Church on hold again?

There were twenty of us for the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning. The new covid variant scare is having hitting people's confidence. It seems tonight's PCC is set to discuss whether or not to continue to offer public worship, as some attendees are slower to disperse from the churchyard than is considered to be desirable. 

Clergy are being enjoined not to stand outside to greet people from a suitable distance as they leave, as this leads to people hanging around outdoors. Outside the church gates on the street, in the shops, the risks will be high because the public realm isn't as well controlled. It doesn't take much to ask people not to take off their masks while they are within the gates. They'll understand why. Outside, it's up to each person to assess risk for themselves.

It troubles me that if clergy can't see and hail worshippers from afar and ask how they are, offer a word of support and encouragement, what will it do to pastoral relationships? On-line isn't enough, a face on a screen doesn't allow a pastor to notice the true colour of someone's complexion, their tone of voice, their movement when they walk, all of which inform the relationship the shepherd has with the flock. I found it in Ibiza - seeing only half a dozen people over a three month period, face to face, very occasionally. It was impossible to establish meaningful pastoral relationships with people I was there to serve. That was the worst thing, not being able to assess from personal contact what was really happening to people. Social media can't be trusted when it comes to baring one's soul. 

And all this happens on a day when the key Gospel phrase is 'Come and see ...' 

It comes in a week when a contagion expert said on the news that the risk is far less outdoors, with or without a mask, although research into this is still on-going and not yet peer reviewed and published. The most serious risk is in uncontrolled indoor settings, like supermarkets, on which new health and safety requirements have been imposed of necessity this weekend. If data on supermarket based contagion is available, why not data on contagion in compliant churches? Without proper information, judgements are likely to be made on the basis of anxious hearsay - as if we needed that!

In church, we pray in a highly controlled environment, sitting in well spaced out pews, wearing obligatory masks. Those who attend behave considerately of others, and don;t hang about indoors longer than they need to. We're told there's a hugely increased risk, but without a shred of data to show how many Anglican congregations worshipping together compliantly are known to have been involved in transmitting infection. Sure, a few churches have blatantly ignored the risk from the outset, carried on as normal and become 'superspreaders', but does that mean the rest of us can't be trusted to behave compliantly?  Caution, self-discipline, good information are always essential in Christian conduct, even more so in such dangerous days. Timidity is understandable and inevitable, recklessness is folly, but giving in to the tide of fear - how does that witness to the Gospel?

On my walk in the park after lunch, the Taff water level was down again and the resident Merganser was back on the rock slabs where family can be seen. On the same outcrop stood a cormorant as I was passing and I got a nice photo of the two of them in each other's space. The merganser moved ,then fluffed up its feathers as it turned its back on the cormorant. The cormorant then plopped into the water and took off.

Afterwards, I decided to have a go at reclaiming space in my Gmail accounts now 85% full. If storage fills up completely I'll be required to rent extra space, but why bother if most of the data stored is redundant or irrelevant? Last year I deleted emails from 2007 when I registered the accounts, up to 2010 when I retired. Since then, a great number of emails were CBS correspondence, not necessary to keep as they are copied on the CBS Gmail account. 

Over the past ten years, the size of photo attachments has risen tenfold, as many senders don't bother to downsize them before sending. Also thousands of notifications that should have been deleted weren't. Google's fast search options mask the accumulation of redundant files and big attachments. After an hour's work, I got rid of ten gigabytes of data on one account and seven on another. One thing which I discovered on other file storage systems too. The deleted content of the account trash can must also be deleted before file space is reclaimed. Sneaky that one! A worthwhile effort, I think.

I had an email after lunch from Emma in the Euro-diocesan office about the new requirement for holders of PTO doing locum duty that they now need to do a further on-line Safeguarding training, before their PTO is renewed. The five year renewal cycle has been reduced to three years, the accent on training is welcome in a fast changing environment, especially regarding the rise of on-line forms of abuse. Emma works from home in deepest rural Essex where, like here they've had phenomenal amounts of rain. There was a tiny video clip of the little stream at the bottom of her garden, swollen and spilling over its banks. It's the same in many parts of Britain.

Much to my surprise, I had an email from Bishop June while I was out walking, noting with appreciation my small effort to support the Parish ministry team these past few months. How could I do anything else as an elderly churchgoer who happens to be ordained and still fit enough to function from time to time. In present circumstances ministry is extra difficult and demanding of new skills, stamina and patience. It's a relief to me that I no longer have responsibility for holding everything together and giving a lead. Acting on orders, as long as I can do that well and correctly is all I can hope to do nowadays. It's not a bad thing at all. President to be Joe Biden is my age. I'm glad not to be in his shoes! 

