EL METROPOLITA DE LONDRES ANTONIO

 No conocí personalmente al metropolita Anthony pero una vieja grabación solemne de la misa de Pascua determinó mi amor hacia la ortodoxia en Londres a mitad de la decada de los 70 del pasado siglo cuando asistía yo a la liturgia de una iglesia de South Kensington de mi barrio que había sido cedida por el primado de Cantorbery. La pompa, los iconos, los himnos y tractos me apasionaron y determinaron mi conversión. Volví los ojos a Cristo. Ahora  determinaron mi conversión. La iglesia catolica trata de divinizar al hombre mientras la ortodoxa quiere humanizarlo. Ahora me entero que el metropolita o bladika falleció hace 18 años pero su voz sigue sonando en la cinta de mi grabadora. La religión ortodoxa empieza por el corazón y por los pies. Hay que dominar el cuerpo para permanecer de pie (a k a t h i s t o s) durante las dos horas que suelen durar las grandes liturgias. Sea este humilde post una loa a aquel sacerdote inglés y hombre de Dios

“HE SAW THE IMAGE OF CHRIST IN EACH OF US”

Remembering Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh

The eighth conference dedicated to the spiritual legacy of Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh was held at the House of the Russian Diaspora named after Alexander Solzhenitsyn in Moscow on September 17–19, 2021. This year the theme of the conference was: “Crisis: Judgment or Opportunity?” Among the speakers were well-known clergymen, scholars, publicists, along with those who personally knew Vladyka Anthony and were in contact with him. A journalist of Pravoslavie.Ru recorded the most interesting fragments of speeches dedicated to the ever-memorable Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh.

Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh    

Archpriest Christopher Hill, Moscow:

Vladyka Anthony appreciated freedom; he respected and protected it. Vladyka himself was free, and this freedom manifested itself primarily in his spiritual life—he was not burdened with anything earthly. Vladyka had a unique quality: He easily found a common language with everybody. When you were having a conversation with him you were the whole world, the whole universe. Few of us can speak with other people in this way because each of us has a lot of thoughts and concerns that prevent us from being absolutely free. For Vladyka Anthony any person who came to him was always the dearest and closest to him, and all his attention was devoted only to that person.

Vladyka was always self-disciplined and concentrated. He prayed and saw the image of God in every human being. He was modest in everyday life and didn’t like pomp and luxury. I recall how one day I helped him in the altar during his service at the Russian Dormition Cathedral in London. I noticed that he wasn’t wearing the magnificent vestments traditional for Orthodox bishops—instead of a sakkos he wore an ordinary deacon’s sticharion, and his miter was made of papier-mâché and plastic beads.

Gillian Crow, London:

Being in contact with Vladyka Anthony, I felt his faith and support and was confident in the correctness of everything he said. He always answered my questions with wise advice. Through him I felt God’s love and care for people.

He once told me jokingly that Orthodoxy begins with the feet when you learn to stand through the long services. Then it reaches the stomach when you start fasting, and next reaches the heart. After that Vladyka added with a smile: “And in some people it even reaches their heads.”

Vladyka Anthony’s parish was multinational, and he always said that we should all be one. He himself created such an atmosphere. Vladyka always spoke about the beauty of Orthodoxy: About how beautiful churches, icons, theology, church services and the whole of God’s creation are. But above all, Vladyka saw beauty in people and taught us all this vision. Despite all our shortcomings and blunders, he saw the image of Christ in each of us.

Now it’s eighteen years since Vladyka reposed, and we must convey to each other his understanding and vision, and our memory of him.

Frederica de Graaf, Moscow:

The personality of Vladyka Anthony, his books, his way of thinking, show us the inner freedom of man, of which he was a living example. He used to say that we always need to be with Christ; we need to pray, knowing that Christ is alive and hears us—only then will we have confidence, and there will be no fear of difficulties and death itself. In this case, there will be no crisis, which we are talking about today. In my opinion, the trouble is that for most people the Resurrection of Christ is not a reality... This is a real tragedy.

It seems that our common main problem is that we live outside ourselves. We are completely immersed in the digital world and gadgets. Nobody sees what is happening in front of them. We are afraid to look inside ourselves. Vladyka often said with pain that modern man doesn’t want to know God, be in contact with Him, and go to meet Him. And this is a real disaster... Not only young people face this problem. We shouldn’t be afraid! We need to believe, we need to turn to Christ. Vladyka used to say that with shining eyes alone one can show faith—a living faith in Christ.

