I woke up at six and said morning prayer early for once. Mid morning I had a wound clinic visit, then walked to Llandaff Cathedral where I joined a congregation of about 200, with the choir and sanctuary party adding another fifty to those attending. Fr Mark was 'Preaching the Passion' with the Liturgy of the Day to follow. I appreciated his gentle thoughtful style, making space for the hearer to enter into his reflections on some detail in the Passion Story, not telling you what to think but rather allowing you to imagine for yourself. It was just what I needed.
The Liturgy which followed and hour and a quarter's food for thought was both traditional but also very contemporary. It started with the Tallis 16th century Litany setting for the Book of Common Prayer, and during the giving of Communion we had Byrd's 'Ave Verum Corpus'. St John's Passion Gospel was from the Jerusalem translation, sung to a remarkable setting composed by David Price, Organist and Master of the Choristers at Portsmouth Cathedral, (b.1969). It's remarkable, due to his decision to give the voice of Christus (traditionally assigned to a priestly celebrant) to a trio of singers, soprano, alto, tenor. Exquisite dissonant harmonies gave it an other-worldly, ethereal quality - divinely human, or humnaly divine. Having a less than familiar Gospel translation also stimulated the attention. Quite an arresting experience. A modern setting of the Reproaches that I'd never heard before, composed by Richard Lloyd (b 1933) was also sung, and this fitted very well.
Good Friday has always been a taxing experience for me, preaching the passion along with having to officiate at one of the most intense liturgies of the year, often unsupported, as regular servers have had to work or are away on holiday. Only rarely have I not preached on Good Friday over the past 50 years. I admit that I missed this, or perhaps missed the hours of preparation required to re-interpret the mystery of the Cross in another time and place. It's as enriching as it is also draining. Anyway, I was on the receiving end, and came away feeling invigorated by the experience, and grateful for the change of scene. Clare was in town after going to the gym, so she attended St John's, our old church.
I cooked us a chick pea and vegetable cazuelo for supper, and feeling pretty tired after the sustained effort of sitting still and upright avoiding discomfort for most of three hours, I went to bed and again watched the live TV stream of the evening's processions from Málaga, and looking through my photos from last year - so profoundly moving with several tronas dedicated to the moments after end of Christ's crucifixion, when his body is taken down, mourned over by Mary and laid out for burial. These are reminiscent of modern photographic reportage of a tragedy, and due to the quality of the sculptures, most vivid, but more contemplative too. Ancient art sought to tell the story much in the same way as contemporary photo-journalism, to make stop and think. Such rage and such tender pity, all centred around this one man's broken body. This man.
The church dares to proclaim him as divine with good reason, even if arguments are resisted and challenged by skeptics and agnostics. Trust in the dogma and institutions of Christianity is perhaps weaker and less widespread than it has been for centuries, but the story Christians strive to tell still challenges us to ask 'What do you think of this man? Who is he for you?'
The Gospels teach us to ask these questions and to decide for ourselves. It's different from stating unequivocally 'This is what you should think of this man if .... etc'. I wonder if Christian mission and evangelism has morphed into an exercise concerned more with just telling than asking? Have we become afraid of asking these questions? Of having a conversation of this kind?
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