ON telly tonight, we watched the first of a six part drama about a woman whose property developer husband dies mysteriously at 48 while he's showing them around the high tech new home he's just had built for them to move into. It's a sort of black comedy, that may turn into a comedy crimmie, I suppose. In my Geneva days I was summoned urgently to offer pastoral support to the traumatized wife and daughter of a member of the congregation who was a banker. He dropped dead in the middle of a working day, and I was asked to accompany them to the chapel of rest where his body had just been laid out. He was still in his work suit, looking smart, eerie and unreal. 'That's not my Daddy!' exclaimed his 13 year old daughter, and they both wept. 

Watching this brought it all back to me, whether it was really true to life or not. That made it uncomfortable to watch, not entertaining at all. I am interested in how it plays out, however, given the problems which arise when someone dies intestate or mired in debt or cash-flow issues, especially as bank accounts are automatically frozen when someone dies. It's understandable that some elderly people are still in the habit of keeping a stash of cash under the bed, reluctant to entrust all their wordly goods to the self serving paranoia of a modern banking system.

Hope for America declared at last

The weather was bright to start with today, but deteriorated later, so I pottered around this morning, chatted with Ashley on the phone for an hour, then cooked lunch before going out to post a few more cards and then for a walk. It was almost dark by the time I got back. The tall tree at the entrance to our side street has been decorated for the festal season with huge pom-poms made by some of the kids from shredded plastic bags, strings of fake lanterns - I don't think they meant to glow, plus a string of white lights which do light up, spiralled around the tree. I saw them lit up for the first time this evening. 

Several houses in the street have decorated their front garden fences with lights, and curtains are being left open to reveal Christmas trees within. I think more people are making an effort this year, not just as a cheer-up measure, but because they may not be able to travel away to be with family at Christmas. Even though relaxed restrictions are meant to come into force in a week's time, concern is rising about the wisdom of this, given the rapid rise in cases in the South East, and in Wales, experiencing now what the North went through a couple of months back. Present restrictions may end up not being relaxed at all.

Last night Joe Biden was formally declared to be the next US President by state by state appointed members of an Electoral College. This will be confirmed by Congress in the run-up to the Inauguration in January. Trump has refused to concede that he has lost, many Republicans are silent or voice agreement with him, but some have acknowledged that his election was free, un-corrupt and fair. Trump's last ditch attempt to subvert the democratic process will be to produce his own alternative panel of state appointees, to declare him the winner, and insist that Congress examine his claim, although his lawyers have produced no concrete evident in support of his claims. 

In his last month as President he has approved the execution of several prisoners on death row for years, and plans to issue pardons for himself and some of his cronies. He has behaved consistently as a fantasizing megalomaniac ignoring deadly reality, fomenting racial and social divisions, denying climate change and America has suffered grievously as a result The fact that he now denies his decisive rejection by the majority of voters, poses serious questions about his mental health. Will he use an insanity plea in future to evade the long arm of the law when he's faced with a series of indictments, I wonder?  So glad he's going, even if the lame duck is acting strangely and savagely. The world will be a safer place with a practicing Catholic in the White House, with a record as a reconciler, and a declared re-unifying agenda.

After supper I continued preparing texts for Morning Prayer in the days before Christmas completing one started yesterday but interrupted by the Google server outage, then completing another, and saving a copy of the three done so far on the SD card attached to my Chromebook, so it can be taken away and edited in a standalone device if needs be. Better safe than sorry from now on. 

Tech reports today indicate the Google outage lasted only fifty minutes, although there have been knock-on effects in latency of function with some apps. My sister June was complaining about typing and words being slow to appear. Not an uncommon phenomenon in my experience, with Windows updates and scans usually seeming to hinder normal functioning, either because the background process hogs bandwidth, or processing power is consumed by security scans on the device. Grand scale server outages also part of the Google ecosystem too, if less frequently than Microsoft, and yesterday's outage was a prime example of this nerve wracking failure. 

Sunday night at the movies

For this morning's locum assignment I drove to St Isan's in Llanishen again to celebrate the Parish Eucharist with just over sixty people. After the service, preparations for a baptism service were being made, and I wondered if it was for the afternoon, and who was coming in to take the service. On my way out I went to say goodbye to the wardens, who looked puzzled and wondered why I was going. 