Kelsey Cheshire, London:

Vladyka Anthony was deeply convinced that crisis and suffering can reveal to us things that we otherwise wouldn’t have seen, and give birth to a new life—of course, provided that we have courageously accepted these trials. Vladyka always said that it is necessary to overcome pain, we must endure it with patience and courage to the very end, regarding it as an exercise for growth; learn to cope with small difficulties in order to endure harder trials later.

At difficult moments, on Vladyka Anthony’s face one could see courage, concentration and will, which was so strong that it even frightened one. But at the same time, his face reflected pain, about which Vladyka used to say that he would endure it in its entirety, in all purity and acuteness; that he would allow this pain to plow him to the very depths, but wouldn’t let it stain his soul with hatred and darkness.

Vladyka also used to say that without love, suffering means nothing; and to love is much more difficult than to endure suffering because love always presupposes voluntary action, in contrast to suffering, which is passive. A great deal of suffering fell to Vladyka’s lot, but it was always quite obvious that whatever the tragedy, love would triumph. And Vladyka treated everyone with love.

Prepared by Artemy Banshchikov
Translated by Dmitry Lapa

Pravoslavie.ru

10/13/2021

See also

ABRENSE NUEVOS TEMPLOS EN RUSIA Y EN ESPAÑA SE DESACRALIZAN

 

“TO ENSURE THAT THE LITURGY BE CELEBRATED IN THE LAND OF MY ANCESTORS”

On how a former detective and prisoner became a church warden

Pavel Sushkov

The Church of the Holy Royal Martyrs in DiveyevoThe Church of the Holy Royal Martyrs appeared in Diveyevo quite recently—its foundation was laid in 2015, and the first Liturgy was celebrated in 2019. There is an old Russian saying, “A church is not about logs, but about ribs”. Indeed, over and over again you become convinced that the history of every church is closely linked with someone’s life.

The birth of a church is no less a miracle than the birth of a new human soul into the world. Many Lives of saints begin with a story about the miraculous birth of a saint or even earlier: with a story about how the parents of a future God-pleaser prepared for his or her birth, prayed to God for a child, made vows and humbly awaited an answer from above.

All this can be found in the history of the “Royal” church in Diveyevo. The devotees of the last Russian Tsar and his family have been praying for many years for the building to be completed. They sang akathists by the memorable larch tree planted in honor of the birth of the heir, Tsarevich Alexei, offered up prayers on the Holy Canal, and read the perpetual Psalter.

The cross procession in the early morning of July 17, 2015 to the foundation of the Church of the Royal MartyrsFinally, in 2015, a benefactor was found who bought a plot of land at the intersection of Polevaya and Zarechnaya Streets for the construction of a church. On the day of the celebration of the Synaxis of the Saints of Diveyevo, June 27, 2015, a memorial cross was installed and blessed at the future construction site. And at dawn on July 17, on the day and hour of the murder of the Royal Martyrs, Metropolitan George of Nizhny Novgorod and Arzamas laid the foundation stone and blessed the foundation of the new church. It was built in just two weeks. Right before the arrival of the procession presided over by the bishop, a crane drove off from the construction site, having laid the last slabs.

A memorable moment was when the hierarch’s Protodeacon Andrei Zheleznyakov after the blessing unexpectedly sang everyone the song: “Rus’ is Called Holy...” His wonderful baritone, amplified by sound equipment, carried the words of this amazing song over the sleepy village. It seems that then I heard it for the first time, and maybe for the first time I felt it so closely that it gave me goosebumps. At sunrise on the day of the anniversary of the Tsar’s martyrdom, at the laying of his church’s foundation, among the people frozen in dead silence, it sounded like true repentance.

The new church in Diveyevo was modelled on the Church of St. Mary Magdalene in the German town of Darmstadt, built on St. Nicholas II’s initiative at the Imperial Family’s personal expense, according to the design of the architect Leonty Nikolaevich Benois (1856–1928) from St. Petersburg. In Germany the church literally stands on Russian soil—it was specially brought there in carriages—two from each Russian province. Its Diveyevo counterpart also stands on an artificial mound, with the sole difference that it was not necessary to go so far for soil; it is local, Russian and holy—from the Fourth Garden of the Most Holy Theotokos. And it is covered with paving stones from the Canal of the Queen of Heaven.

