A creative Bank Holiday Monday

A pleasant warm spring day, feeling fresh after a fair night's sleep. After breakfast and prayers, I worked on next Sunday's Trinity Sunday sermon as ideas of what I wanted to say were already coming to me. I did a share of the weekly house cleaning next, and cooked lunch for us. After only a short siesta, I had another creative spurt and wrote a biblical reflection for Corpus Christi, then went out for a walk.

I met Diana and Pete enjoying the sunshine, sitting on a park bench in Llandaff Fields and sat and chatted to them. We walked back home together and I invited them in for a cup of tea with Clare. She went out for a walk earlier and was home before me, and I knew she'd enjoy the company. 

After supper, I made a video slide show of my photos of the 2018 Semana Santa processions in Málaga to send to Marion, as she was asking my about this after Mass yesterday. I made an audio soundtrack from a video I found, rather disappointed that I was unable to find and use the recordings I made back then. Here's a link to it on YouTube.

Finally printing off the order of service for tomorrow morning's funeral, and off to bed.

Not a holiday for everyone

Easter Monday isn't a Bank Holiday in Andalucia, although it is is some other parts of Spain, so after the Maundy Thursday and Good Friday public holidays, it was business more or less as usual today. We decided to walk up the Gibralfaro to the Parador for lunch. With time to spare on the way, we visited the fortress and enjoyed its gardens until it was time to go and eat. 

As we climbed, we caught sight of one of the weekend's big cruise ships sailing away. Two more cruise ships are in port, which weren't there over the weekend, so this continues to be a busy period for the city, with several thousand visitors extra each day on top of those who've driven here, making a long weekend of the Easter festival.

There weren't many people in the restaurant, although we were among the first to arrive. Our meal was of typical local dishes, including salt cod and a stew containing several flavours of sausage and a big variety of alubia beans. 

The air was clear and bright, though not warm enough to sit out on the terrace to eat. Nevertheless, we had a superb, almost haze free view of the city and the harbour. After the return walk, we both felt unexpectedly tired rather than invigorated, so took a siesta and whiled away the afternoon. Later on we walked into the Old Town. I was interested to see what progress had been made on removing the spectator seating on the processional routes.

The large mobile seating stands had gone, and work had begun on dismantling  the rest. All of the thousands of wooden chairs had been collected and shipped out, so that Calle Marques de Lario was clear for the crowds of shoppers to roam at will. A start had been made on the tribune in the Plaza de la Constitucion, and given its size and the time it took to erect, it'll take several days to remove. A lot of overtime has been worked this weeked to restore a semblance of normality I reckon.

    

The Feast of Feasts

We were blessed with a warm, sunny Easter morning, and nearly eighty people at St George's. Gilly, one of the chaplaincy's retired priests with PTO joined me in leading the celebration of the Eucharist at which I presided and preached, and she read the Gospel, interceded and administered the chalice. It's one of the rare occasions in locum ministry when I've been able to share ministry with a priestly colleague - most enjoyable. 

A larger than usual choir sang a special Alleluia acclamation before and after the Gospel, plus an anthem later, both of which had been rehearsed in two Saturday afternoon rehearsals, last week and this. I joined in and sang bass, Clare joined the altos. It's very rare for both of us to sing in the same choir at the same time, possibly not since Geneva days twenty years ago.

After the service I met a couple who recently returned to live in Malaga after twenty years in the UK, a Malagueno, born in the Old Town Sagrario Parish, and his English wife. He's a guitar maker who had to go and train as a luthier in Britain, as in Spain the circle of craftsmen is rather closed to newcomers who don't belong to that domestic or social circle. Nice to think British craftsmanship in the realm of musical instrument making is open to welcome new recruits and able to produce world class standards.

After lunch we walked around the port, enjoying the extended craft market busy with Easter visitors from other parts of Spain, and from two cruise ships docked at the terminal nearby. The Artsenal community arts centre was hosting a disco and street dance event for teenagers. Our afternood ended with a promenade paseo and drink in a beach chirungito.

One Easter procession was scheduled for the morning while we were still in church, which was that of a Resurrection cofradia about which not much information was available.  Somehow I'd expected there to be more on the streets, rather than in the churches. But, as this is a holiday weekend, making extensive support arrangements to cover more than one procession on a civil holiday weekend Sunday morning would perhaps be impracticable after such a demanding week. The sudden descent into everyday secular banality after such a week of powerful experiences, made Easter Sunday seem just a little anti-climactic to me. 

