Monday in Holy Week - fire tragedy in Paris

Another Monday with shopping in the morning then an afternoon clinic visit, but not quite routine,  having taken time during the day to look at photos posted on-line of Semana Santa processions in Málaga, and looking at my own from last year. And then, a walk to St Luke's to attend the Mass of Monday in Holy Week, along with twenty others.

On returning home, news was breaking about the roof fire in Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, and I followed this for the rest of the evening, watching stunned and helpless with the rest of the world, but praying also with some in the crowds that gathered beyond the safety cordon, singing Marian devotional hymns. Four hundred firefighters, striving to save whatever can be saved of this great World Heritage site from destruction. Thank heavens, nobody has died.

Already powerful sentiments are being expressed by French leaders and others across the world, expressing the profound impact this is having on secular as well as religious people who treasure the cultural and historical, not to mention economic importance of this great building. Before President Macron pledged that Notre Dame would be restored, I had already begun to think about the scale of such a project and what it would take - I'm guessing several billions of Euros. 

Apparently, just last year, a high resolution 3D scanning project put on record a detailed image of the building, which can be put to use along with architectural plans made over centuries to aid a faithful restoration. Dresden's Frauenkirche, destroyed in the horrific firestorm of 1944 was rebuilt from archived plans. What can be done today is just as remarkable today in a different way, though it all relies on having the skilled artisans to do the job. Maybe this tragedy will inspire more people of a younger generations to offer their working lives to the pursuit of such craftsmanship.

Above all, however, it's the prayer of the faithful throughout, from tragedy to triumph, which make this much more than just a project to restore a great monument to human creativity. Without those 'living stones', the place would be no more than an empty shell.

  

A Palm Sunday, both typical and untypical

Our Palm Sunday Eucharist at St George's this morning was attended by group of thirty visitors from Sir Roger Manwood's School in Kent. They were, in fact the school orchestra, who'd earlier in the week played two concerts in Granada, and after our service played for us in Malaga. Three of the youngsters took part in the readings for the day, and several took Communion as well. There were altogether sixty of us.

Instead of the Year B St Mark Passion, we used a dialogue version of the Passion that uses passages from other other Gospels as well - useful for anyone wanting to preach on Jesus' Seven Last Words, for example. I preached the concise sermon I'd prepared, without straying too much from the script, and we finished at our usual time of 12.15 giving the orchestra three quarters of an hour to get ready for their performance.

Not all those who attended the service were able to stay on afterwards for the concert, but a sizeable number of people came in off the street, and we had an audience of forty, which is remarkable, since the poster advertising the event only went on display last weekend. We were treated to a variety of music, classic and contemporary, and various instrumentalists we showcased in different pieces. One of the violinists is also a chorister in Canterbury Cathedral. She sang a Handel duet with a flautist, and showed that he is developing a voice that will be more versatile than a treble of either gender.

I was glad that I bothered to prepare a big pot of soup for lunch beforehand, as I was starving by the time I returned to the apartment around three. At four, I made my way into the Old Town through the road tunnel. It was closed to traffic, as the road around the Plaza de la Merced was occupied by a Palm Sunday procession, from San Agostino Parish Church, featuring a trona that depicts the Triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, and a trona of Our Lady of Holy Protection, cared for by the 'La Pollinica' cofradia. 

Hundreds dressed in the dramatic coloured garb of penitentes, children and adults alike formed the procession, and the band of drums and brass numbered over fifty people. The juxtaposition of church ceremonial and imagery, the music, the drumming at slow walking pace and  the use of bells to communicate messages along the 500 metre line of the procession, I found powerfully moving to witness in a secular everyday context. Normally, the stories we hear in the liturgy we internalise to take them away with us into the rest of our lives. Making those stories visual in public clashes our inner and outer worlds together in a stimulating, challenging way.

