Eisteddfod - triumph over adversity

How good to awaken to blue sky and sunshine another day, a perfect summer morning. After breakfast I drove to St German's to celebrate the ten o'clock Mass with half a dozen regulars. I tried an alternative route around the city centre, to avoid traffic congestion generated by the Tudor Street traffic lights. It's only five minutes longer, better than taking nearly half an hour for a fifteen minute trip.

Today marks the Church of England celebrates St Jean Vianney Curé d'Ars, but not so in the Church in Wales calendar. I wonder why? I'd love to have been a fly on the wall in the committee when the revision of the calendar of saints was discussed, to know the reason for omitting this rather unusual 19th century holy man whose preaching and spiritual guidance touched thousands who visited him in Ars, a village at the west end of the French Jura during his ministry there. I visited Ars when we lived in Geneva 140km away. It's a special place for clerics as St Jean Vianney is patron saint of parish priests.

Ars was the only parish he ever served, perhaps he was sent to that rural backwater because his bishop didn't know what to do with him. He was a doubtful candidate for ordination as he was barely literate and needed coaching to take services in Latin. Thus, he had little 'book knowledge', but he did have an understanding of the meaning of the Gospel and the life of the Spirit to apply to the pastoral care of his flock that enabled him to reach the hearts of many.

Because this was so unusual his life was simply understood as filled with extraordinary supernatural gifts. By their fruit they are recognised, but I think there's something more to take note of here. A barely literate son of peasant stock, may have no access literary culture, but his intellectual life is steeped in oral culture and transmission of scripture, tradition and reason in a way that has been discounted by mainstream religious culture. This was common in ancient times, and still happens in some parts of the world today, where spontaneous evangelisation has spread the Gospel and planted the church by oral transmission. The hunger for literacy and introduction of the text of scripture occurred as a result of the message already being heard and understood. I wonder if and how this is working in our strongly audio visual contemporary culture?

On return from church I cooked lunch, and after a siesta walked for an hour and a half in the park. While writing, I listened to Evensong on BBC Sounds catch-up. The setting of the responses by Rose used by the choir of Holy Trinity Sloan Square was one I learned in Geneva, and one I love. It was uplifting to hear it, and some modern Latin canticles and unusual Psalm chants. Anglican church music has a long a rich tradition and is very much alive creatively speaking, in our time.

Ruth emailed next week's Morning Prayer texts as she routinely does in good time. My day next week is one when the Church in Wales celebrates the life of Ann Griffiths, the eighteenth century North Walian whose religious poetry and hymnody in the Welsh language is new regarded as among the finest in any European. She was a Welsh Calvinistic Methodist, a renewal movement with a devotional life of its own that distinguished it from English, Scottish and Irish expressions of reformed Presbyterianism. The Psalm set for next Thursday is too long, repetitive and dull, so I am going to use some of Ann's hymn verses instead, translated into English. They are steeped in the imaginative use of biblical imagery from both Hebrew and Christian scripture, so why not?

After supper Clare and I watched another on-line National Eisteddfod programme on S4C. This covered the festive ceremonial chairing and crowning of this year's bard Dyfan Lewis whose cycle of poems was a celebration of the city of Cardiff. This annual event has never taken place outside of the Eisteddfod Maes (field). Last year's Eisteddfod was cancelled due to coronvirus, but there were concert performances on-line. There's been a programme of competitions on-line this year. 

Tonight's bardic ceremony with a reduced socially distanced gorsedd wearing masks matching the colour of the robe, processed from Central Square into the new BBC Wales building where the whole ceremony was performed live to camera, except for a brief video of Dyfan Lewis secretly recorded beforehand, speaking about his work. 

It worked amazingly well as a television event, authentic in spirit and in detail, apart from the absence of a group of cute children dancing. I liked what the Archdruid said in his opening remarks "Tonight thanks to television, the whole of Wales is the Eisteddfod Maes." I felt utterly proud to be Welsh, even if my grasp of the language is poor.

Socially distanced but superb singing

After breakfast, I went on my own to St Catherine's while Owain and Clare went for a walk in the park to enjoy the bright warm sunny morning instead. There were thirty of us at the Eucharist. On my way home I met Emma on her way to the Co-op and we chatted for a short while before she went hunting the shelves for something for lunch with an unexpected guest. She's really enjoying her interim ministry secondment to Fairwater, finding herself in an unusual situation there. 

With covid restrictions the church can only take 27 worshippers at a time, but the regular congregation is much more than that, so worshippers can only book to go to church fortnightly, and this involves a lot of extra organisation for the churchwardens. There's a monthly children's Eucharist on a Saturday, but numbers call for two separate celebrations, one every two weeks. Will parishioners easily get back into a weekly worship habit when this crisis is over I wonder?

