Negative Anomaly

Clare went off to her study group after breakfast and I worked on some ideas for a series of Passiontide meditations on Jesus' last journey to Jerusalem prior to the events celebrated in the celebration of the Holy Week Triduum. Then I collected Clare's prescription and did some shopping, with a trip to R J Berry the butcher, to thank him for our exceptional Christmas turkey. I came away with some super sausages and chicken thighs for the freezer, two of which I cooked for lunch as I didn't fancy chickpeas today.

Afterwards, I sat down to do my daily Duo Lingo Spanish drill and then slept for over an hour, before my walk around the park. I had a Holy Week planning email to respond to before supper. We watched the days spectacular Winter Olympics reports on BBC catch-up, plus a classic edition of 'Yes Prime Minister'. Then I tidied up family holiday photos scanned yesterday from the late eighties and uploaded them to share. It's been good to rediscover them and savour them after so many years.

One small technical thing I observed scanning negatives yesterday was the minute difference in the size of negatives produced from the two latest packs of film, such that scanning produced a consistent black edge on two sides of the frame. The images are a few millimetres smaller than in other later film rolls scanned. Given these rolls of film date from 1985 and 1986, and all other scans are from later rolls, it  conclude this was when I switched cameras. 

My trusty old SLR Praktica with Zeiss lenses produced fine images, but the shutter became less reliable after my Jamaica visit in 1982. I acquired an Olympus Trip pocket camera, which had simple autofocus and exposure regulation. It was more convenient to use, even if the quality of the images wasn't quite as good as the Praktica. The Olympus images on film occupy the full 35mm frame, whereas the Practica images fit just inside the frame, producing that dark edge. At least, that's the only explanation I can find for this curious anomaly.

Requiem for a priest

I don't know where this morning went, it seemed to slip by un-noticed, although I did succeed in writing a fourth Resurrection reflection for Easter Week before lunch, and printing off some copies of the order of service for this afternoon's funeral. Before driving up to Thornhill, I took a quick walk to Tesco's to get some orange blossom honey for Clare and a couple of bottles of wine for Easter weekend, as Owain is coming over to join us.

This was the first funeral of a fellow priest I have ever done. The deceased's daughter brought along his Bible and Book of Common Prayer to place on his coffin, and I added my ordination stole as well, as she had given all of her father's liturgical robes to the village church in Leicestershire where he lived until he was unable to look after himself, and moved into a Penylan care home. We processed the coffin into the Briwnant Chapel head first to load on to the bier, as is customary for a priest. 

The chapel attendant appreciated the reason for this and promised he would see that the coffin also went into the cremator head first as well, out of respect for a priest's office. Nice to know someone still understands tradition. I had to explain it to the four mourners present, as they were unaware. The service was webcasted for the benefit of another daughter and her family, living in the USA. I should have left the explanation until the start of the service for her benefit really, but maybe one sister will explain this to another later on. One of three poems requested for the service was Rev Eli Jenkins' Prayer from Dylan Thomas' 'Under Milk Wood'. I couldn't help reading it as if I was playing the part on-stage, with a slight old parson's quiver in my voice. This raised a smile and a titter. It's a lovely piece with a quality that's  quite distinct from a liturgical prayer, and deserves the right treatment in my opinion.

Driving home I learned from the five o'clock news of the re-floating of the giant container ship stuck for nearly a week in the Suez canal causing a backlog of three hundred ships wanting to sail through. What lessons will be learned from this major disruption to the flow of global trade I wonder?

An early supper and then a walk to St Luke's for the Eucharist of the day. We were sixteen in church, six of us clergy. The altar on its platform has been moved back to the chancel step from the centre of the nave, to suit the Romanian Orthodox congregation that has been meeting there recently. Chairs for forty are arrayed in a huge well spaced arc facing east. To my mind this is more pleasing and easier on the eye to focus on the altar when you can see the east window beyond the chancel. Necessity has been the mother of invention in the fact of the pandemic. I hope the church council will be reluctant to revert to the previous arrangement once normality resumes.