Malaga - Holy Saturday

Today there are no processions, it's a Sabbath day of rest for all involved in. For the Municipality it's business as usual, with the streets to tidy up, seating to be removed and roads to re-open. There are cruise ships in port and hundreds of thousands of visitors out and about wanting to go shopping and enjoy eating out.

For us it was a quiet day of recovery too, with just an Easter sermon to write and a paseo along the beach promenade. I had intended to go and witness the kindling and blessing of the Easter light at the Paschal Vigil, either in the Cathedral or the barrio church of San Gabriel, as nothing was planned for St George's. I was too tired however for a sortie at eleven o'clock at night, even if I only stayed for half an hour, so I prayed where I was instead.

It's been a vivid and often intense week of encounters and impressions left by seeing the many fine artistic depictions of Christ's Passion, and the crowds of local people watching them pass through their own barrios. Some of the trona subjects are unique, others are repeats, though never identical. Given the procession scheduling and one's own positioning in relation to their passage, there's little chronological order to the experience, certainly earlier in the week. This doesn't matter, however, any more than the sequencing of shots or even whole scenes in a movie, play or a novel matters, if the story is being told from different perspectives or includes flashbacks.

It helps to understand and be well acquainted with the whole story, to be able to see the week as a whole. Witnessing it all once or twice in a lifetime by a visitor with no background knowledge must be a puzzling experience. For those who witness these processions year in year out, with or without the support of the church's teaching, there's a element of familiarity and perhaps personal links to cofradia members, which may bring understanding, though not necessarily.

Knowing the whole story of the Passion and what leads up to it provides a frame of reference for recognising its visual representation, and in a rapidly secularising western Europe, including Spain, ignorance is growing, despite us living in the Information Age. There's still so much to be done to make the story of Jesus properly known to people in our era, so they can make their own informed judgement about who he is for us today.
  

Malaga - Good Friday

Today's service of the Word was scheduled for eleven o'clock, a simple affair, starting with the Song of the Suffering Servant from Isaiah, then the dialogue St John Passion read from Gethsemane to the condemnation of Jesus, and followed by Stations of the Cross. The text I was given for the Stations didn't read aloud as well as I thought it would and needed ad lib adaptation. I;d have done better to have chosen something from my own web library of texts, and came away feeling rather unsatisfied. Plus there were just six adults and two children present, again, due to the difficulties of access on a day of few public transport services and much traffic disruption.

After lunch and a siesta, I walked to the Cathedral and joined in their Good Friday Passion Liturgy at five, presided over by the Bishop and Cathedral Canons, plus three robed Deacons for the reading of St John's Passion and the solemn intercessions. Every seat was taken and I guess there were five to eight hundred people present. There was one cross to venerate, and the queue promised to last as long as the service had done so far, so I negotiated my way out through the crowd, with the aim of meeting up with Clare who'd promised to follow me later into the Old Town.

In fact, she texted me from a vantage point above the road tunnel where she was standing to watch the passage of La Malagueta barrio's cofradia del Descendimiento along Avenida Cervantes into town. The sound of drums and then the band starting up had alerted her to its departure up in the apartment, and she found her vantage point just in time to hear a saeta being sung from a balcony above the bar whose terrace overlooks the street where the procession had stopped. 

The saeta is a devotional lament or praise song of Andalucian culture. They happen whenever there is a procession. Clare was most fortunate. Despite being out and about a lot this week, I've not been so lucky, though I did hear one in Rincon de la Victoria last summer during the procession for Our Lady of Victories patronal fiesta.

After a few phone calls and text messages, we achieved a rendezvous outside the Ajuntamiento building where the Alcalde and his chief officers stood outside on the steps paying homage as the procession passed by on Avenida Cervantes. So far Clare had seen Our Lady's procession at the back, but when she caught up with me the Descendimiento trona was just level with me. It depicts the dead Jesus being lowered from the cross into the arms of his mother and the other Marys by two men using long linen sheets. A very powerful image indeed.

We left the procession once at had passed us by and went together to the Cathedral, to be honest in the vain hope of getting access to a toilet. A modest crowd gathering in the churchyard which joins the Cathedral and a substantial sixteenth century building called El Sagrario. Up until this time I had been quite unaware that it was a church. I believed it to be a big sacristy or treasury kind of building. Only later did I learn this is the Parish Church of the barrio in which the Cathedral is set, and that it was one of the elite group of four established immediately after the reconquista in 1495.

