Malaga - Maundy Thursday

As I was preparing breakfast this morning, and pouring myself a cup of tea, the handle of the trendy glass bowl kettle broke spontaneously, causing the  bowl to break on the counter and spill scalding water everywhere. Fortunately I avoided injury, but there was a lot of clearing up to do as a result, and for the time being we'll have to use a pan to boil water, Spanish style.

After breakfast, we heard the sound of distant drums. This was puzzling, as all the day's eight processions were due to set out at different times late afternoon. I think that so many clergy and church officers not involved with last minute preparation would be at the Cathedral for the Bishop's Mass of the Chrism. We didn't plan to attend this, but walked to the port instead, to investigate the the sound we'd heard.

Large crowds of people lined the barrier overlooking the Palmeria de las Sorpresas, where a Spanish navy vessel was moored, and the sound of martial music came from the quay below. The ship had arrived earlier from the Spanish colonial enclave of Ceuta in North Africa, with a detachment of Spanish Foreign Legionnaires, assigned to escort the Mena cofradia del Buen Muerte in procession this evening. It was impossible to get more than a passing glimpse of the band as they marched up and down the quay while the ship's commanding officers took the salute from the top deck. Then they marked off at double time through the Alameda over the bridge and off to their local barracks. Thankfully, being tall and benefiting from the camera's telephoto lens meant that later we were able to see on screen what we'd been unable to get more than a glimpse of in situ.

We walked over into the Old Town, and saw crowds of tens of thousands of people, many of them freshly arrived and either looking for a place for lunch, or trying to locate their assigned seats for the first day of the Triduum. As there was nothing more to see, we walked back, had a drink in one of the beach chirungitos that was open, then did some shopping and had lunch.

At seven in the evening, we held our Maundy Thursday Eucharist. Disappointingly only four people turned up. It's important to realise how difficult it is for members of a gathered congregation to get to church when the city's roads and public transport are so disrupted. The important thing is, to make the offer, and remember those who cannot make it.

Clare stayed in and sewed fabric loops on to all the kitchen towels, so that they could hang properly from the hooks provided. A little something to help make the kitchen work better. A new kettle will have to wait until Saturday, when all shops will resume normal trading. I walked to the Cathedral as the sun was setting, and spent a couple of hours there photographing the comings and goings, as part of the huge crowd that had gathered there.

A trona of Maria Desolata, standing at the foot of the cross, after the death of Jesus emerged from the main north door, and then it was closed for the night. A little later the trona of the Last Supper arrived and passed by, moving down the Calle Cister to solemn music, followed by another trona of Our Lady. I followed the latter as far as the Calle Alcazabilla, and then returned to the apartment. I was quite tired from all the exercise of the past five days, and needed some rest before tomorrow, the Great Day Viernes Santo.  You can find today's photos here

Malaga - Monday in Holy Week

It's been an intense few days following Malaga Semana Santa processions. It's just over ten minutes walk from the apartment to the nearest part of the Old Town, so walking is far more convenient than taking a bus, so returning for meals was easier than eating out in one of a multitude of busy crowded restaurants, and that meant two trips a day on top of walking around, standing about to see what was happening, and taking photographs. 

I wasn't easy to get an advantageous viewpoint with hundreds of people thronging every street along processional routes. Being tall, I could stand back and hold my Song HX300 camera right above my head, benefiting from its hinged preview screen, and telephoto lens to capture scenes I couldn't see well at eye level. Not that I was alone in doing this. Phone cameras likewise raised aloft nowadays are a persistent feature in any crowd of spectators, and need to be cropped out of images which are thankfully large enough to magnify well to produce a good subject image. All that walking plus the stretching certainly gave me a good daily workout, and left me feeling like I'd swum a mile.

This morning was taken up shopping in preparation for Clare's arrival. After a late lunch, I made my way to Dos Martires Parish Church in the Old Town to see one of their cofradia processions start off. As we were waiting, the sound of another procession passing by hundred metres away drew my attention. It had come from the Buen Pastor parish up the hill in Lagunillas, and on the trona being carried Christ Crucified was depicted. Outside Dos Martires, the long procession of penitentes, plus a band slowly gathered in nearby streets. Half an hour later than expected, church doors opened and the ceremonial entourage of the trona began to emerge in clouds of incense. Then, from inside the church another band struck up, and as the trona of Jesus carrying his cross came out, the cortege began slowly to move, with stops punctuated by the ringing of bells. A pattern being repeated on different routes and times across the old town by half a dozen different cofradias each day.

Up the street, the tronas of Christ and our Lady from Buen Pastor parish passed by, then twenty minutes later the Dos Martires Trona emerged from church with its own procession. Each cofradia dresses in broadly similar vesture, but uses different primary colours for identification. Black, white, red, green, purple or yellow, vivid and striking. Faces are masked, preserving anonymity of age, gender, social status. Children, who may offspring or grandchildren of penitentes, wear the vesture and are seen walking hand in hand with their elders. Small boys with toy drums strive to imitate the marching drumbeats of the processional bands. Culture and tradition, caught as much as taught.

Remarkable in this procession was a group of Gitanos, not robed as penitentes, but making their presence known in the much larger crowd by their hand clapping, singing and flamenco style dance steps, let by a single guitarist as they followed the trona of Jesus scourged at the Pillar. They were followed by another processional band, and on times they were competing with it. I felt sorry for the guitarrista, who broke a string with heavy strumming, but kept playing anyway. It's hard  to know if the gypsy group are organised to participate into the procession, or insert themselves as a group with spontanaiety. Their identification with Our Lord's abusive treatment is natural, as they are regarded by many as an underclass in Andalusian society, despite the remarkable contribution made by them to the culture of music and dance.

