In the pew for once on Good Friday

I woke up to bright sunshine after a good night's restorative sleep, and spent the morning quietly before going  to St German's by bus and on foot for the Liturgy of the Day which was at noon, the first hour of the suffering of the crucified Christ rather than the customary third hour. I'm not sure why. There were just over twenty of us for the service. 

I sent a message to Basma hoping she would come, but didn't realise until later that that she'd gone to London with a friend. She has been worried about going ahead with her baptism tomorrow night without having the letter notifying her of residency. Her case handler is clear that this is not in doubt, but the letter may be subect to bueraucratic delay. After several exchanges of email, she decided to go ahead and trust what she has been told. It's understandable she's like this having waited for nearly thirty years to convert

We sang well, unaccompanied for the two hymns set for the occasion, and Fr Jarel preached a short homily. The text of the Reproaches we used was a revision of the traditional ones with sharp contemporary references inserted, bringing the whole thing alive in a fresh way. Fr Jarel asked if I would stand in for someone who wasn't able to come, reading one of the parts set for the Passion, but I declined. Apart from the covid lockdown Passiontide, this is the first time in many years that I have had nothing to do during the Triduum, and I simply wanted to be on the receiving end and silently absorb the occasion. It's the first time I can recall coming away from a service not drained or over exhilarated by the effort and experience, but refreshed.

I caught the bus back into town and its arrival in Westgate Street coincided with the departure of a 61 bus, so I was home before two. After a snack I went for a walk in the park. After a sunny morning rain showers punctuated the afternoon. Kath, Anto and Owain were to arrive by six. While waiting for them, I watched the Malaga Good Friday processions broadcasted live on YouTube. At the moment I joined a woman in traditional dress was singing a saeta of lament outside the Ajuntamiento, not far from La Malagueta where I stayed on tours of locum duty in years past. Then I realised that she was singing in front of the trona del descendimiento, being carried by the portadores of the Malagueta cofradia. They had stopped in the place I took photos of them back in 2018. What a coincidence. Then I saw another procession down the street where the church of St John the Baptist is located, another familiar location. My memories of Malaga old town are still delightfully vivid.

I cooked a chick pea and veggie stew for supper with brown rice. Unfortunately I underestimated the volume of rice needed, and had to fall back on instant couscous to feed myself. But never mind, we drank a nice Gamay de Bourgogne to go with it, and chatted until bedtime. Lovely to have the family here, but missing Rachel. We didn't get to call her tonight unfortunately.