Massive, gilded floats carry statues of Christ and the Virgin Mary through narrow streets. 

Locals carry these floats as an act of faith, fulfilling family traditions and personal promises. The silence of a candlelit procession, the raw emotion of a lone saeta (lament) echoing through the night, and the deep sense of belonging make small-town Holy Week truly unique. 

In Spain, Holy Week is not merely a spectacle or just another religious event, it is a time of profound faith, history and identity. It is a centuries-old tradition rooted in medieval Catholicism and woven into the very fabric of daily life, whether celebrated in a large city or a small town. In cities such as Seville, Cordoba or Malaga, the display is grand, drawing thousands of visitors — including well-known participants like Antonio Banderas — who come to witness the majestic processions, the world-renowned brotherhoods, and the stunning religious imagery.  

Especially in small towns across Spain, Holy Week or Semana Santa in Spanish, is much more than a religious tradition. It is a deeply rooted cultural experience that unites entire communities. For centuries, these towns have meticulously prepared for Holy Week, blending solemn devotion with artistic expression. The urban celebrations also are deeply rooted in history and devotion, yet their scale, marked by large crowds, media coverage and an almost-theatrical atmosphere.  

Brotherhoods and sisterhoods — or cofradías — organize the processions, carrying the sacred statues, adorned with rich drapery, on the shoulders and backs of devoted townspeople, many fulfilling personal vows or acts of penance. The larger floats, once fully loaded and adorned, can weigh up to 2,000 lbs! Marching bands follow behind and add solemn music to the event which will come to a halt and fall silent if an acapella saeta (a spontaneous lament sung by one person), breaks out in the crowds lining the streets. 

I have lived in the southwestern Spanish town of Los Santos de Maimona in the province of Badajoz for over 20 years and more than 40 years on and off in different cities in Spain. Los Santos de Maimona is a small rural agricultural town of approximately 8,000 souls, and many, from all walks of life, are members of different brotherhoods. It is as if there is this invisible network running throughout town. Among them are Miguel Angel Canseco, known to his friends as “Mickey,” and Manuela Montaño.  

Canseco is the “elder brother” of the Cofradía Hermandad de Nuestro Padre Jesús Nazareno y María Santísima de la Esperanza or the “Brotherhood of Our Father Jesus the Nazarene and Mary Most Holy of Hope.” The names are derived from the statues — depicting Jesus and Mary — they care for: “Jesus the Nazarene” and “Mary of Hope.” Montaño belongs to the sisterhood called Cofradía Virgen de los Dolores y la Soledad or the “Sisterhood of the Virgin of Sorrows and Solitude.” This last cofradía whose membership is entirely made up of women was founded around 1850. 

Canseco explained that in the brotherhood’s records there are minutes from a meeting dating back to 1872, where it says that this brotherhood is so old that it is lost in the annals of time, i.e., there is no record of when the brotherhood was founded. 

Church archives reveal that in 1700 a chapel sanctuary was added to the church in town in order to house the statue of the Nazarene, thus establishing that the Nazarene was present in town by 1700. The members surmise that the brotherhood already existed or at the very least was a loosely established confraternity before that year. 

Canseco’s organization has a membership of more than 500 devotees, roughly 6% of the town’s population — and that’s just one brotherhood! 

The townsfolk volunteer their time, helping with the cleaning, dressing, repairing or restoration of everything involved in the procession, including Montaño, a retired seamstress who restored the Virgin of Sorrows’ mantle, which dates to the 17th century. 

Busy at her sewing machine, she puts on the finishing touches in order to get it ready — one integral part of a living tradition that shapes their religious and cultural identity, a time when the past and present merge, reminding the people of their heritage and the shared faith that defines their community. 

In small towns, Semana Santa remains a more intimate, community-driven experience. Here, processions wind through narrow streets where almost every face is familiar. The devotion is just as strong, but the experience is much more personal and at times “in your face” in a positive way.  

Semana Santa is a year-round commitment. Preparation for next year’s Holy Week begins almost as soon as this year’s processions end. This commitment is not limited to processions, but is about genuinely living the Gospel and leading the life of a Christian. Christian charity comprises a year-round commitment to helping the needy, thus reinforcing social bonds. The values of devotion, sacrifice and community spirit embodied during Holy Week are reflected in everyday life, whether in acts of solidarity, religious observance or the preservation of local customs.  

The final rehearsal of the porters carrying the float is known as the “solidary rehearsal.” 

 

The porters put on their protective head and shoulder garb and carry the float through the streets, without the life-size statue of Jesus or the Virgin on it, through the streets of town, and the neighbors come out of their houses and donate bags of food, which are placed on the float, adding to the weight on the porters’ backs. The food is then donated to an organization that helps feed those in need — a most beautiful way of putting into practice Christian values. 

For travelers seeking not just to witness Semana Santa, but to experience it on a deeper, more personal level, a small town offers an unparalleled opportunity. Unlike in the big cities, where spectators watch from behind barriers or in some cases can purchase seats as if in a sports arena, in smaller communities, at times, visitors don’t go unnoticed and might be approached by brotherhood members who welcome them into the heart of the tradition. Some even allow outsiders to participate — whether by joining a brotherhood, carrying a float or simply walking in silent reflection alongside the townspeople. In a small town, Semana Santa is not just something to see, it is something to be a part of.  

 

 

Robert Ransley is a freelance photographer and writer living in Spain. 

www.robertransley.com