1980CHRISTMAS IN MY LONDON DAYS. THE PASCUAL SERMON OF THE ARCHIBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. HOW I MET HIM WHEN HE WAS A NORMAL PRIEST ATTENDING A LONDON CONGREGATION AT EMPTY CHURCH.

Antonio Parra

Sadness and drabness empty streets with echo of cheering bells. I remember one Christmas Eve in Saint Chads Parish South Kensington. The Anglican priest officiated for a congregation of two people an old lady with hat the prayer book in her hands and myself. Congregations those days like now were scarce. Nearby the shop of Harrods was full to the brim.

Él vino a los suyos y los suyos no le recibieron, says John in the last evangel. The priest wore a cassock of Henry the VIII days but the cannon was intact. Te igitur clementissime pater but the magnificent Latin translated to archaic English words and there he was with alba and the maniple and the cincture of chastity. That evening it was a cold day and a grey light dropping tears of rain went through the gothic windowpane words and benedictions only for the old lady and me.

He wore the red ornaments of the martyrs. It was saint Thomas Becket day. There I found that the church is eternal. Although empty. The solitude of Christ confirms that part of the great mystery.

The priest let me sing the epistyle from the rostrum and my voice resounded in the empty aisles with the recite of the Gospel of Nativity.

In those magic words (prasepium, no room for them in the inn) were concealed the mysteries of incarnation. In mundo erat et mundum per ipsum factum est et mundus eum non cognovit. In propia venit et sui eum non receperunt. Quodquod autem receperumt eum dedit eis potestatem filios Dei fieri, his qui credunt in Nomine ejus qui non ex sanguine neque ex voluntate carnis neque ex voluntate viri sed ex Deo nati sunt (genuflexion)

High theology in a few phrases. I felt the joy and the sadness of Christianity. It reminded me of my own life and my own sins. Faith is to believe in something that we never saw or have seen.

I was looking for my daughter Helen and I found her but my in laws and my ex did not want to receive me. The sons of the spirit are higher that the sons of the flesh. In propia venit et sui autem non receperunt. I came to my people and I found the doors of the inn complete closed. No body answered my calls like the poor family of Nazareth. No place for me poor sinner in the diversorium. No room no inn. That was also part of the mystery of my Xmas Days. The rules of the blood are different from the rule of the Holy Spirit. That was the reason. That was the key. Christmas usually is sad melancholy day. Because of that. We are sons and daughters of God no sons and daughters of the blood and flesh.

What I did was to pray for my little one. She was a tug of war child. And also I pray for my ex. She had undergone an operation to extirpate a cancer from her throat. She came well and now she lives in Cornwall a retired old lady like the one who attended Mass with me at that Christmas Eve many a year ago, 35 years have gone. I am still trying to contact them. But still all I have is rebuke. No. No. Still I pray God asking to keep them well. Great sins have I ought committed to deserve such an ill treatment. A father who is denied access to his daughter. That is no a human right? We live in the age of paradox.

My daughter is a neonatal nurse. Works as a matron in a London hospital. My ex an school master lives in retirement. Still there is the sadness, the joy of the nativity of out Lord and the melancholy of the evening London light coming through the altar where that priest with an air of boredom and tiredness consecrated the body and the blood of Christ. That young parson later on became the actual Archbishop of Canterbury.

Hoc est enim corpus meum.

In a way that Anglican presbyter fascinated me by his parsimony he has a vivid stare and eyebrows like an owl and I always was very interested by the Church of Canterbury. Great archbishops men of learning and prayer occupied the See created by saint Austin an occupied by St. Thomas Beckett. Canterbury always has had an independent leaning toward the secular power.

Politically the head of the Church of England is the Queen by the spiritual power lays on the primate of Canterbury and also in the See of York. I remember Dr Runcie and Ramsey and also Dr. Fisher. They called him the Red Archbishop only because he tried to establish a pact of no aggression with Russia.

Nowadays the actual successor of Saint Austin has criticized vividly the usury and lack of sensibility of Capitalism towards the underdog and the ones in need, those who bear the crunch of the big crisis. Christ is true has spoken through the mouth of His eminence. Dr Cowan is gaunt big and lean man highbrows that make him look like an owl.

His homilies and sermons need to be taken in consideration by a materialistic society. And hit the first pages of the tabloids, He is a great theologian. And also a reflection; while Rome according to its tradition always alleged with the powerful of this earth other churches try to preserver the real tenets of the Gospel. Spiritus ubi vult expirat and Dr Rowan Cowan has spoken in the line of the real ecumenism. God bless him.

Today I have officiated with him as a deacon the great mass of the nativity in the solitude of my room. He came to his own and he was not well received by them. Why? Because he proclaimed the Truth.

