gran Poder a unique expressiveness, especially marked in his face and eyes, which are full of love, hope and firmness before the designs of life; marked by emotion and drama, embodied here in the powerful stride that stuns him on his way to death, heralding a dramatic outcome but taken with the resignation with which he lovingly wraps his hands around the wood that will be his sacrifice, knowing that the glory will be after death; marked by the pathetic realism that feeds on the art of life studies, as shown by the wounds on his face, the crown of the serpent of sin that He defeats that coils imbricated on his head, the thorns that pierce his eyebrow and with it his look of love, and those that wound him in the forehead and ear, leading the viewer and devotee towards a penitential spirit in which Christ dialogues with man, resignedly shows him his destiny and He welcomes it, flooding the person who witnesses it with tenderness and firmness. "Whoever wants to come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross and follow me." (Matthew, 16:24; Mark, 8:34).
And all this is achieved by Juan de Mesa, providing the image with a perfectly thought-out anatomy, in which the unbalanced body, largely open to the beat of his stride, leans arching his back in an exact dynamism that prevents the fall showing Christ holding on to the Cross, absorbed in his pain, withdrawn, thinking that everything is already written, that his sorrow is on its way to the end. The night of arrest, trial and mockery has passed and the Lord is about to arrive at Calvary to be crucified, he is going to meet Mary, his mother, it is the most heartbreaking moment of suffering in life for mortals and still thus, in his walk and in his face, severe and kind at the same time, this Nazarene transmits the greatest of hopes. (Source)
(Source: Hermandad del Gran Poder)
I mean... wow. There I was reading the bits of information on the church's walls, wondering. And here I am at my keyboard now, still wondering: if I were to look more closely like this into every image I stumble upon, would I come back thinking of each one as a work imprescindible (there's not a perfect translation for that word in English) of spiritual genius?
(Photos 1-3 Source: Hermandad del Gran Poder; photos 4-5 my own)
I read this as: just as the Basilica's front facade blends right into the architecture of the rest of the Plaza de San Lorenzo, its history is woven right into the fabric of Seville's history as a city, as a people. In a way, the church exists here, today, because of the devotion of the sevillanos to this particular icon, their heralding of this image of Jesus, with such care, for so many years. I've begun to hypothesize that it must be in these unexpected spaces and places (that sometimes hide just minutes away from the main tourist hotspots) where you can encounter both intense contemplation and a greater understanding of the faith life of the people who call a place their home.
Una capilla de Maria detrás del nave principal (A Mary chapel behind the main nave)
Un poco de la historia; flores, etc. (A little of the history, flowers, etc.)
And what about the pastry, you ask? Well, my original quest was to find torrijas, which is Andalucía's version of French Toast. However, after talking to multiple bakers and cafe owners, I learned that it is either totally nonexistent outside of Holy Week there, or just very, very hard to find (no one offered me the name of a place to go and try it). So, my plan B was a tart called tocino del cielo, which serendipitously translates to "Heaven's bacon." This is a rich, caramel-y custard reminiscent of flan, but a little firmer. Most recipes I've found call for just three ingredients: sugar, water, and egg yolks, whereas flan's generally got four to five. Its origins? The upside-down dish "dates back to the 1300s and the city of Jerez, where egg whites were used to clarify wine, so the leftover yolks were given to the local nuns" (Source: Great British Chefs). I got to try it to close an incredible dinner at El Rinconcillo, the oldest tapas bar in Seville. Would repeat.
There's not an obvious connection between the food and the faith spot here, except that I am learning to gain confidence asking for direction on the fly, in both camps. I still have a long way to go, and I'm ready for it.
Lost in thought and still sending love,
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