In at the deep end

There were eight of us for this morning's midweek celebrations of Communion, and all stayed for a lively bible study on last Sunday's Gospel. Four of those present come out regularly from Britain and stay a good while. Unfortunately they'll be leaving this coming week, so the regular group will be smaller next time.

I stayed chatting afterwards for rather too long, and didn't leave myself quite enough time to cook a meal, and then drive at a leisurely pace to Velez Málaga by three for the bible study session there in the Capilla de San Juan. Even so, I was only a couple of minutes late, but taken aback to find the place locked, and nobody else waiting. Had I come to the wrong place? No, Doreen told me when I rang. I was half an hour early. That meant I could go for a walk up the main street in the direction of the old town. It's a town that sprawls down the plain from the ancient settlement below the moorish castle, probably half an hour's walk, and I only had twenty five minutes available. It wasn't all that interesting a street either, but at least I got some brisk exercise.

One noteworthy feature was a couple of buildings belonging to the Guardia Civil, and a roundabout in the middle of the dual carriageway with a bronze statue of a uniformed Guardia officer. It's an armed military police agency, a member of the European Gendarmerie Force, with public protection and criminal investigative powers exercised in rural areas, on the coast and off-shore. It even plays a part in some international peace keeping operations. It provides accommodation for its members and their families. Britain doesn't have an equivalent civil institution.

Outside the Guardia station stands a memorial to officers killed in the line of duty in the form of a simple stone pillar surmounted by a bronze effigy of the characteristic tricornio ceremonial headgear, the equivalent of a British bobby's helmet. It's a curiosity to passing foreigners who know nothing of this aspect of the culture. In fact, there's a lot that's different about policing and public protection in different European countries for any Brit to get their head around, as I am often reminded when I watch Euro-crimmies on TV.

There were eight of us for the bible study group at three thirty. I enjoyed doing this second one, as it was made up entirely of regular congregation members I'd met before, and the conversations were quite different. I'm looking forward to Sunday worship with them again, a week on Sunday.

On the journey back I stopped at the Carrefour hypermarket and shopping centre beside the MA24 motorway linking the A7 Mediterraneo with the N340 coastal highway. I've passed by many times on my previous stays in Malaga, but this was the first time to negotiate the access roads and take a look inside. I just wanted a simple colander for draining veg. I needed light bulbs as well since both the bedroom ceiling fan light have died. I haven't yet been able to remove the cover and check the type of bulb required, but now I can navigate my way to the 'household goods' aisle to find them without losing track of why I'm visiting. So easy to do that in such a vast cathedral of consumerism.

If I'm passing that way it's as easy to call in as it is to walk into the Old Town and hunt for a shop which has the right kind of bulb. There are many more worthwhile distractions to enjoy there than in any shopping mall. That's the trouble.

  

Singing in Velez and a reflection on the BCP

It was my last assignment of this tour of duty this morning, so I was out of the house and on my way by nine thirty for a celebration of the Eucharist at Velez Malaga, with a congregation of two dozen. I didn't have trouble with the route to my destination this time, although I did have to drive three times around the one way system in the side streets before I found a parking spot reasonably near. Some find it easier to use a parking area on the opposite side of the main dual carriageway into the town centre, and if you've come from the other side of the centre, this probably makes better sense anyway.

Rebecca and Jean were there, fresh from their pilgrimage, wearing their souvenir Camino de San Juan de Compostela teeshirts, showing specially stamped documents certifying completion of their 125km walk. And they had stories to tell. They looked calm and contented, pleased not to have sore feet at the end of their eight days of walking.

The congregation sang several rousing hymns with enthusiasm, even breaking into harmony several times. The last one 'To God be the Glory' was enjoyed so much there was applause when it was over. Then an impromptu verse of 'Thine be the Glory' was sung for a reprise. So relaxed and natural, it was a real delight to share, a nice memory to take away with me.

This was followed by coffee, a beer and a chat with several church members in the neighbouring bar. One Brit, who'd lived in Germany as well as Spain was lamenting the Brexit vote, as a rejection of all that's been worked for since the end of World War II, also the withdrawal of the franchise from non-resident passport holders with no UK address over the past fifteen years - hundreds of thousands of citizens whose votes could have made a difference to the referendum outcome.

We discussed the Book of Common Prayer a subject of affectionate regard for many brought up on it, even if they concede the need for more contemporary language, and accept this is nowadays the norm. When working with seminarians, I made a point of explaining why it is such a seminal social, cultural and spiritual document, to be taken seriously by all, whether or not they ever use it.

It's a text for a society with Christian roots, respecting the need for a stable orderly framework for hearing scripture systematically and celebrating the sacraments of the universal church. It describes what's most needed for spiritual development. Its theology is a hybrid of traditional and reformed teaching not to everyone's liking, but its life gives witness to an understanding that interpretation of scripture and debate about the meaning of the sacraments isn't closed.