As we arrived a procession was forming from El Sagrario stretching across to a large side entrance to the Cathedral, which wasn't the main north porch door. After a while a modest simple trona emerged from El Sagrario bearing a crucifix laid down, but at a slightly raised angle. The hombres de trona wore suits, though other Nazarenos in the procession were robed in black. The crucifix was a very fine piece of 17th century sculpture by Jerónimo Gómez de Hermosilla. What immediately struck the eye was the absence in the image of the feet and most of one leg. It was evident that this damaged image was accorded the utmost respect, but at this moment we had no idea why.

Later we learned it was taken into the Cathedral to be carried about during the Stations of the Cross, and that it would not be paraded out in the Old Town, as it had been occasionally before. This crucifix had been vandalised during an early republican insurrection in Malaga in July 1936, at the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. Two years later it became the devotional focus of Nationalist military amputees and a patriotic cofradia developed around it. Fast forward a couple of generations and a reconciling effort was being encouraged by church authorities to make it a focus for both Republican and Nationalist amputees, and the cofradia acquired a more civilian ethos, calling for suits rather than uniforms. 

There were still questions around this procession going public however, due to its origins  in military propaganda. Over recent decades movement has been restricted to crossing the Parish churchyard. The story isn't over yet, however. Consensus has grown that the story of Cristo Mutilado should be taken to closure by its repair and restoration to its original form, as part of the long slow process of reconciliation post-Civil War, whose wounds are less spoken of but often still unhealed in Spain. It's an amazing story of enduring religious institutional patience in an effort to bring good out of ill, to the benefit of all who were victims of violence. There are many other such examples at different fault lines in the history of war torn twentieth century Europe. Politicians easily forget when it suits them, but the church remembers, and thinks in centuries.

After this encounter, we walked back to the apartment for supper, then I made my way back into the Old Town as the sun was setting, for the last act in the week of processional dramas.

First I encountered the procession of Nuestra Senora de la Piedad, and then that of Santo Sepulchro. An image of Jesus now recumbent in death on a funeral bier, accompanied by Nazarenos in black, and slow solemn music of mounding from the accompanying bands, with the crowds quiet, subdued, no longer exuberant or applauding. This is the image which is to be found normally on the retable behind the altar in the stark simplicity of the former Cistercian convent of Sta Ana not far from the Cathedral. I followed it for a while past Plaza de la Merced until it turned into a side street. Ahead on a junction of Los Alamos, another crowd was gathered. Another image of the Descendimiento had not long passed by. I saw it later, depicting the dead Jesus being wrapped in a shroud ready for burial. 

The crowd hadn't dispersed however, as another procession was winding its way down the hill from Lagunillas, Nazarenos robed entirely in black and carrying lit candles, a slow moving trickle of light in the encroaching darkness of the street. This was the cofradia of the Third Order of the Servants of Mary, making its procession with the final processional image of Our Lady, standing on her own in mourning black, having laid Jesus to rest. This procession wan't due to return to base at St Philip Neri Parish Church until three in the morning.

It was gone eleven o'clock, so I headed for the Alameda Principal on my way back to the apartment. When I was here for Semana Santa four years ago, most of my time was spent on the Alameda or Larios. This year I've not often visited, spending more time out with the free moving crowds in the streets of the Old Town. Although late, there were crowds of people wandering in the Alameda and  still seated in the stands. Here I saw the passage of yet another Descendimento image, perhaps the most familiar one of all in Western art, known as the Pieta - Mary at the foot of the cross cradling the dead Jesus in her arms. 

On my way back to the apartment, appearing from Calle Cister was the trona of the Descendimiento from La Malagueta barrio, on the last leg of its eight hour journey through the streets of the Old Town.  A very satisfying way to end the day and conclude my project of witness to the living tradition and culture of religious processions here in Malaga. Over the previous six days I saw perhaps half of all the week's processions, and realise how much more there is to be seen. It's all been so brilliantly organised and supported by many thousands of committed people, no matter how great or small their personal faith may be. I feel sure Malaga is not only a more prosperous place as a result but also a more kindly, humane decent and welcoming a place to be.

So glad I could be here for this. And relieved that Holy Saturday is a quiet day of reflection before the night time Easter Vigil. You can find my photos here.
  

  

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 - Wednesday in Holy Week

Holy Week certainly disrupts everyone's routines and timetables. This proposed Bible Study at Velez Malaga this afternoon was cancelled and nobody came to join Clare and I for the midweek Eucharist this morning. After the service we went for a walk along the promenade, did some food shopping and then had lunch before going into the Old Town to see what could be seen.

