Essential to record

A lot of high cloud when I woke up this morning and a persistent strong wind from the south east. When I walked down Tamango Hill for the nine fifty one bus a distinctly cooling wind was in my face all the way. Waves on the sea were large and white crested, a spectacular sight. When I arrived at the Torrecilla parada, I had an hour to spare, so I popped into the church shop and had a chat with the volunteers on duty. Then I went to the Hotel de Balcon to meet with church warden John, Patricia a wedding planner and a couple whose wedding is due to be blessed in September for an initial briefing and discussion about their choices for the ceremony. 

Yesterday evening I heard from John about another couple with a wedding booked for next month whose civil ceremony is booked for after their church wedding blessing. A major disaster for them. I felt sure that blessing ceremony couldn't go ahead and suggested John contact Archdeacon David to confirm this, which he did. To keep their celebration bookings here, the couple will have to find some way of rearranging the civil ceremony booking urgently. They still have several weeks, and will need to act efficiently to resolve this.  The question is, how did this happen? Was there a miscommunication by the wedding planner or a misunderstanding by couple.

When I thought this through, it seemed likely to me that the couple were thinking about a CofE wedding in Britain, where the officiating minister signs the register with the couple and gives them their certificate at the end of the service, because the minister is a recognised registrar in church and civil law. In Europe, this is the exception not the rule. Couples register their marriage with civil authorities and then go to church to be blessed. It's the same for Anglican marriages. 

Having a civil wedding certificate is a precondition for an Anglican blessing of a civil marriage to take place. No matter how often you ask and explain this, the packaging of wedding arrangements abroad by a third party  professional involves so many different choices that a couple can get distracted from the essential civil wedding priority booking, or worse still think it's no different from getting married in a Parish Church back home. Although I won't be officiating at the service for the couple I met today, I was pleased to learn that their civil wedding is booked for a month before they arrive here. I hope the other couple will succeed in changing their civil marriage date, as that's a wedding I am booked to take.

A caught the bus back at a quarter to one, as there was nothing else I wanted to do in town. I cooked fish with rice and veg for lunch, and for the first time in days felt like drinking wine with it. Left over from Kath's visit, was a bottle of red from Castilla y León made of the Mencía varietal, that's slowly making a come-back in its own right, having been used for flavour, blended with other more productive grapes, as often happens in Spain where traditionally several grapes are either brewed together, or blended after fermentation. 

It's an unusual flavour, strongly tannic at first with its flavours developing over time, best left open for a good while I suspect. It reminded me of a Piedmonte red I tasted a few years ago, using the Nebbiolo grape I think. Good for the digestion I found. After the meal, I lay down on the sofa, slept for more than an hour, and woke up feeling refreshed. I slept quite well last night, but not enough to recover from my active week of sunny walks and chats with Kath. She told me she'd done an Ancestry.com DNA analysis test a couple of weeks ago, curious about her genetic mix. I think she may have discussed with with her cousin Jules, at some time, as he's done this, curious about his father's side of the family, which he knew less about than our side, already well documented by our late cousin Lindsay years before he died. She and I would love to know is we have anything more than love for Spain in common. Genetic origins as well, possibly?

After a light supper, I went for an uphill walk on to the track above the urbanizacion where Kath and I walked earlier this week. Fortunately the wind had abated but the sky was mostly covered with cloud at different levels, making it difficult to figure out exactly where the sun was going to set, as no cloud was tinged with evening pink. Very strange conditions.

When I got back, thinking about Kath's quest, I had a fresh look at our family tree document, wondering about ancestral siblings about whom we've learned little, perhaps because they moved away from their origins or died with nobody recalling when. What must it be like to see the whole picture of generations past? 

With that in mind, time to call it a day.

Kath arrives

I slept well, but less than I do habitually, waking with the bright early sunlight. After breakfast I worked on my Sunday sermon, until John called in to collect me for an introductory meeting at the Balcon Hotel with the two wedding planners I'm doing blessing services with in May. One of them had come from Burgos, eight hours away by car, and almost as long by public transport. There's be other wedding planning meetings with them in coming weeks, with or without the happy couples. These weddings are elaborate affairs, staged scrupulously in detail. Giving an inward spiritual dimension to such outward facing events is a challenge, to say the least. 

