My blogger pal Al alerted me that this morning's church service would be a bit different.
He was correct.
When I come to the Mexican highlands, I attend services at The Community Church of San Miguel. The church is similar to mine in Villa Obregon (Costalegre Community Church) in that both minister to the multi-denominational protestant English-speaking population in their respective communities. The biggest difference is the church in San Miguel is far more liturgical -- representing its initial Anglican and Presbyterian roots. What I call the United Kingdom of God.
Several years ago, a portion of the group initiated a lay-led service that was less liturgical and more personal in size. I usually attend that service when I am here.
And I did so this morning.
Al had told me the service might seem a little odd. The liturgy would be based on the Taizé Community. Like most Christians, I have heard of the community, but I knew very little about it.
Al's email caused me to do a bit of research. The community believes in the ecumenical power of Christianity. The group emphasizes basic Christian virtues -- kindness, simplicity, reconciliation.
The worship service includes music from around the world -- sung as chants. Eastern Orthodox iconography is common. The music is almost always based on lines of scripture -- often from the Psalms. Having grown out of the horrors of the Second World War, the community's goal is to rely on Christian tenets to reconcile humanity with one another and with God.
I am glad Al asked me to do some research because it gave me focus for the service.
The service began with a traditional instrumental hymn. One I did not immediately recognize because the electronic keyboard arrangement sounded a bit like something you would hear at a cocktail party. Soft, jazzy. I kept wondering where the waiiter had gone.
Music has a wondrous way in altering our minds and spirits. As the pianist played, I let go of my focus on myself, and placed it on God. That was the reason we were.
The "we" was a small group. A dozen of us. And that was an auspicious number. It was as if The Twelve had gathered together in the early church.
For those of you who have pulled "New Age" out of your grab bag of labels, you would be wrong. The first word out of the reader's mouth was "Jesus." The name would repeatedly appear in the service -- a truly Christian service.
After that prayer, we sang a two-like song "Come and Fill Our Hearts." We sang it through numerous times. Each time the words seemed to hold more meaning as we chanted them.
I have attended several churches over the years where popular choruses are sung repeatedly. A somewhat-cynical music director told me he called them "7-11 songs," Eleven words sung seven times. But even those choruses can work for their own purpose.
We sang three more ("In the Lord I'll Be Ever Thankful," "Live in Charity," "Jesus, Remember Me"). Most from the Psalms. All of them in the same chant form.
A prayer, a responsive reading from Psalm 104, a 10 minute silent meditation, and a prayer of intercession rounded out the service. In its basic elements, it was not much different from any other church service.
With one big exception. I have always enjoyed praying with this group. The small size gives it the intimacy and honest decency of an AA meeting. One of Philip Yancey's best essays compares the bare openness of AA meetings with the spirit of the early church. It is a compelling argument. And it is that spirit that I so enjoy experiencing when I worship with this small congregation.
I would like to say that it was the Taizé liturgy that made the difference. But it wasn't. Even though it was refreshing to hear a prayer offered with a broken heart that God would give us the strength to "share your abundance with all," "turn us towards the tasks of restoration of pure air and soil and water," and "help us to make room for our companions on this blue ball spinning through space." After all, it was Jesus who taught us we were to have the hearts of servants.
What made the difference was this group of believers who are willing to be open and honest with one another while seeking God's help to be better Christians. Christians who are humble enough to realize they are sinners just like those to whom they bring the gospel.
The hymn that opened the service was "His Eye is on the Sparrow." It had never been one of my favorites until I heard Anne Lamott read her essay "Knocking on Heaven's Door" on This American Life.
That essay deals with the power of music to re-enforce how we live our faith. The service this morning enforced my faith life. I hope Anne's essay does the same for you.
I love a quiet place where I can sit and read. Usually poetry.
Earlier this month, I told you about Juarez park here in San Miguel de Allende (tuesday in the park with steve). Even though it is surrounded by the city, the park is large enough to be a refuge from the downsides of urbania.
