It’s Sunday, September 21, and for work reasons I’m spending a few days in Madrid. The Valley of the Fallen has become famous for the eternal disputes that it pretends to ‘resignify’, I won’t go into the topic, I limit myself to telling what I have lived and encourage everyone to experience it.
Very sunny morning, the coolness is taking over Madrid and is felt much more in the mountains. I take the A6, very deserted as befits a Sunday, and my first surprise is the line of cars to pass the access control to the Valley. There’s only one lane, and one person, it’s evident that at those hours we’re all going to Mass. The long-suffering guardian apologizes, it’s orders, we can’t repeat what happened last week with the ETA posters hung on the facade; patience. No problems for parking and we head to the Basilica.
The green of the huge pine forest and the path one has to take to ‘ascend’ to the Church help to feel something special. The huge cross that can be seen from the highway grows larger and imposes itself. Climbing the staircase helps to put a parenthesis between the outside world and something sacred. The Basilica looks a bit abandoned, more than twenty buckets collect water from the leaks, access is controlled with a detector. Very pleasant the presence of young volunteers from the abbey who receive you with a smile and indicate how to access without problems. The long space one has to walk to reach the worship area helps to feel in a sacred place, the sober and elegant decoration and the sound of the organ that approaches.
The space is impressive, for its majesty and dimensions, the huge central crucifix imposes itself. The altar is prepared, the candles lit, the choir starts to sing and everything fills with a silence that invites prayer. The seating area is overflowing, there are few elderly, and many families with many children who behave exemplarily, it’s clear they are used to it. Amid the melodies, the cries of babies cross, something that has been lost in our churches. To my right I see a family that occupies an entire bench, they are seven, dad, mom and three girls, some young ladies and two boys, one older. The teenager acts as master of ceremonies with his little sister and indicates the postures to her with affection. It wasn’t a unique case.
The celebration impeccable as befits a Benedictine monastery, it’s well known that in liturgical matters they are the unbeatable aristocracy. Most dignified the choir adjusted to the rhythm of the celebration, third Gregorian creed very well followed, level is noticeable in the young attendees. The homily as it should be, with content. He reminded us that we must take everyone to heaven and that evidently there are some rather complicated cases. The reference to three martyrs was not missing, two canonized and a seminarian, servant of God, whose relics rest in the ‘immense reliquary that is this basilica’ . Their feast is celebrated today and, along with St. Matthew, they had a fitting remembrance.
The communion as befits what was lived, I think I fall short if I say 90%, excluding the children, many approached to receive the blessing. More surprising is that practically all those present did it on their knees and in the mouth; which, it must be remembered, is the ordinary way to receive it.
The exit an explosion of joy, children running around, parents working miracles to keep the flock controlled. A group of young people, evidently brothers, commenting that here we have a photograph of dad when he was two years old with the grandparents; you know, like father like son… The perfect complement is a good meal at the guesthouse, very pleasant, with reservation, very crowded, with terrace and with the possibility of picnic. As said, a perfect Sunday, it’s not strange that all this doesn’t please at all and that all demons are loose. The Mass ended with the prayer, very necessary today, to St. Michael.
Try it and I’m sure that you will repeat, no one minds a sweet.