Egg on face

A cooler day today, with nothing but our usual routines. Strangely I feel better for exercise and regular meals and have a reasonable amount of energy. I came to the end of the antibiotics and the wound condition seems to have improved, but my blood pressure is still worryingly high, and I am still feeling unwell. Having I emailed the GP surgery on Wednesday night to express my concern, I received a phone call appointment yesterday. I was told I've been referred for a full cardiology examination, as a result of my ECG readings, but given no idea when. My request for a diagnostic blood test was responded to with a surgery appointment next Friday. It was going to be a fortnight hence when we're en famille in the Gower, so special pleading secured me an earlier one. It still seems a long time to wait. 

I told the doctor I thought I was getting a bad reaction to resuming the Doxazosin top-up blood pressure medication so was unsure about increasing dosage to lower high systolic pressure readings. As it's not happened before, I was concerned the reaction might be something not yet diagnosed. It's funny how you can forget transient things however. When I was having a spell of grogginess in the morning, it occurred to me that I'd felt like this in Ibiza, and realized it was a matter of not drinking enough water. How could I have forgotten? Well, I believed I already drink at least two to three litres a day, but it seems this isn't enough, and the antibiotics also had an impact on my gut. After re-hydration, the worst of the symptoms went away, which gave me confidence to increase the Doxazosin incrementally and see what difference it makes. I feel a  bit embarrassed about this, and will wait until Monday to report back.

 

A Google own goal

Getting started in the morning is troublesome at the moment, since I resumed taking the Doxazosin extra medication to control high blood pressure. The side effects seem to be more pronounced this time than on previous occasions when I used it - light headedness, but not quite giddy. It's the same whether I take it at bedtime, or if I take it with the other pills at breakfast. This effect continues for a couple of hours and slows me down, as it's un-nerving.

Fortunately it was warm enough to sit out in St Catherine's churchyard for the Wednesday group coffee and chat this morning. There were eleven of us, plus Emma's bairns, but few of the regulars. Hopefully they'll return when midweek Communion starts up again.

I had a Zoom bereavement meeting to plan Paul's funeral scheduled for two. It took twenty minutes to get started as there were problems with account access, which took that long to sort. I talked with his wife and son, and came away with the task of writing a eulogy, as I've known and worked alongside Paul for over seventeen years. If it was just a family group at the crem, a eulogy might be redundant, maybe replaced by poems, but as the service will be web-casted, followed by scores of city centre colleagues, they thought a tribute might be appropriate. 

It's a new challenge for me, but one I am honoured to accept. He was a man I much respected and admired. As I suspected, I learned that he worked at home during lock-down, even on his deathbed. The Wales Online obituary misleadingly spoke of him as a former City Council worker, which is a pity. He knew how much needed to be done once lock-down restrictions were eased, as he saw the whole moving picture of city centre life in detail and wouldn't give up until he had to.

Writing this tribute took most of the evening. I also wrote to my GP as well, concerned about the high blood pressure reading I got. Despite the antibiotics and doxazosin it's not yet returned to normal. Time for some blood tests I think.

Google Blogger has now forced the new user interface on me as the default. I resent having to relearn a user interface with which I am well experienced after fourteen years of blogging. Lots of its features are tucked away in drop down menus rather than immediately visible, they are slower to react on my ancient Chromebook which means the new interface is more resource hungry. Just like the new Gmail is slower to load than the old version. Sure it'll look good on a tablet or phone, but little is gained when using it in a computer web browser. As far as I'm concerned this is an own goal on Google's part. 

 

Another Bristol trip

Another day of clouds and sunshine, and a short walk after cooking and eating lunch, before we drove to Bristol for another very beneficial osteo treatment. While Clare was being treated, I walked around Durdham Down. I haven't done that for fifty years, since we were both students at Bristol University.

Wales On-line published an obituary of Paul Williams today, and his son James sent me a link to the webcast of his funeral, at which I will be officiating next Monday. Given how well known he was, to have a much wider audience than the dozen family members at the crem poses a challenge of a kind I haven't had before. This will require extra thought and preparation to do him the justice I think he merits. 

It was good to hear today that weekday services in church are now under consideration. Tomorrow we have another coffee morning in St Catherine's grounds, a chance for the Wednesday group to meet in the meanwhile.

A case of déjà vu

Yesterday evening, the government re-imposed two's week of self quarantine on those returning from Spain, due to a succession of localised surges in coronavirus cases, mostly in Catalonia and Aragon. It's not a surprise because the possibility was leaked when concern increased. The Balearics and the Canaries, with lower infection rates and outbreaks well controlled, are included in this ban, and it has caused chaos for holidaymakers, many flight cancellations by TUI, not least due to such short notice. Over a third of Spain's holiday economy depends on British tourism. The consequences for travel and tourism will be catastrophic. 

Island tourism is well placed to lead the economic recovery as it's that much safer offshore than in the conurbations of the Peninsula. There's a perverse logic to the position taken by the government. The quarantine kills flight demand, leading to cancellations. That will include direct flights to the islands. Anyone wanting to return to Britain would then be obliged to take a two stage flight via Barcelona or Madrid, both areas of increased risk at the moment, and quarantine on arrival. No government spokesperson has pointed this out, that I've heard.  For me, a case of déjà vu

If excluded from the imposition of quarantine, island direct flights for holidaymakers could continue with negligible additional risk. Another instance of the damaging impact of thoughtlessness in government decision making, with far reaching consequences. Britain is leaving the EU, but leaving behind a trail of ill-will in member states is not a recipe for fruitful future relations.

Social ritual paradigm shift observed

Our second Sunday worshipping live in church at St Catherine's this morning, so good to see Fr Rhys and Mthr Frances at the altar ministering together. There was something comforting in hearing banns read for two couples, who are going to marry in their parish church fairly soon. It's a small sign of the return to the 'new normal'. The words and form of a wedding ceremony won't change, but the way the rite is performed has to change because of the requirement for social distancing.

The routine formality of banns calling is so easy to forget when lots is happening in and around the liturgy, so you remember late or are given a nudge by a member of the choir who noticed, just when you've processed in to start the service. Then you have to go back, hunt for the banns book in the sacristy, and slip back to your place during the first hymn. Not today however, with Mthr Frances up in the pulpit reading them before she and Rhys entered to start a service without music or procession. We were thirty adults and half a dozen children again, same as last week, same faces.

Calling banns was much easier in my younger days when parishes employed a verger cum clerk to support the Vicar and look after basic admin tasks. The last time I had that pleasure was thirty years ago in Halesowen. On the whole, when doing interregnum duties, church wardens are keen to ensure everything runs as normal, they know they must brief the locum cleric in every detail each time. The number of weddings in church has slumped catastrophically. It began to be noticeable in the nineties. Some parishes go several years without a church wedding nowadays, so when one is being proposed it's something people in much smaller congregations know about and take an interest in.

After the decline in church weddings began, the demand for funerals with a minister of religion didn't slack off noticeably, with the decline in church membership. In the new millennium however, things have begun to change, with the emergence of desire for secular rituals and growth of a new class of celebrants to offer non-religious people formal ceremonies, arranged with family members. When the churches denied the possibility of gay marriage and ceremonies, secular celebrants could help to devise rituals surrounding core legalities. Likewise, bespoke secular funeral ceremonies. 

Bereaved families have come to expect a wider range of choice in the trappings and content of a funeral service. Clergy have come to accommodate most consumer demand on pastoral grounds.  Such freedom of choice has led many to realise that having a church minister is no longer the default option, as the number of secular humanist celebrants available has increased. Pandemic restrictions on church funerals has had a significant impact, and the demand on secular humanist celebrants has increased and they are busier than ever, despite the fact their charges are double, so I've been told. 

As there are fewer overworked clergy covering more ground, and less available to respond to the full weight of pastoral need, it's an inevitable trend, likely to continue after pandemic restrictions have been lifted and maybe long after. Clergy by vocation are committed to serving the wider community, planting and nurturing church fellowship and worship. The focus for Humanist celebrants is response to particular family need and demand. It's no bad thing, but what are the long term consequences for the loss of the pastoral presence in the community?

My afternoon walk took me up to the Cathedral again. Another retired cleric, a contemporary of mine entered just after me. Perhaps it's something many of us do now we have time. Even though there's no Evensong to attend, there's still the sunlight dappled nave to rest and pray in for a while. Meanwhile the footpaths along the Taff and through the parks are busy with families appreciating the freedom to walk and talk together outdoors.

