While in Seville for Holy Week during my lecture tour of 2005, I hoped to visit southern Spain’s most glorious cathedral — and witness what I had heard were the most spectacular and moving Semana Santa celebrations in the world.

The cathedral is so big that the 19th-century French writer Pierre Gautier called it a “hollow mountain, an upside down valley.” He added that “Notre Dame [Cathedral] could walk with its head high down Seville Cathedral’s center aisle, which is terrifyingly high.” This colossus of a church is more than a piece of art; it is a seduction of the senses, a love letter to and from God.

The Cathedral of Seville, formally known as La Catedral de Santa María de la Sede (Cathedral of St. Mary of the See) was begun in 1402 and its construction continued into the 16th century. Over the centuries since the Reconquista of Iberia, the Spanish, in thankfulness of their deliverance from Moorish occupation, set about to build the largest cathedral in world.

“We shall have a church so great and of such a kind,” wrote one of its benefactors, “that those who see it built will think we were mad.”

I am writing to tell you that they succeeded. Happily, they were “mad” for the right things.

The Seville Cathedral is indeed the largest Catholic cathedral in the world — St. Peter’s is a basilica, not a cathedral — and it’s the largest Medieval Gothic religious building of any kind in both area and volume. A singular combination of Moorish elements with Gothic and Baroque architecture, it was built on the site of the Almohade Mosque (which had been built on the razed ruins of a still earlier church).

Atop the massive bell tower, which is known as the Giralda, is a statue representing the theological virtue of faith. The Giralda is probably Seville’s best-known landmark.

The cathedral’s ceilings vaulted a dizzying 138 feet above me as I walked down the center aisle, marveling at the beauty around me. Churches are wonderful when they are full of worshippers on a great feast, but they are just as magnificent when you are alone with your Creator. I will never forget how, after Palm Sunday Mass, I had the chance to sit before the Holy Sacrament in this setting — in blissful near-silence.

Catechesis on Parade

The main aisle is dominated by the coro, an enormous box-like structure that fills the central nave. The coro opens onto the Capilla Mayor (main chapel), which includes a magnificent Gothic retablo decorated with 45 carvings depicting scenes from the life of Christ. The altar is the largest in the world and an excellent example of Gothic woodcarving. It is the centerpiece of this remarkable jewel of a cathedral.

Off to the side, several tourists milled about what is said to be Christopher Columbus’ final resting spot. No one is sure that his remains are indeed inside the tomb bearing his name — but then no one is sure that they aren’t, either.

After a bit more time in prayer and recollection inside this place of mystery and of peace “that surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7), I left to seek out the Palm Sunday segment of Seville’s world-renowned Holy Week processions. I met some friends who helped me stake out a spot on the streets of Triana, one of the neighborhoods through which the night procession would pass. We chatted as I soaked up the excitement around me. And then, all of a sudden, amidst the noise and excitement, 60,000 marchers turned the corner and began to process past me.

In its mission to the world, as the Church seeks to spread God’s Good News to humanity and bring the Kingdom of Christ into this world, it has always had a mind towards pedagogy. For two millennia, the Church has needed to explain complex theological and spiritual concepts to a population largely uneducated and illiterate. One has to speak to the people in a manner that best befits them (See 1 Corinthians 9:22).

In its attempt to bring instruction to as wide a range of people as possible, the Church has always relied upon the theatrical and the graphic arts. Originating in the 16th century, Seville’s Semana Santa is the Church’s attempt to present Christ’s Passion to the faithful of Seville in a profound and unforgettable manner.

The first people to march in the procession were the gowned and hooded nazarenos, each of them wearing a different color marking them as belonging to a particular parish’s cofradia (brotherhood). Each carried a wooden cross on his shoulders in imitation of Christ. There are at least 52 cofradias in Seville.

After these came the pasos, the float-like constructions bearing representations of the Passion, along with the saints. I noted a special emphasis on different titles of the Blessed Mother. The pasos were carried by strong men known as costaleros.

It’s been said that the Spanish are not as religiously observant as they once were, but the truth is that participation in the procession as either a nazareno or costalero means that one accepts the role of penitent. In fact, some of the penitents walked barefoot, their ankles shackled, carrying processional candles. Some also wore capirotes (cone-shaped hats) to hide their faces. (Sadly, the Ku Klux Klan stole the design for their infamous attire from the nazarenos, making the latter look more sinister than penitential to American eyes.)

The entire procession was accompanied by musicians playing religious and funereal hymns. It was encouraging to see so many small children and young adults among the marchers.

Culture of Catholicity

The display of deeply Catholic culture left me speechless. It was a resplendent cavalcade, replete with horses, of religious icons and statues and a throng of the faithful straining for a glance at the Madonna or other saint representing their neighborhood parish. Yet, despite the parade-like atmosphere, the proceedings were reverent and unambiguously religious. Mardi Gras this wasn’t.

I’ll never forget the sight of children atop their parents’ shoulders, in genuine awe of the beauty before them. I remember a number of religious processions from my childhood in New York City and had participated in many more around the world, but Seville’s Semana Santa is in a class all its own.

As the night progressed, the atmosphere only got more intense. I learned that, in Seville, Holy Week starts a major festival that includes daily bullfights, flamenco performances, equestrian demonstrations, and the best food and drink Andalusia has to offer. A breathtaking fireworks display ended the evening’s festivities.

This seemed a proper and fitting way to welcome Jesus on his triumphal entry into Jerusalem — and to begin the march toward the solemn moments to come later in Holy Week.

Angelo Stagnaro is

based in New York City.

Catedral de Sevilla

Avenida de la Constitución

Seville, Andalusia, Spain

Web: catedraldesevilla.es (Spanish only; use Internet language tools for translation)

Planning Your Visit

Sunday Mass is celebrated at 8:30, 9 and 10 a.m., plus noon and 5 p.m. Other days of the week, an admission fee of 7 euros is charged. Neither shorts nor T-shirts are permitted inside the cathedral. Photography is permitted except during Mass.