Another cold grey day with no rain. When I was getting up Sunday Worship was being broadcast from the Church of God of Prophecy in Ackocks Greet Birmingham, with Homelessness as its theme. Inner city Birmingham was where I first came across Black Pentecostal churches, when I was a University Chaplain fifty years ago and then again in St Paul's Bristol a few years later. Hearing singing and distinctive down to earth approach to taking about Christian ministry brought back happy memories.
I drove to St German's to celebrate the Eucharist with three dozen others. I was introduced to a family whose two teenage sons are going to be baptized next Sunday. This offers a marvellous opportunity for Basma to witness a baptismal service for herself. She is keen to be baptised but has yet to reach the stage where it's necessary to explain to her all the detail of the ceremony. She's at an early stage of preparation.
Hilary had acquired a Good News bible for her in English to match the Arabic one we presented to her two weeks ago. She brought it to the altar at the offertory, and stood with Basma as I gave it to her when they came up to the Communion rail. She was full of questions after the service about what happens during a service. She'll have even more questions when I see her again at church in two weeks time. I was late home for lunch again. Clare is so patient and long suffering with me.
After eating I walked in the park for an hour and a half, and bumped into Fr Andrew on his way to an open air party in Plasturton Gardens with friends. As I was about to turn for home, I accompanied him, and was glad to have done so. There was quite a crowd in the small park, decorated with lights and with tents service refreshments. A choir of children from a Welsh language primary school was singing, all dressed brightly and wearing Santa style hats. They weren't singing carols at the moment I passed, but familiar songs by Abba in Welsh translation. Amazing!
Kate came and collected Jayne and myself from the Romilly Road bus stop to drive us to St Peter's for Evensong and Benediction. I was back home again before seven for supper. We watched this week's 'Antiques Roadshow' and then a portion of Welsh black comedy series 'Pren ar y Bryn' half in Welsh and half in English, very sweary and a bit coarse, which does little to sustain interest in a bizarre plot line. In the end I gave up and continued with emailing Christmas greetings to people in local churches I've been serving this past year. And there was my bag to pack for my visit to London tomorrow. And then bed.
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