I walked back, but as I was a few kilometres short of my daily goal, I walked on into the park and did a semi-circuit of Llandaff Fields in the dark. I thought I heared an owl in the distance, maybe in the woods by the river. The night air was mild and still, the sky clear with not many stars and planets visible. Sadly there's too much light pollution in the green heart of the city. Nevertheless, it was lovely.

Before turning in, I started preparing the second funeral service I have this week, on Thursday, in the light of the eulogy and I received from the daughter of the deceased. I wanted to get ahead with this, as I need to track down an osteo treatment for my neck and shoulder which are nagging for attention. Though not very painful, I need to work much of the time on keeping the shoulder moving so that I doesn't seize up. Mother Francis is currently having far worse trouble with an acute case of frozen shoulder. Just at the very busiest and most demanding time of the year. This kind of aliment is very much a product of far too much time spent on digital devices these days. I think we've become dangerously dependent on them.

Palm Sunday music-fest

A dull damp day, but nevertheless how good not to be in lock-down and able to worship together on this Palm Sunday. Sure, we didn't have a hymn singing procession around the grounds, for the second year in a row, but we had palms blessed in our seats, and the socially distanced choir sang a couple of anthems. Best of all, S Mark's Passion was read in dialogue form, steeping us all in the drama of Jesus' last week of ministry. For me this is one of the most important things we ever do as a worshipping community. It was so hard last year, having to read the entirety of Luke's Passion into my phone's voice recorder, before making the audio service offering of the day, wondering who'd listen, and identify with the story and be moved by it. There were thirty in church, four of them children. There's a children's Zoom service this afternoon. I wonder which kind of service will impress itself on their memory?

After lunch I went out for a walk early and readied the BBC sounds app on my phone to listen to Choral Evensong at three. I discovered that the preceding programme was a concert of Bulgarian Orthodox liturgical music, sung by a men's choir in the Patriarchal Cathedral of St Alexander Nevski in Sofia. This gave me a sublime treat of choral music of the 19th and 20th century, all new to me. Evensong came from Wells Cathedral, and included Renaissance canticles and anthems. I arrived home just before four. 

Clare and I then listened to another Palm Sunday special on Radio Three - Bach's St Matthew Passion, in a recording from the Netherlands. It seems the live concert had to be cancelled at short notice because of covid among the musicians. I downloaded a German text of the lyrics with English translation, and Clare downloaded the full score to follow the music, a somewhat bigger challenge. We're both familiar with the music, as we have a recording of it, but it was lovely to have time to sit and absorb the meaning of the text as it was being sung. So often over decades, I have been too bust, working under pressure to get everything ready for Holy Week, unable to relax and drink deeply. Laborare est orare, sure enough, but it's such a blessing to relax and reflect on a deeply spiritual work of musical art.

I watched the second episode of 'Line of Duty' this evening. Last week, the first attracted criticism from the media commentariat about shallow portrayal of some of the characters in the drama, and a remark by the lead investigator about a character he hadn't met being 'oddball' because of evidence found in his flat, and the person turns out to have Downs Syndrome, which he didn't know when the remark was made, and wasn't repeated. Not intended to offend anyone, but portraying perceptions made in real time. Were the critics paying attention to the structure of dramatic development here? Tonight's episode left us guessing who is corrupt here, the accuser or the accused? This series introduces a young police officer who was, as a teenager used as a 'runner' for a criminal network. He's now a corrupt undercover cop, bent on revenge I think, a narrative thread opened in the last series and developing in this. Unfortunately his presence on screen is spoiled by the use of sinister background music. Whose idea was that? Unless he is destined for an early dramatic exit. You never know! The enigmatic 'Line of Duty' is much watched, and just as much scrutinised for clues about how it will turn out.

It only takes a few

Although Saturday lie-in and pancake breakfast are part of our 'new normal', it still succeeds in feeling special - the absence of compulsion to get on and do other things. So much so that today I forgot to take my blood pressure medication altogether and only remembered while out walking with Clare at tea-time. I didn't notice the difference at all in fact, not like I noticed the difference when I stopped taking the top up doxazosin, absence of a fuzzy swimmy head, absence of unusual joint pains, and my blood pressure generally about the same, and not screaming 'crisis!' at me.

