Maundy Thursday events at a distance

This morning I posted my Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp just before 'Thought for the Day' as usual. Later on, I watched the live broadcast on telly of the arrival of the Spanish legion in Malaga port. It happens every Maundy Thursday morning, so the legion can perform its traditional escort duty for the trona de la Buen Muerte in tonight's procession. 

The Armada troop transport ship didn't dock in Muelle Uno by the Palmeria de las Sorpresas this year, as when I was here in 2018. It was out on one of the quays used by cruise liners. This meant a couple of kilometres march for the regiment from there to the far end of Muelle Uno, where coaches waited to take them the last stretch to their destination. This way, there aren't the same traffic management problems as a marching column of soldiers would cause.

It was amazing to see the soldiers marching at double time 160-180 paces a minute, with the front rank platoon making 360 degree turns every dozen steps and juggling with rifles over their heads. Much of the footage was shot by a helicopter camera. giving a vivid impression of just how fast the column of soldiers covered ground.

After seeing this we made another grocery shopping trip in an effort to get everything ready before the shops close for Good Friday. Clare cooked some large pieces of merluza in a creamy gingery salsa for lunch, a nice contrast to the pequinitas we had yesterday.

At five thirty I went down to St Andrew's to take part in the Lord's Supper Eucharist, led by Fr William, the chaplaincy's home grown NSM Curate. He celebrated, preached and did the foot washing. I was in the congregation along with ten others, and was invited to have a foot washed. The altar was stripped at the end, but there was no Watch of the Passion, and strangely no reference to Christ's Gethsemane vigil.

Afterwards, I went down to Los Boliches Parish Church, which was full to the doors. The parish priest was in the midst of the sermon. I didn't stay long, but it was good to see a well attended Maundy Thursday service. I went back to watching the live broadcast events from Malaga. I don't have the extra energy to go and watch in the streets, due to my unstable ankle, as I did nine years ago. Opportunities to watch events on telly are richer now than in times past thanks to improved broadcast and production technologies. It's not nearly as emotionally powerful, but more informative from what I can make out from the commentary.

We ony just realised Kath, Anto and Rhiannon are coming on Saturday morning, not tomorrow. We'd both mis-read the original booking message Kath sent us. When I checked with Owain what time his flight would arrive on Saturday, he looked at his phone booking app and discovered he booked his flights the wrong way around, return flight on Saturday, outward flight on Wednesday. Fortunately he hasn't yet checked in, and flights can be changed up to 24 hours before departure, so that's given him an urgent task to do this evening. And he's gigging tonight. Poor guy!

Costa de Viento indeed!

Another windy night followed by a grey, windier day with gusts from 30 to 60mph. I spent the morning preparing an order of service for next Wednesday's funeral, and after cooking and eating lunch, drove to St Andrew's to join in the first hour and a half of an afternoon of board games with added British High Tea. Despite the terrible bluster conditions, over two dozen people arrived to join in, pleased to have a normal opportunity to socialise after the disruption of recent years.

The church building is on the ground floor of a ten storey corner block and it really got buffeted hard by the wind, so much so that some of the closed external aluminium window blinds rattled themselves loose of their tracks and gradually began to disintegrate. Two complete blinds were lost, torn apart strip by strip as they came out of their tracks both sides flapping like a flag in the wind. Habitually the blinds are left lowered, to deflect the sun, as for much of the year it can over-heat the church. In windy spells they need to be left rolled up, but it wasn't thought of in good time.

I left at three thirty to drive to Calahonda and visit the bereaved mother and daughter, living in a gated complex of apartments with its own garden and pool overlooking the sea. I was nervous about driving in such a strong wind, but this posed no problem. For hundreds of metres off shore the sea was a white mass of boiling foam, with huge waves breaking a kilometre offshore. It looked terribly threatening, but for the moment the complex is twenty metres or so above the beach. Things may be different where the weather is extreme once the sea level rises, I guess.

The family are from Glasgow, having settled here over twenty years ago. Both mother and daughter had strong accents, and it was difficult to understand what they were saying on times. Anyway, I gave them copies of the proposed order of service and they seemed happy within. The son isn't arriving until next Tuesday. He's going to give a tribute to his dad. The choice of music has been left to me. I have some ideas to check out, and suggest to them over the phone.

On the journey back to Fuengirola, there didn't seem to be a huge amount of traffic, but it seemed to be flowing less freely than usual, and I wondered why. When we reached the rocky promontory at El Faro I realised. There's a stretch of highway beneath which beach turns into a narrow rocky outcrop and the sea runs right up to it. The driving East wind dashed the waves against the outcrop, throwing water high into the air, and the wind then blew it over the eastbound carriageway which was wet and intermittently covered with sea spray. Unusual conditions in which nobody was interested in taking any risk.