After following this procession for half a kilometre, the sound and then the sight of another emerged at a crossroads, beyond where the first one turned off, so I went to investigate. Coming down the hill from the Plaza de Capuchinos was the procession of the cofradia del Prendimiento, whose trona depicts the betrayal and arrest of Jesus, plus Peter's denial. This was followed by the trona of Our Lady of Great Forgiveness. In Spain I find there are so many titles of dedication relating to Blessed Mary I've never heard of before.

I followed this procession for a while, then headed through side streets to Calle Marquesa de Larios, where I watched the passage of a trona depicting Simon of Cyrene taking up the cross of Jesus, but I couldn't figure out from the handy little processional scheduling booklet which cofradia this one was or the trona of Our Lady following. Then I went to the Alameda and watched the arrival of the trona of the cofradia de la Humilidad aka 'Ecce Homo' as it portrays a tranquil Jesus bound, being presented by Pilate to the crowd, with a fierce, chained Barabbas raging in the background.

By this time I'd been walking around for over three hours and was beginning to feel tired, so decided to head for the apartment for supper, and a chance to digest the extraordinary experiences of the afternoon. My unfamiliarity with the many life sized sculptured images on display meant in each case that I needed to look long and hard to work out what each was portraying. Sometimes it was a scene combining several actions, other times a snapshot of a momentary detail in the passion story which an artist had meditated on and extracted a lesson for the beholder. Catholic tradition has many detailed devotional commentaries relating to the Passion, both popular and obscure. Giving life to them in the form of three dimensional religious art-works is a huge feat of creative imagination, whose development spans centuries. and continues today.

My photos from today's processions are here

  

Getting ready for PIlgrim Commuters

It was overcast, colder and rain threatened but didn't fall all day. When I walked down to the quay this afternoon, a large cruise ship was moored alongside the Bahamas registered 'Braemar' run by Fred Olsen Cruise Line catering largely for the British market. It has nearly a thousand passengers and a three to one passenger to staff ratio. It's currently cruising around the Andalusian coast on an 'Orange Blossom Cruise'. There's certainly plenty to sniff in the Malaguenian air at the moment.

The Spring Fair trading stalls are open for business now, and the white wooden huts offer a striking backdrop for a colourful range of products on display. Over on the Alameda several more seating stands had arrived and been positioned ready to be moved into place when roads close for Semana Santa. Calle Marquesa de Larios was busy with visitors and shoppers. In the midst of it all was another Living Sculpture, I've not seen before, Jesus carrying his Cross to Calvary. Not an advert for the coming week, however, as there was a bowl out for donations in front.

I made an effort to count all the stacks of wooden chairs in this street, and reached a figure of more than seven thousand chairs, which will have to be laid out in time for Sunday. The huge raked seating stand in the Plaza de la Constitución, holds about another fifteen hundred seats, and then there's the seating in the Alameda which I haven't counted, but could add up to another couple of thousand at least. 

None of these places are free, but there's still room to spare for the many tens of thousands who will come and stand to watch the processions, like me. And not surprisingly, for there are 41 processional cofradias scheduled to take part during the eight days of devotion. Heaven knows how much it costs to turn a couple of main thoroughfares into a public arena, safe for people of all ages to gather. There are reckoned to be five million people visiting the city during the week. 

What I found striking when I was last here for Semana Santa in 2014, during my locum stay in Fuengirola, was how many of them came in from the coastal towns and inland areas on public transport, day after day. So many people taking time out to steep themselves in this re-telling of Christ's Passion story through images paraded through the city streets.

Remembering departed colleagues

A bright sunny day today with occasional gusts of chill wind to remind us it's still early spring even if Semana Santa is approaching rapidly. Just as I was setting out for my afternoon paseo, I received an email from Llandaff diocesan office announcing the death of two priests I knew.

Canon Harold Clarke, had been Vicar of St Martin's Roath, and in retirement attended St German's. Once he found standing at the altar for Sunday Mass too difficult, he would sit in choir, and at the end lead the recitation of the Angelus, and continued to do so until he was hospitalised. He was much loved by people there, and led prayers with a lovely serene smile.