The churchwarden Alexei, a former detectiveThe visitor sees a majestic mosaic that fills the interior of the altar apse—the Mother of God on the throne, a copy from the original mosaic at the Darmstadt church according to a sketch by the artist Viktor Vasnetsov (1848–1926). The icons on the iconostasis were copied from the originals as well. All the church icons are unique, and most of them are with particles of relics.

Every weekday at noon the akathist to the Holy Royal Martyrs is sung here. It is sponsored by the churchwarden, Alexei Butusov, a man with an extraordinary life—he was formerly police officer who spent many years as a forensics investigator, was unjustly convicted and spent time in various prisons, from which he returned as a sincerely religious man. Alexei was a prison church warden. Now he carries out his duties here—in a new church, which has by the will of God appeared in his native village.

“Previously, this place belonged to the village of Vertyanovo, which in the 1960s merged with Diveyevo. There had never been a church in it. But there was a prophecy of St. Seraphim of Sarov that Vertyanovo would have its own church and that it would become a town. We can say that now Vertyanovo has received village status, and we are witnessing the fulfillment of these prophecies. Diveyevo has long been holiness, and Vertyanovo is the opposite. As a child I heard many stories from old people that there were many sorcerers and witches here, along with bandits and robbers. This area was especially criminal. Up to our day, blood has been spilled here—in 1996 my godfather Valery was killed at this intersection. I don’t rule out that this church has providentially appeared here for the sanctification of the area, like those ancient churches that were built on the sites of pagan temples. Here, on the present territory of the church, Schemanun Barbara lived in a tiny bathhouse. Wasn’t she the one who sanctified this place by her prayers?”

Inside, the church is rather smallInside, the church is rather small—it can accommodate about fifty to seventy people. But the significance of the new church for Diveyevo seems enormous. The last Russian Emperor, St. Nicholas II, is closely connected with Diveyevo and the Venerable Seraphim of Sarov. After all, it was he who signed the decree on the canonization of St. Seraphim, and he headed the celebrations of 1903. Therefore, the monarch and his family are especially revered in Diveyevo. I asked Alexei how fate connected him with the Romanovs and this church.

“Our family comes from Vertyanovo. All my ancestors lived here, and it is still home to many of my relatives. Many of them were chairmen, managers, policemen... According to tradition, our family descends from the Cossacks whom Tsar Ivan the Terrible settled here during his Kazan Campaign to preserve Orthodoxy in this area. While I was still in the penal colony, I once had a dream that I was walking through Diveyevo, and when I approached the place where the church now stands I saw many people praying here, and a pillar of light rising to heaven. When I returned, I met General Ivan Mikhailovich Shein, the benefactor of this church, and, having received the blessing of the head of the deanery, I began to read the akathist here. There was a concrete floor here, the windows were covered with plastic, and there was scaffolding. The construction didn’t move forward then—there were no funds. I lived in my parents’ apartment nearby. I would get up early and come here to read the akathist. There were many supernatural events that are difficult for inexperienced people to fathom. On the third day, when I went outside after the akathist, it was still dark and there was a strong smell of scorched brambles around the church. Even when I got home, my mother smelled it. And sometimes I came after the akathist completely exhausted, fell into bed and slept all day long. This is what happens after someone possessed has been exorcised. But I had a goal: to ensure that the Liturgy be celebrated here, on the land of my ancestors. When I converted to the faith through all these sorrows, the Lord revealed to me that everything in our world revolves around the Liturgy—it is the crown of everything. Only through the Bloodless Sacrifice will we be transformed. And the Royal Martyrs are family saints! To whom if not to them should we pray to for marriage and the preservation of a family, for the peace and prosperity of our land?”

In the service of reading the akathist Alexei has included a song he heard in places of confinement: the penetrating Serbian chant, “Faith Eternal, Glorious Faith, Our Faith is Orthodox.” When it resounded under the echoing vaults of the church, performed by pleasant male voices (Alexei’s second cousin Vasily has recently begun singing along with him), I involuntarily recalled that unexpected singing by Protodeacon Andrei at the laying of the church’s foundation. The churchwarden admitted that he had learned this song by heart in prison using the recording by Zheleznyakov, which had come in a parcel. For Alexei, prison became a “theological academy” where he not only studied the Orthodox faith, but also mastered the duties of a reader, an acolyte, and a chanter in practice.