Elizabeth I imposed the use of the BCP by law. Not a good idea, by our standards, but its use survived political upheavals and remained accepted by the majority of British citizens by Act of Parliament. In practice it was adapted and tinkered with, according to local custom and interpretation, but continued nevertheless to be used. Given its political origins as an accepted core text, its survival, and popular affection, is unique.

New insight into the BCP has emerged for me from being with the Malaga Chaplaincy, reading about its origins. The English Cemetery in Malaga was the fruit of decades of diplomatic activity by British Consul William Mark (1824-36). He wasn't ordained, but as a Crown official, took authority to read the Burial Office over protestant citizens who died hereabouts. His pastoral concern for the dead and bereaved led him to a campaign to acquire rights to burial land for non-catholics. He succeeded in 1831. Only in 1846 did the newly appointed first Bishop of Gibraltar come to Malaga to consecrate the cemetery. During that fifteen years, Mark read Sunday Matins and Evensong with Homily for a congregation at the Consulate. No Chaplain was appointed until 1850.

For a quarter of a century Anglican pastoral life here relied entirely on lay ministry, not authorised by the Church Established, but by the Crown and by means of the BCP, with which British citizens could identify, around which they would gather. It's the vehicle of Anglican compromise that matters here more than translatable content. As Anglicans, we seek a form of service to identify with, even if it call for an effort. No matter who bothers to offer a service to start with. Is it recognisable, part of our experience? This makes Prayer Book liturgy, in all its incarnations and translations, a church gathering resource, with or without a minister in charge. All that's needed is someone with pastoral heart and sense of mission to get things started, willing to do what the BCP and its modern interpretations allow.

Having started the train of thought expressed here, I returned to Rincon. Perhaps due to the weekend fiesta, streets and car parks were unusually full for a Sunday. I was relieved to find the last free space in my usual parking area.

Tuna steaks for lunch today, cooked with black olives, cherry tomatoes, loads of garlic and lemon. A small treat to mark my final Sunday duty. Now I have to set my mind to cleaning and tidying up, and packing my bags. I have a 4.30am start on Tuesday morning. Best to be well prepared a day ahead for such an early lift off.
   

Another Velez visit

This morning I walked into town to take a photo of the old market hall. Then on the spur of the moment, I took the bus to Velez-Malaga, as I'd promised myself that I'd take a look at the old town, going by bus rather than car to avoid navigation and parking hassles. The one way trip cost me €2.20, for an hour's journey along the coast road to Torre del Mar, then up to the Comarcal Hospital along the defunct tram route, and on to Velez bus station, next to the town's wholesale food market, part of which has been converted into a bus waiting room and ticket office. It doesn't yet seem to be functioning however. Four of the six advertising panels by the various bus shelters seemed not to be in use, and there wasn't a single bus timetable posted anywhere, even though there are a dozen buses an hour stopping there to pick up or deposit passengers. Work in progress, I guess.

In the same vicinity is the Plaza de Andalusia, a four hundred metre long avenue flanked with shady trees and benches, with both ends marked by massive baobob trees. You have to walk up the Plaza to enter the main street where the Ajuntamiento is found, and the casco antico stretches uphill behind it. To the left as you climb is the way up through ancient streets to the ramparts of the 11th century moorish citadel I visited last time I was here. Straight ahead and to your right are more old streets that date from the expansion of the town after the reconquista, with several old churches and convents.

Keep going and you come to the base of a hill. On the top, in the middle of a broad flat paved area, is the sanctuary of Nuestra Señora de los Remedios. 

The views in every direction, like those from the Castello are spectacular. The entire hill has been remodelled as a park with gardens and paths, one is wide enough to be a pilgrims' processional way. There's a tall statue of the Sacred Heart image of Jesus, with a fountain at its base that overflows into a channel that runs beside the processional way down the hill into another fountain at the park gate. 

It's such a simple and effective piece of religious symbolism fashioned into the built environment.

The largest church in the old town is dedicated to St John the Baptist, and is on the site of what was originally the main mosque, which was remodelled for Christian worship, and then extended in the nineteenth century to give it a more conventional shape. 

As I approached the church, descending from the hill, I saw three birds of prey circulating around and above the bell tower and calling out to each other. Occasionally they'd be mobbed by swallows or swifts, but they mantained their patrol regardless. Possibly they nest in the belfry, peregrines or hobbies I think, but the photos I took don't show up their true colours, as the contrast against a bright sky is too great.

After walking for several hours I had a very cheap beer and tapas lunch in a bar that wasn't on the tourist trails, then headed for the bus station, getting quite lost before finally ending up where I intended. I had a long wait for the bus. Although they are at half hour frequency morning and evening during the afternoon there is a long gap, so I waited an hour and three quarters in a bus shelter that was fortunately in the shade, exposed to a cooling breeze. It was just as well, because after a good three hours walking in Velez I was feeling fairly tired, and content to wait. 

Walking home from the bus at the other end was a bit of an effort. By this time I was ready for a full meal. I'd prepared two pieces of swordfish to cook for lunch, and ate them with new potatoes and green beans, followed by a Victoria Plum cooked in fruit juice with cinnamon and ginger. Just right, after an energetic outing to a most interesting town.