Thursday, 25 December 2008

 SOR STELLA LA EX MERETRIZ MONJA PROFESA DEL MONASTERIO DE NOVODIEVICHI

 

Me dio de alta la doctora  Zapata pues gracias a sus desvelos y a la posología que me recetó “Furosemida”  y otras drogas que le hacían la guerra a las células dañadas de mi próstata fui recuperándome, pero Venivolans el clemente pájaro de la sabiduría seguía empollando huevos en su nido de lo alto del zumaque del jardín abandonado de Puerta de Hierro pero no faltaba a las citas en mi casa cuando regresé al hogar muy contento por haber superado mi mal y dando gracias al Altísimo. Cada mañana como su sentido de la orientación era magnifico y no necesitaba tontón para volar sobre cualquier punto del mapamundi allí estaba picoteando en el alfeizar y llamándome por mi nombre. Transgredía las leyes de la gravedad, del espacio y del tiempo. Las urracas son unos córvidos que viven muchos años. Venivolans, lo supe después, había cumplido ya las mil primaveras. Había salido del cascarón  en plena edad media, en la época de las Cruzadas. Por eso sabía tanto, estaba ágil y sólo un redondel blanco cerca de la cresta indicaba que no era un recental y había jurado bandera mucho tiempo atrás. Los cuervos encanecen igual que los humanos. Un mañana, pasado más de un lustro de lo de la operación, llegó al alfeizar de mi ventana jadeando:

─Vamos venga, Verumtamen

─¿Qué pasa, Venivolans?

─Hoy volamos a Rusia. Quiero mostrarte San Petersburgo

Las alas del cuervo amigo eran una alfombra mágica y nos presentamos en la bella ciudad de Pedro el Grande en un periquete. Rusia había ganado la guerra a los europeos, Vladimir Putin ya un anciano seguía controlan do los designios del gran país y antes de aterrizarf comprobamos con satisfación cómo una escuadrilla de Mig-21 nos acompañó hasta el patio del monasterio femenino de Novodievichi. Enseguida nos presentamos en la iglesia. Agolpados en las naves del templo una multitud de creyentes escuchaba el canto melodioso de las letanías (Ektenia). La melodía era tan dulce y melodiosa que nos pareció que encontrarnos en el paraíso:

─¿Qué es esto, Venivolans) ─ pregunté a media voz.

─Tu amiga Olga la Larga profesa los votos solemnes. Ya no es Olga la Larga. De ahora y de aquí a la eternidad se llamaría Sor Estrella de María Magdalena.

Mirfé para la profesa. Estaba m,ás hermosa que nunca. Era un bellezón. Vestía un traje blanco de novia y coronaba el velo de gasa una guirnalda de flores frescas. Me sonrió. Parecía reconocerme y su mirada me transmitía un mensaje de paz y de agradecimiento. Porque este viejo diacono había pedido a la Virgen por la intercesión de Maríka Magdalena Abandonase los chats inmundos donde los menoreros de todo el mundo estampan su salacidad lujuriosa. Olga la Larga se dio cuenta de que no era iuna mercancía. Que tenía un alam,a. un alma rusa. Hizo penitencia y un buen dia despidió al macarro polaco que la explotaba y llamó a las puertas del monasterio de Novodievichi donde profesaban las muchachas nobles de Petersburgo. Venivolans a todo esto me hizo una confesión:

─Olga no era una cortesana como las demás. En medio del albañal y de ese revolcadero de los prostíbulos mediáticos conservó un aire de dignidad y de distinción de verdadera zarina  y es que ¿sabes? Era una descendiente de los Romanov. Un miembro de la estirpe de los zares. Nicolás II el monarca asesinado en Zverlok era su tatarabuelo.

─Andá

─Fuiste el primero en darte cuenta porque fuiste un periodista muy intuitivo acaso con dones de penetración mágica. ¿Eres vidente?

─No sé pero algo muy misterioso noté en aquella mujer

─Enseguida el vidente dio paso al diacono que se sumió en oración noches enteras y sufriste mucho cuando el chulo la golpeó y apareció en pantalla Olga con moratones en los ojos.

─Hermosa historia. ¡Qué grande es Dios? Que siempre abre los abrazos y acoge al pecador

Casi nos mareamos con el olor del incienso que ascendía clemente hasta los cielos. Los apóstoles pintados en el tablero del iconostasio parecían sonreírnos. Asistimos a esa pulsión angelical, a esa belleza de la filocalía del rito ortodoxo. Durante dos horas estuvimos cerca del cielo al cabo de una hora regresamos a Madrid sinm detenernos en visitar el Ermitage ni la catedral de san Isaac, la mayor de la cristiandad o pasear or la Perspectiva Nevski que conservaba las huellas de Dostoievski y otros autores de la gran literatura rusa. Esa tarea la dejamos para otra ocasión.

─Santa María Magdalena, ruega por nos.

 

PECHARROMÁN