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One day just over 500 years ago, a fisherman found a beautiful statue of a woman washed up on a remote beach in Indonesia.
As legend has it, the words Reinha Rosari — a reference to Mary, Queen of the Rosary — were written alongside it in the sand.
It was the talk of the town in Larantuka, a region at the far eastern end of the Indonesian island of Flores.
Nobody knew who it was or what it meant. But they did know it was special — maybe it was a goddess, or their holy Mother Earth?
And so the king kept it safely stored away with other sacred items in the local korkay, or temple.
The beautiful statue with the sad face sat in the korkay until Portuguese Catholic missionaries arrived in Larantuka a few years later.
They immediately recognised it as Mother Mary — Tuan Ma.
It had most likely come from the wreck of a Portuguese or a Dutch ship plying the spice trade or from a visiting merchant.
Two more statues arrived over the years, which are now revered and shrouded in secrecy.
They're kept locked up and only brought out once a year: for a unique ritual during the Holy Easter week of Semana Santa.
'She is like my mother'
On Maundy Thursday every year, people line up for hours to worship the trio of statues.
The queue winds back about a kilometre. Many will wait all night. Babies sleep in their parent's arms.
The worshippers patiently wait their turn to kiss the mournful, serene and captivating Mother Mary statue.
Maria — a common name for many women in the region — returns to Larantuka from her job in Dubai every Easter just to see her.
"Every year I come here and spend my vacation time just to kiss Maria," she said at last year's ritual.
'"It's from the heart. She is very sacred. She is like my mother. I've trusted in her all my life."
Every year there's a mass consensus on whether or not Tuan Ma looks happy or sad. Last year, everyone agreed she looked happy.
They were particularly relieved because the last time she appeared sad, 15 people died when a boat capsized during the Good Friday water procession.
A nine-hour show of devotion
The next day is Good Friday — the pinnacle of Semana Santa.
Tuan Meninu — a baby Jesus statue hidden inside a black casket — is transported across the water from its home chapel to the cathedral where it will begin Friday's long march.
It is followed on the water by hundreds of dangerously overloaded boats.
That evening, hundreds of families visit their dead in Larantuka's colourful cemetery, before marching in the arduous Good Friday procession.
The procession begins as the sun sets, and is Larantuka's big moment; the most spectacular and most moving part of Semana Santa.
Thousands and thousands of reverential pilgrims follow the statues as they're carried across town. There are eight stops in the procession — representing the eight main tribes of Larantuka and the eight steps of the story of Jesus's crucifixion.
Walking the procession is not for the faint-hearted. It's an arduous nine-hour commitment of devotion: standing, walking, singing, kneeling on the bitumen to pray.
It's an endless, moving sea of candles. Hot wax drips down worshippers hands as they pray, falling to the road. By morning it's coated and slippery, ready for the wax scrapers to come and collect it to make next year's candles, as they've done for hundreds of years.
A slow shift from Animism to Catholicism
The arrival of the statue didn't just spark an Easter ritual — it transformed Larantuka's religious beliefs.
Flores is traditionally Animist — a religion that treats objects, places and creatures as having a spirit.
When the Portuguese arrived in the region, looking to cash in on the spice trade in Malacca, they brought Catholicism with them.
They built churches and schools, and missionaries worked with locals to give Catholic meaning to their animist stories and beliefs.
These days, about 90 per cent of Flores is Roman Catholic, which is striking given Catholics comprise just 3 per cent of Indonesia's population.
There is a strong sense of peace and acceptance between the faiths.
Catholics marry Muslims and there's been very little of the sectarian violence seen in other parts of Indonesia.
However, the church has been uneasy about the Lamaholot people's simultaneous faith in Catholicism and animism.
At times, this has boiled over into small-scale civil unrest.
And in 1971, with the support of the relatively new Suharto government, priests burnt down all the korkay.
Under Suharto's New Order, Indonesians were forced to choose only one god to worship from the official religions outlined in the Pancasila — the guiding principles of Indonesia. Animism wasn't one of them.
But still, despite the church's best efforts, the animist belief in a motherland and in all its natural elements persists and coexists alongside the Bible.
It's Larantuka's own special blend of Catholicism.
Topics: religion-and-beliefs, catholic, community-and-multicultural-festivals, community-and-society, asia, indonesia