On the early morning news the death of Archbishop Desmond Tutu was announced, age ninety, one of the great figures of twentieth century Church and social history as a prophetic actor in the struggle against apartheid and mediator of reconciliation after its abolition. He was a wonderful liberal Catholic pastor, a preacher with passion and a wry sense of humour. I'll never forget hearing him address a Churches rally at Builth Wells showground in the late 1980s, preaching on the text 'It is not good for anyone to be alone' from the story of the making of Adam and Eve. His demise marks the passing of an era in which two Archbishops, one Anglican and one Roman Catholic were murdered for being outspoken against human rights violations and social injustice. That he escaped the same fate as them seems something like a miracle in retrospect.
Although it rained early on, and there were local flood warnings, it was stopping by the time I drove to St German's after a family breakfast for the first Sunday Mass of Christmastide. Every once in around a dozen years, Feast of the Protomartyr St Stephen (aka Boxing Day) falls on a Sunday. The roads weren't as crowded as they usually would be with the start of the Winter sales. Quite apart from new covid restrictions starting today, not all big stores are opening for post Christmas sales yet. People are probably staying home and buying on line instead, and not bothering with an outing to town.
We were all ready for the baptism of baby Abigail at Mass, but it turned out her parents wanted it to take place next week, not this week, so that granny to take part. She's supposed to be coming over from India for this. I wonder if she'll make it? Anyway, the preparation is done and all is put on hold until next year. The second Sunday of Christmas is on 2nd January 2022. There were twenty one of us for Mass, and after everyone was as keen as I was to hurry home, so I got back at one.
The salmon was already cooked but nobody was keen to eat a full meal, so we all snacked on turkey and sourdough bread sandwiches, then walked to Bute Park, making most of the sunshine. The others continued walking into town to see the Christmas lights and visit Winter Wonderland, but I felt rather leaden footed and headed for home instead.
After the salmon supper, we had a family jam session, which Anto and I have often done at Christmas in years past with the others singing along to familiar remembered songs. This year Clare joined us for the first time and we played some jazz things together and experimented with several other song as well. She did very well, and I think it's boosted her confidence that she's progressing as a result of the piano lessons she's been having this past year. It was great for me too, as it's the first time in three years I've been able to sit comfortably enough with the guitar to play properly. Not only this, but my rheumaticky hands gave me almost no painful botheration, a cheering finale to our festive days.
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