  

Remembering St James' Tredegarville

It's St James' day today, and when I was saying Morning Prayer I started thinking about the church I had to close some fourteen years ago, wondering about the people, how many of the mainly elderly remnant of a once large thriving community are still alive. I know of three, there may be more. We struggled to keep it open, but the building itself was too large and unsustainable for fifteen people to finance and maintain. Our initiative to develop the interior for community use as well as worship foundered when euro-funding streams were diverted to less prosperous regions.

In the third quarter of the nineteenth century before Tredegarville became a town centre residential area with artisan and middle class housing areas, it had been occupied by the early waves of poor migrants, living in squatter settlements. St John's City Parish Church started to work with mothers and children, living in appalling social conditions, built a mission church which also served as a social centre and school. On the back of wealth generated by the development of Cardiff docks as a coal exporting port, and the steel works in nearby Tremorfa, houses were built, a proper school building and a big Gothic church with a spire that would seat over five hundred. It was very well attended until after the second world war, when middle class and artisan populations moved further out to green field suburban housing estates. 

By the 1970s, congregational decline set in irreversibly, and in 2006 the decision was taken to close the church. Its bell was taken out and hung in another church tower. The organ was unsaleable apart from for its scrap metal value. Pews were sold off for their scrap wood value, a fine reredos full of saints was removed and re-installed in a Port Talbot church, where it fitted rather better, but the  plain reredos it replaced, was dumped in St James' tower porch, too large to be taken into the church itself. The tin tabernacle church hall which had been the original mission hut was demolished and the space freed was added to Tredegarville Church school playground adjacent.

Clearing the church, of other items to make it ready for sale was left to me as Vicar, as thankless a task as house clearing after the death of a distant relative. So many tired old broken books to be got rid of un-managed archive materials, war memorial plaques, sacred vessels, brass candlesticks and other ecclesial furnishings. The font was translated to the porch of the church school, where it still sits. Until I retired, I conducted services in the church school hall. Communion on Sunday afternoon for the faithful few remaining, and an informal Family Service next day, called 'God on Mondays' which attracted several dozen parents and children in term time. Neither survived my retirement. I was unimpressed by the support practical or pastoral we received from the diocese. This was the loss of a landmark city centre church, an experience of bereavement, but nobody wanted to know. 

After a lengthy gap, the building was sold to a property developer, with a conversion plan for fourteen apartments. The work started, but stopped, as a result of the banking crisis, promises of development loans were withdrawn. Fourteen years on from then, I have no idea if interior work has resumed or whether everything is still on hold. The same happened in many Valleys towns during the era 'when Coal was King'. Surplus wealth led to many ambitious prestige church construction projects which haven't stood the test of time. At least nowadays, for the time being, we think more of the church in terms of people gathering, rather than grand edifices to identify with. Everywhere in Europe and the UK church congregations a faithful remnants of once great numbers. For the past four months when gathering was impossible, the remnant itself was scattered, and stayed linked up and relating to each other via internet prayers. 

Many more people than regular worshippers have taken an interest in on-line services these past few months. Is this the start of something new? Will it be reflected in a return to worship in such buildings as can be maintained and safely opened for prayer? We shall see.

More pills

I was phoned and later emailed this morning by Arthur Pierce, Cwmbran Funeral Director arranging Paul's service at Gwent Crematorium a week Monday. It has to be small family affair. The building cannot take more than a dozen under present restrictions. Sarah emailed me to say that she'd be glad to host the eventual memorial service. She welcomed my participation in the service, but while I'm happy to liaise and help plan such an event, I'll be content to sit among retired city centre workers, and let her be seen to be the pastor of those currently active, who worked with Paul. Stepping away from a public role in the city rather than stepping back into it, is what I must learn to do.

I wrote a note for the doctor before going to the surgery for my ECG. There's a strict one patient at a time discipline in place now, and for tests and examinations staff are kitted out with PPE. It can't be easy for them. When it was taken, my blood pressure was 'through the roof' according to the person who took it. I wasn't surprised, I've suspected it's been creeping up for days. After lunch I went for an early walk. Not long after I returned a GP rang me, and told me to resume taking the Doxazosin supplementary medication to reduce the systolic pressure immediately. She also agreed to prescribe me more antibiotics, and at tea time I went to the surgery to collect the prescription. The ideas was that I should start them after taking the Doxazosin for a few days, unless I felt no better. As the evening wore on I felt worse, and started the antibiotics before bed. 

Frustrations

After breakfast I walked to St John's, open for private prayer from ten until midday. Half a dozen  people were chatting and drinking coffee on the grass outside. After spending time in the church, I joined them, before shopping at Tesco's for a few small items on my way home. I then cooked lunch and went for an afternoon walk.

The wound is giving me a different pain and discomfort after exercise. I think that the infection is returning or perhaps never really went away. I have an ECG and blood pressure test tomorrow, so I'll write and request a telephone consultation before I go. It's so frustrating. I suspect I'll not get rid of this until I have another round of surgery, and there's no longer any guarantee that it will be the final one, as I think the persistent infection trapped in the tissue because it hasn't been tackled early enough, won't easily be got rid of.

More discussion and email exchanges today about Paul's death notification. Philip Thomas, organist at St John's City Parish Church phoned, hoping to learn more about Paul's death. Paul was always  supportive and helpful to the church, making sure access was possible at tricky times, right through redevelopment, also making sure organ concerts went into the city centre events diary.

Let's hope Paul's successor is as well informed and understanding, and not a power hungry smart-ass intent on disrupting long standing good relationships between the Council and the Church. After Philip's call, I wrote to Sarah, priest in charge of St John's to ask if she'd be willing to host, at some time in the future a memorial event for Paul.

As I switched off my Windows machine at the end of the night, before switching off the router, it went into a system update routine, discouraging switch off or withdrawal of the internet. It was busy for another half hour before finally closing. I went outdoors before midnight, hoping to see the comet Neowise, as I have done on several nights this week, but a light covering of high cloud or haze obscured the stars as well as the comet. It's so  disappointing, and yet more frustration.

Sharing sad news

Another sunny day, up bright and early enough to join a small group of Wednesday people in the garden of St Catherine's for a socially distanced coffee hour, before returning to cook lunch. Clare and I walked around Pontcanna fields after our siesta. There was a stiff cooling breeze, but it didn't deter a dozen youngsters from swimming behind the weir.

I had a call later this afternoon from Jamie Williams, Paul Williams' son, asking me if I would officiate at his father's funeral. Paul and his wife Elaine both worked in Cardiff City Centre. He and I worked together in several different ways during the St David's Centre redevelopment, and during the life of Cardiff Business Safe, albeit not so closely over the past four years. I feel honoured to be asked by the family. I don't know if they have any church connections, but the bond of partnership working in the city centre over the years, decades sometimes, becomes a kind of kinship. Doing the funeral, even if it's likely to be a small private family affair, calls for a follow through.

A city centre memorial celebration for the scores of colleagues who won't be able to attend now under present circumstances will be necessary some time in the future. Ashley and I have already started thinking about how this can be arranged, but news of his death first needs to be out there on the grapevine. Few seem to have known how serious his illness was. He didn't talk about it.

Fortunately, Ashley is still active and knows many people in the city centre, so he'll be able to so something about this. He has been in touch with Paul's P.A Elaine, who needs help putting together a suitable announcement for the Council's media release. He and I spent part of the evening working on this, arguing about how much or how little needs to go in to such a communique which will actually pass editorial scrutiny. The acid test will be how much of it appears on the Wales On-Line news website.
  

Another Bristol trip and Journal's end

I woke up bright and early this morning and breakfasted with Clare before she went for her walk. The early start got me outdoors before lunch too, and as I was walking along Wyndham Crescent was delighted to see a dozen swifts spectacularly swirling over the street at high speed as they fed. The last time I saw swifts flying through a built up location was seven years ago in Nerja which overlooks the sea.

It suggests a cloud of insects had been blown by the wind half a mile across from the river Taff and the parks where they breed. I also wondered if it was a sign that they flying ant invasion which was mentioned in recent news has reached here. It was reported that an unusually large cloud of insects had been observed heading across the Channel into south east England, so large its was spotted on satellite radar. Probably not though. Our winds and weather tend to come from the west.

Finally, after my walk, I completed the task of translating our 1967 Greek travel diary. It's been an enjoyable labour of love, working in bursts this past month, and fascinating to glimpse our younger selves exploring a different culture as a young married couple in our early twenties. My writing, as well as being untidy is a collection of very scrappy notes, with lots of references to the times when things happened, incomplete descriptions and references to people we met, and not enough about places we visited. More like a laboratory notebook than a travel journal. Still,  It's good to revisit my younger self in this way and realise how much the form and content of my writing has changed. Quite a contrast to Clare's well ordered handwritten contributions, recognisably the same through the fifty three years that have elapsed since then.