People in Wales are allowed to travel more than 5km from today. There were noticeably few people out in the parks, and not all the parking spaces were taken up in consequence. It was more like midweek than a weekend. We decided not to join the inevitable rush to the coast or the mountains. Not much point in traffic queues or hunting for parking spots. We can venture out when it's quieter, and people are back at work, although most children are back in school only for a few days this coming week, and then it's the Easter holidays.

Infection levels are diminishing, but not as rapidly as in the past couple of weeks. Given the third wave of contagion surging through several European nations, it's right that government public messaging repeatedly highlights the need for continued vigilance and precaution. International travel is tightly controlled and foreign holidays deemed illegal at the moment, which sounds bizarre and is a red rag to bullish libertarians. There have been protests this week in cities throughout Britain against legislation aiming to bolster police powers in relation to protest demonstrations. Last weekend, there was a vigil of protest on Clapham Common which police badly mishandled, arousing a storm of public indignation. 

More often than not, police manage demonstrations successfully, containing unruly elements, spotting and defusing threats of chaos. If something goes wrong, the world notices and pronounces before there's been any proper analysis or conclusion reached about the chain of events. Maybe that Clapham Common event went wrong because police team briefings weren't adequate or far sighted enough to achieve the objective of keeping everyone safe in a public space, without unnecessary enforcement action. 

Organisers of the demonstration claim to have planned and prepared with safety in mind, and most of the day's vigil occurred without issue. Things went wrong as some individuals decided to give impromptu speeches to the crowd without a public address system. This caused people to bunch up as they tried to listen and put each other at risk. The police saw the danger and acted clumsily to manage the situation. 

The fact that some people felt their voices must be heard, that they had a right to speak regardless of the circumstances, may not have been intended by the organisers. It meant they lost control, and the police were obliged to step in unprepared. Thus the thoughtless egotism of the few precipitated chaos. How much more powerful an expression of protest it could have been if this hadn't happened - unanimous disciplined silent witness, not disrupted by noisy voices stating the obvious.

How unfortunate this should happen as national debate over increasing police powers gained momentum. In a few days, the energy of protest shifted from violence against women to the tabled legislation. A demonstration in Bristol city centre turned into a violent attack on the central police station, and further protests happened there in the days following. 

When youth rioted in the St Paul's area of Bristol where I was parish priest back in 1980, it was very much a local incident of rebellion. In the hours and days that followed, anarchist activists with little or no local foothold arrived, to take advantage of the sense of injustice and discrimination felt within the community. They were soon spotted and told to clear off by local leaders. 

It's interesting to observe that the radical creativity characteristic of the city still contains a hard core of old school anarchists, willing to cause trouble and do so violently. It's another kind of selfish egotism, that masquerades as freedom for all. St Paul's rioted in Holy Week back in 1980. It gave us a different context for understanding Christ's passion and condemnation by a crowd turned into a vicious mob. It only ever takes a few people of ill-will or selfishness to re-direct the energy of a large gathering of people. Nothing has changed, in forty years, or two thousand for that matter.

Bed early tonight, as the clocks move forward an hour to summer time.

Holy Week Wednesday - Spiritual Capital Cardiff revisited

I've had an exchange of text messages with Roy Thomas who's out in South Africa at the moment, we have been sharing thoughts about discerning vocation recently, but today we shared thoughts about a possible re-opening of the Spiritual Capital research project we ran together 2006-8.

Funnily enough, responses to Monday's Notre Dame fire got me reflecting again on the economic and social role of religious edifices and institutions in this post modern era. The majority may stay well away from church, yet the presence and activity of religious faith based things, still seems not to be a matter of indifference to everyone. Even if ideas and opinions on these matters can be ill-informed, they can't be ignored or barred from consciousness. They continue to pose questions that challenge our sense of self anf our values.

Thoughts about Spiritual Capital were particularly prompted by an invoice from internet service provider Servage for another two years registration of the sarcic.org.uk URL which was used as our project web page. It's still active, although it looks terribly dated, and a few of the links are broken. We used two Google blog sites as well. Both are still there, frozen in time. The steering group blog final entry was in mid July 2008. Entries on the Spiritual Capital blog petered out over the next eighteen months as I wound down towards retirement, with one stray entry two years later.

