Clare and Jacquie were up and breakfasting this morning before me, so that they could leave in good time to get to the Steiner School by nine thirty. I stayed in bed listening to news of the war in Ukraine, until it was time for a quick breakfast and exit to go over to St German's and say Mass in honour of St David. The camera I have spent two days hunting for turned up in the car, on a ledge just by the front door post of the car's driver seat. It must have fallen out of my pocket, but fortunately not out of the car.
On the way there, Radio Four had a half hour programme about the history of Ukraine reaching back over a thousand years since the Rus tribes of the north were Christianised and Kyiv established as a city. Putin tries to re-write ancient history, asserting that Kyiv must return to the Russian motherland. "It would be like America demanding that Britain return to becoming a dependency on its own colony." joked one of the commentators. But many a truth is spoken in jest, if you think of how Americanised British culture has become in the course of the 20th century. Ukraine is the motherland of Russian Christian culture. It's not the other way round, except in the minds of Putin and his followers.
There were just five of us for Mass. The Tredegarville school children are coming to church for the Ash Wednesday service tomorrow morning instead of today. I returned home straight after Mass to get ready to be picked up and driven to the funeral at The Cardiff and Vale crematorium. The crem manager greeted us with a smile, announcing that masks were now optional, although she and the funeral attendants did wear masks throughout, as did some in the congregation of about forty mourners.
I was concerned about the service being too long as the very interesting eulogy, written by the daughter of the deceased was 3-4 times longer than usual. I read two thirds of it and she read the final third. It took over 20 minutes in a 35 minute service. Fortunately we were under no pressure as ours was the only service of the day, much to my surprise. I got back home just after two, and Clare had a cooked lunch of savoury pancakes, filled with cooked mushrooms and bacon. It was waiting, kept warm for me on the stove. She got home from school just as I was leaving for the funeral, having enjoyed the St David icon presentation ceremony with Jacquie, who dropped her off on her way back to Stroud.
There was also call waiting for me about another funeral in three weeks from now, one for which I was personally requested. It's for the wife of a man whose funeral I did in October 2003 at St Teilo's Parish Church, when I was Rector of the Central Cardiff Team Ministry. St Teilo's was one of the four churches in the Benefice, and I think its Team Vicar had just left and not yet been replaced. Sadly, St Teilo's no longer exists as one of the Parish Churches of Cathays. In any case the family may no longer recognize it as the same church from which Grandad was taken to his rest. No doubt I will hear in due course.
St Teilo's church building has been ceded to a church planting mission team supplied by Holy Trinity Brompton in London and is now called 'Citizen Church'. I still cannot figure out how a Bishop could agree to the abandonment of its historic missionary identity being dedicated in honour of one of our diocesan patron saints, in favour of something neutral, secular and not identifiably Church in Wales. It's intended to be an outreach to an unchurched young generation, but I just don't get it, I'm afraid.
I also had another call about burying the ashes in the parental grave of a man whose funeral I did last month. More often than not, the next of kin decides what to do about cremated remains, and they either get scattered in a crem rose garden, or taken for scattering somewhere else. It's quite rare for me to be asked to provide a ceremony, but I'm happy to oblige. A surprising number of urns of cremated remains are stored by undertakers or at the crem while the family decides. How long they are retained before the choice of disposal is taken away from next fo kin I don't know. I should find out, I suppose.
With the extra dates entered in my diary, it was time to go to the bank, and then go out for my daily walk in the park. Grey skies and cold again, but at least no rain, and now it's nearly six before the sun goes down. Spring is on its way. The damson tree planted last year is showing very tiny swelling buds and a few of them are going to be opening in the next week I think, although they flower later.
Clare went out to a meditation group at half past five. I uploaded the photos from Rhiannon's birthday party. They weren't as good as I hoped for. I should have used my best low light camera but never mind. I waited to eat supper until Clare returned at eight, then watched this week's new episode of NCIS on My5 catch-up, another covid era drama with significant things to offer about bereavement and loss. Well conceived.
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