ANZAC day pictures

Because the landing on the beach at Gallipoli happened at dawn, the ANZAC Day observance always takes place in the early morning.  The above picture was taken in the garden of the official residence of the Australian Ambassador.

Music for the observance was provided by a children's choir and an String Quintet, here practicing before the beginning of the event. 

As guests arrived they were greeted by the sound of a bagpiper from St. Patrick's Battalion. 

I was asked to give the invocation for the ceremony.  There were about 100 people in attendance -- not only Australians and New Zealanders, but also the Ambassadors of India, the United States, and Turkey, as well as others from the UK and, of course, Mexicans as well. 

The service concluded with the wreath laying ceremony -- above are the wreaths of Australia and New Zealand. 

Above are several of the Christ Church members who were present -- one from Australia (and her daughter), one from New Zealand, and our bagpiper -- in full regalia. 



Two Special Events

On Saturday past, I had the great blessing and privilege of being a guest of the British Society of Mexico at their annual St. George's Day dinner.  St. George is the patron saint of England, and his feast day is actually April 23, which they celebrate on the Saturday closest to the 21st, (which this year also coincides with the queen's birthday.) 

So...as you can see from the program, I was also invited to offer the grace for the evening.  I've never had to pray for the queen before, so I wasn't exactly sure how to refer to her, what to pray for, whether it was even suitable to offer such a prayer at the dinner.  I was assured that it was, indeed, suitable, so in addition to offering thanks to God for the food, I also offered a prayer remembering the life and example of George as well as thanksgiving for the Queen's long life.  . 

What was new to me was the 'ceremony of the Roast Beef,' which  begins with the lights being dimmed, and the chef and his assistants bringing out into the room these enormous torches.  At first, it looked to me as if they were sabers that had burning meat on them!  I thought charred on the outside, raw on the inside, this beef is NOT going to be very good.    Turns out, of course, that it wasn't the beef on the swords, it was just for dramatic effect.  I guess it acheived the desired level of drama, because I kept thinking, "I hope these people know where the fire extinguisher is..."  I kept that thought to myself. 

Anyway, the "ceremony of the Roast Beef" involves a ritual tasting of the beef by the person in charge of the evening.  And, of course, the beef was deemed 'excellent' and it was sent away to be sliced while the chef and the taster shared a glass of ale. 

To me, the most moving part of the evening were the Toasts: to the Queen, ("long live the Queen!" the people said)  to St. George and England  ("To England!" they replied to the toast) and finally to Mexico -- the land where some had been born, but where many more had moved-- ("Viva México!" said the people, and I thought how wonderful to love TWO countries, and to toast both, and to wish well to both countries.  Truly, I am in a place where I am getting to know 'citizens of the world.' 

I include the above in case you should desire to see what else the evening's meal  featured.  I commented to those whom I was seated with that Roast Beef and Yorkshire pudding is my family's choice for Christmas dinner, which they thought was somewhat unusual -- I got the impression that most British have turkey -- or goose -- for Christmas dinner.  It was a beautiful evening. 

And this morning, I had a beautiful day.  I had been invited by the Australian Ambassador to offer the invocation at the ANZAC day observance.  ANZAC day is something like American memorial day, but differnt, too.  If I understand correctly, it is the only national memorial celebration in the world that is shared by two nations, Australia and New Zealand.  It began as a commemoration of a World War I battle at Gallipoli in Turkey in the Ottoman Empire, when the then relatively new commonwealth nations of Australia and New Zealand's Army Corps were slaughtered while attempting to land on a beach on April 25, 1915.  Somewhere over 10,000 (or was it 12,000) died in that battle. 

 Because the event that the ANZAC day commemorates happened at dawn, the ceremony takes place at sunrise, which I am glad to say was at approximately 7:00AM and not 5:00AM.  Although I was picked up at 6:15AM, and when I arrived at the site -- which was the embassy residence in a beautiful residential area in the hills above the church -- it was DARK. 

As you can see, my part came at the beginning.  Here is the prayer I offered:

Gracious God, our ruler and guide,

The destiny of every nation is in your hands. 

We give you thanks this day for the gifts of freedom, peace, and security we are blessed to enjoy,

Even as we remember all those who laid down their lives to defend them. 

Grant that we and all the people of Australia and New Zealand

Might with humility and gratitude remember the cost of

their courage, their mateship, and their sacrifice.