We returned to Cardiff after our month in Greece and I started training at St Mike's. That was when I really had to develop the skill of expressing myself in writing. This was the first of many journals I wrote over the next forty years, before I signed up to Blogger in 2006 and went digital.

We drove to Bristol again this afternoon for back to back osteo appointments. While I was already much improved since our last visit, the in-depth work Ruth did on my right 'glut' muscle system made a noticeable difference. Clare said the same after her appointment.

While I was waiting for Clare, I had an email from Sarah Jones, priest in charge of St John's City Parish Church telling my that Paul Williams, the City Centre Manager died on Sunday, and giving me the contact details of Steve Barrett, Paul's retired former deputy as he wanted to get in touch with me. We chatted for half an hour, remembering the man and agreeing that when restrictions ease there should be an opportunity for old friends and colleagues to meet and celebrate his life, though how and when is going to remain undetermined for now. Paul was sixty four, and had been living and still working with cancer for the past few years. He was a very private man who never burdened others with his any of his concerns, so his death will come as a shock to many, as he would have been working from home up until fairly recently.

As we were leaving Bristol I filled the car with fuel, the first time since the end of February, thirty three litres over five months, perhaps the lowest fuel consumption of any period since we started driving back in 1970. Multiply that by several million cars, and it's no wonder there's been a slump in oil consumption and fuel prices during the pandemic. It may be a cause of consternation for the global economy, but it's been good for the environment.

We've talked of getting rid of the car, and just using public transport as we'd prefer to, but using public transport is now far riskier as a result of the pandemic, and we can't afford to exchange the Polo for a hybrid or electric car. We're stuck now with choices made two years ago. Driving along the M49, along the periphery of Avonmouth and Severnside's industrial zone, I think I spotted ten big wind turbines among the factories and warehouses. That's double the number I counted a couple of years ago. The region around Bristol is a front runner on the greening of industry. Would that Wales' Severn Barrage project had not been vetoed by the English government. South East Wales, across the Severn Estuary is still playing catch-up
`

News from Switzerland

I drove to Thornhill at lunchtime to officiate at my first funeral since I left for Ibiza, and my first under the new health and safety restrictions followed by the City's Council's Bereavement Services team. Normally the Wenallt Chapel has seats for two hundred and fifty people, now it's eighty with wide gaps in between the rows. Currently the permitted number of mourners is thirty. I'm not sure if there's any elasticity here to accommodate more with socially distanced household family groups. Wales is relaxing restrictions at a different rate to England. 

Hand sanitizer was available on the way in, though I'm not sure how many took advantage of this. Six young men of the family were bearers. I didn't see anyone wearing masks. Neither I not the funeral attendants wore them. Unlike church we sang a hymn. I didn't feel there was any undue risk, the chapel is large, seating is widely spaced. The mourners kept their distance from me if not each other and nobody attempted to shake hands. It was so different from the mother's funeral which I took back in January. 

It was good to see familiar faces about their business - the crem manager and funeral attendants' team members, with whom I have often worked. They talked about how much the boss had invested in PPE and bio-safety measures in the previous months. The business remains covid free, and needs to stay like this. At the peak of the pandemic wave they were doing the maximum of thirty five funeral a week using all the teams and resources available. The FD spoke of dealing with thirty nine different funeral arrangements at the same time, and the struggle to fend off 'funeral blindness', where they start to blur together making it that harder to access the details of each, when there are so many to remember at the same time. Thankfully it never got to the stage where the company was overwhelmed, but talk about stress testing!

After a late lunch and a brief siesta, I went to Tescos for freezer bags and wine, then we walked together in Thompson's Park before tea, Clare had a surprise call from Mari-Luisa in Switzerland with news of the opening of the mother and baby educational centre in Buchs, a project arising from her work, which she and Heinz have cherished and worked on together for the past decade. It's a wonderful achievement. The buildings and their environment are beautiful, designed by a young architect inspired by the nature of the project, and destined to win an award they think. 

To think it all started with a mother and baby group meeting in the huge attic space of the old farmhouse they renovated and transformed into a zero carbon footprint eco-house. The first small group of parents with infants is now attending sessions and the numbers will be scaled up as the year goes on. When a vaccine for covid-19 has been put to use, we'll go and see them again, most likely by train.  There's positive news on the vaccine development front today, but it'll still be a year or more before this has any impact on those whose immune systems most need protection. And that means us.

  

Around the Lord's Table once more

It couldn't have been a better Sunday morning, warm and sunny, to re-start public worship in the Parish at St Catherine's and St Luke's. For the moment there's still an on-line Eucharist in addition offered by Mother Frances from the Rectory, at an earlier time as well. Three dozen adults and a few children gathered with Emma our Team Vicar at St Catherine's. 

For her this was an occasion of particular joy, after a ten month lay-off, her maternity leave was drawing to a close when covid-19 struck. She looked radiantly happy as she led our celebration. A simple said Eucharist with homily, no music, not even from a recording. A good place to start, especially at ten thirty in the morning. Our usual Sunday said services are at eight o'clock. Are we really as awake as we should be at such an hour? It's never an exuberant celebration shall we say.

I was half expecting this occasion to be an intense emotional experience, but it wasn't. It was calm, peaceful and uplifting, just being together again in God's house, despite the external changes. Individual and family group social distancing was observed and every other pew was kept empty, allowing Emma move around the nave and bring us Communion in our seats. It worked well. A sidesman was at the door compiling a track and trace register as we arrived. 

What struck me was the crisp unison of voices responding throughout the liturgy. Everyone was focused, intent on savouring the moment un-distracted I think. Liturgical responses can often be ragged, as if some find it difficult to give it their full attention. Four months absence, but no rehearsal was needed. In a low key way, this was most powerful. Emma afterwards said that a colleague of hers over the border in the CofE had been taken aback at their first Parish service by the same experience. The long absence resulted in people being more present. Can we keep it up?

After lunch and a siesta, a walk up to Llandaff Cathedral. I met Mother Frances walking her dogs on the way there and we chatted for a while. The Cathedral was open for private prayer. The seating there was arranged in the same way with a space for clergy to bring Communion to worshippers in their places. The Cathedral website states that Eucharists at nine and eleven will resume without singing. There's an on-line offering too. The nine o'clock Family Eucharist has long been well attended with a full nave. The capacity for worshippers is reduced to twenty percent of the usual but it's unlikely people will turn out in large numbers initially. Worshippers are asked to download and print the order of service, or bring their tablet with them. Fine, as long as all notification sounds are muted, as with mobile phones in church!

BBC Radio Four's Sunday Worship programme this morning was from Leeds, and conducted by two Roman Catholic priests, one in mid career, the other recently ordained and then offering Mass for the first time under the restricted conditions attached to worship with few close family and friends in attendance instead of the usual big community celebration to launch a new ministry. He spoke of the three months without the Eucharist and Communion in a way that resonated with me. The Mass is both a table of the Word and a table of the Word made flesh in the Holy Sacrament. This period of time has been one extended period at the table of the Word, in which Christ has still taught and fed us. We may feel we have missed out, but not really. It will have taught us to treasure more fully the gifts we have received from God.

  

More of the same or a new beginning?

Saturday, and pancakes for breakfast. For once I was up early enough to lay the table while Clare cooked them. I went back to bed to pray, still by far the most comfortable place, even though the wound doesn't give me as much trouble as it used to, and I can sit, or should I say perch on a chair with the special protective cushions which go with me everywhere. Probably for the rest of my life with the on-going medical crisis facing the NHS from covid-19, and ever lengthening waiting lists.

Before lunch I went out for a walk, and arrived back in the street at the same time as Ruth, our first guest since February, to eat with us outdoors. Thankfully it was just warm enough. After doing the washing up, I walked into town and back intending to visit the camera shop to see about my HX300 fault, but by the time I got there, I didn't fancy standing around waiting to be seen so I walked back home. The streets weren't exactly busy for a Saturday afternoon. Barbers and hairdressers are open again now, though appointments are necessary. Many Westgate Street buses have been rerouted due to the Castle Street road closure and services are reduced, so a normally busy and heavily polluted area is deserted. I suspect public confidence in the safeness of a retail therapy excursions is pretty low and no amount of cheery exhortation from Boris Johnson will change that.