I gave up access details to Parish web assets, including the Spiritual Capital material, when I retired. St John's web presence has changed since then, and old stuff is unused. I found a written record of old access codes, and they still work, but Google's beefed up security protocol showed its worth. Neither my present IP address nor the devices were used then, so confirmation of my access privilege was automatically required from current keeper - St John's tower captain Bob Hardy. I emailed him, and he confirmed he'd received a security alert, and I reassured him of the reason for this surprise, while he is away on holiday. We'll see to it when he returns next week! Meanwhile I need to draft a way of linking current aspirations and interest in Spiritual with those last expressed over a decade ago to discuss with Roy.

After lunch, I went to the wound clinic, and then collected this week's veggie bag from Chapter, before walking down to Blackweir Bridge before supper. I saw a couple of baseball teams out on the Fields at match practice. Baseball came to Cardiff a century ago. It's not at big as cricket, but it has always had a core of keen followers. After a few days of cold weather, it's warming up again, so it's quite pleasant to be out and about,

As it's Holy Week in an interregnum, there are no mid-week morning Masses, just a single evening Mass for the Benefice. Tonight, we were at St Catherine's, with twenty in the congregation and ten in the choir, as predicted by Clive. This would work if all who attended mid-week services regularly in the morning were to come, but they don't. Some older people, though not all to be fair, aren't keen  to venture out after tea. If changing routine is a big effort, they miss out. It's a bit sad, but reflects a time of change. No news yet of a new Team Rector, the appointment process seems still to be a work in progress.

Tuesday in Holy Week

It's been interesting to follow today's news stories in the aftermath of the Notre Dame Cathedral fire - with half a billion euros for restoration funding pledged by big corporations, some in the construction industry. They have an eye on investing in skills training for historic conservation projects by the sound of it, although it seems France is already well blessed in this employment sector.

This crisis offers a public opportunity to celebrate the bravery and persistence of firefighters whose untiring efforts prevented total destruction of the building. It's astonishing that the ancient organ has survived, despite the deluge of water and molten lead. It's damaged no doubt, but hopefully it can be restored. How good to hear different voices expressing what this sacred edifice means to them, even if they never darken its doors to worship God. Interesting to hear commentators speaking about people grieving at the loss of a building. 

Photos of the fire damaged interior are remarkable - the cross suspended in the sanctuary over the high altar defiantly still in place. And people again out on the streets, singing and praying, city church bells tolling, acts of public witness by the faithful minority in a secular society, where many ancient church buildings are now monuments to a Christian past, museums of cultural history.

Interesting too, how this has awakened memories of the York Minister fire, and the Windsor Castle fire, affording an opportunity to review the fruit of post inferno restoration work, and speak to some of those responsible. It's raised discussion about the Houses of Parliament, needing restoration after only 150 years of life, subject to the same vulnerabilities, before restoration and eventually during the process. There doesn't need to be a lightning strike to start a fire. A faulty electrical connection will do, either in permanent or temporary lighting, not to mention neglected gas powered appliances. Nothing can be taken for granted when working in these conditions. 

Thinking about 'building grief', it seems to me that destruction of heritage architecture awakens more of a sense of loss nowadays than it did fifty years ago. Modernising our cities led to redevelopment plans that sacrificed many ancient buildings in those days, perhaps because they were too expensive to conserve or find a place in new grand urban schemes. Much was lost due to wartime bombing, but not always rebuilt from old plans, as happened across Europe, but rather replaced. The emphasis was 'out with the old, in with the new'. It gave us Basil Spence's masterpiece Coventry Cathedral, but also an ugly unappealing neighbouring town centre with few reminders of what had been lost.