Make us all a people so generous of spirit, so eager to promote justice, and so zealous for peace 

That we may not rest until all the peoples of every land

Share the benefits of true freedom, and gladly accept its disciplines. 

And finally, we pray, hasten the day when nation shall not lift up sword against nation,

            neither learn war any more.

This we ask in the name of the Prince of Peace,

            And the One who gave his life for the sake of the world,

            Jesus Christ the redeemer.

            AMEN

You might recognize in the above prayer snippets from prayers from the Book of Common Prayer of the Episcopal Chuch, as well as portions from the Australian Prayerbook, plus some other material I tried to weave together (seamlessly, I hope). 

The most extraodinary part of the ceremony was when the Turkish Ambassador read the words of Kemal Ataturk (considered the founder of modern-day Turkey) which are inscribed on the memorial at Ari Burnu, ANZAC Cove where the terrible loss of life occurred.  These are the words that one former enemy addressed to another former enemy:

"Those heroes that shed their blood and lost thier lives...
You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.  Therefore rest in peace
There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us, where they lie side by side in this country of ours...

You, the mothers
Who sent their sons from far away countries,
Wipe away your tears.

Your sons arenow lying in our bosom
and are at peace
after having lost their lives in this land they have
become our sons as well."

ANZAC day, then, celebrates the values of courage, endurance, sacrifice, and 'mateship' as it is called by Australians and New Zealanders.  But ultimately it also raises up the value of reconciliation between persons and nations, and the unity of all humanity. 

I count it one of my life's priviliges to have been able to participate in two special events this week in which were emphasized themes of harmony between nations, the unity of all peoples, and the value and dignity of human beings. 

Thanks be to God, the giver of all good. 

Clericus

OK.  Here I go again: things are different here. 
Even when things are the same, things are different.  I've been a priest for almost 25 years, and I've been going to clericus meetings even since before I was ordained.  (Clericus is the generic term for the group of clergy colleagues.  It also refers to the regular meeting of this colleague group.) 

On Wednesday past, I had the gift of being (for the second time since my arrival) with my colleagues in ministry.  I am the only native speaker of English (though not the only only one who speaks English -- my bishop is fully fluent in English) so following the sermon and the conversation is still a bit of a challenge for me.  Yet my colleagues are most welcoming, and very warm towards me.  I have the impression that this may be because some of my predecessors were not always involved, or maybe Christ Church in general has the reputation within the diocese for being somewhat standoffish.  Nevertheless, I'm still feeling like something of an oddity in the group, as if they can't quite figure out why this gringo would just up and come to Mexico.  That may just be my own sense of inadequacy more than a reality about the way anyone has spoken to me or treated me...

So...things are different, although what was not different was the way that clericus began.  We started with Eucharist, and since I've been celebrating and preaching in Spanish for a couple of years now, I feel fully comfortable with worship in Spanish, since I know the responses.  The Church -- Santa María Virgen -- is in a neighborhood in the South of the city.  I would describe area as working class, although when I mentioned the name of the area (Ixtapalapa) to some of the membership and staff, they responded as if I had gone to someplace a bit dangerous.  Which it didn't seem to be.  Anyway, the church building (in Spanish "templo," which I think means 'place of worship' and seems to be the same word used also for synagogue and mosque) is on a side street, in a residential area, although like most residential neighborhoods here, it's definately what would be referred to in the US as 'mixed use.'  There were taco stands and little markets and laundries and stuff all on the same street.  The building looked as if it seated about 60 -75.  It was quite plain -- concrete painted white and light blue.  There was no stained glass, but the windows were of a sort of amber colored glass. 

I really liked that there was an Easter Garden under the altar as a reminder of Easter season (An Easter garden is like a creche, or manger scene, but tells the resurrection story by means of a three-dimensional depiction of the empty tomb with a statue of a risen Christ and usually some angels).  The rector, Father Salvador whose nickname is 'Chava', presided, and the preacher was the only woman priest in attendance and one of the very few in the diocese.  Her name is Sally Sue, and she works with youth of the diocese.  I understood about half of her sermon.


After the service, we had refreshments, announcements (mostly from the Bishop) plus a Bible study.  Then the bishop opened the floor for sharing.  Although I'm still very hesitant about speaking off-the-cuff in Spanish, I decided I should say something, since if I wait until I feel ready, I mey never say anything.  As I said, it's a very warm group and they were very happy that I had spoken.  Then the biship publicly complimented me on some things I had done in worship on Easter Sunday morning, so that was gratifying. 

