Where I grew up, there weren’t any church bells that I could hear from my house, but there was one in the center of town near the municipal recreation center, where I spent many hours of my youth. As a kid, I became quite fond of that Big Ben tune that preceded the hourly chimes.
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Today Nora’s daycare had a special Christmas party in which one of the activities is dressing like shepherds and making the 200 meter trek from daycare to the town church where they have an amazing nativity scene set up, called a belén, which also means Bethlehem and is the name of my sister-in-law. I finally understand the enormous banner they put outside the church every Christmas saying “¡Tu belén está aquí!” (Your Bethlehem is here!). It was amazing!
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I recently came across this tidbit of local news. The conservative political party in my small town is up in arms because the ruling liberal political party is allowing the practice of “civil baptism”. Of course they are not arguing the reasonable point that the term is self contradictory; they are more concerned that the practice is offensive to The Church. I don’t think it’s offensive so much as it’s a reminder of the decline The Church is suffering in Spain.
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The church in Colindres is really not very attractive on the outside. It’s a simple red brick structure that, if you didn’t notice the iron cross at the top of the bell tower or the big banner of El Papa hanging on the front, you wouldn’t know it was a church. In fact, just the other day, as I was walking by it, a car pulled up to the curb and the driver said, “¿Dónde está la iglesia?” Giving possibly the best driving instructions ever, I reached out and touched the building to identify its location.
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Today is a local holiday honoring the Virgin of the Good Apparition, a bit of pareidolia that occurred back in 1605 where some light reflecting off a nearby hermitage window reminded someone of the Virgin Mary. Three hundred years later, this particular virgin became the patron saint of the Santander Diocese, and it became a regional holiday. Quite a few people walk the 13 kilometers, mostly uphill, from Colindres to the Bien Aparecida church in Ampuero, and then there are picnics and music and a general festive atmosphere up there…or so I’m told. We’ll have to do the walk one year.
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Two new bars have opened up in town in the past year with the word Buddha in their name. One is an elaborately overdecorated tribute to British colonialism, with one section dedicated to Africa, complete with a life-sized plaster rhinoceros, and another section all about the Indian subcontinent. Despite the fact that it reeks of someone trying too hard to make their design point, I like it. Plus, they’re the only place in town with Grimbergen on tap.
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Today a neighbor of mine whispered some gossip in my ear about something he’d seen on another neighbor’s balcony. I was surprised that I had not discovered this gossip on my own, since it’s about the balcony that we have the best view of from our own and was the source of my most viewed photo on Flickr. Apparently, in the evenings, our young neighbor can be seen carefully spraying and lovingly caring for a plant on his balcony. I’ve heard that this guy had kind of a wild youth, so his parents must be very proud that he’s working so hard on his gardening project.
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On Saturday afternoon, we took a stroll around the center of Burgos and visited the Burgos Cathedral. To get there, we had to walk a little along the Arlanzón River that runs through the center of Burgos. It was a beautiful day and a wonderful walk. I now invite you to walk along with us with this slightly picture-heavy post.
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My parents and grandmother are leaving home today to come visit us. They will arrive tomorrow evening and meet their granddaughter (and great granddaughter) for the first time. They bought their tickets on March 23, four hours before Marga went into labor. Needless to say, they (and we!) are pretty excited about their trip. Seeing a baby via video conference and actually holding a baby are two completely different things.
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Today is Good Friday. Before you read the rest of this post, I want you to hold the answers to two questions in your head: 1) What day of the week did Jesus die? and 2) What day of the week was his tomb found empty? Got the answers? Good.
Yesterday at lunch, I had more or less the following discussion with my in-laws:
Me: “Mmmm! These are good beans! Is that a bit of a meaty flavor?”
Wife: “No. We’re not having meat today, tomorrow, or the next day.”
Me: “Why not?”
Wife: “Because Jesus is dead.”
Me: “Jesus has been dead for a long time.”
Wife: “Because Jesus is symbolically dead.”. . . some bean consumption . . .
Me: “But Jesus isn’t even symbolically dead yet. He symbolically dies tomorrow on Good Friday.”
Mom-in-law: “It’s like the saying goes, ‘Christ died on Thursday, was buried on Friday, on Saturday came the glory, and on Sunday he ascended.’” [that's loosely translated]
Me: “No, I’m pretty sure he died on Friday.”
Wife: [with a "drop it!" look on her face] “If the saying says it, it’s true for us!”
Me: “Okay.”
After lunch, I wandered over to the Good Friday wikipedia entry and saw that I had been correct. Christ died on Friday. Score one for me!
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