Seville also said yes to embrace a Magna for history

As soon as the Lord was introducing his merciful hands into the interior of his basilica in the Plaza de San Lorenzo, today less defeated than yesterday by the weight of our sins, almost half an hour before schedule, the Macarena brought on her cheeks the roar of ‘Virgen de las Aguas’ to Paseo Colón, and Triana was Triana in Reyes Católicos before the common route was concluded. There was no reunion on the street, but there was in the Cathedral. Some child with blood the color of the old wall would remember then that the ‘Hope Macarena’ that Pedro Morales imagined one day was born from the brilliance of the composer, whom the Blessed Virgin acted as cicerone in Sierpes herself to weave a score that It is the work and grace of the Holy Spirit. It already sounded on Friday when Hope pierced hearts along the Alameda and it did so yesterday an hour before Setefilla finished making history in San Andrés. In that request everything has already been paid on behalf of a certain Santa Marta. That is why all the hangings made of prayers that all the people of Lorraine had woven with their faith came true. Seville is deservedly the sister of honor of this beautiful way of understanding popular religiosity like no one else, as demonstrated by Lora del Río. God bless you always. This is said by the admiration with which each prayer was sung by all those who followed in his wake through the capital, carrying in their memory that primitive late Gothic image: «Long live the pride of Lora! And long live the mother of God! “Long live the beautiful Serranita!” they replied incessantly. The brotherhood entered no less than an hour and a half before what was scheduled.

As midnight approached, the girl with the long sunrises continued to get lost in Magdalena. Who would dare deny a rose to someone who is already spring? It would be like taking the keys to the city from the person who founded it: a Virgin of the Kings who a quarter of an hour before eleven at night would end up painting an oil painting on canvas of her own collection, like another evangelist from the chapel that ended leaving behind. Not even Hernando de Esturmio can guess the secret of the smile of this ‘Mona Lisa’ who is and will always be the patron saint. The truth is that for her everything had made sense since she returned to the normality of her Royal Chapel, president of all those who governed, because as you know: ‘Per me reges regnant’. The believers believe in it, all of them convinced that its lustrous grave would end up suffocating the last breath of the one who died in the Cava, who once slipped into some pictures in this perfect Magna.

La Centuria appeased the silence from the Bell. Not even the alfayates in O’Donnell’s tailor shops give a stitch without a thread when a child grabs his grandfather’s hand. He tells him about the quasi-political expiration that the older brothers have with their legislatures as well as the distribution of the costaleros. “There are several teams to divide the weight,” he says. Meanwhile he limits himself to smiling, serving and little else. Nothing less. The grandfather tells whoever is next to him that his grandson works as an altar boy in Pasión, that he speaks little but that he is as cool as the one who let us kiss on Friday. That comes from giving another kiss to the apostolic nuncio’s ring, despite being five years old, Bernardito Auzawho carefully asked him an hour ago: «Hey, will you be a priest in the future? To which he does not hesitate to reply thunderously: “I will be Pope.” The grandfather gave Eduardo a kiss and lifted him onto his already heavy shoulders and the two let themselves be bewitched by Hope. When Macarena was reaching the last meters of O’Donnell, the grandfather told Eduardo to thank him, but above all to ask, to ask for everyone. Always looking at Hope with that contrite emotion of someone who doesn’t know if it will be the last time.

Whoever wins the hearts of the sisters of the Cross—you are also Christ, Lutgardo García proclaimed—they have Seville in their hands like a rosary. This is what happened with Consolation of Utreraexceptional witness of the love of the Sevillian land, whose indisputable faith towards Sister Ángela they have professed since time immemorial. Hence the emotion was uncontrollable for them when the nuns began to sing very close to the patron saint of Utrera, whom they nicknamed “Mother of the Church” and “heavenly protector”, before the musical note of the Álvarez Quintero band, which left a special flavor. Almost as much as what was tasted in Alfarería, when the singers who miss Pascual the most sang ‘Mi Triana de Esperanza’. The surprise also came on the other side of the coin when Centuria decided to cover marches from both the Macarena and the band of bugles and drums made with the skin of the goblin that Hidalgo had in his hands. ‘Eterna, Macarena’, was Francisco Moraza’s compendium that recalled that return of the extraordinary 2014.

It was the turn of Two Sisters to raise their hands to say goodbye to a day for the annals of Valme. He did it in a big way, first with a wonderful party from Francos Street, and then with a punctual pick-up at the Colegial del Divino Salvador for whom the Rose of Passion was worn at the Magna in Seville as an ambassador of organ donation, “bringing solidarity to the hearts and health of patients who need a transplant,” as Dr. Pérez Bernal said. The Nazarenes enjoyed an unforgettable day for those who venerate such an illustrious Fernandina image. An ‘Ave Maria’ recited to the sound commanded by the Esperanza de Triana sounded almost in unison. And the Puppy entered, making us believe that his basilica was a shadow of that of Saint Peter’s, because the next time anyone sees him dying, the next time he will die hanging from the pennants of Rome. If the Puppy is the Puppy it is because it breaks into pieces with its ‘Sevillian Saeta’, the watchword of a gathering that is a real knockout as a masterpiece of the Baroque as its figure is understood as the immortal silhouette of this popular procession.

Only the Esperanzas remained on the street, guardians of the faith in Seville, like Justa and Rufina imagined by Murillo. Everything and nothing, according to Macarena and according to Triana. And that dark potter appeared in the middle of the night to be a flow of emotion in the last hours. Lighthouse, bridge and boat. ‘Triana tu Esperanza’ performed Cigarreras on the side of Santa Ana, between the gloom of the neighborhood and the — Juan Ramonian — light over time within who had undoubtedly taken all the oles in a catalog of memorable images. For Parras, always the blessed Parras street, La Macarena opened the last charcoal shop of singing that exists in this country so that its canopy could fit more petals to that thornless rose. Christmas carols sounded, or so they say, in the old suburb. That ‘I Believe in Hope’ with the Lullabies of Santa Ana that Manolo Garrido composed in the 70s lit up the eyes of Pureza’s favorite daughter, who, half an hour late, finally arrived at the Mariners’ chapel as a safe and secure port. homeland. The ‘Morning Star’ would close this impossible dream of the brothers who already knew that after an arc they would be promised happiness. Cernuda said it; As Monsignor Saiz Meneses assured that his hope at the end of the Congress was that the Lord would grant, through the intercession of Hope, “the purification of the heart to achieve the vision of God.” And thus reach happiness, the one that Macarena gave when she entered her basilica. Reason for happiness, as the poet would say. Because Seville also said yes to embracing a Magna that is already the best story of all that there was and will be.