Anyway -- what was DIFFERENT was lunch.  (Here in Mexico lunch is rarely earlier than 2PM.)  The host church offered a sort of Mexican style barbecue.  There was a gas heater with a large circular griddle on top.  The chef (evidently a member of the parish who owns or is related to the owner of a butcher shop) cooked up ( I should say 'pan fried') chicken breast, carne asada (both beef and pork) plus bacon, onions, and chiles.  There were tortillas, salad of nopales (cactus), rice, and several different kinds of salsa ranging from hot to scorching to blistering.  But what was most different about the menu was the beverage.  There were, of course soft drinks, plus... beer, whiskey, and tequila.  When I expressed mild surprise at the choice of liquid refreshment  (although I was really stunned!) the response was basically, "Well, we're Mexican.  This is how we do things."  The lunch took up nearly 2 hours of the afternoon -- lots of conversation and laughter. 

It was different, but good.  Next month clericus is here at Christ Church.  Somehow I think that the plan that the ladies of the guild have come up with for a menu of quiche and salad will need to be adjusted....

Embassy Reception

On Monday evening, I experienced something that I still find hard to believe really happened.  I was at a reception at the residence of teh British ambassador to Mexico, H.E. Judith MacGregor.  I never in my life expected that I would ever be at such an event.  Nor would I have ever expected it would be in my honor.  This was the British expatriate community's welcome to the new rector of the Anglican parish.  I am their new priest and pastor. 

What would a preacher do at an embassy reception?  Speak, of course.  After introducing me, the ambassador asked if I would like to say a few words.  What was I supposed to do?  Say 'No thank you?"  Hardly! 

I remembered the observation of Henri Nouwen, who in his book Gracias, which I believe is subtitled A Latin American Journal,  made the connection between 'gracias' which means 'thank you' and 'gracia' which means 'grace.'  I expressed my thanks to the ambassador, to the expatriate community, and acknowledged that what I had received was grace -- a purely unmerited and undeserved gift from God, who in goodness had given to me the gracious gift of such friends, and such an opportunity. 

Later, one of the members of my parish who was present told me that my words were 'spot on.'  Here are some of the assembled guests, listening as I spoke. 

You can barely make out through the picture windows in the background the truly stunning setting.  The main reception room is enormous -- with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a sort of canyon -- lush and verdant with trees, shrubbery, and tropical flowers.  Drinks (everything from whiskey and gin to red and white wine, juice and soda) were served from trays.  Uniformed butlers served hors d'oevres -- lamb meatballs in yoghurt sauce, sushi, chicken satay in peanut sauce, etc.  The invitation made it very clear that the reception was from 6 until 8.  At 6:45 the ambassador introduced me, and by 7:30 the butlers were serving tiny desserts -- chocolate cream puffs, and miniature custard tarts.  Shortly thereafter, the butlers ceased to pass any food or drink.  At 7:45, the ambassador thanked me for coming, and excused herself as she had work to do in preparation for the G-20 summit.  (The same one at which happened the scandal with the US secret service agents.)

It was an unforgettable evening.  Not only to be honored and cordially welcomed in such a way -- but also to know that so many people have such high hopes and such high expectations of me.  May the God of grace grant me the wisdom, the courage, and the love to do my work of being an ambassador for Christ. 

Guests at the reception -- members of Christ Church -- both vestry and spouses.

The rector and the ambassador. 



Low Sunday

It's not the Gospel about 'doubting Thomas,' it's not the repeated alleluias, it's not 8th day of the fifty-day celebration of the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ that gives this day its popular name.  Instead, it is the level of attendance, the level of energy, and, I suppose, the amount of the Sunday offering that gives this day its name: Low Sunday.  

That said, it was still a joyful celebration, even if the ushers didn't have to put extra chairs in the aisles.  And like every Church I've ever know, the after-service coffee is an important element of the Sunday morning celebration.  Here are some pictures of the gathering in the parish hall following our 10:30 service:

                                                         These folks, Jennifer, Linda, and Eduardo, are key members of the Chirst Church Guild -- formerly the Ladies' Guild,  but now includes men.  The Guild is in charge of the church bazaar in December and other fund raising events through the year to support the ministries of Christ Church and other ministries, including the social outreach to the needy downtown at Sta. Juliana.  The Guild also provides financial assistance for seminarians to purchase books, etc. 

