BCP Sunday and an unexpected travellers' tale

I had a quiet Saturday mostly to myself, as Rhiannon had a theatre performance to attend with her theatre workshop group in the morning, and a birthday party in the afternoon, at which she was introduced to the indoor rock climbing at the Warwick University Sport centre. All I had to do was make her a packed lunch to take with her.

I had time to write two sermons, take a trip to the shops and watch Wales win the Rugby championship match with a thrilling victory over England while Rhiannon was out. She was quite tired when she returned, but stayed up until her usual bed time and explored further how to use Corel Draw, producing a teddy bear picture on her own before asking me to read to her when she eventually retired. Amazing to see how quickly she mastered the basic techniques and employed them in a credible design of her own.

A retired priest was celebrating the eight o'clock at Kenilworth St Nicholas Parish Church this morning. He greeted the congregation, and then commiserated with them on the English team's humiliating defeat in yesterday evening's game against Wales. I sat in the front row grinning from ear to ear.

 
It was a Book of Common Prayer 1662 service for a change, and having celebrated this rite myself only recently for the first time in years, it was gratifying to be on the receiving end of it in a middle England mediaeval church blessed with a regular early congregation of forty devout souls.

I overheard someone at lunch in College the other day disparagingly describing the use of the 1662 BCP  liturgy as "A nod in the direction of Protestantism". To my mind, it is classic creation of late renaissance thinking which is equally able to contain the interpretation and devotion of both Catholic and Protestant convictions, despite each having their own misgivings as well as assurances about it. In a middle of the road, middle England parish, it represents a reconciling traditional path. For a while in its history (sadly) its use was enforced, but for the most part it was received and slowly adapted, to become a home base for national prayer together.  Quite an achievement.

Every attempt at subsequent modernisation of liturgy owes something to the BCP. Glad I learned it by heart 25 years ago, but sad that working with so many different liturgical texts with minor and major changes in them ever since, has corrupted my memory for recitation. I stubbornly resist using the book, for cues, preferring to stumble and mumble my way through with interference breaking in from the more modern language versions in my head. I rough handle this cultural treasure but cherish its persistence nevertheless.

Before leaving for home, I breakfasted with Rhiannon, Kath and Anto, and heard about their weekend gigs in Lincolnshire. They were chatted up in a cafe by a pensioner with a long beard in a wheelchair. He'd recognised them as likely to be musicians, and claimed to be a drummer. That ran bells for Chris the band's drummer, who investigated the interloper via his smart phone. It was none other than Robert Wyatt of Soft Machine and Matching Mole fame, who broke his back falling drunk from a balcony in his youth, but continued his life in recorded music and performance with distinction despite this.

I left in a shower of sleet, and by the time I reached Cardiff the weather was much kinder and the sun was peeping through the clouds. I was back in time for lunch, and we managed a walk around the park and a cup of tea in Cafe Castan (aka Caffi Ty Bach, because of its location in the former toilet block on the corner of Llandaff Fields.), before Owain arrived for a catch up session.