After I reached home and had a drink, I decided to get some exercise. Cautiously I made my way down the hill to Los Boliches, to call at St Andrew's and collect a new crime novel to read before strolling down the main street. As it was getting dark, it was nice to see shops lit up and open for business. Back at the church, another shutter was being shredded on the side of the building facing head on into the wind.  It looked as if the whole window and frame might be blown in so two long poles had been propped against the frame and secured in place with tables pushed together. I wonder what it will look like in the morning? Especially if the wind continues.

I made my way uphill, back to the wind this time, a little less hazardous, and made it back to the house without incident. Here in the quiet living room, warm now I've mastered the air blown heating system, the wind moans and howls outside. Time for a read now, and then bed.

Free ride

The torrential rain began to ease by the time I had breakfast and got myself ready for church this morning. I was grateful for a large black brolly in the hall stand when I left as it was still doing more than drizzle. The streets were awash as I walked down the hill, but I arrived without being soaked through. There were six of us for the Eucharist, and we prayed for Joan whose funeral as being attended by some regulars just as our service ended. Three others turned up as well, for coffee and a chat afterwards, defying the extreme weather. I bought a card with a photo of St Andrew's stained glass east window in the sanctuary to send to Marion with a message of condolence. I wrote this when I got back for lunch, and posted it on my way out afterwards.

I took the train into Malaga for the sheer pleasure of a free ride and went to El Corte Ingles to find out if the covid years had changed the vast department store in any significant way, bearing in mind that the one in Fuengirola's Las Lagunas has been downgraded to a 'designer outlet' discount store with hypermarket in the basement and all but the supermarket of the much smaller store in Los Boliches has been closed down. But no, the flagship city centre store is as glamorous and well stocked as it ever was. Moreover, all the surrounding road works are now complete, so it's easier to negotiate, even if the vast paved area is an empty desert of roads, pedestrian crossings little else.

Having completed my inspection of the area, I returned to Los Boliches. It was dark by the time I arrived. There was just time to get a few grocery items in Mercadona on my way up the hill and reach the house before supper, 'The Archers' and my evening WhatsApp call to Clare. Then an hour working on next week's biblical reflection, and already it's time for bed.

Los Boliches Eucharist

It seemed strange not having to make the effort to be up and out of the house early on a Sunday morning. The Eucharist at St Andrew's Los Boliches is at eleven thirty. With a twenty minute walk, I didn't need to leave until ten thirty to have plenty of time to spare before the service. There were thirty eight of us at the service, making the chapel look quite full. Fr William was there and deaconed for me in his street clothes. Nowadays it's rare for me to minister at the altar with another priest. It was good for both of us I think. 

There was a glitch with the singing of a verse version of the Gloria. Having used one that goes to the tune of 'Cwm Rhondda' last week at Calahonda, I'd briefed Dave the organist thinking it was the same, not realising there's another versified version in use to a different tune 'Woodlands'. It's the one popularly used for the versified Magnificat, but in the moment I couldn't remember this so that Dave could look up the music to play it. The congregation baled us out by singing 'Woodlands' unaccompanied and lustily! 

After the service, checking the liturgical filing system of existing prepared service sheets, we found there were two sets of sheets with different tunes for the one versified version and another set of sheets for the other. As ever the devil was in the detail. The name of the tune wasn't printed on all three set, and it was in small enough print to make it hard to read at first glance. 

Jen tells me that I can be paid my dues cash in euros if I wish, as happened when I was last here. It suits me fine, as it means there's no need to buy more currency than I already have while I'm here, and it will save Clare having to do likewise when she comes out in seven weeks time.

It was two by the time I got back to the house. I'd forgotten to take the chicken I was going to eat out of the freezer, so cooked veggies with a tin of sardinillas with instead - quite tasty. Then I walked back down to Los Boliches and wandered the side streets piecing together memories of once familiar places. With a little help from Google Maps, I found the celebrated English mini-market named 'Spainsburys'. I'm quite surprised it survived pandemic closure and didn't go out of business. I'm still trying to find the location of the excellent restaurant called 'La vieja Escuela', which did go out of business. I'm curious to find out what replaced it.

Then, a walk back up the hill for supper followed by a WhatsApp call with Clare before listening to 'The Archers', and settling down to read until bed time. I'm enjoying the change of habit, living without telly so far, and getting back into the habit of reading real books, not just stuff on a screen.

