Sunday church

I found myself in a little town church today. The minister was a mid-fifties German fellow with graying hair that reached the nape of his neck. He not only gave the sermon, but he also led the songs with some very simple yet melodic guitar strumming. It was Tanya's 7th birthday, so he called her from the upstairs Sunday school room so we could all sing her a happy birthday. She was trying her hardest to be serious as we sang to her, but her eyes were smiling I could tell. The sermon was about passover, and the pastor's wife even baked some unleavened bread for communion. We partook of it and then a cup of mosto (the state of grape juice right before fermentation) was passed around so that we could all drink from it. The experience was very organic; I have never had a more clear visualization of this ancient and traditional practice.

Afterwards, we came back to the apartment, and my host dad made arroz al horno, which was delicious. We talked about old people and tummy reductions and why the former would do the latter. All in all, a good day. Now I must write some essays about Spanish art.