In the procession of the Christ of Health, we breathe gratitude and devotion — intrinsic realities that are part of my hometown, Zaraza, Guárico, Venezuela. Every January 1st, the faithful wake at dawn with a sacred restlessness. The aromatic steam of coffee permeates the house, awakening our senses as we prepare for the Dawn Rosary: a moment of deep introspection that anticipates what is to come.

At six o’clock, the Christ emerges from the Church of Saint Gabriel the Archangel.

The bells toll. One, two, three fireworks thunder in the air, and from the loudspeakers, a voice rises — a soft voice, laced with plea; the voice of a woman praying and singing to guide the way.

Transformed into an offering, the Crucified walks the streets of Zaraza accompanied by a multitude. Entire families — men and women alike — wait for Him from their doorways, windows, or balconies. The bearers, weary yet joyful, take turns over the course of eight hours to ensure the procession moves forward seamlessly. The people thirst for transcendence, for healing. The atmosphere is heavy with reverence and shared memory.

But where does this desire, this longing for the divine, spring from?

According to local historians, a young girl named Carmen Díaz, shortly before succumbing to yellow fever, told her parents of a dream: she saw frail people carrying an image of Christ, who were healed after drinking lemon juice. Sometime later, a man walking down Liberty Street fell face-first, overwhelmed by the first symptoms of the plague. Remembering the child’s premonition, he drank the citrus juice and prayed to God that, if He healed him, he would make that dream a reality.

After a miraculous recovery, he kept his word, inaugurating the tradition of the procession on January 1, 1857. Over the decades, this expression of faith became so deeply rooted in the community that when anyone tried to stop it, the town’s response was etched into living history. A testament to this occurred a century later, when chronicler Francisco Gustavo Chacín reflected on the possibility of suspending it. His conclusion was clear:

“Think not of it! It has already been proven that such a thing will not happen. Years ago, the author of these lines witnessed it. A Capuchin friar, an old man with a hard face and a long beard as black as a raven, tenaciously opposed the procession...On the first day of the year, the procession was nowhere to be seen. People gathered in Bolivar Square; the town smelled of tragedy. Finally, a group of men ready for anything arrived at the temple…’Father’; they said firmly, ‘we know how to keep our promises. We have come to take the Crucified out, whether you like it or not.’; The procession went out without a priest, yet it was more solemn than in previous years.”