Way of the Cross

I didn't sleep very well, but woke up to a mild sunny spring day. My first assignment was to lead Stations of the Cross at St German's.  Before I started, I posted to WhatsApp the YouTube link for the service at St John's at noon. There were only ten of us present. There was no time to stop for coffee and hot cross buns afterwards, as I needed to take the car home and then walk to St John's in good time. 

I borrowed the Zambian crucifix from the sacristy to place on the altar for the St John's noon service, and had to carry it in a large bag for life down to the church. I had to wear my cassock as I couldn't carry it along with the crucifix. The shops were open but the streets weren't busy. I don't suppose anyone noticed me looking a bit conspicuous on the half mile walk to church. There were ten of us for the service, which wasn't without mishaps. 

I took the hymn numbers from an early edition of the hymnal in use, none of which matched the real numbers. Monica the organist didn't mention it, and I only realised it after sowing confusion among the congregation. Andrew, Martin and Monica read their assigned parts well, and all of us would have been more audible if the radio microphone had batteries in it. Apparently it's been like that for three weeks. Nobody feels responsible for practical details of running the service - the stage management side of the traditional church warden role - now abolished in the creation of Ministry Areas, but needing re-invention. 

Clergy taking services have more than enough to think about. It's important that lay people look after all the necessary supporting details of running worship, not just the flowers and refreshments at the end. The trouble is, the imposition of Ministry Areas has in effect dis-empowered them. Now they need motivating and encouraging to attend to the detail all over again. It is troubling to see congregations so diminished.

After the service, I went home to deposit the borrowed crucifix and my cassock, and then walked over yo St Luke's for the Liturgy of the Passion at two o'clock. There were twenty of us present, and three choir members sang the reproaches and Psalm 22. Surprisingly Mother Frances read the entire Passion, without additional voices, just congregational crowd responses. It's often the case that readers for the passion get roped in when they arrive for the service, and everyone makes the effort to ensure it works unrehearsed. St Luke's isn't short of good readers. No sermon this afternoon, and no sermon last night from Fr Stewart. What happened? Why these changes? Is the church now so busy trying to reorganise itself to cope with decline that interpreting the Word of God is being neglected?

When I got home, I ate a very late lunch, kept by Clare for me. As I relaxed, began to feel very tired and slept for an hour. The past week has been quite demanding, with all the video editing hassles. although I haven't had to preach or take services, as I have done previously in Holy Week. I've not been lacking in energy or concentration, but in common with many others post-covid, I've had to work with a fuzzy head as my body works at discharging the remnants of covid infection. Good sleep seems essential.

There are preparations I need to make for tomorrow and for next week, but tonight I was in no mood for work, and spent the evening watching dreary telly. Perhaps I sould have gone to bed very early instead.        

Good Friday night out

Up to Radyr with 'Becca for a ten o'clock start this morning, for a short youth service at Christchurch, then a walk of witness down to the Methodist Church, where we were joined by the congregation there at the end of their service for a prayers around the cross in the public garden opposite the church. It was bitterly cold, and waiting for the rendezvous wasn't much fun, but when the brief prayers were over we went into the Methodist church hall for tea and hot cross buns. I met Aled Edwards, General Secretary of Cytun, who was worshipping with the Methodists this morning and we chatted for a while, then I went home, feeling in need of some quiet solitude before my afternoon preachment. Clare was just on her way out for the service with Bishop David at St John's Canton, so I had the place to myself.

Jenny, 'Becca and I shared the conduct of Good Friday Liturgy between us, with three dozen people in attendance. After I'd preached, 'Becca read a poetic meditation on the Cross she'd written. It was one of the first reflections she sent me after she started in College. I remembered how personally honest it had been, and was delighted she agreed to read it in a service. I felt it fitted well with the conclusion of what I had preached about. It was a fitting introduction to venerating the cross, which we then processed in with. For 'Becca this was an all-new experience. There are few occasions over forty five years when I haven't been at this liturgy and venerated the cross. It means a great deal to me.

Owain came over for an early supper, and then we went together to the Millennium Centre to watch a dance event which brought together sixteen Shaolin monks and a contemporary dance in an east-west fusion performance called 'Sutra', a Sadlers Wells production. 

Everything about it was truly amazing - the use of seventeen huge two metre tall wooden boxes as props constantly moved around on stage and used as a theatrical framework for executing a host of high speed athletic feats. They certainly deserve their reputation for being 'flying monks', they jump so spectacularly high. Many components of the movements performed I recognised from Tai Chi and Chi Gung, although delivered in the dynamic fashion of martial arts.

It was a wonderful spiritual offering from a group of calm focussed recollected young men emptied of egotism, connected to each other so tightly that their movement gave the impression of an active swarm of bees. It was moving and uplifting to watch and I loved the music by Szymon Brzoska. 

There were moments in the performance when the boxes were laid out horizontally and piled up in a four by four array, each occupied by a still performer, suggesting a funerary columbarium of the catacombs . Echoes of the Saviour's death and burial are never far away on this most holy day.