Young Spaniards revive Holy Week tradition in Zamora processions

Despite secular trends, a new generation is embracing Spain’s Holy Week rituals with passion and pride.

Penitents of the 'Hermandad Penitencial de las Siete Palabras' brotherhood participate in a Holy Week procession in Zamora, northwestern Spain, on April 15, 2025. Photo by Cesar Manso/AFP

By Anna Fadiah and Hayu Andini

As Spain continues its shift toward secularism, a surprising counter-current is emerging in the streets of Zamora during Holy Week. Despite national statistics showing a drop in religious practice, a new generation is embracing centuries-old Catholic rituals with pride and devotion. Young Spaniards revive Holy Week tradition not out of obligation, but from a deep connection to family, community, and heritage.

Clad in a white tunic and purple sash, four-year-old Thiago embodied this revival as he joined thousands of fellow drummers and marchers in the solemn processions that mark Easter in Spain. In the city of Zamora, his excitement was infectious. The youngest in a long line of participants, Thiago tapped his small drum with focus and joy, surrounded by relatives spanning three generations.

A family legacy embraced by the young

"For us, this is more important than paperwork," said 72-year-old Jose Luis Temprano, Thiago's grandfather. "Before we even register a newborn at the courthouse, we sign them up with a brotherhood."

These brotherhoods — religious associations that organize the elaborate Holy Week events — are thriving in Zamora. With 16 groups active in the city, some have waiting lists that stretch for years. Children, teenagers, parents, and grandparents parade together, donning traditional robes, hoods, and in some cases, walking barefoot through the city’s cobbled streets.

Their presence challenges the widespread assumption that only the elderly care about Spain’s Catholic rites. On the contrary, young Spaniards revive Holy Week tradition by taking on leadership roles in processions, sharing in rituals, and passing their enthusiasm to friends and future generations.

A procession of meaning and memory

As the clock struck midnight on Holy Tuesday, the street lights in Zamora dimmed, and silence enveloped the old city. Teenagers in the Santisimo Cristo de la Buena Muerte brotherhood began their descent through narrow lanes, carrying torches and moving slowly in solemn reverence.

Among them stood Laura Borrego, a 34-year-old who never misses Holy Week despite now living outside Zamora. "It's a week of tradition, family, friends, and being together on the streets," she said. Wearing a thick coat to fend off the cold, she spoke with pride about her two brotherhoods and the significance of returning home each year.

Her childhood friend, Cristina Garcia, a 44-year-old teacher, passed the torch to her own children. Dressed in a white tunic and green capirote, she joined the procession in honor of her late father. "It's something I've taught my kids. They carry this with them now too."

Beyond faith — a celebration of culture

For many participants, religious belief is not the primary motivator. Manuel Rodriguez, a 34-year-old psychologist and self-proclaimed atheist, still joins the crowd each year. "It’s like visiting Roman churches. You don't have to be religious to appreciate the historical and cultural value," he said.

In fact, Spain’s shifting identity is visible in statistics. According to a March survey by the state polling agency CIS, 39.2 percent of Spaniards identify as atheist, agnostic, or non-believers. Only 18.6 percent of Catholics describe themselves as practicing, out of a total 54.4 percent who still identify with the faith.

Penitents of the 'Cristo de la Buena Muerte' (Christ of the Good Death) brotherhood take part in their Holy Monday procession during Holy Week in Zamora, northwestern Spain, on April 15, 2025. Photo by Cesar Manso/AFP

Yet, even within this increasingly secular context, young Spaniards revive Holy Week tradition with vigor. The processions are more than religious observance — they are a spectacle of heritage, identity, and intergenerational unity.

Brotherhoods as reflections of society

Historian Manuel Jesus Roldan, who has published extensively on Holy Week, argues that brotherhoods are not strictly religious or political entities. "They reflect society at large. There are people from the left, the right, the center — and even atheists. These rituals belong to everyone," he explained.

That sentiment is echoed across Spain. In Seville, Luis Alvarez-Ossorio faced initial resistance from his atheist parents when he decided to join a brotherhood. "They didn’t share my belief," he recalled, "but they supported me anyway." Now deeply involved in his local group, Alvarez-Ossorio describes Holy Week as an emotional journey — "a moment of personal reflection, community, and overwhelming feeling."

Modern meaning in ancient rituals

Even as Spain modernizes, the visual and emotional impact of Holy Week remains powerful. The white tunics, hoods, incense, chants, and haunting drumbeats evoke a sense of timelessness. These sights and sounds — often unchanged for centuries — resonate with a younger generation raised on smartphones and social media.

Brotherhood leaders like Israel Lopez believe that the appeal lies in that contrast. "When young people see their schoolmates, cousins, and neighbors participate, it becomes something they want to be part of too," said Lopez, president of Zamora’s Holy Week board.

He emphasized that this new wave of participation is rooted in voluntary engagement. “They’re not being forced. They want that moment, that shared experience. That’s why we have waiting lists.”

Carrying the future of tradition

In cities across Spain — not just in Zamora and Seville — similar scenes are playing out. Children take their first steps in religious robes. Teens walk barefoot in silence. Families reunite across generations to share in moments that defy easy categorization.

It’s not just a religious revival. It's a cultural reaffirmation. Young Spaniards revive Holy Week tradition not to turn back the clock, but to root themselves in something larger than themselves — a story of faith, history, family, and community, retold with every beat of the drum.

As Spain redefines its identity in the 21st century, these scenes from Zamora show that old rituals can still hold powerful meaning — especially when carried forward by the hands of the young.