I woke up early and decided to post the WhatsApp link for Morning Prayer on YouTube straight away. A message from Mother Frances arrived at the same time, to say that she's got covid, despite being triple jabbed. It may mean a few rota changes until she's in the clear. Fortunately seasonal rota modifications may make this less of a challenge for her to cover, but the demand for pastoral services is the same despite reducing numbers of active clergy, which can create problems when clergy are out of action.
After breakfast, Kath left for Kenilworth as I was leaving for St John's. I celebrated the Eucharist with half a dozen others, then had to return home to collect the order of service and eulogy for the funeral which followed an hour later, as I'd forgotten to put them in my bag. There were fifty people for the service almost all of them members of the extended family. Five family members contributed tributes to a beloved 91 year old patriarch, which took an unusual amount of time on top of the funeral and eulogy, but it was worthwhile because of the warm and affectionate portrayals of a mana who loved others with joyful abundance.
At the end of the service a song by Frank Hennessy called 'Cardiff Born, Cardiff Bred' was played as his coffin was taken to the hearse. It made me smile, all the way to the cemetery. The hearse and four limos in the cortรจge sped up the A4232 ring road to avoid arriving well behind schedule at Western Cemetery, quite a change from the usual stop-start driving at 30mph on Cowbridge Road West. It drizzled before the service but rain held off during the burial. Later in the day I received an appreciative email from his daughter. The church and its funeral rite provided the framework, but it was the family's contributions that really made the day, and that's surprisingly unusual. Often mourners are dumb struck and grateful to let me be their voice.
I came home to a delicious bubble 'n squeak fry up lunch with left-over Christmas veggies and slices of turkey. Then a message arrived from Angela at St German's to say that the son of one of the church members was found dead yesterday. He was in church with her several times during Advent and at Christmas. It's quite a shock as he was only forty two. I called his mother and we spoke briefly, then walked in the park for an hour.
In the evening I watched a delightful and moving programme on BBC Four in which comedian, artist and philosopher Billy Connelly took a tour around his native city Glasgow and his homeland Scotland visiting his favourite places and reminiscing about childhood and growing up. He spoke eloquently of his love affair with both, and about getting old and living with Parkinson's and of mortality as a great adventure. He talked to camera throughout, with post-war archive footage and excerpts from some of his classic performances interspersed. What a great heart warming celebration of life it was.
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