“One priest there revealed to me why all these sorrows had befallen me. He said: ‘The Lord is giving you a “gift”, so that you will pray for your whole family.’ And I pray for all my relatives—both the departed and the living. Not everyone understands me. Some give the screw loose sign, saying that I’ve gone crackers, etc. When I came here, they said to me: ‘What do you need this for? Give it all up—find a wife, buy a car, earn money...’ They think about worldly blessings without understanding the significance of this church in our land. A benefactress said these words to me: ‘Alexei, I have built more than one church, and I know that churches are built by everyone together!’ Therefore, the involvement of each person is important—some help with money, others with physical work, others with prayer. Everyone participates in the construction. And the Holy Royal Martyrs intercede for them with the Lord.”

Pavel Sushkov
Diveyevo village
Photos by the author
Translation by Dmitry Lapa

Pravoslavie.ru

10/27/2021

See also

 DIETARIO MIKELMAS 2021

 

Wednesday, October 27, 2021

 

Día glorioso de San Frutos, paseo por las calles de Oviedo a la búsqueda del tiempo perdido. No ha pasado el santo de anacoreta la hoja del libro que está leyendo ni al Cristo de les Oreilles de la catedral ovetense dio de mano a la bola del mundo que sostiene. No es todavía el din del mundo aunque suba el pan los carburantes la luz los comestibles y la peste del Covid siga viva aunque en recesión. Él sigue arriba mirando a la pobre humanidad con sus ojos grandes saltones, hieráticos, del románico ramirense, cuna del jacobeo. Ojos que expiden piedad. San Frutos tampoco pasó la hoja. Parece que no acaba de terminar de leer el libro que tiene en la mano. Oviedo y Segovia son dos ciudades literarias que marcaron mi existencia como Dublín o el Londres de Kings Roads. No eres de donde naces sino de donde paces.

Deambulé este 25 de octubre a dos meses vista de la navidad por el querido Oviedín que ya no es tan pequeño y acusa unos grandes niveles de contaminación rodada pues todo el mundo va en coche pese a las cortas distancias a la recherche du temps perdu. Pero esta alegre mañana de otoño no me guiaba Proust sino Dolores Medio una voz mágica que retumba en mis oídos. “Nosotros los Rivero” es una de las grades novelas escritas a mediados de la pasada centuria, para mi gusto aventaja a la tan traída y llevada “Nada” de Carmen Laforet. Es sin duda el mejor premio Nadal.

Dolores radiografía la ciudad desde su vivencia de la Revolución del 34, la guerra del 36 y los inicios del desarrollo económico. En sus páginas me encuentro con “Choni” el compañero de juegos de infancia de la autora el cual vino a detener a su familia que regentaba una humilde tienda de ultramarinos “La uva de oro” convertido en miliciano pistolero de requisas. A Ger, el hermano de Mag la protagonista, el estudiante de Derecho que se unió a la revolución y muere en una trinchera de la Tenderina por los disparos de los artilleros de Varela implacable en la represión.

Vemos a los pobres seminaristas fusilados, arder a las iglesias y la ciudad destruida y a los moritos de Regulares con el tarbús y el jaique desfilar airosos por la calle Uría invocando a Alá en la triste mañana del doce de octubre de 1934. ¡Qué arte narrativo el de esta mujer!

Creo que la poesía carece de género, es lo mismo en hombres que en mujeres pero Dolores Medio con sus sensibilidad femenina capta los más mínimos detalles de su entorno descritos en un lenguaje poderosamente eficaz, cinematográfico, definitorio y definitivo al plasmar cada escena, en la ternura y limpieza del alma con la que cuenta uno de los momentos más dolorosos de la ciudad destruida.

Ella  que nació de una familia de indianos venidos a menos.

El padre luchó en la guerra de Cuba y tuvo una hija mulata de aquella relación que se convierte en polo de atracción galante del elemento masculino pero al mismo tiempo es blanco de murmuración del “todo Oviedo” por ser negra.

Magdalena la protagonista nació en la calle san Francisco frente a la  estatua del inquisidor Valdés. De niña le gustaba columpiarse con Choni en las cadenas clavadas frente a la puerta. Cadenas que trajo un obispo de Oviedo que peleó en las Navas de Tolosa.

 Paso por la Corrada del obispo, los trascorrales la catedral, y me acerco a la estatua de la Regenta donde ruego a una turista mexicana que tire una foto  de mí del bracero de doña Ana Ozores.