Fr Erle Hastey and I trained in St Michael's Llandaff at the same time. He was a year older than me, and had left school to become a miner in his native Yorkshire. Once he'd tested his vocation, he was sent to Brasted Place, a pre-theological college which served the church of England by educating those who had missed out on suitable qualifications to enter ministerial training at school. The scheme was residential and contributed significantly to the spiritual formation of aspiring priests as well raising their educational level. Sadly such institutions are no longer affordable in a shrinking church, though thankfully catch-up education is now widely available while people are working.

Erle's years down the pit meant that he seemed older and wiser for his age than those of us who had been able to go right through schooling to University. He was incisive, witty and sometimes quite challenging of those he thought less than certain about the foundations of catholic faith, under the sway of liberal modernity, like me. I learned from our exchanges over late night tea or coffee to be more confident in what I had received of the faith growing up, and like him, not to put up with pious nonsense and hypocrisy. After ordination our ways parted, and we didn't meet for twenty years, until I was working for USPG and he was Vicar of Tonyrefail. Then another twenty years slipped by until we met in the Cardiff city centre street outside St John's, when I was Vicar, and just due to retire.

May both these admirable companions in mission and ministry rest in peace.

There were groups of young people on Playa la Malagueta in swimming costumes, sunning themselves and playing games. I could hear French and German being spoken as well as Spanish. Some braved the coolness of the sea for a swim. For them, term is ended I guess, and it's time to chill out - literally in the case of an energetic few.

On the quay, retailers are moving in and stocking up the white painted wooden cabins which are the basis of the Spring/Easter market, ready for this weekend's trade, when visitors flock in for Samana Santa. Over on the Alameda, a collection of large seating stands, assembled offsite I guess, have been delivered, ready set up for use. They are wheeled, and so can easily be moved into place, but for the moment they are bunched together in spare open space, looking like a chaotic traffic jam. All down the Calle Marquesa de Larios stacks of twenty odd wooden chairs have been delivered, ready for the labour intensive task of laying them out. 

Old Town visitors, shoppers come and go as usual. Even the Living Sculpture guy, dressed in a news print suit and reading a newspaper, was setting up for the afternoon when I passed by. I dropped in to La Casa Invisible free community arts centre for the first time and had a coffee. They are selling tee shirts with their branding printed on it at the moment for five euros, and announced a special offer. A beer and a tee shirt for six euros, except that in larger print above was written 1000 pesetas, which I think was the equivalent to six euros. There's still a certain amount of conservative sentiment in Spain for the old currency, and there are still retailers whose till receipts and price labels show both. But this is a radical/liberal arts centre, so this promotion was very much tongue in cheek!

I returned to the apartment by a route which led me past the Cathedral. I was surprised to discover that the scaffolding in the street between the Cathedral and Bishop's Palace had disappeared. I had thought it might be for the benefit of TV cameras, but evidently not. It must have been there for some maintenance work on one of the buildings.

  

Sad and worrying news

This morning's news announced the death of comedian Ken Dodd at ninety, perhaps the last great all round music hall entertainment star and hilariously surreal stand-up comic. The British Parliament has been told that investigations into the poisoning of a Russian ex-spy and his daughter reveal the use of a military grade nerve agent produced by the Russians at some time in the past. got. However this has got out into the wild, deliberately with authorisation or inadvertently due to poor security, it represents a disturbing turn of events with very serious consequences. 

Another walk this afternoon along the Palmeria de las Sorpresas, watching ferries and cruise ships come and go, then wandering randomly through the Old Town, just enjoying the place. Since the weekend, the first ranks of spectator seating for Semana Santa have been erected, filling two thirds of the Plaza de la Constitución. Also deliveries have been made of construction packs, either for seating or safety barriers at roundabout where the Alamada and Calle de Marquesa de Lario meet. Processions went around this roundabout when I was last here in 2014.