After we parted company, I walked up to the Mercadona to do some more food shopping, then went to get the bus, not realising that the last bus before the three hour siesta gap had left an hour earlier. Serves me right for not noticing the time. I had to walk back carrying three kilos of shopping. The last thing I needed was a steep hill at the end. Taking it more slowly than usual with double the number of recovery pauses, I coped without exhausting myself

Early evening, everything was ready for Kath's arrival,  She sent me a message when the flight was about to take off, punctually. This gave me time I needed to prepare a meal for her, knowing she'd be hungry after a day's work ending in an outbound flight from Birmingham. I drove to Malaga airport via Torrox Costa. The traffic wasn't too heavy, but driving westward all the way into the setting sun kept me on the alert and careful. The sun was touching the horizon as I drove into the airport, exactly on time.

Kath's flight arrived ten minutes early, and she made her way up to the Express short stay parking zone on the Departures level, where we had arranged to meet. As I drove in, there she was, standing just inside the entrance smiling and waving. I stopped in my tracks as there was nobody on on my tail, she got in and we headed straight out benefiting from two minutes of fifteen minutes free parking! The return journey in the dark took slightly longer, but by ten o'clock I had the pasta cooking and the accompanying veggie sauce warming up. We talked until very late, happy to be together and share this special kind of togetherness in a country we both love and enjoy.

Happy arrival

After a night made restless with anticipation, I set out for Malaga airport, just as Clare was boarding her flight in Cardiff. I had enough time to drive the slow coast road that took me to La Cala de Mijas to visit Peter and Linda. I decided to trust my memory of the route, rather than rely on Google, especially for the last section of the original N340 expressway that runs close to the sea. My memory only failed me once,,, when I'd reached La Cala and took the wrong roundabout to get to their urbanizacion, but it soon came back to me. I drove straight to the house and parked outside, and then started wondering if this was the right house. 

'Casa Madreselva' I remembered, and then number nine came into my head as I got out to look, only the be greeted by Peter who'd heard me arrive. It was a happy reunion. We haven't met since I was lasr on locum in Malaga, and lots has happened since then. Linda's now wheelchair bound, having lost a leg as a result of an untreatable toe infection. Their way of life has had to adjust quickly to radical changes, and they are facing up to it with courage, determination and good humour. 

It was lovely to finish by praying together. I could have stayed a bit longer in reality, as I arrived at the airport just as Clare's 'plane landed, and it was another three quarters of an hour before we were re-united, and that means a hour's parking fee. The car park was busy, but I was fortunate to find a space easily and get out afterwards without hassle.

The traffic was slow and heavy on the return drive, so it took an hour and a half. It was quite taxing but I coped well and didn't make any mistakes. I cooked us hake cutlets with rice and veg for a meal at tea time, then once it had cooled down we went for a sunset walk on the senda litoral. It's so good to have company. It's been a lonely five weeks.

I learned from an email this morning that the wedding anniversary blessing I was due to celebrate on Saturday has been cancelled. No reason given. I put a fair amount of work into preparing for this event. I'm intrigued to know the reason, as the couple seemed so pleased with the plan for celebration I offered them, but their minds were changed since we met. Maybe a religious ceremony of this kind is perceived as a commodity like any other to be taken or left according to whim. In times past when I did wedding blessings while on locum duty, the event was arranged by a wedding planner who acted as a negotiator with hotels, restaurants, venues for celebration, and with the chaplaincy. This had 'commodity' written all over it, but we made the effort in the hope that something of the significance of the ritual and words would touch hearts and minds in a spiritual way. There was no wedding planner involved here, it was a DIY affair. I wonder if we'll find out eventually?

A community bereaved

Patricia called after breakfast this morning, shocked to have just learned that Lew died early this morning. Another member of the congregation had gone to visit him in hospital around nine, only to learn what had happened, and then spread the sad news by WhatsApp. As he had a funeral plan in place, arrangements for cremation are already taking shape, with Tuesday morning in mind. 