I followed the procession almost as far as the Mercado Atarazanas. As it passed the casa cofradia of Santa Cena, the doors were open, revealing the tronas within. The guardian officials, holding their staffs of office, stood to attention outside as the procession wound past, and admirable gesture of respect and solidarity, I thought. This entire week of devotion is about everybody doing their best and encouraging each other, rather than competing to be the best.

I began winding my way back across the Old Town, noting how crowded the Alameda Principal and Calle Marquesa Larios were, with pedestrians on top of the many thousands of people paying for a spectator seat. In Calle Grenada I ran into an impenetrable crowd awaiting the passage of another procession. It looked familiar, indeed it was the Dos Martires procession, still going strong two hours into their journey with at least another hour until it arrives back at base.

The street remained crowded, and it wasn't long before another procession appeared, which I think was of the cofradia de la Pasion, depicting Jesus seated wearing the crown of thorns exhausted after interrogation and torture. A less than familar image, but powerful nevertheless.

I had parked myself on the doorstep of a jamon curado sandwich bodega, and ended up going in for a beer. I was so impressed to see a waiter with a try held high over his head weaving his way through packed crowds to serve outside customers with a cheery smile on his face. A man dressed in purple dashed in from the procession, lifted his veil, asked for los servicios, then dashed upstairs. There are several purposes behind the frequent stops I realised. One is to allow pedestrians and traders to get across the street. The other is for refreshment or comfort breaks, and yet another to let people join and leave the procession. That way, the whole city is able to continue about its business of looking after the visitors it welcomes, and be true to its sense of self and tradition. 

Eventually, the crowd eased and I made my way back, with darkness descending, tired but amazed at having seen so much. Today's photos are here

Festal Weekend, Day Two

All went to plan going to Velez Malaga this morning. I was there by ten but overshot my destination and had to double back. Finding a parking place nearby without disorientating myself in streets still unfamiliar gave me some trouble, so I lost twenty minutes finding a place, but arrived with enough time in hand to start punctually.

There were twenty two present, an enthusiastic and cheerful gathering, attentive and enjoying the singing. Three people shared in leading the intercessions, which was unusual, but it worked. I couldn't help noticing that the lady who read the Hospitality of Abraham story expressively did so using her hands as she spoke. It was far from being a mannerism, the story-teller's instinct was in evidence here. That takes confidence, but also calls for finding a certain pleasure in valuing the story element in reading scripture.

The little bar where we gathered for coffee and fellowship after the service when I was here last September has now closed, due to lease expiry, so we had to walk a few extra pace to the Bar El Tomate on the corner of the block. It's full of light and has simple modern decor. It was crowded and busy, clearly a well used Sunday meeting place in this barrio. 

After a drink and a chat, I drove back to Malaga, cooked lunch and had a siesta before making my way to the Cathedral for the evening's Blessed Sacrament procession. On any evening the streets are crowded with walkers and diners, but tonight an even greater crowd, as people from parishes across the city converged on the Cathedral. Diocesan clergy, Cathedral Canons, seminarians, and various guilds formed the main body of the procession, with some lay people following and more watching, taking photos from the side. It must have been quite difficult for tourists going against the flow of the procession, and perhaps not rally understanding what was going on. I noticed uncomfortable and awkward looks on the faces of some passing by in the opposite direction.

The silver clad flower bedecked trona carrying the Holy Sacrament in a large golden monstrance was not borne by a squad of portadores on this occasion. It was mounted on wheels and pushed by a handful of people. I'd love to know the reason why. Street altars were set up outside the Cathedral, in the Calle Marquesa de Larios, the main luxury shopping area and at a junction of several streets in between. Apparently the number of altars has been reduced in recent years. It it for convenience, faced with the dominant demands made on these streets by visitors? Or is it for practical reasons? 

The custom used to be to stop at a street altar for prayers. Nowadays, prayers and devotional songs go on throughout the time of the procession, aided by a portable public address system using a wireless microphone for the prayer leader. Songs were familiar and sung unaccompanied by heart as we processed slowly. There were a couple of bands, which played intermittently, but accompanying a walking singing crowd would not come naturally to their performance style. I imagine change of this nature doesn't come easy to cofradias that invest such time and energy in maintaining their tradition. What's impressive is the degree of participation by local people. It doesn't feel like a show but a genuine expressing of religious life which succeeds in binding people together.

The procession ended with the Archbishop receiving the Holy Sacrament from the Trona to carry into the Cathedral through the great west door. After leading the final devotions and Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament at the high altar, for the first time since the procession began, Don Jesus Catala donned his episcopal mitre to deliver a brief address to the multitude filling the nave. In the procession he walked bareheaded like all the other clergy, behind the Trona, holding his episcopal crozier, symbol of his pastoral authority in the church and in the wider community. Having the last word, as a preacher of the Gospel in the Apostles' succession, he puts on his teacher's hat. Nice and simple. I wish more Anglican bishops would take note, and parade their mitres in public less often.

It was hot. It was tiring. But joining in the procession, not as a robed cleric but among the people took me back to my young, and reminded me what pilgrimage feels like at the grass roots. It's quite possible to miss out on that experience when you're organising or overseeing a liturgical occasion. So grateful I don't have to undertake those kind of duties any longer.

  

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.