After lunch in the garden, I walked up to Llandaff Weir. On the way there I went through the Cathedral Churchyard and heard singing within. The north east side entrance door was wide open so I put a mask on and popped my head in. The choir had just reached the Evensong Lord's Prayer and Responses. They were singing a familiar setting with gusto and it really moved me. After the Anthem, I walked around to the West door to watch the end of the service, then went in a chatted with Fr Mark, whom I haven't seen since last summer. Regular Cathedral Evensong, Sunday evenings and a weekday or two, are happening once more. It's such a blessing, and triumphant return to the Old Normal, albeit with a reduced socially distanced choir. It seems the Dean is still off work, so he and Canon Jan, our Area Dean, are carrying all the Cathedral services between them,  a heavy responsibility one way and another. 

This evening, the first round of the biennial 'Cardiff Singer of the World' on telly, a superb hour and a half of singing by the first four semi-finalists. It's taking place in St David's Hall again with a smaller orchestra and without an audience, but that didn't dampen the enthusiasm of the participants. Tonight's semi-final winner was mezzo soprano, Natalia Kutateladze from Georgia. The other singers were from Mongolia, Venezuela and China, all remarkable voices. 

And then, the second episode of disturbingly realistic prison drama 'Time'. Difficult watching. I wonder if this honest portrayal of life behind bars will spark new debate into British prison conditions.

Land of song

We arrived slightly late for church this morning. As we entered, the choir was singing an English version of a Taize chant which I've known and sung in French for over thirty years, without knowing the English. We're not back to congregational singing yet, but under the cover of my face mask I sang along quietly anyway, a reminder of those family stop-overs in Taize on summer holidays, and the one glorious year when I worked for USPG and stayed a week in Eastertide.

For the benefit of the congregation, Emma announced Fr Benedict's departure for Whitchurch, and her own temporary secondment to Fairwater, although it had been announced to the PCC on Thursday, so most people present already know, and I suspect are still stunned by the suddenness of the change while Francis is off sick. What impact all this has on church attendance and support is yet to unfold. Already the organisational changes demanded of parishes constituting the new Ministry Area are disconcerting for some who don't see good reason for the changes. 

It's all being driven from the top down and it seems to me that diocesan leadership is acting in crisis mode when it would benefit from more widespread consultation with grass roots members, It's difficult admittedly, when proper conferencing has been impossible for over a year, but top down managerial style leadership has been in the ascendancy for the past decade in the Church in Wales. Reducing its body of supporters to passivity isn't a recipe for rescue or growth, but rather resentment. That's not good for a community whose vitality comes from its interactive participatory worship and fellowship. How vital it is then for us clergy volunteers to sustain a healthy dialogue with God, when the hierarchy seems to be unaware of how its actions are being received at the grass roots level.

After lunch I walked along the Taff, still swollen from recent heavy rain, though the water level is lower than it was a few days ago. There was no sight of the Mallard ducklings, just a few pairs paddling hard to stay in the same spot, heaven knows why. Only one small outcrop of river bed rock was visible above the water, and on it was perched a Merganser female. There were no fewer than three male suitors in a line downstream of the rock, paddling furiously to stay in positon. Quite comic really.

Over the past few days, Clare's left eyelid has been worryingly swollen with a condition called Blepharitis, due to blocked lubrication glands. It might be a peculiar pollen, or pollution or an infection that causes it, but it's worrying because of the impact it could have on the tear duct surgery she had some years ago to mitigate the impact of advancing glaucoma. She sought telephone advice from our GP on Friday, and was referred to her optician, but no appointment was possible before next week. So yesterday she obtained an emergency appointment with an optician in Llandaff who prescribed an eye ointment.But it didn't stop the condition worsening. 

This afternoon she had a telephone consultation with at doctor at Heath Hospital A&E, albeit not an eye doctor. They were very busy and it took several hours for it to happen, but the outcome was a just-in-case antibiotic prescription. This was faxed directly to the emergency weekend pharmacy down in Cardiff Bay Retail Park for collection, so we drove down there at six. We had to wait a while as the prescription hadn't yet arrived, but were back home again in just over an hour. Talking to sister in law Ann, Clare learned that her late brother Eddy was susceptible to the same eye condition, so there may be a genetic component in there somewhere, who knows?

While I was waiting in the car I listened to an interview on BBC Wales by Roy Noble with a Rhondda historian, Dean Powell, about his book 'A Royal Choir for Wales'. His book is the fruit of research into the emergence of Welsh male voice choirs during the industrial era in South and North Wales. It seems that in the 19th century there was fierce tribal rivalry between two big Rhondda Fawr choirs, when it came to choral competitions. Punch-ups at the pit-head or in the pubs, betting on Eisteddfod  results, attempts to bribe judges and so on. I can imagine a wonderful movies out of this story, full of uplifting music and surreal comedy! 