We received an email from Emma announcing the resumption of Sunday services at St Catherine's and St Luke's tomorrow, with a clear and detailed description of changes made to ensure buildings are safe to worship in, and how Communion will be distributed. I greatly look forward to being at worship with a live congregation once more, and to receiving Holy Communion. Even so, I cannot help but wonder - are we as recipients ready for this? Am I ready? It's not a matter of lacking confidence in the measures being implemented. Although it was likely, subject to continuing improvement of conditions to happen around now, I feel it's happened suddenly, no doubt because I am out of the main flow of discussion and information these days. But there's more to it than this.

The diocese in Europe's Bishop Robert did a special Zoom liturgy, giving thanks for having reached the point when resumption was possible, praying for those whose lives we lost and those engaged in the on-going struggle to care for the sick and find ways to conquer the virus. That seemed like a good idea, even if this seemed early, given that parts of Europe are experiencing spikes in infection raters. It's the same in part of Britain too. A second wave more dangerous than the first is still a possibility due to people moving around, returning to workplaces, and socialising incautiously. 

Trusting that resumption of worship is undertaken on the best advice, it poses the question - how do I/we prepare ourselves inwardly to resume the church's public liturgical life after this four month rupture, so full of fear and uncertainty? It's not just a matter of business as usual, but taking a place in a profoundly changed world as a much chastened community of faith. I imagine that the themes touched upon in Bishop Robert's Zoom liturgy will feature in tomorrow's Eucharists, but how about a public act of corporate penitence, seeking God's mercy and healing, led by the Bishop, before we take Communion once more? 

I won't get a chance to make my Confession before going to church. I have no doubt about God's free offer of pardon, but equally no doubt about the need to dig deep examine my conscience and admit my part in making the world an increasingly toxic place to be in, despite best my intentions. On this occasion, I wish I could.

For the first time since I came out of quarantine, tonight I continued transcribing our 1967 Greek travel diary, rather than watch telly. It's time a got back to writing more than these blog entries.

 

 

Back on the coast path

Warmer sunnier weather today, so after promising ourselves an outing to Penarth for the past week and never getting around to it, we drove there this afternoon and walked along the coast path, as far as the one place where you can climb down to the beach seventy metres below. You can see across to the Somerset coast, to Weston, Brean Down and Bleadon Hill, where my sister Pauline lived for forty years. Whenever we walked here before I'd look across the Estuary and think of her, looking across at Glamorganshire from England. Even though she's dead, old habits die hard.

The fields inland from the path looked neglected as if they'd been left fallow this year, or else not planted because of pandemic restrictions on labour. Normally at this time of year they stand high with ripening grain. The path itself showed signs of not having been maintained, broken fencing, overhanging vegetation and a surface which in places had been scoured into rainwater gully making it hard to push anything with wheels on, let alone walk on. It was nice to see three different kinds of butterfly, which is usual along the coast path. Today is Big Butterfly Count nationally, but we didn't take part, as I didn't put the counting app on my phone. I imagine other regular path users will however.

Walkers were good about stepping aside on the narrow parts of the trail to let people pass at a safe distance, always with a hello, a smile and a thank you. At one place where we stopped, I noticed in a space at the back of the hedgerow a metal pipe concreted into the ground, and next to it a concrete cubic construction with an opened hatch on top. My first thought was that it was a well, although it was an odd place to locate one. On closer inspection, there was an iron ladder descending a shaft with a resonant echo. Then it dawned on me. Remnants of World War Two military installations. The solid metal pipe had a mounting plate on top of it, most likely for a gun. Underground, a bunker where soldiers watching the Severn Estuary for invaders or aircraft could shelter from  enemy fire. There are several relics of wartime military infrastructure along this section of path.

When we got back we both admitted how tired we felt although we'd only walked six and a half kilometres. It was my first time to drive since Ibiza and I only tried to change gear with my right hand twice. It was a journey and a walk we've both done many times before so why did we both feel tired? I think it's something to do with the impact of months of confinement on mind and body. You get used to inhabiting a limited environment and have to get used to a degree of freedom and to occupying a place in the wider world again, especially due to circumstances in which fear and self preservation keep you confined. This change demands extra energy and that's tiring.

I went for another short walk after supper. Llandaff Fields again hosted dozens of groups of people, also an informal Asian cricket match, to judge by the language I could hear, plus a group of half a dozen thirty something guys practicing their rugby moves, and keep-fit addicts exercising. As gyms aren't open the parks are much used. Will this change when they re-open, or will outdoor workouts become part of the 'new normal'? Until the weather stays wet and cold for weeks on end maybe, and then we'll be back to worrying about the resurgence of viruses again.

  

Buena Vista masterpiece

I slept much later than usual this morning. Like the weather, sometimes my wound condition give more trouble than usual and then I need more rest as well as exercise, but this robs me of time to do extra things. Once I was up and running and in my study looking for something, I was struck by the  the need to clear some shelf space in my study where some books are in double rows, and sort out my library. I started weeding out books of passing interest acquired decades ago, some in French, from our Geneva days, and ended with several kilos worth of books to dispose of. 

I still keep lots of books for occasional reference despite habitual recourse to the internet nowadays. Sometimes it's quicker to grab a bible commentary, prayer book  or text from something of special interest from a shelf than it is to trawl through scores of irrelevant search entries. But there are still a lot of books which are a waste of space which I have to decide about. Before I get there, how do I dispose of such a weight of literature which would be of no interest to any charity shop (once they re-open), or second hand religious book seller?

I walked in the park before cooking lunch, and another after supper to complete my daily distance, hoping this will leave me less stiff and tired. My lower back is still vulnerable, and if my legs are stiffer  in the morning I have to take extra care when getting up that I don't inadvertently repeat the notorious nerve trapping movement which first got me into trouble.

My sister June sent me a DVD copy of the Wim Wenders and Ry Cooder documentary 'Buena Vista Social Club' made in 1999, about the making of the original album of that name. It's a masterpiece in the musical documentary genre. The album was the fruit of the interest Ry Cooder took in Cuban music over many years previously. It seems that June had two copies in her library. I wonder if she bought one to give me ages ago and the forgot to send? As I was much comforted during my Ibiza lockdown with this and many other recordings by the Buena Vista stars in my phone's audio library, I was delighted to receive this. 

The movie has been on telly over the years but I've never seen all of it. This evening, I watched it in bed on my laptop. I was pleased to find how much of the Spanish spoken I could follow without subtitles. Older Cubans speak fairly slowly and clearly, plus the Duo Lingo series of comprehension lessons in story form uses a range of accents, Latin American as well as Iberian, which is improving my grasp of the spoken language.

Wednesday friends re-united

St Swithun's Day today. At least it didn't rain!

After breakfast I had a phone call from my GP in response  to my email of yesterday. She's booked me in for an ECG next week, and promised to write to Mrs Cornish the surgeon as I had expressed concern about the need for at least an examination of my wound, as it's nine months since she saw me. Since the infection, its stability seems to vary widely from day to day, which makes me wonder if I am still managing it correctly.

Mid morning there was a socially distanced coffee morning in the gardens of St Catherine's held at the time we'd normally celebrate the midweek Eucharist there, and maybe will once more in a few weeks from now. It was great to see people for the first time in five months with whom I have kept contact via email, such a happy reunion. The church garden looks so well cared for and abundant with fruit and veg too! Last week there was a produce sale which earned £140 for church funds. When will be the next, is what people are interested to know.

In the afternoon I was called by a HSBC Safeguarding officer enquiring about the small trust fund I manage, as there's been no activity on it for several years. He wanted to know if it was still needed, as it was only intended as a 'holding account'. I was able to explain the situation to him satisfactorily, as I'm in the throes of handing over trusteeship to someone with a longer life expectancy. I'm of an age where it would be far wiser to relinquish such a responsibility, rather than leave this as a legacy issue to be sorted after my demise. Progress to complete the handover has inevitably been delayed by the pandemic, but the path ahead is now straightforward thankfully.

This evening I took part in a Parish Zoom meeting to review and discuss the future offering of on-line services. It's been popular and appreciated, and I'm very proud that Canton Benefice was one of the first to broadcast a live Eucharist. The challenge is how to sustain this along with the offering of public worship in churches, which will require so much more effort to prepare than ever before.

Unusually, I completed my daily 10k in three shorter walks today. It's proved to be not nearly as tiring. Interesting.

   

Waiting for the wave

Clouds and sunshine again to day but still not so warm. Good walking weather anyway. I took a turn in cooking lunch today. Clare had fish but I had chicken, and succeeded in cooking a separate sauce for each of us starting with shared cooked ingredients. It meant lots of washing up afterwards but we were both pleased with the result.