I told you about the park because t is public. Anyone can go there and enjoy its verdant pleasures.
But I have a refuge that is not public. And it is my favorite reading spot when I come to town.
For the past few years (I really do not know how many), I have driven up from the beach to attend San Miguel's chamber music festival in August. And I always stay in the same casita on Barbara's property.
The casita has almost become a second home for me. Almost like an old girlfriend. I know the joys and the limitations of the place.
One chef joy is the garden. It has taken Barbara years to get it into the shape it is now. There is always something blooming to attract hummingbirds and bees. Her trees offer shelter to a variety of songbirds -- and some birds who never got past the first audition.
The mornings here are almost always sunny. There is a table with three chairs in the demilitarized zone between the two houses that provides a tranquil place to begin the day. With a book and a cup of green tea.
Or, it would if I did not have so many self-declared commitments. There is my morning walk. And events at the library (that may or may not occur for number of random reasons). There are also the master classes associated with the festival.
As a result, I have sat at that table only once. And it was for just a brief moment.
That is doubly bad. First, because I need the rest and I enjoy it. Second, this is my last visit to the casita. It will not be available after I leave.
This is not original with me: in our rush to do things, we often get caught in the vortex of "busy-ness." We misconstrue activity with finding meaning in our lives. When the opposite is true. We find meaning (and coincidentally God) in those still moments of our lives when we feel comfortable just being with our own company.
In that silence we also often find how absurd life can be and how we revel in our own version. Ted Kooser, whose poetry book I am now reading captured that sense of self-deprecating humor in "Selecting a Reader:"
First, I would have her be beautiful, and walking carefully up on my poetry at the loneliest moment of an afternoon, her hair still damp at the neck from washing it. She should be wearing a raincoat, an old one, dirty from not having money enough for the cleaners. She will take out her glasses, and there in the bookstore, she will thumb over my poems, then put the book back up. on its shelf. She will say to herself, "For that kind of money, I can get my raincoat cleaned." And she will.
And I would chuckle, sip a bit of tea, and quietly move on to the Frostean "First Snow."
In a tranquil garden that will no longer be mine. It will belong to the songless birds.
When we would visit Myrtle Point from Powers when I was young, I would always see a guy dressed in a red felt logging hat that had been cut into a crown -- similar to Jughead's headware. From the Archie comic strip.
He loved kids. I do not recall whether it was candy or little toys, but he always had something for us. He was such an institution that his hat is now on exhibit in the local museum.
San Miguel is not without its characters. They seem to be drawn here. Especially, to the jardin -- the town's main square where people come to be seen and to see. I am told that is where the crystal beneath the town generates its most powerful aura.
My favorite character is The Preacher. At least, that is what I call him. Clad like some latter-day prophet in clothes that are a bizarre blend giving him the air of a wizard whose day job is chopping down trees.
But it is not felling trees that is his passion. He is interested in felling sin.
I see him two or three times a week. His routine is the same. He approaches a lone soul on one of the park benches. His Bible is open as he sits very close to his quarry and starts his spiel while holding his Bible in front of the potential convert's face. They are always Mexican. And usually young.
What he is saying, I cannot tell you in detail. He preaches in Spanish. But, even if my Spanish comprehension were better, I do not hear the details because I am trying to get my morning walk accomplished. I do hear him frequently repeat the words "verbo" and "palabra." The words mean "word." For that reason, I suspect he is preaching from John's gospel.
1En el principio ya existía el Verbo, y el Verbo estaba con Dios, y el Verbo era Dios. 2 Él estaba con Dios en el principio. 3 Por medio de él todas las cosas fueron creadas; sin él, nada de lo creado llegó a existir. 4 En él estaba la vida, y la vida era la luz de la humanidad. 5 Esta luz resplandece en las tinieblas, y las tinieblas no han podido extinguirla.
Mexico is filled with door-to-door missionaries (Mormon, Jehovah's Witnesses). In The States, they usually are not able to get a few words of introduction out of their mouths without having the homeowner close the door on them with a brusque "not interested."