—¿Tiene la bondad?

—No faltaba más

Explico a la señora quien era aquella mujer que acabó teniendo un asunto con el magistral catedralicio que espiaba sus movimientos desde la torre con catalejo.

—Ah pues no lo sabía. Lo buscaré en Internet.

—Calque el botón de la derecha, y viva Mexico.

—Ya está.

—Muchas gracias.

—Encantada.

Los turistas han tomado posesión de la ciudad de Oviedo una de las ciudades más visitadas de España.

Me dice que está encantada de España por su hospitalidad y belleza de sus paisajes y que Oviedo es una hermosa ciudad. Los españoles, advierte, y los mexicanos somos iguales en las virtudes y los defectos pese a los denuestos hispanofobos  de Lopez Obrador.

Ah la Regenta yo me enamoré de una Regenta de la cuenca minera pero la cosa salió mal por mi propia inconsciencia. Avanzo hacia laCorrada del Obispo y allí san Tirso que está allí en efigie ostentando la palma del martirio en una imagen de piedra, hornacina desgastada por los siglos cabe la puerta.

 Aparece en el testero el misterioso alfiz visigótico de tres arquillos, un enigma para los historiadores. Doce siglos os contemplan; el templo fue consagrado por Alfonso el Casto en el siglo IX.

Camino hacia el barrio húmedo. Cuesta abajo hacia el barrio húmedo lamiendo  la vieja muralla... aparecen pintadas emborronadas  por el latigo de los grafitos no sé que significa esta escritura en la pared: ¿síntoma de la modernidad y aviso apocalíptico? Las rondas y reveille del botellón no dejan dormir a los vecinos y hay manifestación.

Es el sector urbano más castigado de la folixia. Sin embargo el barrio está todo tranquilo. A la bajada antes de acceder al campillín entro en un chigre donde yo acostumbraba a tomar café. Pregunto por el dueño un paisano  pequeñín y muy gallaspero. No está. Falleció hace dos años.

Dios guarde su alma.

Tuvo la culpa una cirrosis que ya apuntaba en su cara demacrada y como chupada la última vez que lo vi. Se acabaron aquellos culines del tiempo que pasa. Un tanto aprensivo y nostalgico por la noticia subo al Fontán a sentarme en una terraza:

—¿Se puede fumar?

—No señor.

—Pues vale, cumplamos la norma de la municipalidad pero le participo que a mí me salvó la vida del Covid el tabaco. Purificó mis pulmones el saumerio de la cachimba.

Me acurruco entonces, un poco triste por el fallecimiento de mi amigo el tabernero aquel paisanín del que nunca hablará la historia, frente a las estatuas de las dos lecheras.

Debían de ser aquellas lecheras que cantaba Gerardo Diego y que bajaban por la calle Leopoldo Alas con el cántaro encima de la cabeza. Todo el barrio escuchaba el sonido de sus madreñas de madrugada.

 —Hora de levantar. Ya pasaron las lecheras...

Y me fumo un vegero de celebración por estar vivo yo mientras pienso en Tigre Juan y en Pérez de Ayala otro de los grandes vates que ha dado Oviedo (el estro de su numen que no cesa) a las letras hispanas.

Siguiendo ruta en el patio de la Universidad saludo a don Fernando Valdés el Inquisidor General contemplo las arcadas que custodian el empaque de su aula magna y escucho retumbar el cantarín traqueteo de las ametralladoras de de la Revolución. En el fuste de las columnarias las balas dejaron su impronta como aviso de que no vuelva a pasar.

Yo pisé suelo asturiano el verano de 1968 venía a hacer las practicas de periodismo en LNE. Ya ha llovido. Pero recuerdo que bajando al volante de mi seiscientos me detuve en el pueblo de Pajares había romería. Escuché por primera vez la danza prima y probé mi primer culín. Desde entonces Asturias se me clavó en el alma.