Meanwhile in the world beyond the home, restrictions are being lifted to allow more shops to re-open, and workers encouraged to return to their city workplaces to help revive the small business economy that orbits around the big corporate office blocks. Many seem to be in no rush to do this as they have found working from home a positive experience which they'd be happy to continue. This includes Owain. The DVLA office where he works normally is still closed, but not for much longer as Civil Service agencies are being urged to open again soon.  

The trouble is, anxiety is increasing over the possibility of a second spike in infection rates in the autumn if not sooner. People are reluctant to use public transport to get to work. I wonder if that's reflected in the increase of traffic to and from town this past week during working hours? At the same time, we're seeing the imposition of local mobility and business restrictions where the infection rate has gone against the general trend. The USA leads the world in terms of the number of infections and deaths, and the infection rate there is not yet under control. The 'land of the free' is paying the price for inadequate leadership and dangerous ignorance. 

Tragic that a 30 year old man died having contracted covid-19 after attending a party hosted by an infected man for people foolish enough to believe the pandemic is a hoax, fake news. How often Trump uses those terms to dismiss any news or information he can't or won't accept. A Mexican epidemiologist, reflecting on the increasingly rapid spread of the pandemic in third world countries, was less of threat to the world as a whole than the chaotic response to the pandemic in the States.

In the evening I watched a couple of episodes of Swedish crimmie 'Stockholm Requiem'. I sets out to show the impact which dealing with violent evil crimes has on the police working on them, so we get to see inside the lives of several time members. Not sure yet whether this is going to work.

Unexpected request

Disappointingly, after a sunny weekend, by the time I was ready to go out for a mid morning walk, it had started to rain, so I stayed in and wrote letters instead. It was teatime before I ventured our to the post office, and popped into the Co-op for the first time since my return for apple juice and rye bread. It wasn't busy, and few were wearing masks. 

I hear that Boris Johnson proposes to make the wearing face masks compulsory in shops and other enclosed spaces, with fines for non-compliance. After so many mixed messages and letting people used common sense to make up their own minds, it's going to be hard to change public habits. Locking the stable door after the horse has gone.

After taking the shopping home I continued to the park where fine drizzle turned to rain. I was very wet by the time I got back, jacket and trousers were soaked.

Pidgeon's have asked me if I'd do a funeral at Thornhill next week. I officiated at the funeral of the deceased's wife back in January and the family requested that I do the same for him. The man died from organ failure months after recovering from a bout of symptomless covid-19. Coincidentally, I read a report this morning that stated this is not uncommon, and so far inexplicable. The impact of the pandemic may be more devastating and far reaching than has been realised so far.

Funny, only a few days ago I was reflecting on the end of my public ministry, and then this happens  I could see no reason to refuse. Crematorium chapel services are very carefully regulated.

In the past I have always been taken to and from the crem or the cemetery by car. This time I will use my own car, eliminating a close proximity ride in a funeral company car. One less risk for me, one less sanitising job for the driver. No bereavement visit is possible, but arrangements by phone and email are now universally acceptable. I'll miss the face to face contact, and won't be able to shake hands with mourners after the service. I'm glad that the family and I have already met.

We watched an interesting BBC Four documentary about Beethoven and his music this evening. It spoke of his life as a triumph over adversity. A sad unsustainable love life, bouts of illness and the terrible onset of deafness, yet the worst of times saw the composition of some of his greatest music.

Communication paradigm shift

This morning's BBC Radio Four Sunday Worship programme was from Cardiff Baptist College, led by staff members and students. It was based around the Sunday Lectionary Gospel for the day, the Parable of the Sower from Matthew's Gospel, and was rich with insight from different perspectives.

After breakfast, Clare and I sat together and shared the on-line Parish Eucharist broadcast from Canton Rectory, also with an exposition of the Parable of the Sower from Mother Francis. She made use of Vincent Van Gogh's painting 'The Sower' as a basis for her reflection. Equally original and engaging. It's not one of my favourite Gospel passages, with its second half explaining the imagery of the first half, leaving less freedom to work it out for yourself. The imaginative way in which both renderings of the parable I heard this morning gives me cause to rethink how I deal with it, should I ever get asked to preach about it again. 

After the service Clare insisted on catching up on last Thursday's themed meditation, now a regular feature of the Benefice's on-line offering. Reconciliation was the subject. It was beautifully crafted in terms of content and visuals. It's so good that video tools now available for everyday use by non-professionals is unleashing such creativity. Many have taken note of how public broadcasters have presented religious themed material, and put this to good use. It's taken the pandemic crisis to empty diaries and open up the possibility of spending time making devotional and educational material that relates to the people and context in which all local pastoral ministry happens. 

Ibiza was tough going for me, having to produce on-line audio weekly, with help from just four people willing and able to record sound files of readings to use. As an outsider, not integrated into the church social network, not knowing who I could approach, persuade and recruit to help, what I could achieve was limited as much as it was by lack of equipment or expertise. Already, a paradigm shift in parish level public communication is occurring. It is capable of unleashing more creativity and collaboration between laity and clergy, and involving many more people in conveying the message of what life in the Body of Christ means to them. With a few more Sundays to be seen and get acquainted with church members in Ibiza, I could have done better. But this wasn't to be. It's a matter of learning by doing as you go along, and the timing wasn't right on this occasion.

By eleven for a change, I was out walking. Again the parks were busy with groups of people sitting and enjoying the sun, or else cycling, jogging, pushing prams or strolling. I overheard someone passing by say to their companion that they'd never seen it so busy.

Next Sunday, churches will re-open for worship. Heaven knows how this will work out, given the challenges of doing so safely, given the rules to be applied, slightly different in each building. At the same time, the value of continuing to offer on-line ministry of prayer and worship is understood and poses the question how it can be sustained, and in what form.

There'll be a Parish Zoom session to examine and discuss this on Wednesday this week. When I learned of it, I found my head filling with ideas, so I wrote a few suggestions to Mthr Emma in an email, for starters, so I can listen at the meeting and not say much. If what I wrote is of any use it'll surface at another time.

Four days ago, when I pondered in this blog over the likely end of my public ministry in prevailing 

circumstances, a comment appeared, attached to this posting, from Darren, a friend I made in my Geneva days twenty five years ago, who now lives and works as an academic in Singapore. He sees no reason why I shouldn't set up my own on-line platform for preaching, teaching and devotional material. But, I have my doubts.

Sure, it would be nice to have a continuing outlet for my creative energies in this sphere, but I shy away from it. Who  am I, but a servant of the church communities I have belonged to, which have honoured, welcomed my ministry over fifty years. As best I can, I deliver the message and point in what I think is the right direction for others to be met by God. It's not impersonal, but projecting my personality in the media has no appeal for me. My role model, for rather a long time has been John the Baptist - a voice crying in the wilderness.
  

Summer Saturday in the park

A welcome return to blue sky and sunshine today, though the air has yet to warm up to expected summer temperatures. It took me a while to get going as physical tiredness from yesterday's trip to Bristol caught up with me, so it was a day of rest and inactivity apart from daily exercise. It was good for walking and good to see hundreds of people sitting out in the parks. Counting couples, over fifty groups of between two and fifteen gathered to socialise, drink together and eat barbecue food or picnic snacks . Three to four hundred people in all, I think. It's been like this every weekend for a while, says Clare. Few were wearing masks and not all were socially distancing. Far fewer people are going abroad for holidays this year, and hopefully rediscovering the pleasures of home turf. 

No doubt pub and restaurant closures have led to a big increase in the use of our city parks. As for beaches, I don't know, and we've yet to take advantage of the restriction of the five mile travel limit to visit the coast and look. Cafe Castan had a long queue of people outside for take away drinks and snacks, and Pontcanna Street Co-op had a queue outside as well, as it's closest to the park. No queues outside the deli 200m away at the bottom of the street, nor the other Co-op in King's Road. 

It's nice to see the parks so well used, except for the bags of rubbish around overflowing bins, if not discarded in situ. When the wind picks up unsecured emptied plastic shopping bags take to the air and roll over the greensward like tumbleweed until caught by bushes or some vigilant passer-by. In clearings along the river bank on the Bute Park, side groups of people occupy space and dip their feet in the water if it isn't running too fast. You can tell when it's rained in the Brecon Beacons, as next day the full length of the weir has turbid water running over it. Kids who on a normal summer's day would be up on Blackweir Bridge daring to jump off into the pool below, congregate at the side by the fish ladder and splash about in the water when the mood takes them.