Sunday last, Lew led the intercessions at the San Pedro Eucharist, sitting in his place rather than at the lectern. His strength was failing even then, as witnessed by his voice, less deep and resonant than usual. When I heard yesterday that pneumonia was supected, my first thought was the saying I learned in childhood without knowing just what it meant "The pensioner's friend." He's been around on the Costa del Sol for forty years, and very much an Elder of the ex-pat community, so his funeral will be well attended, short notice notwithstanding.

After several days of fruitless hunting, I accidentally came across the chaplaincy's wedding registers, not in the file box marked 'Weddings', but in a 'Pending' file tray. This was such a relief and just in time. After a light lunch, I double checked my kit for the wedding and set off for Sotogrande at half past one. Without any problems I retraced the route taken and memorised earlier in the week and arrived thirty five minutes later, which gave me a good amount of time to arrange and check all things necessary for the celebration. Despite the heat, all went well and we started at ten past three.

We had a duet of violinists playing chosen pieces of classical music during the service. They were loud in a church with resonant acoustics, more than I expected. They seemed not to be used to accompanying congregational hymns or expecting congregational singing to be introduced. I didn't get a chance to brief them as they were busy rehearsing until the wedding couple arrived. I wondered if they had been briefed and wish now that I had. At the end of the service Widor's Toccata was played as a recessional on a powerful piece of hi-fi kit, too loud and too fast - to be endured rather than enjoyed. Quite a good way to drive the congregation out of the building.

Once I'd put furniture back where I found it, and gathered up my possessions to leave, the florists were arriving to bedeck the church for the next wedding at five. By five, I was back at the house receiving a call from Thea about Lew. She'd been to visit him last night, and was distressed by his distress, certain that he was dying wanting her to stay. They talked again by phone at midnight, after she reached home, and he was calm again, at peace with himself. Learning of his death came as a shock, as she thought he was over the worst. And in a sense, he was, his fears faced in the company of a Christian friend, able to let go and be taken from this world. 

I was much moved by what Thea told me. It's not the first time I've heard stories like this. People look out for each other here and care for each other in a natural way. You can't really train for this kind of lay ministry, it's a pastoral gift from the Spirit to those who keep the faith together and love each other. I've stopped worrying about the future of the church with declining numbers of clergy. Somehow that will sort itself out in the period of agonising change endured nowadays. Baptized members of the body of Christ will continue to exercise pastoral ministries among themselves, sometimes without realising they are doing so. But they still need to be told how the Good News is working itself out through their self effacing efforts.

After supper as the sun was setting I walked along the beach. For the first time in the 'charco' at the mouth of the rio Guadolbón, I saw half a dozen turtles and some fish. I've seen them in similar settings in Fuengirola, Málaga, Mojácar and Costa Azahar over the years. It's wonderful the waters aren't so polluted with agricultural products that they no longer sustain life. Perhaps it's something to do with the mountainous terrain that produces these rivers.

I completed my Sunday sermon and printed it off a couple of days ago, but in the light of Lew's death I thought I could make a few changes with out making it much longer, so I've weaved a brief tribute into a sermon about the Lord's Prayer.

Lying low

Wednesday morning at the midweek BCP Communion service with me were Geoff and Poppy his dog and Bethany-Ann with her youngest daughter, rising five, wearing a toutou over her skirt. Her mother is teaching her how to help out at the altar, so she puts the candles out and tidies things away in the right place. It's not often I'm served in the sanctuary by someone wearing a toutou!

At lunchtime, Collette arrived from Arlesheim to stay with us for a couple of days. We speak a mix of English and French between us, which is quite a mental exercise. There's always lots to discuss, especially with Clare, as they were Steiner School colleagues together in Geneva.

In the afternoon I was visited by an elderly British expat who has lived in Montreux half the year and half the year in Florida for ages, but has now decided to re-establish himself in Britain. He came to ask if I could visit an even older British expat who lives near the Casino in town, so I promised I would do this and arranged to see him today. He's ninety nine and was widowed a few years ago. He lives in a fine apartment overlooking the lake, cared for by daily visits from a home nursing team. His mobility is limited, but he's alert and reads the Financial Times daily, having spent a lifetime in the global shipping business. When I arrived a very loud intruder alarm was sounding. Instead of pressing the entry button, the nurse pressed the alarm button. It took twenty minutes to find the system code and restore tranquility. An unusual way to start a pastoral visit!