I am always amazed at how patient Mexicans are when they are approached by someone flogging their particular view of God. None of the people on the benches ever tell The Preacher Man to go away. They put on their polite mask and listen -- often with the dead fish eyes of someone who is about to slip into a coma.
Just before I shot this photograph, the young lady's eyes met mine. For a just a brief moment, a look of "Please, help me" flashed over her face. And then was gone. I didn't. She sat there for about 10 more minutes. On one of my laps, they were both gone.
"We do not have earthquakes in San Miguel de Allende."
I have heard that refrain as long as I have been coming here. But I always filed it away in the same drawer of the second greatest myth of San Miguel de Allende -- that the city is built on a giant crystal that gives the place its magical aura.
"No earthquakes" sounded far too much like Camelot -- "a law was made a distant moon ago here/ that July and August cannot be too hot." After all, Mexico City is just down the road. And it is famous for its earthquakes.
So, i was skeptical. No, that is not quite true. I just didn't believe it.
Mexico sits atop the ring of fire that arcs Up from Saith America along the Pacific coast of the Americas, across the Aleutians, and down the Pacific coast of Asia through Indonesia to New Zealand. Why should San Miguel de Allende be spared earthquakes when it sits on the ring.
The reason is that it does not sit on the ring. I should have believed the people who live here. A quick bit of research proved I was wrong. The central highlands of Mexico, at least, north of Mexico City, are almost earthquake-free. South of Mexico City, it is a Seurat-inspired canvas of earthquake dots.
It is true that Mexico is part of the notorious ring of fire that hosts earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. But, it is the Pacific coast and the triangular portion of Mexico that are most at risk.
The science is simple. Mexico sits on top of three of the Earth's largest tectonic plates. The North American. The Cocos. The Pacific. These plates are in constant motion rubbing against one another. When one gets stuck and suddenly releases itself, we feel that familiar jolt and shaking accompanied by the sound of a freight train.
San Miguel de Allende rides on top of one of the plates -- relatively far from the fault lines. On the other hand, Barra de Navidad, is located just about where the three plates meet. That explains why no one there ever says: "We do not have earthquakes in Barra de Navidad." Because we do. And all of us who live there have felt them.
The map at the top of this essay shows all of Mexico's earthquakes -- from 1990 to 2017. Only for the past 27 years. There are hundreds more.
I took a look at a chart that includes a more complete history. There are 61 recorded earthquakes over 7.0. Of those, 13 occurred within about 60 miles of my house. Only Oaxaca has more.
Do you see the red dot on the Pacific coast about a quarter of the way up on the map? That is just about where I live. All of the additional colors are tremor marks.
That may explain why rock and roll is so popular in Barra de Navidad and why the serenity of the chamber music festival is held in San Miguel de Allende.
Let me give you an example. I am at a dinner party in our little fishing village. The woman beside me says, "What I miss most here is shopping centers. I wish there was a Bed and Bath here." My eyes rolled so far back in my head that I could have been auditioning "The sun will come out tomorrow."
It is funny how we react most to the perceived flaws in others that are exactly our own flaws. That is not original with me. But it is true.
Today was shopping mall day for me. (See! I wrote that sentence without budging my eyeballs.)
And not just any shopping wall. The granddaddy of malls in this area. Antea Lifestyle Center in Querétaro. If that "Lifestyle" in its title sounds a bit pretentious, you may want to withhold judgment until you visit it.
My hostess, Barbara, and my Morelia fblogger pal, Jennifer Rose, insisted I would enjoy a visit to Antea. I was skeptical. After all, shopping malls are not my natural habitat -- unless they have book stores. But they were absolutely correct. Opened in 2013, it is Mexico's largest shopping center. My initial pass through the mall,walking on each of its three levels, racked up just over 3 miles. By the afternoon, I had over 5 miles to notch on my pedometer.