Flower Festival at St Andrew's Los Boliches

This morning I took Communion to 95 year old Peachy at her apartment in Torreblanca, she is reasonably well, though her mobility is poor nowadays. She's always welcoming appreciative, and good humoured despite her frailty. I'm not sure she remembers who I am, but that doesn't matter. For her it's enough to have a visit from a priest, bringing her the sacrament reading familiar texts, some remembered, others half remembered from the 1662 Book of Common Prayer.

When I arrived to collect the home Communion kit Church Administrator Linda was putting the final touches to the sixteen flower displays which make up the first St Andrew's 'Fiesta de Flores', each with a biblical and/or liturgical theme. The church looks lovely. The challenge is to get people to come and visit, today and tomorrow. I returned after taking Communion out, and stayed for several hours, chatting to the couple of dozen people who dropped in to take a look. Several church members from the different congregations came along to act as stewards and serve refreshments, making it a good occasion to work together on hospitality as well as creating an artistic installation together. Here are some photos I took of exhibits, just before opening time.

 

On line at last

This morning I went to meet the lawyer who deals with church property affairs from an office at the boundary of the boundaries of Los Boliches and Torreblanca barrios. From her, I obtained the key to the basement room of our urbanizacion housing the vital telecoms control unit. I went home straight away and started composing a text message to the Telefonica/Movistar engineer who had kindly given me his mobile number to contact him when I could give him access. Before I could press the send button, he was ringing the door bell! Is this telepathica? I thought and later tweeted. 

Within ten minutes the line was connected, phone and broadband working perfectly. Such excellent service, delivered cheerfully. Before he departed he put me on to his trouble-shooting supervisor, who spoke excellent English, so I congratulated him on the concientous delivery of this service, far superior to anything I have ever experienced from British Telecoms or TalkTalk back in the U.K. He seemed bemused to be thanked profusely. It seems handling 'complaints' was his primary role. 

So now we have our internet enabled devices attached and working without glitches or peak time outages. Why can't it be like this in Britain, I ask myself. The answer lies in reluctance to invest big time in infrastructure upgrading when it was needed, a decade ago. It may be happening now, but here and there, not everywhere. Mind you, it may well be the same in Spain if you live out in the remote campo. Grand plans, beloved of politicians, can be devilishly difficult to implement on the ground. We live in an age of breakthrough technical achievements, but vision and imagination can easily outstrip the practicalities for implementation, even with the most capable people on the job.

After lunch I went down to St Andrew's to join the church Craft Group, assembled to make Palm Crosses, with fresh palm leaves taken from someone's garden. The last time I weaved Palm Crosses was when I was Chaplain in Monaco, thirteen years ago. There was a variety of palm tree in the church garden which produced useable leaves, and a handful of us, including octogenarian sacristan France Ametis, made our crosses ahead of the Sunday service. France was the one who remembered how to weave the crosses. She'd been doing it for sixty years, most of them with her late husband who'd inherited the sacristan job from his father.

It took me a few fumbling efforts to weave my first palm cross. I had to be showed by two kind patient neighbours on the production table. Then it was as if my fingers remembered what my brain had failed to, and took over. I managed to weave about ten crosses to add to the couple of hundred to be given out at the five chaplaincy centres of worship next Sunday. It was a happy experience that reconnected me to another period in ministry among the expatriates of Europe.

   

Monday Ecumenism

I got up early and wrote a homily for this evening's service before breakfast, much to my surprise. We then did some food shopping, and then drove up to Mijas to show Clare around for the first time and have lunch. The sun shone but it was fairly cold up there, but not impossible to sit and eat outdoors with a view down to the sea ten kilometres below us. We returned to Fuengirola for the service at five o'clock. There were twenty of us present and several had been at the service last night as well. 

It wasn't a grand affair, but it was none the less a worthwhile opportunity to reflect again on the extraordinary progress the churches have made in forging a common witness to faith over my lifetime in ministry. Healing the wounds caused by past conflicts between Christians is important to reconciliation, shaping the future of mission around the challenges facing all believers as a result of global rapid change in the past few decades is another matter altogether.

I wonder if I shall live long enough to see really substantial progress on this front as well?