Things may not be quite the same this year as the right hand side of the Alameda is now enclosed by heras fencing to contain the new metro line building site. I'm fascinated by the logistics surrounding this week of processions, which calls for bus stops to be relocated, roads closed and seating for thousands constructed, and crowd safety measures put in place, while the city centre continues its business as usual. 

Digesting the Mysteries

At last a quiet day at home relaxing, starting with a lazy breakfast of delicious fresh pancakes. For me, a day not only to write a sermon for tomorrow but also catch up on uploading to my Picasa website the photos of last Sunday's outing to the York Wagon Mystery plays. You can see the albums created here.

I took nearly four hundred, so editing out the poor ones, then organising them into easy access albums, adding minimal captions and getting them into sequence took many hours out of the day. I found none of my three cameras to be in precise date/time sync with each other. Images from different cameras of the same action sequence need rearrangement before display to avoid jerky confusion. Ah well, next time..

It was good to spend time recalling through these images the sequence of bible stories told and realise just how much was packed into the dozen dramatic productions. It was powerful at the visual level, but hearing ancient spoken texts in a variety of north country accents was what lifted it out of the ordinary for me. 

I'm still digesting the experiences I had during the Andalusian Semana Santa, built around static artistic images that live at the heart of each parochial community they belong to. Their regional passion plays I didn't have opportunity to find out about or attend, although English people spoke highly of them. York's tradition is similarly both civic and religious in nature and continues to give life to ancient texts and ideas about the life and death of Christ in ways relating to the present day in a characteristically British way, mixing humour and seriousness, speculation, argument and evangelistic appeal. 

For a culture such as ours still so in love with verbal discourse and semantics, the living tradition of the York Mysteries is as much a masterpiece as the dramatic tableaux of southern Spain. What a thrill to encounter both traditions so vividly within three months of each other.

   

Virgen de Soledad and other images

We hosted the monthly Ignatian meditation group at home this lunchtime. Thee were six of us. I offered to lead, as I wanted to share a discovery made during Semana Santa in Spain of one particular image of the Virgen de Soledad - Our Lady of Solitude. Some portray Mary weeping, wringing her hands in sorrow, lamenting the death of her son, but this one struck me as quite different, memorable.

The cross behind a kneeling Mary is empty. It is finished. She is alone with her grief, and emptiness. If indeed the body of Jesus had been laid in her arms, as imagined in the Rosary and the great tradition of pietà sculpture, this moment is past, and he has been taken away for burial. It's that empty moment unmentioned by scripture, in between Jesus saying to John, "Son behold your mother" and John taking Mary into his own home. It's the tragic counter-point to Annunciation. "Behold I am the handmaid of the Lord, be it unto me according to thy word"  

It makes me think of all those grief stricken mothers you see in television news stories about wars, natural disasters, accidents, and those moments when we say "Oh God, why?" and there is nothing else to say.

After lunch with the group, I had intended to go to the office, but inflated sinuses made me feel groggy and tired so I went to bed and slept away the afternoon instead. Clare's colleague Sandra came to stay the night, and that left me to my own devices, idly watching catch-up TV, while uploading Costa del Sol pictures to my OneDrive site, so now I have a second Cloud photo archive. Frankly, accessing photos through Google+ is irritating, because of the attempt to create an all purpose user interface to compete with Facebook. I liked Picasa a lot better, and now it's relegated to being a background option. Getting into photos with OneDrive is simpler and the interface is nice and clean. Despite my annoyances with Microsoft, some things they do very well indeed.

  

 

Hallelujah anyhow - Christ is risen indeed!

I woke up early, buzzing gently with the prospect of the day's celebrations, then got up and went out to watch the Easter sunrise with clouds promising a rainy day to follow.

Val ferried me to Benalmadena for the nine thirty Eucharist, then back to Los Boliches for the second service, to ensure I could arrive and not have time wasting parking hassles. It was wonderfully relaxing to be driven in such a situation of potential pressure. There were twenty five of us at Benalmadena, and we sang the service unaccompanied, as the organist was in the UK attending the christening of his grandson. Then there were eighty of us at St Andrews, almost a full house. 

