Nuestra Señora de la Cabeza

Mid morning, I drove the 20km inland across the plain from Mojacar to the small town of Antas, (population of around 3,000) in good time to have a look around before the funeral at noon. Antas is located above the south bank of the river after which the town is named, not that there's water to be seen, except in extreme seasons. 

In another era, water flowing from sierras to the west carved a 150m wide channel 20-30m deep through ancient deposits of alluvial rock and sediment, turning the old river bed into an arroyo with a flat surface fit for cultivating oranges, lemons and other crops, enclosed by sheer cliffs of pale sandy material. In some places, the river's action hollowed out caves, some have been extended to make dwellings and storage places. 

This is a richly fertile area, settled since the stone age, although the town's emergence in its present form probably dates to the 16th century. Its Parish Church of Nuestra Señora de la Cabeza dates from 1505. This dedication is unusual, although not uncommon in Andalusia. 'La cabeza' is Spanish for 'head'. Without knowing its story, this sounds bizarre. 

It begins with a reputedly ancient image of the Virgin being hidden in the on the Cerra del Cabezo in the Sierra de Andujar, west of Jaen and Cordoba at the time of the Moorish invasion of Southern Spain in the eighth century. Fast forward five centuries and the image is miraculously rediscovered by a shepherd who is miraculously healed as a result, a sanctuary is built and devotion to Nuestra Señora de la Cabeza begins and spreads, as the reconquista gets under way. The story relects the resurgence of Christian identity in Andalusian life, for although Christianity was tolerated in the time of Islamic rule, it was unable to be expressed freely in the public realm.

After a photo tour of the old town, I met Fr Enrico the parish priest, just after he'd opened the church. He was most welcoming, and he put up with my efforts to converse Spanish for a good twenty minutes, before he switched to English, which he speaks quite well. He told me that he says Mass for English speaking Catholics once a month at Palomares, and had spent time in Norway as a chaplain to Spanish expats there. English is widely spoken by Norwegians, and serves as a second language, especially among a wide range of international expats living and working in the country. A kindred spirit indeed!

There were just over a dozen people present for the funeral, and afterwards we went to the Bar Almanzora where I'd met the widow and her friend two days ago, for a buffet lunch. It's a long time since I was invited to join a social gathering after a funeral. I enjoyed sitting and listening to table talk, and occasionally being quizzed about my religious views, though not too demandingly. I got back around three, and whiled away the rest of the day editing and uploading photos, chatting with Clare and Owain, plus listening to music stored on my phone, something I don't often take time for.  

        

A funeral to prepare for

Just after a late breakfast, I received a phone call from an Englishman working as a funeral director to ask if I'd take a service in the village Church at Antas, about half an hour's drive inland from the coast. He gave me the widow's contact details, and those of the Parish Priest, who said he'd like me to get in touch. I then phone made a midday meeting arrangement to prepare for the service in a cafe on a trading estate close to the A7 autovia exit nearest to Mojacar, which is actually within the boundaries of Antas, although separated from it by the road.

I arrived just at the same time the widow and her widowed friend, and noticed how members of the staff in the cafe greeted her with of sympathy, clearly she and her husband were regular customers here. We talked for a long while and I gleaned enough information to write a eulogy, as family and friends didn't wish to. The deceased was an aero engineer, what had worked on building Concorde at Filton in Bristol, something recalled understandably with great pride. 

A selection of popular music had been chosen to play during the service. No hymns, and very few prayers I was admonished, as the widow claimed not to be a believer, although her husband had still possessed respect for the faith of his boyhood, if not actual practice. As the shock of his death, unexpected due to complications after an operation was still raw, I felt it wiser not to argue, but later, it meant that I'd need to give careful attention to liturgical content with this in mind, as to crafting the eulogy. The issue is not leaving God out as much as bringing God's presence into focus in a respectful way - inviting those who can to pray, rather than just saying prayers on everyone's behalf. Thankfully there's plenty of precedent for that in Christian tradition, always having to cater for diversity in the participants at an occasional office of the Church..

On the way back to the apartment I did my main weekly shopping trip to Lidl's in Garrucha, but after lunch I realised that I'd forgotten milk and margarine yet again, so walked into Mojacar to buy some, and get much needed exercise. In the evening I called Fr Enrique, the Parish Priest of Antas, with my well rehearsed speech in Spanish, but got no reply. Half an hour later, however, he rang back, and after a successful start in Spanish, he switched to English, keen to practice his foreign language as I was. I'm looking forward to meeting up on Wednesday for a chat before the service.

I went down to the beach again in search of pictures of the moon rising out of the sea, but there was thin cloud down to the horizon, and little to be seen, let alone photographed. Ah well, another night maybe.