This is Martha Linda, who is selling homemade mango jam -- she and one other guild member spent hours here in the kitchen on Saturday preparing the jam.  Since I was offered a jar to sample, I can attest to the fact that it is excellent!

More happy people at coffee hour:

I've heard some people refer to coffee hour in the Episcopal Church as 'the eighth sacrament.'  Maybe it's true -- even on 'Low Sunday' people make an effort to get together and enjoy conversation. 

Lunch with a Primate

No, I didn't eat a hot dog with a gorilla. 

I had lunch with the Primate (i.e. the Archbishop/Prime Bishop/Presiding Bishop) of the Iglesia Anglicana de Mexico.  The bishop of the Diocese of Mexico (by the way, México is the name of the country, of a state, and of the capital city), where Christ Church is located, is also the head of this independent Province of the Anglican Communion, and thus an Anglican primate.  He is The Most Rev. Carlos Touché Porter, a native-born second- or third- generation Mexican, of English and Palestinian extraction.  Interestingly, although he grew up speaking Spanish, he is fully bi-lingual, and came to the Anglican communion as a teenager, when he began worshipping at Old Christ Church (downtown) when it was exclusively an English speaking congregation. 

Since I am the new kid on the block, the bishop kindly took me to lunch yesterday.  And what a lunch it was.   He (and his driver) picked me up at the church and drove me to San Angel, which is in the south of the city.  We had lunch at the San Angel Inn, which was built in 1692 as "Hacienda de los Goeicochea." At that time, it belonged to minor Spanish nobility, who used a large portion of the surrounding land to grow maguey cactus, which is the source of the syrup that is fermented and distilled into Tequila.  The word 'hacienda' simply means 'property,' although in this context it refers to a country estate, which is exactly what the inn used to be.  It was a kind of playground for the Spanish aristocracy during the viceregal period, and the later for the Emperor Maximilian and his wife, Carlota when the French occupied Mexico in the 19th century.  The inn is also a significant historical site in Mexican history since General Santa Anna planned the "Chapultepec Battle" there, and, in later years, the pact between Pancho Villa and General Zapata was formalized in the same spot.  In recent times, the San Angel Inn has been an elegant restaurant that has hosted, among others, Prince Philip of England, Queen Beatrice of Holland, Roberd Kennedy, Muhammad, Ali, Rock Hudson, Brigitte Bardot, Neil Armstrong, Henry Kissinger, Jimmy Carter, and the great Mexican novelist Octavio Paz.  Some years ago, a member of Christ Church who at the time was head usher, was the official photographer of the San Angel Inn, and took pictures of these and other celebrities when they visited. 

'Hacienda', as the word is used to describe San Angel Inn, also refers to a particular style of building or architecture; it was originally constructed to be a large family home set around an open central courtyard or patio.  In the earliest days the animals would have been brought into the courtyard, and much of the household activity would have taken place there in that enclosed outdoor area.  Today, the courtyard is an exquisite flower garden, planted with long stemmed roses, vivid geraniums, and all manner of tropical greenery, some of which cascades down from the roof.  The interior dining rooms feature thick adobe walls, ceilings with exposed wood beams, and a tiled fireplace; the bar is paneled in dark wood.  The bishop and I were practically the first to arrive for lunch (1:30 is very early for lunch in Mexico!), and when we did, the tables were dressed with white cloths, blue and white crockery plates, and cobalt blue glassware.  It was a feast for the eyes before we even glanced at a menu. 

The menu featured both Mexican and Continental dishes, but I felt that I should eat local.  So I ordered an appetizer of crepes stuffed with huitlacoche -- translates as 'corn mushrooms' but is actually a black fungus that grows on corn.  I know, the idea sounds disgusting, eating fungus, but it's no different from mushrooms or blue cheese, both of which I love.  Huitlacoche is much esteemed in Mexican cuisine for its exotic, earthy flavor, somewhat comparable to black truffles.  For a main course I had fish in Veracruz sauce, which includes tomatoes, onions, olives, peppers (both mild and hot) herbs and spices.  For dessert (since it's Easter Season, of course) I chose to set aside the scruples of my naturally abstemious nature and celebrate the Lord's resurrection.  I did go continental this time, and ordered Isla Flotante ("floating island" in English) which is one of the best desserts in the entire world: poached meringues 'floating' in a custard sauce, served with blackberries and strawberries.

It was a generous and thoughtful welcome to Mexico from my new bishop.  And by the way, we did actually have meaningful conversation about a number of topics regarding the church and the Church's ministry.  I feel blessed to have already a good working relationship with mt new bishop.