Apart from walking to the wound clinic, and walking to church this evening, I didn't do much. I don't know why, but I lacked energy. I'm waking earlier as the days lengthen, and getting to bed earlier to compensate, though not always successful in getting off to sleep, and some days miss out on a siesta. I need a total of 7-8 hours daily one way or another, and if I don't, I can expect to pay for it. There were seventeen of us for this evening's Benefice Eucharist at St John's. It was quite late when I got around to looking at today's Málaga Semana Santa photos and video on the Diario Sur website, plus my own from last year. I'll pay for it tomorrow, no doubt.

Holy Week Tuesday

Seventy two years old today, and feeling grateful to be fit and active, blood pressure notwithstanding. After a lazy start to the day, I spent a long time on the phone with my sisters - Pauline 88 and June 82 - still their younger brother, with lots of memories to share. Then I drove to Dinas Powis to collect Clare from her study group, and then go to B&Q at Culverhouse Cross to buy compost and bedding plants. 

As we approached the junction at which one turns off into the superstore's car park, a car crash happened about 20 metres in front of us. I didn't see the collision, only the immediate aftermath. One car stopped in the land ahead of me with pieces falling off its front end, and another car in the adjacent lane a few metres further on with a smashed rear end, including its rear window. A woman emerged from the car carrying a child in a safety seat, heading for the central reservation where the other car was, rather than the roadside. It seemed nobody was injured, just very distressed. At that moment, I didn't see there was anything I could do to help except drive very carefully around the cars and out of the incident zone, to make way for police and emergency services to arrive, and relieve the congestion.

Thankfully, that busy area is well covered by Police traffic cameras, and I knew the incident would have been picked up on very quickly, perhaps even before a 999 call was received. We heard sirens about ten minutes later. By the time we emerged from the store, an ambulance was on the scene, as well as a police car, and traffic was moving past the incident zone. The stretch of the A48 from Culverhouse into town is almost always busy, and the speed limit is mostly 40mph, and mostly monitored by radar controlling cameras. I think this is rather too high for the traffic flow through a built up area, and tend to stay at 30mph as a precaution, but there's no guarantee that someone behind overtaking won't misjudge their position and rear-end my car, but I'm grateful it's not happened to me so far.

After a late lunch, I visited Fr Mark our Vicar to go over the outline plans for the coming months, when I'm here and able to help him out, after Fr Phelim moves to St German's. Until there's a new bishop, the thought of a replacement parish priest is not on the agenda, the same as Fr Phelim's licensing. It's a most unfortunate consequence of the failed election process and subsequently stalled appointment by the Bench of Bishops. It may be nothing will happen now until after the Church in Wales' Easter meeting of the Governing Body in Easter Week. Under the circumstances, the bishops may feel the need to report back publicly on all that's happened in the full glare of the publicity surrounding events. Well, we'll see. The Church in Wales is in uncharted waters. There have been failed electoral processes followed by episcopal appointments in the past, but not in a world where social media and citizen journalism have powerfully voiced concerns over accountability.

When I returned home, Mary from across the road came over bringing scones for tea. Clare had bought a chocolate cake as an interim birthday cake. I get the official one on Sunday - an Eastertide Simnel Cake, one of my all time favourites. After an early supper I drove over to St German's to celebrate the evening Mass of the day, for half a dozen. Then, an hour's telly, and bed earlier than usual, to make up for early rising these past few days.

  

Palm Sunday and crime fiction

Up bright and early to celebrate the eight o'clock Eucharist at St Catherine's, and Clare came too, so she could have the rest of the morning free to go to Riverside Market, and prepare lunch for an early afternoon visit to her study group in Bristol. I went on to St German's to celebrate Mass. Being Palm Sunday, we began with the blessing of Palms in the church's walled garden, and processed from there into the building. The sun shone and a wren tweeted a commentary during the the Palm Gospel reading. Again the sun streamed into the church wonderfully throughout the service.

Beforehand and afterwards, we had visits from people asking for baptism in the coming weeks. There are seven to baptise in four separate services, and all these will fall to me, as they'll happen before Fr Phelim is licensed and starts working full time in the Parish. I've done more while on different locum duty stints in St German's over the past five years, than I did in eight full years at St John's. There have been more this past years than previously, and the reason for that is not apparent. I wonder if it's a sign of resurgent interest in tradition and custom, after a long period of disinterest. It's certainly not unusual for faith concerns to wax and wane, and skip a generation.