In the evening I watched what I thought was the last episode of Non Uccidere. I thought ti was anti-climactic and slightly open ended, suggesting it will stretch to a third series. When I checked the IMDB website the second series was rated with twenty four episodes with the twelfth being screened last week. So it seems another dozen are yet to come, but not yet revealed on the 'Walter Presents' page. At this length it resembles a soap opera with one dominant lead character, backed by a credible hard working team that gets results, but we never really get to learn enough about them and their backgrounds.

The stories cover a range of complex sordid crimes with family issues running through two thirds of them relating to contemporary social issues touching on poor and rich families alike. One third of the episodes feature crime connected to a closed community - a convent and a monastery, both with rehabilitation as their mission, a new-age sect, and a military unit readying for deployment. An interesting set of observations on what goes wrong with close knit relationships in today's world.

Westbury Park remembered

A sunny day, though still not with summer warmth. My back stiffness and pain subsided quite a lot overnight and it didn't take me so long to get mobile. After lunch Clare drove me over to Westbury Park in Bristol for my osteo treatment. It took me ages beforehand to fill in the forms which were emailed me but it all made good sense as preparation for Ruth the therapist who was to treat me. It's the first long drive Clare has done since February, and she insisted on driving back as well, so her confidence hasn't been eroded by the long layoff.

The Vital Health Clinic in North View is a few doors away from St Alban's Parish Hall, closed for community activities currently, its doors and windows covered with notices about continuing Parish engagement in Foodbank collections, and information about on-line services. I had quite forgotten that it's an Ecumenical Parish, of Anglicans and Methodists congregations. Bristol Diocese pioneers these back in the 1970s. 

In 1983 we lived for a year in St Alban's Vicarage in Canowie Road, during an interregnum, while I took a sabbatical year out to train as a secondary RE teacher. I didn't do locum duties in St Alban's Parish but was assigned to Holy Trinity Westbury on Trim as an honorary assistant priest for Sunday and occasional weekday duties. It was such a change to move from the energetic multi-cultural working class community of the St Paul's area to living in a sedate middle class part of the city with its wealthy and well attended churches. 

I guess I was well occupied with learning new disciplines and skills during that year, as I don't remember a great deal of what it was like living and leading worship there. What I do remember vividly was Clare and I taking a romantic train trip to Venice for Carnevale and a quiet Canadian student called Linda Maine looking after the children for the inside of a week.

The clinic has two therapists working out of a small converted terraced house with its front door on the pavement. Everything about the practice was beautifully and strictly organised with precautions against virus contagion properly and systematically observed. The treatment was beneficial and also helpful n that Ruth explained as she went along what had gone wrong and what she was working on. It certainly made me think about my habitual stance, and the subtle impact of having had surgery in the lower right side of my body - three times so far in the perineum and once for a hernia repair. It's something to take into account, to be aware of and making allowances for.

I felt much better afterwards, back pain almost gone, my neck so much freer and my head clearer than it has been for weeks. Both of us are booked in for a treatment in ten days time. Clare has been having headaches which, by a process of elimination with our GP, leads to the conclusion that the problem is in the neck.

We were home again by six, a pleasant drive home as the roads were not too congested. Pollution monitoring services are saying that atmospheric nitrous oxide has not yet returned to pre-lockdown levels, despite road traffic increasing since restrictions were eased. It seems that vehicle usage has not yet returned to previous levels so traffic congestion is still lower than normal, and a noticeable decrease in pollution from emissions is the result. Must we return to the way things were? Haven't we yet learned the lesson that ridding ourselves of diesel powered vehicles (a key emitter of nitrous oxide pollution) is essential for everyone's health? How many people have had their body's ability to cope with covid-19 undermined by having to live in a polluted atmosphere? 

After supper I watched a couple more episodes of Non Uccidere. I had intended to watch Huey Morgan's programme on Cuban music, but for some annoying reason the iPlayer stream kept on freezing probably due to demand. I'll have to watch on catch-up instead.

    

Opening up, reaching out

Cloudy but no rain or wind today, with the promise of warmer weather to come. A great relief for me as when it's warm my stiff back muscles will warm up more readily. I learned from Clare that St John's Parish Church would be open for prayer from ten until noon today, so I walked down there to thank God that it was possible for the place to be open again.

Before I entered I put on my mask, as I feel obliged to in any enclosed space. I was delighted to see Emma and Benedict, half the parish clergy team keeping vigil there and was welcomed with smiles. So good to see priests at their proper job - praying and welcoming other into God's house. Normally there are too many pressures on clergy time for something as simple yet essential as this to be seen to happen. But as the 'new normal' evolves, who knows how things will develop?

I walked back via St Catherine's, and met Gareth, one of the church's pioneer team of gardeners that has transformed the grounds, both with the highly productive fruit and vegetable plot, but also with an attractive and colourful planting of suitable flowers and bushes all along the railings facing on to King's Road. Talk about neighbourhood uplift! It was good to see him again after five months.

Our GP surgery, nearly opposite the church, has acquired a canopy along the side of the building where people can queue before admission, as there's very little interior waiting room space to make social distancing possible. You mustn't turn up too long before your appointment, especially if it's cold and wet.

After lunch I took another walk around Llandaff and Pontcanna Fields. In one remote corner, two young women, walking two dogs, had stopped to pick up litter. A couple of days ago when out with the dogs they had seen a group of teenagers with bicycles turn up with bags full of drinks to party in seclusion. Next day they saw that a terrible mess had been left, and had now returned with bags to clear it up. I congratulated and thanked them. At the moment, my bad back hinders me from doing likewise, and these days I have to plan to take protective equipment with me rather than pick up discarded cans and bottles to take to the nearest bin spontaneously the way I used to. But I will get around to it again. 

On several occasions recently I had seen a parent with a young child heading across the park with a plastic bag and one of those long reach pincers aiming to collect rubbish. And there are older folk as well. The Council employs a man who works early mornings, collecting as much dispersed rubbish as he can and leaving near the usually overflowing rubbish bins, prior to collection. Clare sees him when she is out for her early walk and has learned that his name is Richard. It's good to think that there may be even more people these days willing to clear up the mess, than people who don't care and make the mess.  

Our Team Vicar Emma has sent out an invitation to join a Zoom conference next Wednesday about what will happen to on-line services once conventional public worship resumes, as the Parish's on-line has been well received and reached (hopefully) a wider audience than church based services. It will be an interesting discussion, and essentially it's going to be about outreach. I just hope it can be conceived and presented to a credible and consistent high standard. 

What's been achieved over months of services during lock-down using (I suppose) mobile phones and on-line editing suites is remarkable and creative, especially given that it's been a case of learning by doing throughout. With a little extra thought and slightly better equipment, available at fairly reasonable prices, more can be done in a credible and attractive way, and this will bring joy to those who remain housebound and unable to re-enter public worship.

An unforeseen ending to ministry

The sky was overcast again when woke up at first light. I couldn't get back to sleep as I usually do. Instead of dozing, I lay awake, the impact of last night's conversation with Rufus slowly dawning on me. To all intents and purposes, after fifty years of public ministry, officiating at church services as a stipendiary cleric for forty years and then as a volunteer for ten came to an end on March 8th in Ibiza. No matter how fit and well I may be and able to fill in when others need to be absent, I'm now classed as elderly and vulnerable. As long as the covid-19 crisis lasts, I'll be out of action. 

Unless there's a global roll-out of means to prevent and cure this virus, I don't see an end to this for several years to come, years in which the public face of the church will change radically. The more churches have to close and ministries contract, the less need there'll be for aged clerics to plug gaps. Like the rest of the faithful, it'll be a matter for us of finding ways and places where we can meet for common prayer and worship.

Strangely, I don't yet feel sad about it. I'll miss preaching however more than presiding. I'm comfortable enough inhabiting the priestly role. It nurtured my years of full time ministry, but now I'm more blessed by being on the receiving end, responding rather than leading, meditating rather than voicing the prayer of the people.

As I've got older I've relaxed and feel I'm more myself in preaching the Word. Who knows if it'll be possible in future ever again? Will there be an audience for anything more than a brief homily, so that people aren't detained for too long in church? Will every future homily need to be no longer than the BBC's 'Thought for the Day'? (3mins) or at best 'A point of view'? or 'The Archers' much maligned monologues? (13mins) 

Much has been made of the reduction in people's attention span in the era of high speed electronic communications, well before we had covid-19 to make us anxious about the length of time we can risk spending in public gatherings with others not of our household. This doesn't take into account the immersive experience of theatre performances, story-telling or opera, which are able to retain the attention of an audience for a much longer time. Re-launching these activities safely is a hot topic currently given concern about preservation of artistic culture.