Y sigo degustando las dulzuras del “mexu d´angelin” hasta que Dios quiera. La sidra cantarina bien tomada, escanciada y bien llevada es un lujo, deleite de ambrosía. Sobre el vaso mea un ángel

 

Wednesday, October 27, 2021

LOS BUZOS DEL EJERCITO ESPAÑOL TUVIERON CUATRO BAJAS INTREPIDOS HOMBRES RANA DEL DIARIO DE ESPAÑA

 

Descansen en paz, nuestros buceadores militares fallecidos, el pasado día trágico, del 16 de octubre. Por Miguel Sánchez

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MIGUEL SÁNCHEZ - 21 OCTUBRE 2021

Un fallo bajo el agua te puede costar la vida: la dura preparación de los buceadores militares españoles. La Escuela Militar de Buceo, con sede en Cartagena, prepara a unos 500 militares al año para trabajar en ambientes submarinos: no todos los "cachorros" llegan a ser buceadores

«¡Señores, tienen cinco minutos para cambiarse, ponerse el equipo y embarcar!», grita el subteniente al mando del ejercicio de hoy, una prueba eliminatoria en la que no se admiten fallos. No superarla supondría causar baja en la Escuela Militar de Buceo (EMB) y no continuar con la formación para convertirse en buceador. 

Nadie dijo que ser buceador militar fuera fácil.

Nos adentramos en un aula de la escuela. Un soldado lleva el cinturón de plomos –al menos 6 kg de peso– puesto por encima de la ropa. Desde hace varios días le acompaña allá donde va –a correr en los ejercicios matutinos, a la cantina–, solo se lo quita para dormir. No es un capricho ni un amuleto. Falló en el último ejercicio de inmersión que hizo y ahora debe cargar con él varios días.

Otros llevan las aletas colgadas al cuello o las gafas de buceo en la cabeza. Todo para que no se les olvide que, al igual que sucede bajo el mar, cualquier fallo se paga, aunque en este última circunstancia el fallo les puede costar la vida.

«Las condiciones psico-físicas del buceador deben ser óptimas debajo del agua. El cansancio, la fatiga u otros no pueden ser un problema más añadido a lo que ya es desenvolverse en un medio hostil como es el subacuático», me explica el Teniente de Navío Ignacio Llanos Hervella, profesor en la EMB.

Aquí hombres y mujeres comparten los mismos requisitos físicos de acceso (altura, peso, fuerza…), unas condiciones que son muy exigentes, así como los propios cursos en sí, física e intelectualmente. No todo el mundo consigue superar la formación.

En la EMB al buceador no solo se le enseña a bucear –buceo básico, técnico, de combate, de desactivado de artefactos explosivos–, también se le adiestra en verificación de instalaciones de equipos a presión, medicina y enfermería en ambiente hiperbárico y un largo etc. Desde 1970, la Escuela de Buceo, con sus distintas denominaciones, ha formado a más de 13.000 buzos, buceadores, personal de sanidad y de apoyo al buceo, tanto nacionales como extranjeros.

Mientras los aspirantes a buceador preparan el equipo, un grupo de «cachorros» –como de forma cariñosa se llama a los alumnos– se entrenan en el dique de La Algameca. Un duro ejercicio en la piscina de agua salada. Consiste en saltar correctamente y salir del agua con el puño en alto. Quien no lo hace, repite. Hasta aquí es más o menos fácil. Lo duro comienza a continuación. Una vez dentro de la piscina, los cadetes se agarran a una cuerda con las manos, sueltan sus gafas y las llenan con agua salada.

Desde aquí envío mi pesar a los familiares de los dos buceadores militares fallecidos;

a).- D. Andrés Martín Pérez, Cabo del Regimiento de Ingenieros nº 1 de Burgos, ha fallecido este sábado durante las prácticas del curso de buceo en Cartagena, de 28 años, sufrió una parada cardiorespiratoria y los servicios médicos no pudieron hacer nada para salvarle la vida en el hospital Santa Lucía de Cartagena.

 b).- D. Mario Quirós Ruíz, Sargento, que falleció realizando el Curso de Buceador de Asalto, en el pantano “El Grado” de Huesca.

Descansen en Paz, ambos militares que han dado su vida por España y me uno en tan triste desenlace a sus familiares, compañeros y amigos.

¡Qué nuestros Señor, los tenga en su Gloria, por toda la eternidad!

 

¡VIVA CRISTO REY!

¡VIVAN NUESTROS MILITARES, QUE LUCHARÁN POR SALVAR A LA PATRIA!

¡ARRIBA ESPAÑA!

 

Un fallo bajo el agua puede costarte la vida: la dura formación de los buceadores militares españoles

Buceadores de combate (1968) - Cazadores de minas. Buceadores de ataque, Buzo militar

LVI Buceador Elemental NASAR 2018.

 

La muerte no es el final.

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