Apart from this, I've spent the last couple of days mostly in the house, despite the dreadful humidity, leaving the girls to walk and talk without me. I did some cooking, and we ate lunch and supper together. I've not felt much like going out and walking since returned from Grabs, as my haemorrhoid pain problem has worsened and I've had to focus on pain control, using anti-inflammatory and anti-spasm medication. It's hard working out the most effective dosage rhythm, as intensity varies through the day, from day to day. I am well used to getting up at night, so I manage somehow not to suffer from sleep loss. Having said that, I've been sleeping extra hours this week, and resting in the afternoon, as it seems to make a difference.

We're noticing how much more expensive medication is in Swiss pharmacies. It's just as well I have additional income in Swiss Francs to cover the cost, especially if I am required to get a consultation at the local medical centre. Even if this is a nominal cost with an EHIC card, any special remedy is likely to be expensive. So far, I haven't felt that this resort has been necessary.

Talking of weddings, Saturday's couple have communicated with us only minimally, so apart from an agreed order of service, there's a lot to be done before and during the rehearsal scheduled tomorrow afternoon.

Wedding in the clouds

Back on the train to Le Chable for the wedding this morning. The Saturday timetable for the Car Postal differs from the weekday, and I was faced with a long wait to make the ascent to Verbier, in the rain with little or no public shelter available at the building site of a station. So I bought a ticket for the téléfériqueCHF13 allez retour, rather than trust my return to a sub standard bus service, and reach Church House hours later than I needed to.

I was met by the wedding arranger outside the téléférique arrival area and taken up to Le Hameau in good time to meet the couple who were hired to play and sing for the wedding, and arrange points for their contribution during the service. Sadly, it was even more overcast than yesterday and it was raining intermittently, although the cloud began to life after the ceremony. There were sixteen family and friends, four of whom were children under two, including the bride and groom's own child Chester. It was an advantage that the chapel was only a third full, as it allowed parents minding their offspring to move around.

As guests arrived they were given a glass of champagne at the door. With the weather there was no question of hanging around long outdoors, so people sat in the chapel to drink and chat relaxedly until the bride arrived. In such an intimate space, everyone was very attentive during the service, and only once for a short while did Chester come into the sanctuary and climb on to his dad's knee. I had been exercised by the thought of what I could say in my wedding homily, and woke up at six thirty this morning to write down what was going through my head. I was pleased with the result, and just hope that it made sense to the audience. I may have gone on too long.

We finished just before three, and as the guests made ready to be ferried to the reception, I was given a lift back to the téléférique with enough time to have a late lunch of coffee and a pain aux raisins before riding down to Le Chable for the 16.11 train, both pleased and relieved that it had all worked without a hitch or an embarrassing moment for me, leaving the couple and their family with a memorable experience to treasure.

In the evening Clare and I were taken to a supper party in the village of Jongny on the mountainside above Vevey, hosted by Caroline, St John's sacristan, a long standing member of the congregation, for church members. It was an evening of splendid food and conversation, with white wine from the fields around the house being served - a Chardonnay. I'm not keen on Chardonnays I have tasted from elsewhere, but this one was drier, not quite so rich, reflecting the character of the stony soil, an unexpected and agreeable difference. Caroline is the daughter of novelist Graham Greene, who died in the nearby village of Corsier and is buried there. She inherited many of his memorabilia, and from her mother, a collector of doll's houses with a museum dedicated to them, a magnificent century old family doll's house, containing even older artifacts. It's in the hallway, and unfailingly attracts visitor curiosity.

It was such a comfort to enjoy the convivial hospitality of a family home after a day of confusing frustrating experiences in empty places largely managed by user friendly robotic devices which are still operating on the presumption that you know more than you do, at first use. We travelled back to Territet with Walter, who runs the Youth Hostel, just off the lakeside promenade on the south side of the port, tucked behind and beneath the railway line. It must be a noisy place, but is undoubtedly a popular destination for budget travellers to this area. Walter's a Swiss German, fluent in several languages, and St John's has been his spiritual home during his twenty years working here. During his previous twenty years, he worked in places all over Asia, so he's a well travelled man, typical of many people of different nationalities and faith backgrounds who find St John's and make it part of their life of discipleship.