It seems that the christening request arrived and had been booked in since I agreed to come and take the main service some two months ago. Whoever was responsible for the arrangement hadn't thought to contact me! It's just as well I wasn't in a hurry to move on to a next engagement, as I was last time I was at St Isan's. I didn't mind at all. I was delighted to perform another baptism this Sunday, as I did last week. For so many years in my last job, and on foreign locum duty in retirement,  baptisms were a rarity. And, I wasn't at all late home for lunch!

It rained in the afternoon. A street party had been planned from lunchtime onward, but ended up as an outdoor tea-time social get-together. Clare went along, but I had a little work to do for tomorrow's funeral service. This proved to be frustrating when it came to printing material to use. The network connection wasn't functioning properly and defied re-setting. I had to switch off the router and every attached device for half an hour and then reboot. Then it started to behave again. Later I learned that there was a massive Gmail outage in the USA, and patches of slow connectivity here also in the UK. Instead of downloading a file to print from Google Drive, I had to connect a phone to the computer and extract the file attachment I received, and knew was stored there. 

Computer systems utterly dependent for error free functioning on having an internet connection are a liability. There's no guarantee this will always work as intended, no matter how many internet service providing satellites Elon Musk insists on contaminating near earth orbit with. I nearly got caught out today because the file I wanted hadn't been saved to proper computer storage belonging to me, from where it could be printed. But it was on my phone. I did print it out having transferred it from there. It may be possible to do it directly from the phone. If so it's something I have to learn how to do.

Clare dashed in from the tea party, alarmed to realise we were about to be late for the evening movie she booked us in for at Chapter Arts Centre - the Elton John bio-pic 'Rocketman'. We walked there very rapidly, and arrived after the batch of ads we've already seen on telly had finished, just as the title screen appeared.

It was superbly entertaining, in the format of a rather quirky screen musical. It was also thoughtful and sad, showing us his early life and taking us up to his mid-life addiction crisis, through some of his difficult relationships, and his glorious performance successes. The film was shown with subtitles for the hard of hearing, which included the lyrics of songs essential to telling the story. Never having been an Elton fan, I'm only slightly familiar with the music and not the words, so subtitles which could have been an annoyance made it unusually accessible to me. A great treat, coming in the same year as the Freddy Mercury biopic.

Tech service London expedition

Out of the house by twenty to eight, and walking to Sophia Gardens to get the eight fifteen coach to London, on another warm and sunny morning. The coach arrived, but the designated driver was stuck in traffic on his way to work, so we set out twenty minutes late. We were most fortunate to have a clear run and made up the time, arriving at noon. Although I hadn't slept well, I didn't drop off to sleep as I usually do on this journey. Thanks to the coach's wi-fi, I passed the time reading the news and sending emails from my phone.

This time, June was in better shape, getting out and about again, she'd shopped for a ready meal curries to share for lunch, so before getting down to work, we ate and caught up on the latest news. Afterwards an inspection of her computer revealed that updates were working properly and nothing was amiss, but there was something of a puzzle. All I needed to do was update her Libre Office installation. It's very quick loading on her speedy machine. 

When June bought her new ten inch Samsung Galaxy Tab, she'd sought setup help in the shop. This proved not possible at the first step of registering the device using her Gmail account, for no apparent reason. She tried several different possible passwords without success. Yet, she had no problem accessing emails on her computer, using the password it had first been set up with, some time ago. Truth to tell, she'd not signed out of the account for a long time, so had never encountered any problem. 

I requested a new password from Google, according to June's wishes and we both made a note of it. I was able to guide her through the tablet set up and basic usage stages, but couldn't give her longer to explain how to change settings, so she'll have to play with it herself and learn by doing. I may be daunting, as a touchscreen quite so sensitive takes a while to get used to, especially when its default screen time-out setting is too brief for someone who learns carefully and stops to ponder before action. 

In Wandsworth Borough a discount taxi fare card system operates for elderly and disabled people, to ensure they can afford to get to medical appointments, which can often require patients to travel some distance and awkward routes. June had failed to register this card with the web booking service run by a Taxi company on behalf of Wandsworth Council. With the discount card was a leaflet instructing the card holder how to register and use it to book at taxi in advance. 