Traditional forms of liturgy are also a performing art, calling for a social environment of worship and fellowship. The church would lose its ability to preach and teach the Gospel in depth without them. A radical re-think of the way we do everything in public worship is necessary, but we need to be mindful of what we risk losing in the act of reform.

Karl Rahner half a century ago said of the life of faith; "In the days ahead you will either be a mystic or nothing at all." Christian mysticism, it seems to me relies on the depth of relationship with nature, immersion in the story which scripture tells, the tradition of prayer and worship, and the experience of love in community. All point to the Beyond in our midst, the ground of our being. There's nothing abstract about it, our relationships with God and with each other are inseparable.

When I was at St Mike's I remember a fellow student who was have real trouble getting to grips with a rational analytical attitude to scripture. He wasn't an ideological fundamentalist, but found it hard to reconcile such cool intellectual rigour with his spiritual life. "How can I pray?" I remember him saying, "If I am obliged to think like this all the time." We weren't doing much holistic thinking back in those days, but he did find his way out of the maze eventually, helped by engaging with the mystical writings of Christian saints. They weren't always easy to understand, but got you pointed heavenwards, and that was all that mattered.

Slow down, stop, look and listen

A cold and overcast day. I wish it was warmer as my stiff muscles would relax more readily. It takes me longer and requires more effort to get mobile and active while coping with pelvis and back pain. Recently, my Fitbit app tells me that although I may walk a certain number of paces each day, I am covering slightly less distance in the same amount of time elapsed. I reckon the reason is that I walk a little slower and my average stride is slightly shorter due to the condition of my back. On my way to an old man's shuffle.

This afternoon I walked up to Llandaff Cathedral and was delighted to discover that it was open for private prayer between two and four, with a couple of stewards on duty directing visitors to the hand sanitizer station next to to the multilingual visitor pamphlets. It's the first time I've been in a church since my visit with Solvieg to Sta Agnès de Corona the church in the Ibiceno village where she lives nearly two months ago. It had just opened for private prayer the day lock-down restrictions were eased in Ibiza.

It was lovely to see the doors wide open and the 'Croeso' notice outside, along with the usual health and safety notices, all correctly in place. I'd thought about this moment during home quarantine, before it was yet possible. It marked homecoming in a very special way. Standing in prayer in the spot where I was ordained fifty years ago, the place from where I was sent, to become a missionary priest before I fully understood what that meant for life ahead of me. A moment of quiet everyday joy to cherish with gratitude.

Rufus called me for a catch-up chat this evening. It was lovely to hear him in good spirits, enjoying the normal challenges of rural team ministry with the abnormal challenge of ministering to people in this time of plague. He told me about all the preparations he had to make in order to abide by the strict guidelines laid down for public worship, which officially was allowed again last Sunday. I felt a sense of relief at not having to be on the front line of service delivery any more, happy to follow the example of others and learn best practice, should I be called upon to exercise priestly ministry at the liturgy. That's now extremely unlikely, as anyone, cleric or lay over the age of seventy with a official role in public services won't be able to resume in that ministry unless they are given special permission. To receive this they'd need to be fit and well with no vulnerability other than their age.

As a significant proportion of services are taken by retired clergy over seventy in many dioceses, this insistence will either add to the pressure on serving clerics and lay people or lead to reduction in the offering of public worship, further decline in support for parish ministry and church closures. He told me that decline was already being experienced in requests for funeral services in Hereford diocese where he now serves. Restrictions on numbers attending church funerals, especially in the case of smaller buildings is leading funeral directors to call on the services of humanist celebrants more often, as they only bound by restrictions in place at public cemeteries and crematoria. They can adapt to a bereaved family's requirements more flexibly.

Whether this is a general trend or not remains to be seen, it's too early to say. No doubt the Church's requirements will adapt to changing circumstances, for better or for worse, but will the response to quick enough to fend off even greater decline in support? Much has been made of the way in which on-line liturgies have attracted far greater numbers than attendance at public worship. I have yet to see this properly analysed, to reveal how many page view hits have led to the visitor staying for all or even some part of the service offered, and how many people downloading religious podcasts go on to listen to the whole thing.

I know that over ten years this blog has had over 300,000 page hits without any kind of promotion, but that means nothing, set against the number of actual 'followers' notified when I post anything new, with no idea of whether visitors read all or part of any post. All that can be relied upon is personal relationships with individuals and communities over a period of time and in places where we live, work and take our leisure.

Much is made of relationships established in on-line communities but their fruitfulness comes from meetings and actions produced in the real world. No point in kidding ourselves about a revival of interest in what the church has hitherto offered. Covid-19 has brutally forced Christians into creative rediscovery of what the church does best, but it also exposes weaknesses which will take time to tackle well. To my mind the greatest weakness is the withdrawal of pastoral presence from so many communities at grassroots level.

There are interesting signs of hope however. Tina Beattie a Catholic writer and theologian, speaking yesterday on 'Thought for the Day' reflected on how during lock-down, Italian Christian women, often regular frequent Mass attenders, deprived of their main spiritual resource, had been driven to discover afresh 'the church in the home', household spirituality, prayer and devotion in the family circle. Very much a return to Judaeo-Christian roots. I wonder if this is a widespread phenomenon among the steadfast minority of faithful believers across secular Europe? Statistics cannot be relied upon. I think it will be quite a while before the fruit of a renewed spirituality appropriate for our times bears noticeable fruit. All I can do is watch and pray, think and write.

Butterfingers

Thank heavens the strong winds of the past few days have subsided and the rain has gone away for the moment! All we need now is summer warmth to return. Today the five mile travel restriction advised by the Welsh government is lifted, but we didn't get around to going anywhere.

I walked to and from the city centre again this afternoon, and was pleased to find that my favourite camera shop is open for busness. I needed to enquire about the possibility and cost of repairing my long zoom Sony HX300 as it's been giving me the same ominous fault message which I had on my old HX50 before it died. The internal mechanism driving the barrel of the zoom lens either gets worn or dirty so that auto-focus or exposure electronic sensors cannot function properly. It may be possible to fix, but maybe not. I can take the camera in for examination next time I'm passing, and the hope for the best. 

It was a perverse coincidence that later, when I was taking my HX90 from its bag to take a photo of the closed road at the Kingsway end of the Castle I dropped the camera. The compartment housing the SD card and battery burst open and shed its contents. It still works, but opens and closes with a scrunchy noise now, so how long it will last is anybody guess. Last week I dropped my Blackberry and chipped its outer casing. I've noticed that handling smooth objects has become tricky recently. Lots of precautionary hand-washing is making my finger tips smoother and drier, affecting grip and touch.

Interesting to see many younger people, sitting in groups on the grass outside the Castle inside their individual whitewashed circles, also without benefit of circles, in groups across Cooper's Field and other open spaces in Bute Park. For a while the snack bar near the bridge from the park to the bus station was serving soft drinks and ice cream to passers by from outdoor tables. That, I guess is as much 'take-away' refreshments as they can manage with the kitchen still closed. 

Blackweir Bridge is still closed as it is deemed too narrow for two way traffic, so you have to walk up to the Western Avenue crossing, adding a mile to your journey if you are entering Bute Park from the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. I wonder if we'll get a second crossing at Blackweir? A temporary bridge would make a good training project for a Welsh Army engineers' unit to tackle.

This evening, at my sister June's recommendation I watched the first of three music travelogues by Huey Morgan on Latin American music in its social context. The first was about Brazil. I watched it on iPlayer, aware that the second was on later in the evening, but I got distracted by the discovery of series two of 'Non Uccidere', the Italian crimmie set in and around Torino and focusing on crime in the family. There's plenty of time to catch up on Huey's second programme tomorrow.

Suddenly, insidiously I'm reverting to the old habit of watching too much telly, when I could be doing other things. For the moment, I have a bad back as an excuse for such passivity. Lounging is a lot less uncomfortable than sitting down to write for any length of time. This afternoon I wrote to Mrs Cornish the surgeon to say that I am still alive, and inform her about what has happened in the seven months since last I was last examined, and expressing the hope that my name remains in the long queue for minor surgery. I'm not expecting a response under present circumstances, but I am determined not to be lost in the medical admin system again.