We arrived at Church House just in time for this week's episode of 'Inspector Montalbano' on BBC Four. Whilst the story, about the death of a loan shark contained a few comic moments and exchanges of dialogue, the mood was a little different from usual. The tale wasn't about the victims of monetary injustice, but about the victims of a loan shark who was a sexual predator on young women, with an incestuous relationship with his daughter which drove his wife to suicide. His son decides to kill him to avoid dis-inheritance in favour of his father's latest paramour. The daughter decides to kill him out of jealousy. She succeeds with poison, but her brother turns up shortly after and doesn't realise he's dead, and shoots him.

It was an unusually dark story, reflecting the exposure of such dysfunctional family goings-on over recent years. What was impressive to me was the considerate treatment Montalbano showed as the investigating officer. Luca Zingaretti is a fine actor, and the acting of a succession of abused women which he had to interview was remarkably, well observed, a cut above the more stylised portrayal of wronged women of episodes made twenty years ago. Yet again, more food for thought on a Saturday night.

     

Festal Weekend, Day One

This morning, I completed my Sunday sermon, and found liturgical material in my web archive to send to a couple whose wedding blessing at Verbier in September I have to prepare for by email. It is never possible to know until there's a meeting how much understanding a couple may have of the church wedding ceremony in order to select readings and music. When they work with a wedding arranger there's always a risk that they will be sold a pre-conceived notion of what is the right thing to do, which can sometimes devalue the nature of the ceremony and undermine its dignity. 

Having said that, the earlier the preparation process is fully informed by a copy of the authorised liturgy and the texts of scripture readings to choose from, the better it works out on the day. There are suitable pieces of poetry that can be read, but there's also stuff devised by a relative or a friend that's more appropriate for the wedding reception than the ceremony. Devising the explanatory email to accompany liturgical attachments took a lot longer than tracking down material to send.

During the day, I could hear the sound of un-amplified live music and conversation rising from the alley next to the apartment block. When I went out to do some weekend food shopping, I noticed a small blackboard with a notice handwritten in chalk declaring 'La Rueda Morada Festa', and could see several people standing around eating and drinking outside the front door of a house in the Calle Girona. A quick Google search took me to a Facebook page of the same name. 

This informed me that it's part of a series of open house alternative grassroots cultural events held in the city which are advertised by social networking. The music I could hear was a guitar and 'cello duo improvising in flamenco fusion mode. Delightful. I suppose I could have dropped in as a vecino, and tried out my Spanish, but most of the people at the gathering were less than half my age, and knowing where to start a conversation and what to talk about would not be easy, even if I had the words. It's not just the generation gap, but also the manner of speech, plus the likelihood that some would be only too willing to practice their English on me! So, call me a coward if you must, but I just stayed in and enjoyed the music through the open window while I worked instead. 

After shopping, cooking lunch and a siesta, I walked to the Old Town in search of what promised to be a big religious procession, or two. This weekend is the Fiesta of Malaga's two patron saints, the martys Cirico and Paula, as well as the deferred observance of Corpus Christi. Finding out what happens when was initially difficult, the information in the media was a bit vague, although the Archdiocesan website led me in the right direction. Dos Santos is an important civic occasion, thus attended by city processional guilds, and marching bands. A Corpus Christi procession around the streets of the Old Town, centering on the Cathedral is bound to be a diocesan event. Therein lies a conflict of interest for many of the processional guilds, I suspect, and a need for diplomacy to sort out who does what. I was amused to learn on-line that the Dos Santos procession has to start half an hour later than advertised due to a wedding booking which escaped the information loop.

It took me a little while to recall exactly where the Iglesia de los Dos Santos is located in the warren of Old Town back streets, which I visited only a few days ago. Tonight all streets were crowded with smartly dressed people, making their paseo, going out to dine or headed for church, and everywhere looks different when it's full of people. Eventually I heard the sound of a band down a streets with a gathering crowd. The procession had just begun to leave the church, and it involved hundred of people dressed in their Sunday best, or in uniforms or vestments, many were carry staves of office holders in their various guilds. 