It rained during most of the service and for several hours afterwards, and afterwards the family gathered and we dodged showers all the way to La Vieja Escuela restaurant where we were booked in for a festive lunch. It was an amazing meal, accompanied by excellent Ribera de Duero red wine, and a starter of air dried jamon cut from the bone. I had a dish containing three different kinds of tomatoes, flavored with black rock salt, followed by rice and  chicken fillets cooked in a subtle cream and saffron sauce, with strawberries to follow, poached in a black pepper sauce. All new and memorable tastes to savour. The others were equally delighted with their choices too, and afterwards we walked along the still wet promenade to Torreblanca for a drink, before strolling home.

Sadly the rain meant the curtailment of the local processions of the image of Cristo resucitado so the streets were extra quiet where one would have expected them to be full of people waiting for the procession to pass. Late in the evening I happened on a Fuengirola TV broadcast, which showed the bedraggled procession arriving at the Parish Church of our Lady in Plaza del Carmen, where all the processionistas, civic officials took refuge, along with the trono of Cristo resucitado and its bearers.

Thanks to this excellent broadcast service I was also able to capture a few inside views which timing and location would have otherwise denied me.

The band reassembled in the gallery and played, and the trono moved around in a restricted area that had been hastily cleared of its bench pews to create a space. Every now and then, at a signal, all the hand bells used in procession to signal between the different sections of walkers would be rung together and the trono exalted up at arms length by its bearers in celebration - women as well as men included, I noted.

Rain must have been a disappointment for those who'd put so much time and effort into preparing for this crowning event of such a remarkable week in the life of the Andalusian faithful, but even so they made the best they could of a very damp occasion. As they say in the Caribbean - Hallelujah anyhow.
  

Holy Saturday and the Virgen de Soledad

A quiet day, time to rest and prepare an Easter sermon. The family took themselves off to Fuengirola Zoo for the afternoon, and I stayed at home, and watched yesterday's late night Semana Santa Good Friday footage from both Malaga and on the local TV channel, from Fuengirola itself. There's such a lot to reflect upon in sight of large communities of people supporting those processing with the tronas belonging to their local barrio. 

Someone I was speaking to remarked that there were many atheists as well as believers among the hombres de trono, as respect for tradition motivated many to play their part, just as witnessing to their faith motivated others. I wonder if there's any dialogue between them? An exercise in collaboration  on this scale, involving a hundred to two hundred and fifty people is hardly a seasonal effort. It requires practice and discipline throughout the year to walk together bearing a heavy burden for hours on end, and ensure there's a rising generation of recruits the right size, fit and strong enough to take part.

It's interesting to see that there are tronos carried by teams from military regiments, police and fire brigade. Every outfit has its crowd of supporters, and are applauded for their efforts when they stop or negotiate obstacles. The TV footage shows that many if not most of the tronos pass through the Cathedral, where they are blessed as part of their journey. 

The tronos paraded on Good Friday portray the last hour of Christ's life, his death, taking down from the cross and burial. The crowd is less exuberant, and on occasions stands silent. I was told that the street lights are dimmed or extinguished at a certain moment, although this wasn't a feature of the TV re-runs that I saw. Every procession features an image from the passion of Christ and an image of the Virgin Mary under one of her many names and functions, characteristic of Spanish Catholic devotion. Understanding the distinctions for someone not raised in this spiritual tradition is an quite exercise in interpretation. 

After watching the Malaga processions and then later those of Fuengirola, there was one image of Mary I saw that stood out among the others for me: Nuestra Senora de Soledad our Lady of Solitude. Mart stands at the foot of the empty cross her arms open downwards in a gesture of abandonment and desolation. There are ornate versions and occasionally one that's relatively simple. It's the gesture that speaks however, no matter how much the image is dressed up or dressed down.

