Epiphany Sunday feast and an unexpected visitor

There were only two down people present for the Epiphany Sunday Sung Eucharist, and almost all of them came into Church House afterwards for mulled wine and mince pies. Mulled wine was my task. I'd bought some cartons of Spanish Jumilla, as it's good and fruity, and I know it's made use of for gluhwein in parts of Germany. Mixed with about a third jus de pomme, with honey and Clare's spice bags, it turned out well, and was heaty enough in taste not to need fortification with cognac, like the mincemeat. Several people brought food contributions, a pizza, savoury pastries, even an entire Christmas cake left untouched from Christmas festivities. 

While we were getting ourselves organised, several people set to and un-decorated the tree, and put away the Christmas candelabra brackets and other accoutrements which had made the church look so good and seasonally welcoming. Then we had an enjoyable hour of relaxed eating and chatting, with just enough food and wine to go around.

While we were together, we were joined by a young woman who called herself Natalya, born in Russia, raised n France, estranged from her parents since she left home. I think she came into church during or after the service, and then came into the house after the others. She said she was an artist, trying to earn a living from her work. She'd lost whatever job and accommodation she'd had, and had spent several months 'couch surfing' as it's called today, but had been told that she couldn't stay any longer and didn't know what to do next. 

She didn't appear unkempt, like a rough sleeper, but all her possessions fitted into a rucksack and a cloth bag. She was hungry and tired, and grateful for an offer of food and drink. She talked to me and the churchwardens in turn non stop for another half an hour after our guests had left. More than anything she was isolated and lonely, I suspect.

Finding a place for her to stay on a Sunday evening in January was bound to be difficult. She had a French passport but no work permit, therefore no entitlement to social services in Switzerland. Not that there aren't places that'll take in people sans-papiers as they call it around here, but places that do are not quite the kind of places you'd willingly send a vulnerable young woman, who may have had mental health issues or complex life problems, as well as no visible means of support. 

Several enquiries drew the same conclusion, there wasn't a way to find her the kind of help she may need on a Sunday afternoon. After a long conversation with Neil, he took her to his family's ski chalet in the Alpes Vaudois to fend for herself in safety and security for a few days, to afford her an opportunity to work out exactly what she wants to do hereafter. Not the best solution, maybe, as there'd be nobody to keep an eye on her regularly, in case she had other needs. She seems, however, to be a survivor, used to coping on her own. Let's just hope this respite is enough to enable her to look a little further ahead in her life than the evening of each day.

Once everyone had left us, there was still enough daylight time left to go for a walk, so we headed along the lakeside path to the Chateau de Chillon and arrived just as it was closing, so we vowed we would return on the morrow, and walked on as far as the Villenuve lakeside piscine publique, before

turning around. We arrived back at Church House just as the lights of evening began to shine.

Later, another episode of McMafia on BBC One. Still more elegantly delivered nastiness. Not sure if this all adds up to anything to learn from, or is just another filmic outing into the realm of posh melodrama with a Russian accent. Give me gritty sordid 'Spiral' any day.

Epiphany Day

I slept well, but having woken up early, went back to sleep again, listening to the news on the radio, and was still in bed when Clare left to go swimming. Some minutes later, she returned to retrieve her house key, rang the doorbell, but I wasn't awakened by the doorbell, so she had to borrow the spare house key kept by one of our neighbours. I'd had nine hours sleep by the time a got up for breakfast, and tree tidying, fortunately with no appointments or deadlines to meet.

After lunch, I walked into town, and visit the temporary National Express coach station in Sofia Gardens to renew my discount card and book a ticket for a day trip to London on Monday, to see my sister June now that she's nearly recovered from the nasty long drawn out cold she didn't want me to catch from her. Actually there's more risk of me catching a cold or 'flu on public transport. It's difficult to steer clear of all ailments at this time of year. I've been very lucky so far.

From there, I walked into Queen Street, looked in a few shops and eventually headed for St German's to celebrate the Mass of Epiphany day at six. I didn't want to take the car and risk getting stuck in the Friday evening rush hour traffic, and walking is what I need to do. Even so, that 10,000 steps a day target set by Google Fit is still eluding me.

There were sixteen of the regulars for Mass, and no organist, so I led the singing of two hymns and the Ordinary of the Mass unaccompanied. Although we'd set out with the idea of it being just a Low Mass, as there were a couple of servers, we decided to have incense, and then I decided to launch the singing. It's something I've not done much of at St German's, except at the Wednesday school Mass, but I used to do it regularly for a Solemn Weekday Mass at St Agnes. People sang well and heartily, as all the music was familiar. 

What was remarkable was to sing in that environment without benefit of organ. When it's switched on but not in use, though it's not noisy, the low level sound of pumped air is there in the background. Switched off, the pure beauty of the building's acoustic is more noticeable, and the reverberation just perfect for unaccompanied singing. No wonder it's a favoured venue for broadcast recording and choral concerts. I think everyone sang their best tonight because we could all hear the difference. We must do this again - what am I saying? We'll have to do it again, as the organ will be out of action for some weeks in Lent (a most suitable season for this), to install a new organ bellows. That will be an opportunity to make a different kind of joyful noise unto the Lord.

Angela brought me home by car, to be welcomed by a big dish of veggies and pasta prepared by Clare for supper, and there was time to watch an action movie, 'The Taking of Pelham 123' on Channel 4, one I'd not seen before, with lots of high speed rushing around and violence, with insane baddies. Another melodrama in which frenetic New York townscapes and NYPD incompetent driving (or is it rubbish cars with bad handling?) clog up the dramatic thread, and dialogue which struggles to work amid all the sound and fury. I don't know why I bothered really.