When the huge trona, bearing the image of the two Martyrs emerged from the church, carried by a squad of fifty white shirted men, there was a loud fanfare of trumpets and applause from onlookers. A group of women of a certain age in white dresses with fragrant white flowers in their hair sang a traditional cancion in honour of the saints and the city, and one of them danced with great pride and elegance. It was a moment of great joy and delight. I stayed until the church doors were shut behind the procession, then made my way back to the Cathedral, as I'd read about the Corpus Christi Festa starting at nine this evening in a special way.

Shortly after the appointed hour a team of trumpeters in old style uniforms with plumed hats began to appear from a door on a balcony at the corner of the south west tower (the one never completed), and one by one, they gingerly made their way to the central part of the balcony, some thirty metres up on the facade of the Cathedral west front. A dizzy height from which to play a series of fanfares to announce the start of the Blessed Sacrament vigil, which concludes with tomorrow evening's procession. I'm not surprised that the playing exhibited a certain nervousness. The Cathedral west plaza is another five metres down steps below the west door. An ordeal for the inexperienced.

After this, I realised I hadn't eaten enough, and was tired after several hours of walking, so I headed slowly back to the apartment, starting to think about the logistics of the trip to Velez Malaga to celebrate the Eucharist tomorrow. The Festa in Calle Girona must have finished on time, as all was as quiet as usual when I got back.

      

Eco-tienda and Norwegian nuptials

We made an effort to walk into town this morning despite the heat, to find a new Eco-store called 'Modus Vivendi' just in the process of opening, according to a publicity flyer we picked up. It's close to the bus station, whose make-over is almost complete. The sun shade canopies are now in place, but work on pavement tiling still has to be done. Perhaps it's deemed to hot to work.

We chatted with the young couple Ian and Nieves whose eco-project the store showcases. They are still in the process of stocking the store, having only taken it over a couple of weeks ago, and their website is still a work in progress They not only offer food and wine, but also a source of seeds, plants, gardening equipment and information for people taking an interest in growing food on their own fincas. There's also a social space for people to meet and learn about environmental issues and organic horticulture. A very imaginative concept. 

We stocked up on veggies, wished them well, and plodded home in the heat, stopping on our way to buy some fresh fish for lunch - some small merluza plus a couple of oreos a smaller fish with big eyes, which the fishmonger threw in, for us to try, after I asked their name. One minute in the frying pan. Delicious snack while cooking a paella to host the merluza. It seemed we had a lot of fish to eat, but together with the amount of veg and rice, it was just right for two people.

Later in the afternoon I walked back into town for the wedding blessing in El Salvador of the couple from Alesund in Norway. I've been corresponding with them for several months determined to learn a few suitable liturgical phrases to say in Norwegian as part of the service.The couple had a year old toddler, looked after by one of the bridesmaids, except that he toddled around and joined mum and dad every now and then. He couldn't be separated from them during the vows, but they managed very deftly by one holding him while the other took the hand and spoke the words, then swapping the boy for the reverse process. The rings were a little more of a challenge, so he was briefly collected for a circuit of the side aisle, then returned for the nuptial blessing. All done without embarrassment, with natural dignity.

The couple wanted musical accompaniment from a string trio, and it worked very well. Despite the fact that a couple of the pieces of music were new to them, the three young women players delivered well. The big surprise however was the bride. In between scripture readings she sang an a capella song to her husband, whose words she'd written, with a traditional tune. The melody was hauntingly beautiful. Her pure clear voice filled the resonant acoustic space of the church perfectly. It was quite impossible not to be moved. Afterwards, I asked if she'd been trained or sang in a choir, and she said not at all. She said she only sang in the shower. Without rehearsal, she'd tackled a demanding melody, with some long sustained notes, in perfect pitch throughout, and thought nothing of it. That was my day's reward for making the effort with those Norwegian phrases. More literary than colloquial sounding, if I understood the feedback aright which I received after.

After the intensity of quite a simple, but different ethos of service from ones I've conducted lately, I was quite drained. Clare same down to meet me half way, and we stopped for a drink at a bar on the return trip. Another one of those days when the heat makes me feel my age.