On my way to collect Clare from the zoo visit, I noticed the Los Boliches casa hermanidad was open and the image of Cristo resucitado was in the process of being decorated for tomorrow's procession. It hadn't been there last time I passed by, so it was a surprise to see it squeezed in between the other two tronos housed there.

It was lovely to see the care and attention being lavished on the decoration of the trono, and the obvious pleasure this gave to the cofradia hermanos, working together.

I couldn't find much useful information about celebrations of the Easter Vigil in Fuengirola. Maybe it's not made as much of in this part of the world as in others. Disappointing for me, as this is one of my favourite moments of the entire Christian year. I found the Pope's Easter Vigil Mass at St Peter's Rome, streaming live on You Yube, but it was nearly over when I discovered it, the service having started earlier in the evening than I would have expected. Later I read the Paschal Vigil scripture readings on iBreviary, the best I could do in the circumstances.

 

Good Friday

The processional images created in Andalusia are often evocative and powerful, despite the embellishments, so it's good to reflect on the many sides to the story portrayed in the words of the evangelists, and remember that Christ wasn't crucified between candles on a golden trono, but in a brutal squalid unjust execution 'on a hill far away ...'. Preaching the Passion, especially on Good Friday is for me one of the things I most value about the ministry I still have, where it's for many or for few.

So, I parted company with the family and they went off to the beach. I headed for St Andrew's for the three hour Vigil at the Cross. I had three addresses to give and Linda the lay reader had two, and between us  we led different sections of the service. 

Numbers attending varied between eighteen and a dozen. I guess some people would have gone into Malaga to watch the processions, and I know a coach load will go up to Rio Gordo tomorrow to a passion play performance in the village. I didn't think I could commit myself to go with them, be apart from the family all day, and spend several tiring hours travelling by coach as well. when I have Easter services to prepare for. Besides, for me Good Friday is the day to recall the Passion, and Holy Saturday meant to be an empty day of waiting and preparing. It's time I know I'll need after the day's preaching.

I got home before anyone else and watched some of the re-runs of last night's processions on Canal Sur 2. I don't event want to go out and watch local processions tonight, but be home with the family. Then I set to work preparing paella and a lentil tapas dish for our first evening meal together plus pasta for Rhiannon. It was warm enough to sit outside and eat, looking at the evening sun setting on the sierra de Mijas. A lovely place to be together.

Maundy Thursday reunion

Eighteen of us celebrated the Eucharist of the Last Supper at six this evening, then I went to catch the train to Malaga. I was surprised at the increased number of people waiting on the platform and the queues at the one remaining working ticket machine. As a result I missed one train, and by the time the next one arrived the platform was again full. After a couple of stops the train was so packed it was was almost impossible to take on additional passengers unless someone got off with a destination some way before Malaga Centro.

Coming out of the station subway at the other end the increased density of the crowd on the streets was immediately noticeable, people were compelled to move slowly in every direction and did so with good humour. Being an hour later, there was less good light to take photographs, and only occasionally was I able to get a good line of sight to the processions from the street, where the crowd was ten deep, as opposed to three deep on previous occasions. 

In an effort to catch up with the trona of Jesus carrying his own cross in Lario, one the main fashion retail high street destinations, I took a long detour through side streets thronged with slow moving pedestrians and flanked by evening diners sitting outside the abundance of restaurants and bars which characterise the area. Every street was just as crowded.

Mission accomplished, I turned around and made my way back to Alameda Principal and started heading for the RENFE station, realising that I'd need to be careful about the timing of the return journey, as Owain's flight was due in around eleven, and he'd need picking up. The plan for me to rendezvous with him at the airport and return by train had to be abandoned, once I got some idea of the crowds of people travelling to and from town.

The first snag I encountered was a huge crowd at a standstill because of a passing procession. I attempted a detour by following the line of the procession, which had entered the district from a river bridge lower down. As I got to the river bank the procession was still passing. There was a platoon of soldiers accompanying the procession as a guard of honour, and they were juggling with their rifles in formation as they marched. It seemed an odd spectacle, but one which was greeted with appreciative applause from the crowd. 