I was struggling a little with making sense of the processional timetable of the day, from a paper copy I'd picked up on Monday. I thought a procession was starting from St John the Baptist church around five, but it started in earnest over an an hour later, so arriving late we didn't miss it. This is  one of the four city parish churches established immediately at the start of the sixteenth century, post reconquista. It has several cofradias associated with their own long histories. Anyway, we were there when the trona of Jesus hanging alone on his cross emerged from the church through huge clouds of incense. This different from the crucifixion I saw last night, from another cofradia.

As this procession started, another trona appeared in an adjoining street on another route, depicting Jesus crucified, but with the cross being hoisted into position by several soldiers. Twenty minutes later a second trona emerged from St John the Baptist church, depicting Jesus being scourged at the pillar by the Roman soldiers. A third trona, this time of Our Lady followed this, escorted by a squad of soldiers and their band, all of whom, while marching performed precision co-ordinated juggling acts with their guns (hopefully unloaded), or their musical instruments.

We then made our way back to the apartment for an early supper. As it was still light, I left Clare behind to relax. She's not so accustomed to crowds as I have become lately in Malaga. Here people seem to enjoy being together in large numbers, and are good natured easy with each other in close proximity, used to there being small children, families passing through with infants in push-chairs, somewhat in in contrast to Britain where I feel tense and edgy in a crowd. It's such a different social culture.

I got as far as the Cathedral, where there were large crowds of people accompanying a procession of Our Lady, whose trona was visiting the Cathedral. Half an hour later another procession passed by outside the Cathedral down Calle Cister. By this time the Cathedral doors had been closed for the night as it was half past ten. The trona depicted Jesus at the time of his death with the three Marys and St John standing there witnessing the moment.

Once the crowd had loosened up I started making my way back to base along Avenida Cervantes, passing yet another procession with a trona of Our Lady and another of Jesus alone carrying his cross, not expected to return to their home church until well after midnight. I was glad that I only had a ten minute walk before turning in for the night. That was quite a demanding day of walking and standing.  So many surprises and so much to take in.  My photos of the day are here

Malaga - Tuesday in Holy Week

Clare's flight was delayed by an hour leaving Cardiff this morning, but this gave me extra time to cook a vegetable soup before leaving for the airport to collect her. I walked to the train at the far end of the Alameda Principal, and this gave me time to observe that work was still in progress laying out rows of chairs in front of the seating stands lining the main thoroughfare. Buses were still coming and going in the free outside roadway that gives access for cars and public transport to the Avenida Andalucia the other side of the rio Guadalmedina. Road closures for processions would start until later in the afternoon, and the bus stop information display panels not only give time, weather and advance warnings, but also indicate the real time location of processions currently taking place. It's impressive, and a very useful stream of public information.

Clare texted me once she was off the 'plane. I was by that time on the train as it approached the airport station. I knew I'd have roughly another half hour to wait, so I bought a coffee and positioned myself by the arrivals hall exit. Sure enough, there were no more delays and three quarters of an hour after meeting, thanks to train and bus, we were in the apartment and eating lunch.

Later we walked through the (closed) road tunnel into the Old Town. Crowds were beginning to line the pavements of the Avenida Victoria, so we joined them and waited for the procession to make its way towards us from the church of Nuestra Senora de la Victoria, with which several cofradias are associated. This afternoon's procession was of a trona depicting the arrest of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, featuring a live olive tree, as well as figures of those told about in the Gospel story. 

Half an hour standing an waiting was enough for Clare at this stage, so we returned to the apartment just 6-7 minutes away for a cup of tea. Clare decided on a late siesta, and I went out again for a few hours to see what else I could see, given the extra hour of daylight we have this week. This time I went to the Alameda Principal and to Calle Larios (as the Calle Marquesa de Larios is known in the processional timetable), and watched a trona of Jesus alone carrying his cross approach and pass the VIP tribune in the Plaza de la Constitucion then go up Calle Granada on its way to the Cathedral. 

It was impossible to return to base via the road tunnel as the streets were packed with people, but by now the alternative routes are becoming familiar. Passing by Calle Larios, I caught sight of another trona heading for the VIP tribune, this time it was the single figure of Jesus hanging on the cross. By this time the sun had set and the street lights were coming on, fatigue and hunger discouraged me from lingering, so I re-joined a refreshed Clare for supper and catch-up time before bed.

One way or another I'd seen just three of the six cofradia processions of the day. The others would be out and about too late for me this time. My photos are 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