Sorry not to have pictures of this gorgeous and fascinating place -- why would I think to bring my camera along for lunch with a primate? 

Easter pictures

One of the really dramatic moments of the Easter Vigil service is when the Gloria is finally sung, and the lights are turned on and the candles are illuminated.  All of that happens at Christ Church, plus the tryptich, which has been closed for all of Lent, is finally opened.  You can imagine how breathtaking that moment is when you see the tryptich in the pictures below:

Here is a close up:

And here is a detail of the center panel of the tryptich:

I wish I knew more about this exquisite work of art, but at this point I don't.  Maybe in a later post.

This is the Paschal Candle:

The front of the altar:

The baptismal font at the back of the altar:

Here I am at the front of the church, standing next to the Paschal Candle.  Standing with the arrangment of altar flowers just behind me, it looks as if I'm wearing an extremely gauche Easter bonnet.  But I do love the gold vestments with purple trim. 

Here I am after all of the Holy Week and Easter services, with my colleagues, priest associates Susan and Guillermo. Susan teaches World Religions at an IB High School, and Guillermo is a doctor who works in one of the government hospitals, which means he works largely with people of limited means.  His grandfather was presiding bishop of the Mexican Episcopal Church.  The other priest associate, Martha, was doing the Mexican thing and was away with her children and grandchildren for the holiday week.  I really believe that I work better when I am not the only priest on staff.  So far, these wonderful folks have proved me right. 

Holy Week in Mexico City

See above under "Things are different here." 

See also "The Book of COMMON Prayer" since the words and the ceremonial of our worship are held in common, i.e. things are the same, to some extent no matter where one worships within the Anglican Communion.
 
That said, one thing that is VERY different here is that Holy Week (Semana Santa) is a huge vacation week, and lots of folks leave for a week or more and are out of the city and onto the beach instead of at Holy Week services.  Most schools, for example, have two weeks of vacation -- both Holy Week and the week after Easter.  Evidently, this is the only family vacation time that many Mexicans are able to take.  So I was prepared for smaller congregations.  That plus for the last two years, during the interim period, Christ Church has really NOT had a regular schedule of Holy Week services.  So I really had to start (or, more accurately, restart) the Holy Week tradition. 

Maundy Thursday was a kind of a bi-lingual service -- not completely, since it was mostly in English,  with the gospel read in both languages, and the paragraphs of the Eucharistic prayer alternating between Spanish and English.  We did  the stripping and washing of the altar, but not the ceremonial footwashing.  (Although they have done it in the past)

Good Friday was entirely in English, and went very well.  But  -- and this is different -- a group of Christ Church parishioners have the tradition of a Good Friday barbecue!!!  So after a beautiful and intense Good Friday service, I went to the home of one of the priest Associates where we enjoyed carned asada, grilled chicken, chorizo.  There were about 25 people there -- priest associate Susan Dennen de Rodriguez called them the heretics -- mostly from the South of the city.  It was great fun, actually, and I suppose that is the heresy -- not only NOT to be fasting on Good Friday but to have so much fun.  One touching moment happened at the end, when Susan (the priest associate and hostess) presented my in a private moment with a cross she had been wearing through the whole two years of the interim -- as a kind of prayer for the church and for the next rector. It was a small silver cross botonee with Christ Church engraved across the side piece.  I will treasure it. 

In fact, I wore the cross the next day for the Great Vigil of Easter.  One of the best parts of the service was lighting the new fire outside on the patio, with the choir and congregation gathered around.  Missue, the sexton, had prepared the fire in a tiny hibachi.  I don't know what she used, but that fire REALLY BURNED.  What didn't burn as well was the wick of the Paschal Candle, which we had a very hard time getting lit.  The Paschal Candle is enormous -- not so much long as thick, and with a wick that looked like a hunk of rope hanging out of the top.  We actually got it lit once, and then it went out. 

Other than that the service went quite well.  Again it was a bi-lingual service, with part in English and part in Spanish.  Up until the last moment, I did not know if we were going to do the renewal of baptismal vows in English or Spanish.  I said to one of the priests there -- let me know whether there are more Spanish or English speakers present, and that's the language we'll use.  It was English. 

