Pentecost, Bilbao, A day of sabbath rest

Since we checked into the pension here in the Casco Viejo section of Bilbao it has been a time of letting go of the tremendous physical strain of the Camino.  We have come over 100K by foot.  We have crossed some of the highest mountains of the Basque region.  We are physically and emotionally spent.  I sent a note to my Sunday school class that said I was exhausted, poured out, and exhilarated.
Yesterday we showered and strolled to find a Vodafone store to make one more attempt to 'fix' the phone situation.  We had no luck, but we did find gelatto, and that more than made up for the phone failure.  We returned to the neighborhood church of St. James in time for Mass.  The church has a gigantic gothic interior, stone arches rising 3 stories overhead.  There were about 100 attending worship and a constant flow of tourist at the back where we were sitting.  Those in attendance looked much like any church in the States: some were kneeling in fervent prayer as the psalm and epistle were read, some husbands with that dutiful and bored looked stared off into space, and the littlest ones simply wanted to visit the side chapels and play with the hundreds of candles.  We were called to rise for the Gospel and in my weakness and fatigue my legs shook.  I had to grasp the back of the next pew to remain upright.  The physical exhertion has also made me very emotional (as if I'm not anyway!).  In my weakness there I was overcome by the presence of the church--in faithfulness and faithlessness, for good and for ill, with charity of purpose and sometimes, with purposes all too full of spite and malice--this body of folk were still trying to proclaim that love is stronger than death and that life has the final word.  When we sat for the sermon, I started weeping.  Here in my weakness, among people I couldn't understand, the priest told the story of another day when people who couldn't understand each other were all in Jerusalem on pilgrimage and fire came and alighted over their heads and all were bound to one another: wild shoots grafted into my wife's family and her ancient family.  No miracle of re-enlivening occurred.  I was still weak of body when the Mass ended.  My spirit--well, Pentecost is coming eh?
We went out into the square and found Donner Kabob (Anthony Bourdain describes a Donner Kabob as one of the 'stoner food groups').  As we ate a flute started playing outside,, and we emerged to Basque dancing in the streets.  Hundreds were gathered in and around the square, dancing, drinking, strolling--l'chaim!  Right outside our pension a group of drummers set up for what would turn into three sets, loud and raucous.
This morning we slept and slept and slept.  We didn't really get moving until 11.  Our plans to visit the Guggenheim-abandoned.  We are in the park, watching people, sitting, sharing juice and bread.  It's Pentecost, Bilbao,  Sabbath day of rest.  
Buen Camino.