There was indeed for the span of a century a Royal Welsh Male voice choir, so called as it sang for Queen Victoria, and a line of British Monarchs and Prime Ministers since. The 400 strong choir went on several world tours by ship, lasting one or two years, depending on where the gigs were. After the closure of the pits, choir recruitment went into decline, and in many places this highly popular form of recreation died as its ageing faithful members died - a bit like the church these days. Then after a spell of twenty years male voice choirs re-emerged with a new generation of younger singers, and much more varied repertoire, as exemplified by 'Only Men Allowed'. Before the pandemic Cardiff was said to be home to twenty different  male voice and mixed voice choirs. Many of them have continued, despite the difficulties, working on-line but once restrictions of singing are lifted, I wouldn't be surprised to see a resurgence popularity in choral singing, as a celebration of regained freedom and creativity.

In St Catherine's at the moment we have a choir of four to six people singing a couple of items for us at the Sunday Eucharist. Months of Mass with no music really made me appreciate what we lacked, and it's a joy to have them back, doing what they love again. Choir member Sue, an adept seamstress has in the past made purple cassocks for choristers. Recently she turned her hand to matching face-masks. It's a stylish response to the onerous necessity of being masked in church. It made me wonder about Spanish penitentes in the Semana Santa processions. They don't all wear long pointed hoods. Many of them wear a decorative face mask and head covering, to conceal their appearance - or is there really more to this than meets the eye? Given the number of times over centuries old cities were afflicted by plague I wouldn't be surprised..

A Parish and Cathedral day

I was pleased to have the opportunity to celebrate and preach at the St Catherine's Parish Eucharist this morning, and pleased that it gave John an opportunity to experience and appreciate worshipping with our regular congregation.

After an early lunch, Clare went to her study group in Bristol, leaving John and I to walk to Llandaff Cathedral for Choral Evensong, with an installation ceremony making Fr Mark the new Precentor. It brought the Cathedral Chapter together with the Bishop, Dean and Diocesan Registrar, and the nave was full with parishioners, family and friends, not to mention dozens of clergy colleagues. Bishop June preached very well, and the service ended with a sung Te Deum. In her address she explained how revision and modernisation of the Cathedral's governance and management structures would work. Having a couple of new residentiary Canons, one of whom Fr Mark, is part of the plan.

I took my Lumix LX5 camera with me and was able to get a handful of photos of the key moments of the installation. Adequate, but not remarkable event pictures. You'll find them here.

John was delighted to be part of this occasion. I don't think he gets to Wakefield, his home Cathedral all that often. Clare and I received an invitation to a reception in the Prebendal House afterwards but the place was so crowded and busy, that it made either socialising or eating and drinking difficult, so we didn't stay for long and walked home for tea and scones as darkness fell.

I felt much more tired than I expected to, after a late evening out and an active day. Another bout of wound discomfort, drove me to bed early after supper, where I watched an episode of 'Endeavour' on my Chromebook, lying down rather than sitting up. No matter how much effort I make to stay fit and well, the energy drain is simply inescapable sometimes and I have to give in, like it or not.

  

Baptismal streaming

There we just over twenty of us for the Sung Eucharist at St John's this morning. A young family came to join us on the occasion of Mum's birthday. They normally attend a Catholic church, but love a sung liturgy in English, so occasionally they come and join us - for a treat!

After a speedy lunch I made my way up to Villars via Bex. Fortunately the road wasn't only busy in places, and only one did we have to stop due to an over sized SUV making passing impossible in a narrow village hillside street. The driver had to reverse uphill for a hundred metres to find a place wide enough to let others through. In Gryon, we stopped briefly in a narrow street while a fleet of classic sports cars drove past. Having completed their runs in the Ollon-Villars hill climb event they were returning to base camp, I imagine. Anyway I got there in just an hour, and had plenty of time to spare.

The baptismal part turned out to be a lot smaller than anticipated - parents with infant and a friend, or possibly she was the baby's nanny. A godmother's flight planned from South Africa had been thrown into chaos by sudden travel restrictions imposed on Zimbabweans in the wake of a recent undiplomatic incident involving the wife of President Mugabe, so she didn't make it. Another was unable to come over in time from California, and grandparents who wanted to be there couldn't face travelling over from Australia. 

Aware this would be the case, I suggested that the couple make us of video phone internet calls to enable the absent to join in. So, they came equipped with a Macbook Air and a couple of iPhones. Five minutes before the service they called participants, each in a different time zone, and established a steady connection for all of them via 4G phone comms links, working surprisingly well up in the Alpes Vaudois at 1,300 metres. It meant that the baptism was audible and visible live on three continents at the same time. 