   

Up up and away

This morning I was up at six, out of the house by half past, walked down Romilly Road, intercepted an 18 bus just picking up passengers at the stop on Cowbridge Road. It dropped me outside the bus station in perfect time to get the airport shuttle before the one I was walking to catch! Cardiff Airport was at that time very quiet so this time I passed quickly through bag drop and security check, and had an hour to spare. The flight left on time and arrived twenty minutes early, and I arrived in an overcast Malaga, at about the same temperature as the Cardiff I'd left. Bill picked me up, as he did last time I arrived, and drove me to Fuengirola, showed me the apartment, and then took me to lunch at an excellent restaurant, a few blocks from where I'll be living for the next couple of months until the new Chaplain's residence is ready to occupy.

The apartment is on the first floor above a row of shops and restaurants on the beach promenade. The living space and balcony faces the street behind and has two bedrooms, lounge and kitchen, well equipped for a comfortable stay with a full range of European satellite TV channels. It doesn't enjoy a great deal of natural light, but that matters less when the great outdoors is very congenial, except in the worst of weathers. Once I'd unpacked and done a food shopping trip El Corte Inglez supermarket by Los Boliches RENFE station, I collected the Chaplain's phone from the church office, and registered my new laptop on the wi-fi to check my messages and call home, and write a sermon. Unfortunately I couldn't print it off, as the main computer's access password had been changed since November. It was ten o'clock by the time I'd cooked my first meal back in the apartment, and then crawled into bed quite tired, but not aching from the unusual exertions of office moving yesterday, thankfully.

    

Sunday duty again - in Spain

After a good night's sleep, I got up at sunrise, did some Chi Gung and had breakfast. Val called for me at eight thirty, to show me the way to Benalmádena for the first Eucharist of the day. We parked the C3 outside St Andrew's Los Boliches, then drove in Val's car along the coast road in bright sunshine to the neighbouring town's huge church of Nuesta Señora del Carmen.

The undercroft chapel of San Josep is used weekly for Anglican services, Eucharist on first and third Sundays, and Morning Prayer led by a lay Reader second and fourth. It's a well, kept nicely decorated chapel with seating for eighty. Twenty people were present, and they sang with such gusto they could have been twice as many.

We then returned to Los Boliches in good time for the eleven thirty Eucharist, attended by forty people, another lively welcoming and sociable congregation.

St Andrew's Church and the Chaplaincy office are set in the ground floor of an apartment building 'Edificio Jupiter', property leased to the church and well adapted for liturgical and pastoral use for up to a hundred people. There's a little cafe next door, but refreshments were served after the service from the little kitchen/bar in the nave / community hall section of the church building.

Only a few stayed on this occasion, and after parting company with people, I was taken to the nearby home of Jim and Della for lunch, stopping for coffee at a bar on the way. Della has recently stepped down as church administrator and was able to brief me about how the church runs. I was also given the opportunity to Skype Clare and Rhiannon in Kenilworth from their computer, having not succeeded in hooking up to the office wi-fi earlier.

It was late afternoon when I left them, to return to base. I was taken to the vacated Chaplain's house to collect the returned Citroen C4 to use from now on. It's bigger a livelier, despite being diesel powered. I spent some time trying to figure out how to operate the official Chaplain's phone, a Sony Experia - also Android driven, but somewhat quirky in comparison to the Samsung, and the operating system language is Spanish. However, it does have all the vital parishioner contact numbers I'll need, once I get used to it. I added some chorizo and rice to the other half of the meal I prepared yesterday, and ate watching two very interesting BBC Four documentary and discussion programmes raising debate about the concept of Exile in Jewish history, spirituality and politics. It was based around the excavations of the site at a village in the Galilee district, where there was a first century town called Saphira. Findings there indicate close integration between different Jewish and Pagan communities remaining under Roman rule at the time of the first and second century 'Jewish Wars'. 

The point strongly made was that through trade even more than conflict, Jews lived dispersed throughout the world, and so exile spirituality had long been part of their culture. The fall of Jerusalem, and the subsequent destruction of the Temple was a landmark event, and as a result more Judean Jews were forced to join the diapora, but throughout Palestine especially Galilee, co-existence of Jewish communities with Christian and Pagan communities as established fact. It was part of Judean Jewish history and mythmaking that Palestine was exclusively theirs, other Jews saw things differently. Yet, 19th and 20th century Zionism re-invented this notion of Jews entering a possessing the land, not only right to return but right to take over and exclude, and this was the the ideology that governed the foundation of the land of Israel and its subsequent separationist policies. 

Documentary make Ilan Zev sought to make the point that the dominant foundation narrative is not the only possible intepretation of Jewish history. It could be beneficial to explore alternative perspectives in resolving the Palestinian 'problem' founded upon the overlooked facts of multi- cultural Jewish history in Israel itself.

Quite an unexpected and stimulating conclusion to my first Sunday of locum duty.