Legend and reality become confused when trying to retrieve the story of a cult whose origin dissipates over time and is hidden under the dust that arose other events. It was said that day, as in many past and others that followed, that Sesimbra, a small fishing village, woke overlooking the sea which embraced her back. A wave, like many who came before her and the others that followed, tenderly wiped the white sands of the bay, leaving a trail of white foam, proving the persistence of this coming and going, through which the sea always seems to want to get a little further, spreading as far as possible until it was sucked again into the blue vastness left behind. In this continuous exercise, almost casual, as a breath, the sea provides the population of Sesimbra an image of crucified Jesus Christ which has been entrusted to the ocean to avoid desecration during the Protestant rebellion in England, who returned it, many sea miles south, to the village´s fishermen, who received him with open arms as they received anything that the sea gave them, welcoming them with patron honors. It was at the “high rock,” as it is called, that the picture arrived, place where, at the time, like today, the tide embraced and involved. Still there are those who find on the rock the marks left by the figure when lulled by the waves, there clung itself, like a safe haven, although it lacks an arm. Days later, an old lady was warming up with wood that she had collected when she realized that one of the logs, licked by flames, wouldn’t macerate by fire. It was, after all, the limb who was missing in the image that focused the popular and church attention, and he was soon restored, as it should. The image inspired respect to everyone. After this moment the days passed by, like many that preceded it and those who came later, and today the population of Sesimbra still offers worship to the “Lord of the Wounds,” a feast of everybody, turned into a municipal holiday, but felt by each one in a very particular way. At thy feet, | Senhor as Chagas | Sesimbra Here Again | On fervent supplication, | Begging the favor! The boats stay on land and the seamen exchange the usual paths that lead to fishing boats by the most circuitous route, but right, steady and firm, of the procession that pays tribute to the crucified Jesus who redeemed the world. The fishermen carry him on shoulders, bowed, but with a penitent determination. When the bells rebound, announcing the departure of the procession, the seamen, fearing his patron, unite, with a circumspect look which inducts the respect to their protector, to worship the image. The berets, which in days of work protect them from the sun, stay at home today, leaving bare white heads that contrast with the brown face, calloused and hardened by the sun and by the roughness of the sea breeze that they are exposed during the life and labor. Wearing a red cape, men and women of the Community of Jesus of the Wounds (whose emblem include an anchor and a rudder), of all ages, but with a common identity, line up, surrounding the image, into which glances, prayers and supplications converge, fulfilling a traditional path that curls without closing like the shell of a snail, whose “turns are dextrorotatory”. ”Unlike the straight line, the spiral is considered as the longest way to go from one point to another; processions pass through the widest path between two holy places”. Whoever follows the front tends to look back from time to time as if to make sure that the image stays there before humble and reverent glances, caring and watching over everyone. Those who follow behind walks looking upward, watching the “Lord” that swings to the rhythm of the steps of those who carry him, simultaneously magnificent in his understanding and goodwill, but trough forces led by men who often peter out. Up and down the winding streets of the village which decked out to venerate the image, hundreds of people share a moment of communion, in which the starting and where you plan to arrive no longer have relevance because everyone focuses on the path. Do not walk to reach a location, purpose or goal, but to enjoy the way that revives memories, redeeming, atoning sins and quickens a little more faith. Bless our homes | Our beach, our streets | Our souls are yours | And adore you, Lord! The procession attracts the people who line the streets, extending the tours, and drags others who follow after the footsteps of the “Lord.” Those who are not part of the religious procession but wish to participate actively in that solemn march, baled by the Philharmonic Band and the fanfare of the firefighters, follow behind fulfilling promises, barefoot and shoed, candles in hand or even without any intention simply because this is your particular form of worship. Similarly, others offer alms or aid; there are also those who dress their children of angels; others still carpet the street of rosemary or previously cover the cross of crucified Jesus with colorful flowers. The scents of the crushed aromatic bush and rose petals falling from the balconies and windows covered with embroidered bedspreads, mixed with the intense aroma that emanates from thurifer, fill the air, involving everyone and everything. When the procession passes the seafront, the “Lord of the Wounds” turned to the sea, seeming to want to embrace him as if thanking the fact that he have led him to this land of people who adores him, and bless the boats that wait across the bay with the bow pointed toward the ground, since the bells and rockets announced the start of the procession. Vessels lined whistle in his wake, breaking the silence and circumspection, in a moment of untrammeled and noisy recognition and thanks. The “Lord of the Wounds” is an integral part of the lives of Sesimbra´s people that, year after year, want to enrich the party by adorning the church and burning fire. In this prayer divine | which our love ends, | Bless Sesimbra | Bless our land! The festivities in honor of the “Lord of the Wounds” are already part of the life of Sesimbra´s people. And when the image returns to the chapel of Mercy baled by the voices in tune, some embargoed by the feeling, say good-bye to him – “… Bless our homes, our beach, our streets, our souls that are yours And adore you, Lord “- and a sad silence slowly collapse over the village. In the background, it hears the challenges posed by the speakers of fairground rides and stalls of entertainment that attract adults and children, all in family, for the camp, up the Avenida da Liberdade. The day of the procession, May 4, is the high point, but the festivities in honor of Lord of the Wounds early achieved a more comprehensive envelopment besides the impress religiously marked. It is true that the number of entertainments available at the fair has been declining. Admittedly, the stalls selling traditional toys and useful objects have long been outdated. Admittedly few are those who buy raffle tickets, because few are also those who sell them in exchange for raffled plush dolls. But the camp remains a meeting place, with his popcorn, cotton candy, the fritters, the pine nuts or sesame. It is true that time passes and the world changes like the traditions. But talk about a people still remembers their cults. And, in essence, despite everything, “man and hook have not changed” and days pass, such as that followed until today and the many who still born, and the population of Sesimbra render, united, the cult of the “Lord of the Wounds”.
Text | Vanessa Pereira
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