The mall is anchored by two large department stores -- Liverpool (the American equivalent of what Macy's once was) and El Palacio de Hierro (think Bergdorf Goodman). In between are the usual mix of stores found in most high end shopping malls around the world. Gucci. Salvatore Ferragamo. Williams Sonoma. Crate and Barrel. Tommy Hilfiger.
No mall would be complete without a food mall. Antea has two. One for fast food (Burger King, Carl's Jr., China Express, Subway, an interesting salad fast food spot that I passed up, and more -- all places I was avoiding on my healthy diet quest). On the other side of the mall, with plenty of space creating a cordon sanitaire, are several proper restaurants offering cuisine from France, Italy, The States, Japan, China, Mexico, and other countries one would not expect in a mall.
My choice for the day was P.F. Chang's. A bowl of brown rice topped with spicy shrimp and vegetables. It was an adequate lunch, and came close to staying within my self-imposed limits. As is true with almost all Chinese food, the portion was too large.
No modern mall worth its golden aura would be complete without a movie theater. A multiplex movie theater. Not surprisingly, Antea takes it a step further. It hosts a Cinépolis VIP multiplex.
I have heard great stories about these theaters. They sound similar to a concept in the Portland area -- Cinetopia. I would have liked to watch a film there, but time (and my walking) got away from me.
Jennifer told me there was also a City Market next to Antea, and I should not miss it.
I had no idea what City Market was. But, the sign gave me a clue. It is a subdivision of La Comer. Therefore, I knew I was going to see groceries.
City Market is to a grocery store what Whole Foods or Trader Joe's is to Safeway. Artfully designed to seduce shoppers into filling shopping carts with high-end Mexican and foreign foods. It is the type of grocery where you might run into an informal caucus of Democrats Abroad.
Jennifer knows me well. It looks like a great place to buy food. But, I would not drive nine hours to shop there. It is nice to know, though, some people have a stunning grocery store in their neighborhood.
Antea is about a 44 minute drive from San Miguel de Allende. On one of my non-concert days, I may return. There were a couple of items in Liverpool, Williams Sonoma, and Samsung that interested me.
Oh, stop rolling your eyes!
And then there is the prospect of a movie in that theater.
Cobblestones. The bane and charm of Mexican colonial towns.
San Miguel de Allende has enough cobblestones to outfit the European 1848 revolutions. That is not surprising. Cobblestones were all the rage when the town was a major stopover for silver trains taking their booty from the mines north of here to Mexico City and then on to Spain.
This was before the age of shovel-ready asphalt projects. Stones were plentiful in Mexico. They still are. And the Spaniards were fully aware of how to build cobblestones roads. Spanish cities were filled with them.
And, like much of highland Mexico, the roads change no quicker than the religious processions. The house where I stay is just a couple of blocks away from the Old Royal Road that brought the silver trains through here.
It is incredibly rough. I do not know if it is in the same condition when the wagon trains used it, but it is a bumpy ride. I drive it daily, and I have yet to find just the right speed to avoid jostling apart my dental work.
That is why I am startled when I see footwear like this in San Miguel. And I often see even higher heels than that.
Now, I know women's shoes are not built for comfort or utility. And they are not designed for men to even begin understanding their purpose. An ex-girlfriend once told me: "I don't wear these shoes for you. I wear them for me. And to show other women that I am attractive and healthy enough to hold on to my man."
I have no idea if that is true or not. At least, she thought so. And I have no better explanation for what strikes me as potential neck-breaking activity.
What I do have an idea about is, with the possible exception of Italian women, Mexican women seem to be the champions of fashion footwear. Rivaled only by young Mexican men who seem to have a soft spot of exotic footwear.
Me? I have been wearing my special walking shoes everywhere. I doubt any blog authors have shot my shoes for a similar essay -- other than as a supplement to why American and Canadian tourists dress like poor people.
But I am not sticking my foot into that tar pit again.
Now that we have reclaimed chamber music for the people (scaling the barricades), what are we going to hear?
