Lammas Day farewell

Yesterday morning I celebrated the midweek Eucharist for a group of fifteen at St John's Canton. Among the readings, Gradual Psalm 8, awakened a memory of standing with my class in school assembly, at the same age as Rhiannon now is, reciting this by heart together. And it wasn't even a church school, although Mr Jeffreys-Jones the headmaster was a strong chapel goer, if my memory serves me right.

I shared this recollection with the congregation and spoke about the value of memorising scripture as a great asset in the spiritual life. There were two women dressed in saris in the congregation, and I noticed them nodding agreement and smiling. We chatted after the service and they recalled learning scripture by heart in Tamil at Sunday School, before going on to learn scripture in English at school - as must have happened to those who attended Welsh language chapels down the centuries. In Welsh Youth Eisteddfod events, there still exists a competition for public recitation of a scripture passage. It's good to know that the tradition is alive and well.

I went on into town straight from St John the Evangelist Canton, to St John the Baptist city Parish Church - the two neighbouring St John's with a shared Parish boundary easily confused by those unfamiliar with Cardiff. I was due for the funeral of Mary Lewis at one, and needed to be there in good time to prepare. A good day for a funeral, Lammas Day, the traditional celebration of the start of the wheat harvest, blessing God for the first-fruits of the summer land.

There was a hiccup at the start of the service, as the cortege was unable to gain access to the pedestrian area, even though I knew from the office that arrangements were booked in the city centre management diary. The Council worker to whom the barrier opening task had been assigned failed to show up on time. The cortege had to reverse out of the agreed access area and head for another gate where there was a telephone line to the control room. It meant they arrived at church with no time to spare. Escorting elderly mourners to their places couldn't be rushed. 

None of us in church were aware of this. The organ started, the choir entered, I entered and welcomed a hundred strong congregation before realising the chief mourners hadn't yet taken their places. It was soon put right, and the requiem Mass that followed all went according to Mary's request. It was my privilege to remember her and reflect on her Christian life and witness. I realised I was out of practice at leading a service in the church where I'd been so at home for eight years. It's a large space with different people doing different things at the same time in different places at key moments, all needing to hold together, to make it happen as intended. Not quite as on the ball as I used to be.

In bright warm sunshine, we buried Mary's body in the same grave as Herbert her husband was buried in ten years ago. Over the decade, the entirety of what was then a new sector of cemetery has filled up and an adjacent field has been laid out with paths and put into use. Afterwards I went with the chief mourners and friends from church over to the 'Ffynnon Wen' pub for refreshments and chat. Churchwarden Richard gave me a lift back into town to spend the rest of the afternoon in the office. In exchange, I promised him an obituary article for the church magazine. This took me most of the evening after supper, but by half past midnight, the text was on its way to him by email to meet this weekend's publishing deadline.