Windy Sunday

After saying Morning prayer, I listened to Sunday Worship on Radio Four led by the Rector of Saint James' Piccadilly, Lucy Winkett. For the Church of England this was the first Sunday in four months that it was possible for public worship to take place in church. This is not possible in Wales yet, but churches will be open for prayer for a few hours on a couple of days this week, which is a start. 

I'd expected the radio service to be a Celebration of the Eucharist but it was something quite different and unusual, an extended reflection on spirituality and music. I imagine it would have taken much time to prepare and record and was probably was planned before it was announced officially that English public worship would recommence. It was very good anyway. 

After breakfast, I watched the Canton Benefice on-line Eucharist with Clare, the first time I have done so since my return and the end of two weeks quarantine. This obligatory exercise for travellers returning from abroad is soon to end, due to pressure from holiday and travel industries. Much doubt was expressed about the value of the exercise by the epidemiological experts, but the Home Secretary ignored this, making it clear that where this government is concerned yet again science plays second fiddle to chaotic, ill thought out policy and political expediency.

It didn't rain today, but a strong blustery wind drove the ambient temperature down below fifteen. The sun shone through the clouds when I went out, giving the impression in our sheltered side street that it was warmer than it turned out to be. I got as far as Cafe Castan and then had to return home and put on warmer clothes as the wind was chilling me to the bone. And this is July!

I went out again and walked in the opposite direction to Victoria Park, visited St Luke's to take some more photos of the shrine established in the entrance porch with an image of the evangelist labelled St Luke the Healer, decorated with a NHS logo on his chest. I did this a couple of days ago and was disappointed to find that the photos I took were poor quality as the camera lens had partly fogged up without me noticing. There were lots of young families out in Victoria Park, plus dog walkers, but few sat around on the grass as it was too cold in the wind.

After lunch and a siesta, another walk in the wind around Llandaff Fields. Amazing to see scores of crows on the grass, grounded by the high winds and squawking at each other, as if complaining about flying conditions. With nothing better to do in the evening, Clare and I watched a Maigret detective story, beautifully crafted, starring Rowan Atkinson, one I'd seen before unfortunately.

New normality or old?

Another overcast rainy day, but as it's Saturday, Clare cooked perfect pancakes for breakfast. A small domestic ritual we enjoy together. My back is less painful today, but it still takes a while to recover a measure of flexibility that makes walking relaxed and easy. Today we both went out in the drizzle. I took my Song Alpha 68 DSLR out with me, the first time in use it since before I went to Ibiza. It's heavy but a joy to use, like driving a Jag after driving a Ford Fiesta. 

I got it out as I wanted to see if I could take a photo of some pots of geraniums Clare has flowering outside the kitchen window, not through the glass but standing with my back to the wall a metre from them, too close for an ordinary lens to fit them all in, so I used the wide angle lens I bought last year, and was please with the result. I took it with my to the park without its case, and regretted this when it drizzled as I had to cover the camera with my coat. As it's the weekend, Cafe Castan was open for takeaway orders, as it has been since mid-May, so I took a few photos of it being open for business. 

There's a large mobile electronic sign now, at the top of Cathedral Road, warning drivers that they can no longer drive past the Castle due to road closures, but must divert around the station instead. There's a lot more traffic on roads now, more so than when I arrived home two and half weeks ago, and you can hear background traffic noise again. Pollution levels will rise again, but will they return to previous level? Will changes in work and consumer habits lead to overall reduction in car use, in favour of bikes? As is hoped by the city's traffic planners, keenly introducing new bike lanes in town.

Kath, Anto and Rhiannon met wth Owain in Bristol today to celebrate his birthday and their wedding anniversary. Kath sent a photo of them down at the harbour, with SS Great Britain in the background, and several of the amazing cake which Rhiannon had baked and decorated. Wales lowers its five mile travel boundary this coming Monday just too late for us to benefit from. Whether my back could cope with the car journey at the moment is doubtful, however. I'm just grateful it's improving.

In the evening Clare and I watched the third of Alan Bennett's 'Talking Heads' monologue series on BBC iPlayer. The character speaking was a bereaved middle class lady, talking to camera about her life from the funeral tea onward into genteel poverty due to her son's irresponsible stewardship of her financial legacy. It was amazingly well written, true to life observation. Bennett is a writer with a pastoral ear and eye for detail  It was an intense half hour of watching, as much as I could cope with, though I would like to see the others some time. This isn't binge watching material. Each is a work of art to be savoured.

   

Walking warily

Overcast, cold and rainy all day. Twice I got wet going out for some exercise. My back wasn't quite as painful, after a night's rest and a massage with some Rhus Tox ointment, which seems to be more effective than a gel, laced with ibuprofen. I had to warm up and get moving slowly, thinking about every move carefully, to avoid making a movement that would pinch the nerve which yesterday got trapped for a while. 

Clare left a message for osteomyologist Clive Taylor, and he called back this morning to tell us that due to covid-19 restrictions he cannot work for the time being, unless he lives in isolation from his wife while he is working. Then if he wants to go home and be with her, he has to self quarantine in his workplace for a fortnight. He recommended me to a colleague at the Vital Health Chiropractice Clinic in Westbury Park Bristol. This practice is able to work, having succeeded in fulfilling all the stringent requirements of managing patients safely and having acquired the necessary personal protection equipment. I rang up and was able to book an appointment for Friday next week. Hopefully if I take enough care and don't have any accidents I can cope until then without making things worse.

My sister Pauline's funeral was streamed life from Worle Crematorium at three thirty this afternoon. Clare and I set together and joined in. All went as planned, but it was indeed a strange experience for us as it was for her son Jules in Dubai. Owain went to represent our side of the family, and went back to the family home in Bleadon Hill for tea with Nicky and her family. There were eight mourners at the Crem, and  many more following on-line. All Pauline's surviving cousins are of an age which bars them from all but essential local travel for the time being. It's good to see the way in which all aspects of public life are adapting to defend clientele from virus contagion. It's also worrying that there are so many individuals who wilfully ignore common sense in order to socialise and have a good time. Why do people take such stupid risks, with their own health and that of others?

A different kind of lockdown

Today has been an unexpected nightmare. As I was washing and getting dressed after breakfast I moved in a way that I don't think was unusual or abnormal and was hit by a piercing pain in my spine at pelvis level. It was so bad I nearly collapsed. A trapped nerve, thanks to unchecked pelvic rotation I reckon. It took me all morning and half the afternoon to free myself up enough to be able to stand up straight and walk a distance.

Getting treatment isn't going to be easy because of current restrictions, so managing the problem is essential, and fortunately I've learned enough from past treatments to apply to careful movement, and avoidance of seizing up altogether. It'll make looking after my wound particularly difficult, as this involves twisting turning and bending. It's the very last thing I needed just as I was regaining my freedom, but as Clare said, the tensions of the past four months may persist in the body after the mind has let go and relaxed. They need to work their way out. Whatever next?
  

Lockdown Birthday Boy

Having sent both the eulogy and slide show I made for Pauline's funeral yesterday, I was dismayed to receive a message from Nicky to say that the Funeral Directors were having problems getting them uploaded to the Crem website. First the link to these on YouTube couldn't be used for reasons undisclosed, then I uploaded them to Google Drive and sent a file sharing link. I discovered that the FD needed to forward these to a third party Wesley Media which runs the audio visual services for the Council at the Crem. I had make file sharing specific to recipients rather than universal. It was easy enough to fix, but annoying that I wasn't informed when I sent the links yesterday afternoon, rather than four hours before the cut off deadline.

My afternoon walk today was around the streets of the parish, calling at Tesco's to buy a phone top up for Clare. Hand sanitising was available just outside the door, under the eye of the security guard who was letting one shopper out for each that left. It wasn't busy enough for there to be a queue. The manual and auto checkout tills are equipped with separating screens in Tesco brand blue and white colours. The staff were cheery and helpful, everyone is making an effort to behave positively in the face of the crisis. Few in the store were wearing masks. Compulsory or discretionary? It's unclear.

Today is Owain's forty second birthday. Kath organised a family gathering on Zoom in the evening so that we could sing him Happy Birthday. He'd spent the day with friends walking up the banks of the Severn estuary in the sun. On Saturday, which is Kath and Anto's 26th wedding anniversary, they are going down to Bristol to meet with Owain in St George's Park, with a cake baked by Rhiannon and a bottle of Cava to toast his health - all socially distanced of course. We can't join them, as there are still movement restrictions on us here in Wales. Such a pity, but we can talk with them in a WhatsApp conference call when they arrive, and cheer them on. The best we can do this year. It's so good to know they are all fit and well.