Earlier I'd heard a regiment of soldierly voices singing a hymn of devotion to Mary as they marched with their trono of the Virgin, their dress uniformed officers up front. I was told that it's only since the time of General Franco that the church permitted military units to join the procession. 

The second via Crucis trono of the evening crosses the bridge.

I descended steps to the walkway above the dry river bed, passed under the procession crossing the bridge and ascended on the right side to get to the station entrance a short distance away. I was dismayed to see a hundred metre queue of people waiting to be admitted to the escalator by a security guard. I struck me as a sensible move even though I worried about being there a long time and having my departure delayed, but it was only a matter of minutes before we were moving. The platform was expertly packed by security guards directing people traffic. I had missed the ten to ten train I was aiming at, but another pulled in at five past, and took five minutes to pack in all the passengers, like boquerones in a tin.

I stood for the first half of the journey, packed in with scores of others, including several small children being taken home at a sensible time to bed, and a mild mannered labrador. The atmosphere was genial and patient, without a hint of tension, complaint or grumpiness. Spanish people like being close together in large numbers in a way Northern Europeans are less comfortable with. It's one of the things I like about being here, even if it means having to go slower from time to time.

I reached home at five past eleven. Kath and I were quickly on our way to the airport, arriving just as Owain came out of the arrivals gate, so by quarter to midnight were were all together at home, tucking in to a late supper snack and a bottle of wine to celebrate. The photos I took of the evening can be seen here.

Tales of droppings

I fell asleep in front of the Semana Santa TV broadcast l
ast night and woke up at three thirty to retire to bed. It was nearly ten by the time we were all up and eating breakfast. I had a rendezvous at the office at eleven to pick up a cheque and then go and cash it at the bank. On the way back I noticed that the Casa Hermanidad of the local Parish cofradia was open to the public to view its treasures, and returned on foot to visit and take photos.

You can see the rest of them here It was great to see children there welcoming visitors as well as adults. These are real community places.

By midday we were all re-united for an hour on the beach in Los Boliches. Then I drove everyone up to Mijas for lunch at Pepe Mauros restaurant where I took Eddie and Ann a couple of weeks ago, and had a great meal together. A brief introductory tour of the main sights and shops of Mijas followed, then we drove back down the hill to Los Boliches RENFE station, so that I could take the train into Malage for the Tuesday evening Semana Santa processions. This time I positioned myself at the other end of the Alameda Principal, where processions turn into Larios, the main shopping street. I wonder if this central retailing thoroughfare does any business at all during Semana Santa.

What caught my attention this evening was the activity of children, not in the processions themselves (and there are many hundreds of children participating), but out with parents and grandparents occupying a hired seat in one of the stands. They play around, for the most part unhindered. I noticed that several had what looked like a multi coloured lollypop on a stick. It looked as if it would taste horrible. After I while I realised that I was correct in this because what was on the stick being carried by the children was a ball of candle wax, which each had acquired by collecting the drips from candles being burned by passing Nazarenos.

There was an element of competition to see who could grow the largest ball of wax. I observed small children moving through the processions entreating candle bearers to drip some wax for them. I observed that the children dressed up as Nazarenos (of whom there are many), who were most willing to join in the game and tip their candles.

As soon as dark descended, the temperature dropped so I headed for the train, and benefited from the extra services scheduled for Holy Week. I was back in the house by ten to eleven with another ninety photos to look at and upload. Not only that, there's such a lot to think about - so many people making so much effort to pull together in a public act of witness. The Police and the Fire Service (Los Bomberos) turned out their leaders in full dress uniform, half a dozen of them were riding magnificent horses. They were followed by a Council workman in his Cleansing Department fatigues with a bright new green brush and a red bin, there to collect up the horse droppings, and marching proudly to do so. Talking of which, in the afternoon up in Mijas I noticed that donkeys and horses wear canvas bags over their tails and rear ends to catch any droppings and keep the streets clean. An interesting contrast.