If you had been with me the past two weeks, you would have heard two groups each with a different style. But both are successful interpreters of their chosen selections.
Listening to chamber music is no more difficult than reading a novel. (I think the analogy is my creation. But I may have stolen it. Only the Chinese steal more intellectual property than do I.)
Most chamber pieces are divided into several movements with a unifying theme. Let's call each movement a chapter in the novel. The movement has a musical theme just like a novel's first line.
Each movement is written in sections. Think of them as paragraphs. Just as each section consists of notes and musical phrases based on the movement's theme. Just like words and sentences.
It really is that simple. We understand novels because we learned to read early in life and, through our reading, we developed a sense of what to expect from the story form -- how the narrative works.
Appreciating music or painting or poetry is as simple as enjoying a novel. We merely need to learn the form the artist has chosen to create the work.
Because they are accomplished, both the Miro Quartet and the American String Quartet let us clearly hear what the composer wanted us to experience.
The American String Quartet is a very traditional group. The name is far older, but this group of performers just celebrated their 44th year together.
By "traditional," I mean the focus of the players during performances is on one another and the music. There is little, if any, eye contact with the audience. The effect is that the voice of the composer seems unfiltered as it reaches the listener, without the performer's personality getting in the way.
Traditional does not mean a lack of versatility. Each piece the American String Quartet played was appropriate for the style in which the composer wrote.
None of the pieces were fluff. Each required the audience to be engaged. To use Copland's third plane of listening (why san miguel de allende?). Even though the pieces were complex, the listening technique I described earlier gave form and purpose to what the composer intended.
Their two programs included music from the romantic and modern periods:
Anton Webern, "Five Movements" (1909)
Johannes Brahms, "String Quartet No. 3 in B-flat major" (1876)
Ludwig van Beethoven, "String Quartet No. 16 in C-sharp minor" (1826)
Dmitri Shostakovitch, "String Quartet No. 7 in F-sharp minor" (1960)
Bela Bartok, "String Quartet No. 3" (1927)
Maurice Ravel, "String Quartet in F major (1902)
For those of you who know Ravel for the highly-overrated Bolero, and wonder why he is considered such a great composer, you might want to listen to this to enjoy the extent of his genius.
The style of the Miro Quartet is is quite different. They are showmen. And I do not say that disparagingly. By nature, every performer is an actor.
But their style reflects the personalities of the players. Articulate faces. Bow flourishes. Bodies in motion.
That style can be distracting. Too much personality. Too little composer. Too much Edward VIII.
Not so with the Miro Quartet. All of their animation takes its cue from the composer. They are merely reflecting what they play. In effect, they add to the composer's voice.
They also played a program of very demanding pieces, but with the clarity of professional guides leading their audience through new and beautiful worlds from the classical, romantic, and modern periods.
Robert Schumann, "String Quartet No. 1 in A minor" (1842)
Kevin Puts, "Credo" (2007)
Ludwig van Beethoven, "String Quartet No. 16 in F major" (1826) -- Beethoven's last string quartet, which is often called his musical autobiography
Franz Joseph Haydn, "String Quartet in E-flat major" (1793)
Anton Dvorak, "Cypresses" (1887)
Ludwig van Beethoven, "String Quartet No. 15 in A minor (1825)
Even though I knew his name and some of his other works, Kevin Puts's "Credo" was new to me. It is an optimistic and personal piece from a not-so-optimistic time. If you would like to listen to a rather short piece of modern chamber music, here it is.
I am currently sitting in a master class conducted by Amit Peled, the world-class cellist we met yesterday (scaling the barricades). He is instructing one of the 12 young cello students from yesterday's concert in cello technique. And the public has been invited to sit in.
Not only is the student learning new technique, we are learning the variety of sound an accomplished musician can elicit from an instrument -- the cello, in this case. The experience is giving me new things to listen for while enjoying this rich form of expression.
We are now half-way through the festival. For me, this is almost a practically perfect month.
