At eight in the morning, all the streets of Madrid are rivers flowing to the sea, which today is the Pope’s Holy Mass. Some go against the current, wanting to prolong the night. Also runners who had not anticipated that tens of thousands of people would come out early to try and secure a spot for the ceremony.
—The QR in your hand, make it visible, please!—, indicates a National Police officer on the Paseo del Prado.
—Those who want to cross to the other side, stick to the wall, please!—, adds her colleague.
White tones predominate, with a clear supremacy of white. Many people carry chairs with them.
—We should have bought one, there are some that take up no space at all—, a lady tells her husband.
Already in the Retiro, the runners raise their eyebrows at the human tide they face.
—What do I know about a QR code? Sometimes I can’t even open the program I’m looking for…-, says an elderly lady sitting on a chair next to the Retiro fence that faces Alcalá street.
The queue to access sector W13, on Villanueva street, snakes through Serrano and enters Jorge Juan.
—I don’t know if we’re going to get in, huh?—, comments a girl.
—God will provide—, one of her companions replies sarcastically, making the group laugh.
A group of young people in purple t-shirts passes by. A girl carries a speaker in her hand. Para qué me escribes by Hermanos Martínez plays. At 9:24 a rumor spreads down the street. Some run towards Goya.
—It’s happening, it’s happening!—, people say.
In the background, shouts of excitement are heard. The helicopter also sounds. A girl waves at it.
After the popemobile —or at least its trail— the people in the queue resume their conversations. They talk about the Madrid elections. Also about Bad Bunny.
—Now Bad Bunny picks up ugly people—, comments a young girl.
—How?—, her partner asks her.
—Yes, yes, for the little house. Let’s see if he picks you…—, she retorts before giving him a compensatory kiss.
The people who ran out to see the popemobile return to the queue.
—We missed it by a second, how annoying!—.
The queue moves slowly.
—Should we cut in?—, a boy suggests.
—How are we going to cut in at a Pope’s Mass?—, his friend replies.
People open their chairs, sit down, and when the queue moves, they pack up their temporary camp to sit a little further ahead.
—Beer, soft drinks, cool water, juices!—, announce some boys pushing a supermarket cart loaded with ice bags.
Three ladies debate the best time to go to Mass on weekends.
—I go on Saturday at 13:00, because from 12:00 it already counts—, says one.
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—I prefer Sunday morning—, interjects another.
—Well, I prefer Sunday afternoons, because otherwise the day feels very long at home—, notes the third.
There are people following the Pope’s journey to Cibeles on their phones.
—I saw him pass by Sagasta yesterday and I got goosebumps—, says a girl.
The queue moves forward.
—Hey, this is like what Arturo Fernández used to say, here there are only beautiful people—, a lady remarks.
Sector W13 is full. Hundreds of people are left outside.
—I’m just a worker, tell it to the cops—, a volunteer replies to questions from several people.
People move towards the big screen located at Puerta de Alcalá.
They applaud every time the Pope appears.
“Pope Leo, we love you a lot,” reads a banner held by triplet sisters dressed identically. It’s 9:56 and the “shhhhs” of people asking for silence begin to be heard. The decibels drop and the birds and helicopter are clearly audible.
A father explains to his son what they have come for:
—The feast of Corpus Christi is one of the most important Catholic feasts. It is always celebrated on a Thursday, although here today it is done on a Sunday—, he begins.
He has adopted such a didactic tone that several people join the explanation.
—It usually falls about 60 days after Holy Week. And it celebrates the exposition of the body of Christ, which is carried in a monstrance, which is an object of gold or precious stones, but it can also be more humble, you know?—
Now more people are listening.
—So that the faithful can look at it and adore it in the streets. It is the only time the host leaves the church. When it is consecrated in Mass, the priest exposes it, raises it, right? Well, now he does exactly the same, but in the street. And the way to transport it is the monstrance. And it is a very important moment because Catholic faith is based on that: that the body of Christ is in the host—, he concludes.
And they give a small round of applause to the man, which becomes massive when the Kings appear on the screen.
—But, do you go to Mass every Sunday?—, one girl asks another.
—Me? No way! But being a Christian isn’t about going to Mass every Sunday, you know?—.
—Yeah… how many daily Mass-goers are worse than a flu?—.
—Those are the worst—.
—Christianity is practiced in the street, not in churches—, a lady who was attentive to their conversation tells them.
—Exactly—, one of the girls concludes.
Two bikers pass by with their helmets. They are huge and dressed completely in black. Hard not to notice them. Suddenly, a very intense “shhhhh”. The Mass begins.
It’s time for the chairs. Some people sit on the ground.
There are many children. Some crying is heard, but most maintain an almost miraculous silence. Those who get bored look for fun: a girl puts on all her friends’ caps. She manages to put on six. And the other five laugh. In silence, of course.
A couple changes a 21-day-old baby’s diaper. A child has a mobile phone number written on his arm with a pen.
As the consecration begins, some people kneel.
—How are they going to do communion?—, asks a young man.
—No idea—, his mother replies.
The moment of peace arrives. A lady nods as she turns her head and distributes peace —it is understood— to the people around her.
—I would have removed this peace ritual during the coronavirus—, comments a lady.
People move towards some white umbrellas under which communion is given.
—What a mess all this is, who will organize it?—, a lady wonders.
—No idea, but he’s probably praying for the Pope to leave already—, replies her husband, who is wearing a suit.
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After communion, things get a bit disorganized. The “shhhhs” return.
It’s 11:37 and an ambulance drives down Serrano street.
—I’ve never seen so many people at a demonstration—, comments a boy.
—Well, it’s not a demonstration—, they reply.
—Right, maybe that’s why—, he concludes.
At 11:47, the Pope announces that they can go in peace.
The adjacent streets fill with people again.
—Your mother says it looked great on TV—, comments a man.
—Yeah, but it’s not the same as being here—, his wife replies.
And they head down Claudio Coello street towards the Retiro.