I followed the same registration instructions as June had, and also failed to compete the task. It was a rather strange requirement, that according to the given instructions, one should register the number of the card issued to the holder, and use as a password, the local phone number printed on the back of the actual Taxi Card, which was that of the company running the scheme. A bit like issuing a bank card and printing its PIN number on the back of it, I thought to myself. Anyway, we sent the company an email and auto-response said June would hear from them in a day or so. What can be wrong here?

I left June a half past six and was on a train for London Victoria at twenty to seven. Only then did I check my ticket and realise the coach was at seven not half past! What a fool. The train arrived at nine minutes to seven, and I ran through the station, up and across Buckingham Palace Road, hoping and praying my legs and lungs would hold out, arriving with two minutes to spare, relieved and triumphant. That's done my physical confidence a power of good, even if I pay for this with stiffness tomorrow. 

The coach arrived on time at ten fifteen. Again, I didn't fall asleep during the journey. It must be Spring energy buoying me up at the moment. I walked home in twenty minutes, had supper, then we listened to a recording of Kath and Anto's band 'Sonrisa' being interviewed and playing two of their songs on BBC local Radio Coventry & Warwickshire, a delightful conclusion to a successful day out.

  

  

All Saints day with Catholic and Orthodox flavours

Another mild autumnal morning, awake before dawn again and on the terrace doing Chi Gung exercises once the sun had risen - it's just warm enough. As no Eucharist was planned to be celebrated in the chaplaincy today, I took extra time over Morning Prayer, adding in the lectionary readings for the Mass of All Saints. In the course of checking my various internet accounts, I came across the Facebook page of a former colleague who converted to Orthodoxy when he retired. One of the articles he posted was on the history of the minority Orthodox church in China at the turn of the twentieth century, and how over two hundred faithful and clergy were martyred during the Boxer rebellion. That was a timely thing to read about on All Saints' Day. 

He also posted the text of an Orthodox hymn known as the Akathist of Thanksgiving. It was, I quote; "found among the effects of Protopresbyter Gregory Petrov upon his death in a prison camp in 1940. The title is from the words of Saint John Chrysostom as he was dying in exile. It is a song of praise from amidst the most terrible sufferings attributed to Metropolitan Tryphon of Turkestan."

Metropolitan Tryphon was a son of Georgian nobility. He was a Bishop for 33 years, before and after the Russian revolution, so his entire ministry was conducted in violent troubled times. He is said to have written this hymn not long before his death in 1934. It's long, as are others in this unique liturgical genre, including some repeats nearly 3,200 words long, and would take half an hour to read aloud, and much longer to sing prayerfully using the Russian version of Byzantine chant. It is nonetheless a poetic work of great beauty, expressing heartfelt thanks for an entire life, for its joys and sorrows and for the grace of God at work through them all, and written by someone reflecting in faith on a life full of trial and suffering, lived in faith without regret or resentment or remorse. 

It's a faithful old man's prayer, one that any retired person might well read, mark learn and inwardly digest. The words can be found here - just one small section for a taster, there's lots more.

Glory to Thee for calling me into being

Glory to Thee, showing me the beauty of the universe

Glory to Thee, spreading out before me heaven and earth

Like the pages in a book of eternal wisdom

Glory to Thee for Thine eternity in this fleeting world

Glory to Thee for Thy mercies, seen and unseen

Glory to Thee through every sigh of my sorrow

Glory to Thee for every step of my life's journey

For every moment of glory

Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age.

I decided to go out for a walk around ten in the Garrucha direction, with no real aim in mind apart from checking which of the big bulk carriers was in port today. It turned out that the 'Kure Harbour' had left and been replaced overnight by the 'Pisti', although the latter had been due to dock before the former if the marine traffic website was to believed. Anyway, when I'd taken more photographs, on impulse, I headed up the hill so see if the Parish Church of San Joachin was open on this fiesta day. Indeed it was, but better still a Mass was due to be celebrated at midday. I was delighted. There were forty minutes to wait, but it meant I could have a good look around the church before the faithful were first summoned by bells at half past eleven.

The priest came in to get ready, and put on some background religious musak, which did nothing to stop people being chatty when they came in. By the time the Mass began the church was a third full, sixty mostly older people. A few hymns were sung, the priest preached what felt like a lengthy homily but may not have been so long as it felt. His voice sounded gravelly, and I think he was complaining of a sore throat. He spoke conversationally, but to my ear unintelligibly, although I understood many key words, I couldn't discern sentence structure, which was frustrating. I heard on the radio a few days ago that after Japanese, Spanish the second fastest spoken language in the world. I guess that means on an everyday basis, as I find I can decipher a fair amount of what broadcasters have to say.