For Easter Sunday morning I thought the ushers were being overly optimistic when they set up folding chairs in the back and in the aisles.  They were not optimistic.  The church was packed, and nearly every seat was taken.  The choir was swelled by the ranks of many of the choir director's past and present students, and they sang selections from Vivaldi's Gloria.  The guest organist was the (I think retired) organist from the cathedral in Speyer in Germany, who had come down to do a masterclass in choral conducting and was roped in at the last minute.  He had a very florid style -- lots of improvisations and extra cadenzas and fancy businesss with each hymn.  The organ is a twenty-something year old Allen electronic, and it's in pretty bad shape.  It seems to have only two possibilities for volume -- loud and very loud.  Not great for those contemplative and serene moments during the distribution of communion. 

The congregation responded well to the sermon I preached, and several folks said they would be back.  (Which is the point, right?)

What I see

As I stand at the altar at Christ Church in Mexico City and look out at the congregation, this is what I see at the back wall of the Church:

The Stained glass windows were removed from old Christ Church and have found their new home here.  They add a dimension of color and warmth to the building, while adding to the sense that new and old have been harmoniously blended.  I think that the use of arches is especially effective -- it is a echo of both Romanesque churches (rounded arches) as well as Gothic (pointed arches) without being derivative in any way. 

Here is a closer view of the same:

The other aspect of the worship space that blends old and new together is the tryptich, which was also brought up from the old building downtown when this new sturcture was constructed:

Notice that above that there are catwalks beneath the arches -- they are quite narrow, though wide enough that they might be used for dramatic readings or for special effect in performance of certain pieces of music. 

From this close up, you may be able to tell that the tryptich is closed for Lent.  You can see the Lenten message inscribed in the top center panels "By thy cross and passion Good Lord deliver us" and you can note the  elaborate decoration in blue and gold against a red background.  Bear in mind that this is the plain and simple portion, left visible for Lent.  At the Great Vigil of Easter, when the Gloria is sung for the first time, the latch is unfastened, these panels are flung open, and the tryptich becomes twice as wide, revealing six panels of paintings of saints and angels and Christ.  I can imagine it must be a very dramatic moment, and I will be here to witness it.

The architect who designed the building, Carlos Mijares Bracho, is considered by some to be the "Frank Lloyd Wright " of Mexico.  Evidently he is a master of this style of contemporary construction in brick, and Christ Church has been designated some sort of National Historic Landmark.   Here is a view of the exterior of the church from the street:

A Palm Sunday Like No Other

Here is the lectern and the altar area, decorated for Palm Sunday.  These enormous arrangements of palms and red carnations are all done by the church sexton.  This picture shows what the church looked like before the beginning of the service.  The whole congregation gathered in the parish hall to begin with the Liturgy of the Palms and the Procession. 



What would Palm Sunday be without Palms, right?  And here in Mexico City, they are ubiquitous.  The clergy were given the most enormous palms I have ever seen in my life.  Mine was an entire branch that must have been at least 6 feet long.  (Oh, sorry!  Here in Mexico  I should say it was over 2 meters long.)  To the  left is the deacon, Jorge, whom everybody calls George, and on the right is Adolfo, who is a life-long member and serves faithfully as acolyte and crucifer. 

So ... Why was this Palm Sunday like no other?  Below you can see one of the reasons -- The Pipe Band (bapipers and drummers) of the St. Andrew's Society of Mexico City, which practices in the Parish Hall, led our procession from the Parish Hall, out the front entrance, around the side of the church and into the side entrance.  It was truly festive.  To the left in this photo is Rafael, ('Rafa') who is a vestry member and one of the leaders of the band. 





They say that this is the most beautiful time of the year in Mexico City, and the weather was clear, warm, and dry -- perhaps almost 70 degrees fahrenheit (I don't know what that is in Celsius).  With a crowd of people of all ages, languages, and races marching together around the block, then gathering for worship in the church, it is an event I will not soon forget. 

The service seemed to go very well -- Palm Sunday with its lengthy Passion Gospel reading can feel interminable, but this one seemd to move along.  One aspect that helped was the music, which was truly splendid.  Juan Ernesto, the choir director, teaches at (? the national conservatory, I think?) and is able to bring in many students of his, so he was able to marshall about 25 choristers.  They sang a selection from the Schubert Stabat Mater,  which was lovely.  But the real highlight was the Sanctus and the Agnus Dei from the Fauré Requiem -- beautifully done, and very moving. 

A good beginning to Holy Week. 

Here the acolytes (Jaime, left, and Prince, right  -- a Nigerian and lawyer at their embassy) are poised to lead the recessional hymn at the end of the service.