Semana Santa televised

I spent the morning giving the house a clean through, before driving to the airport to collect Kath, Anto and Rhiannon from their flight. After lunch we took them down to Los Boliches to show them around, and visit the beach. At supper I was presented with a belated birthday cake, which we drank with a bottle of Cava. Going into Malaga to watch the processions wasn't practicable. The newspapers reckoned that it was being broadcast live and on the web by Malaga TV, but I couldn't find the transmission. Then I received a text message from Peter to say that the live broadcast was on Cana Sur 2, and so we had it on in the background for the rest of the evening. It's an impressive local broadcast contribution to an important public event.

This photo of the screen hardly does the broadcast justice as it's in effect a copy of a copy. It's not nearly as compelling to watch on telly as one's field of view is narrowed greatly. Also there are no scents and only a sample of the surrounding sounds. You do get privileged perspectives from remote high up cameras which are interesting, but you rely entirely on the director to choose shots that hold the attention. All in all, I'd prefer to be there. All that standing around on the streets is pretty taxing, but the live experience is far superior.
 

Semana Santa begins

We had a quiet Saturday, shopping, getting ready for the arrival of Kath, Anto and Rhiannon on Monday. I also spent time on preparing Good Friday sermons, hoping to get as much ready in advance, for what will be a busy week.

We went to Alhaurin this morning for the Palm Sunday Eucharist. Members of the congregation brought palm and olive branches from their gardens for the procession, and we had the individual palm crosses which were weaved by the craft group members last Monday. As we arrived, there was a still crowd around the grounds of the cemetery chapel, dispersing slowly from an earlier funeral. I blessed and then distributed palm crosses in church, then we went outside for the Palm Gospel reading and procession singing 'All Glory Laud and Honour' We stood next to a shallow ornamental pont in the grounds, reminiscent of a baptismal pool, except for the conversation of frogs which accompanied the reading. We circled around the chapel exterior and then made our grand entrance, perfectly timed so that we only had to sing the hymn through once. Lay preacher Gareth Marsh narrated the St Matthew Passion reading with vigour, and a congregation of two dozen joined in the responses with enthusiasm.

After a coffee and chat in the local bar, we headed for home and lunch. Then in the evening, I took the train into Malaga to watch and photograph the evening processions. I was greatly impressed by their size and scale. Half a dozen cofradias paraded their tronos - usually one of the Blessed Virgin Mary and another depicting a scene from the passion of Christ. Each throne requires fifty or more people to carry it. They are ornate and very heavy and frequent rest stops are necessary. 

Each cofridia procession is accompanied by a wind band with 50-100 musicians, and scores of hooded Nazarenos, or penitentes of all ages and robed servers of both sexes. It's a whole community activity in every respect, with each cofridia needing several hundred people for each trono, not to mention supporters in the crowd to achieve its pupose. Participants are disguised in their robes for the purposes of anonymity. There is nothing sinister about this. Those engaged are not there to parade their own egos, but to harmonise them and work together to uphold the subjects of their faith. There's no threatening body language, no weapons or shields, only religous banners and staves bearing emblems. Uniformed police are noticeably absent from the steeets. The entire atmosphere is serious and peaceful. Children not taking part are carried in arms or wander around with their parents, enjoying the festive character of the occasion. 

I stood at the end of Alamada Principal, one of two large thoroughfares closed off and equipped with stands and seating for hire for spectators, and wanderd around the side streets as processions approached. I saw only half of the cofridias processing during the evening,  but these included 'Peter's denial', 'Jesus meeting the women of Jerusalem', and 'The Expiration' Jesus' death on the cross, each was followed by a trono with a sorrowful Blessed Virgin of equal grandeur. I didn't stay long once the sun had set, aware that I'd had a long day. It was fortunate that the train station is so near the processional route and the trains so frequent. I was home for supper just after ten, after an moving unforgettable evening. You can see the photos I took here. There's rather a lot of them.