We were out of church by a quarter to one, and I was back home preparing lunch by half past two, largely thanks to the brevity of Roman Catholic liturgical hymnody, editable to suit the occasion. So different from the rites of Byzantium, Moscow, Jerusalem or Antioch.

I went out for another walk just before sunset, first along the beach, and then inland up one of the side streets away from the beach in search of a clear view of the spectacular orange and grey sky which had developed once the sun had dipped behind Mojacar pueblo. This took me along the Calle Camino del Palmeral, along which several urbanizacions are strung out. It ends over the hill where it meets with a roundabout below the pueblo, another short cut when walking up there which I've now found.

In the evening I found I'd received a couple of verification code notifications from Gmail regarding my sister's account, which I set up for her years ago, with my address as the emergency point of reference in the event of needing to reset a password. As she doesn't use the mobile phone she persuaded me to buy for her, I couldn't just text it to her to use, so I had to ask Clare to call her and check if this had truly happened (and wasn't a hacker's effort), and then pass on the code via WhatApp (usefully encrypted) so she can read it out to my sister over the phone. Unforeseen consequences of trying to be helpful!

Tweet a friend

I painted the the front garden wall coping stone, the porch and its surrounds yesterday. There's only the bay window to do a second time now and the job is complete. A fledgling seagull from one of the street chimney nests is roaming the street while its parents patrol often noisily above. Some years they die, other years they grow until they can fly, and the street goes quiet again, until next breeding season.

My complaints on Twitter about poor EE reception locally in Pontcanna have elicited a response from someone who manages their on-line public relations, via the Twitter instant messaging channel. I was at first suspicious of someone asking for my name and mobile number, as my name is published on Twitter, and my Gmail address available for them to send me an email also, so there was an amusing exchange of banter about this punctuating the routine. It seems as if work is being done on the relay system in the local cell of the network. Whether improvement will mean eventual improvement of reception remains to be seen. It's always been poor in the houses around here, no matter how good the advertised service is meant to be.

In this hot weather, the relay linking our office monitoring system with that down County Hall has briefly and confusingly done down a couple of times. Normally this is very robust, but feeling microscopic changes in alignment of the dishes, or changes in atmospheric conditions near ground level are capable of interrupting the flow, requiring system re-starts. Just like with the mobile phone. The helpline mantra for people having trouble with their reception is: "First try switching it off and on again." Heaven preserve us all from solar flares, as they too can have a much more disruptive impact on networks.

Not long after finally touching base with EE's eager to help people, I had a text message asking me to participate in a cost-free survey about the quality of service received from the help people. Here's a record of the exchange. I couldn't resist a bit of childish mischief.

RX: "Thank you for using Orange Internet Service on your phone. We'll text you shortly for some feedback about your experience (All texts are free) How likely are you to recommend us based on your experiences of using the internet on your phone recently? From 0 (Not at all) to 10 (Extremely).

TX: Internet for me is best a big screen experience. Emergency use only on a phone, as too hard to read with old eyes.

RX: Sorry, your answer needs to be between 0-10 How likely are you to recommend us based on your experiences of using the internet on your phone recently?

TX: I don't do robot polls, so stop harassing me.


RX: Sorry, your answer needs to be between 0-10 How likely are you to recommend us based on your experiences of using the internet on your phone recently?

The rubric assumes everybody knows you can only enter numbers. The robot survey monkey doesn't instruct you to. Duh! Bad design.

Earlier I'd asked the EE help line people for reassurance that I wouldn't get spam texts. This was what I got. So I complained:

TX: How come the robotic survey monkey is suddenly in touch with my phone? I only talk to humans. Sometimes.

To which I got the reply 

RX: Hi Keith, most of us here are humans, we are not able to catch the robot monkey though!

So nice to know there are humans out there not just some geek's idea of artificial intelligence to solve all our problems. Humans do stupid things, but remain smarter than machines whenever they stop, observe, and reason clearly with facts rather than suppositions, and talk to you in language you can grasp.


Enough hassle for one week, I thought, doing their best with all this technology which is never as good as we think it ought to be - although my sister June complains that it was better once upon a time, but improvements (we are talking Google stuff here) are making it impossible, as there's new things to learn and get used to when the old stuff worked just fine.