This is a pastoral first for me, and I was delighted how well it  went and how well it was received without awkwardness by the participants. Baby Annabelle was remarkably relaxed and calm about it all. A couple of years ago, an absent son participated by smartphone in his parents Spanish silver wedding anniversary blessing from his home in the UK. I understand some crematoria and funeral homes in Britain also offer a streaming service, though it's never been mentioned in relation to any funeral I've done. It's great that such technology can help dispersed families to strengthen their bonds of loyalty and affection on such important occasions when distance divides.

The drive down to Bex was busier with traffic, and not as easy as the ascent, since both traffic and the steepness of the ever winding road required a lot of additional braking, to the extent that brake fading set in worryingly, requiring me to stay in second or third all the way down, to stay safe. After all, I didn't need a car crisis to hinder me from officiating at Evensong. I got back to Church House with fifteen minutes to spare before Jane picked me up for the drive to Caux, perched on the side of the mountain 600 metres and 1.5km up a winding road above Montreux.

St Michael's Caux was built as an Anglican chapel and dedicated in 1906 to serve English visitors to several hotels of standing at the turn of the 20th century. It has some lovely Edwardian stained glass, all on angelic themes, which readily serve as a catechetical resource on the biblical ministry of Angels. As if that's not enough to beautify the interior, the apsidal sanctuary has a reredos carved in boxwood, which has an appealing orange brown hue to it. It has bas relief scenes from the last supper and the crucifixion of Jesus in dramatic detail. It was the work of artist Alfons de Wisplaere in Bruges, installed in the year the church was dedicated, as were the windows. Almost all the building and its artwork were the gift of one wealthy patron, Herbert Edgar Reid. 

I was annoyed with myself for having walked out of the house without a camera. I'll have to return properly equipped when opportunity arises. But first, some rest. It's good to know that I can still cope with such an eventful working day, preaching three times as well as taking services. Doubtless I'll pay for it tomorrow.

   

Llanfrynach - this serene sanctuary

Another lovely summer day for my early drive out to St John's Penllyn to celebrate the Eucharist, just one year and two weeks since I was last there, before going to Spain. I received a warm welcome and it seems that the congregation were already aware that I would be working with them again in the months to come. The same too at Ystradowen, my next port of call. How nice it was to see the pub next door once more open for business, and the horrid pink external decoration replaced by traditional white.

I returned after the service to collect Clare from the market, and eat late lunch out in the garden before returning to Cowbridge for a tea time planning session with Fr Derek the Rector, looking ahead to me sharing in the work of ministry development and pastoral care in the Benefice, during the period of change-over between Team Vicars. Then we went out to the thirteenth century Llanfrynach Parish Church for candle-lit Choral Evensong, with music by Orlando Gibbons throughout - a nice touch.

Bright sunshine outside, but the building has no electricity, and the only water available (sometimes) is the stream at the southern edge of the churchyard. There may have been a church here well before the Norman Conquest. Its long chancel suggests that it might have once had a small monastic community, and in its early history it was an outpost of Cistercian Margam Abbey. 

The village to which this church belonged disappeared from the map after the Black Death, no more than a century after it was built. The new settlement of Penllyn is a mile or so uphill, and linked by footpath to the church, punctuated by a series of 'coffin stiles', where funeral processions of old would pause to rest on their journey. The generous grassy churchyard, enclosed by trees still remains in use for burial today. I wonder if originally it was a circular site, since there are a couple of other churchyards in the Benefice with ancient churches located inside a 'llan'. The survival of this marvellous building in a remote field, half a mile up a rough track away from the main road, has been due to enthusiasm this serene sanctuary inspired in benefactors in the nineteenth century. Nowadays Heritage Lottery funding has taken the strain and the building is in a good state of repair. 

 It's a solid rough 'n ready sort of construction, described by Geoffrey Orin in his book on the Vale's mediaeval churches as 'crude workmanship'. But I imagine many churches in ancient times were built to be first and foremost functional places for worship. With the passage of time and increase of prosperity architectural refinement and enhancement would occur. It didn't happen at Llanfrynach because its village died, and although a large building, it was relegated to occasional use as a cemetery chapel. So, in a way it gives us an unfamiliar snapshot of a stage in the development life of an ancient church. It's a treasure, deserving many more visitors and pilgrims. 

There were over fifty people present, twenty of them in the choir. Many people spoke with enthusiasm and affection about the place and the event. Evening worship normally fails to attract Anglicans these days, but summer Evensongs at Llanfrynach are clearly worth making the effort to attend. What sort of message does this convey about 'popular' worship, I wonder?