I fully intended to go out for a walk after lunch, but indolence got the better of me, so I didn't. After a few phone calls and emails, I dozed off for a while, and then Clare was home again. I watched an NCIS episode not previously seen, while waiting for 'Line of Duty', which made compelling watching, with a shock ending yet again. So many twists and turns you don't see coming.

My regular diet of crime fiction watching when I have nothing better to do, has made me wonder lately about the significance of the character portrayal of crime investigators.

So many of them are mavericks, some are team players, sort of, but with brilliant bosses, as in the CSI and NCIS series, where the nature of leadership and its qualities is part of what's being explored. In other series, sleuths are sad people, loners, struggling socially, in pain, but all of them have the ability to think outside the box, to see and read evidence differently from others, obsessive as well as brave in chasing the truth, no matter how costly to themselves or others.

These seem like heroic cultural figures in the so called ‘age of reason and scientific evidence’, for they expose weaknesses and disabilities in the way well meaning people and those with vested interests in the status quo interpret, if not select evidence to work with, to suit themselves. The idea that the truth is out there, but hidden. Searching for the truth involves discipline, pain and self sacrifice, also intuition and inspiration as well as experience, learning and skill. Truth may not be what it seems at first sight. This is important, not just in forensic science, and law enforcement, but also in politics and commerce. Recent episodes of 'Line of Duty' and 'Follow the Money', both about uncovering corruption in policing and in the financial world, have made me think about the personal costliness of pursuing the truth.

If I may dare stretch the point, this is equally important in terms of religious truth too, filled as religion can be with hypocrisy, lies, bigotry and manipulation. Some say that’s all there is to religion, yet, there are outstanding people who see truth and reality beyond the superficial crap, who want to take us where we don’t think the evidence leads. The best and most inspiring spiritual and religious leaders and teachers resemble the maverick crime busting heroes I’m thinking of. Perhaps that’s why I enjoy the genre so much, even when it's weird and wonderful, or just super nasty. These detectives may be odd characters, and downright unholy in many aspects of their lives, yet they feel compelled to sacrifice themselves to uncover the truth the evidence really points to. 

There's something comparable to the story of Jesus in this, as it unfolds on Palm Sunday and during Holy Week, when we're reminded that the revelation of God in the midst of outrageous human iniquity and injustice occurs in a context of law enforcement and political expediency, secular and religious.

    

Holy Week - the first half

There was an hilarious April Fool prank on the Diocese in Europe Website this morning. An item about a new EC directive on standardisation of candle sizes to comply with Health and Safety requirements in European churches. It's worth a look. You'll find it here

This week my locum ministry duties lie in the familiar territory of Tongwynlais and Taff's Well. Fortunately, a new priest has already been appointed, Zoe King, moving from the far west of the diocese, but she won't arrive until June. Under the new strategic ministry plan for the diocese this parish is grouped with Radyr, Pentyrch and Groesfaen. It's a suburban district of Cardiff adjacent to the M4 corridor that will see a lot more fresh housing development in the next decade, but which is unlikely to get more than the present number of three clergy when it would be best served by double that number.

Already the existing clergy are starting plan and work together with the future in mind. For the first three days of Holy Week the have invited the congregations of the three Parishes to come together for an evening service in a place of worship belonging to each one in turn. As locum priest, they invited me to join them, taking a turn in preaching, leading worship and sitting in the congregation on the receiving end.

As none of these services were planned as Eucharists, I took myself to Llandaff Cathedral three mornings running for the 9.30am Eucharist, each celebrated by a retired colleague. The numbers attending varied between a dozen and twenty, also mostly retired people. Each of the three evenings there's another Eucharist with address, and I would imagine, no shortage of people to attend. Cathedral attendances are rising here, as in other parts of Britain.

On Monday evening, it rained and there was a very blustery wind for Evening Prayer at St John's Danescourt, yet there were twenty people present. The sound of the wind roaring intermittently through the trees in the churchyard outside sounded like that of waves breaking on the sea shore.

On Tuesday the weather was bright and sunny all day. I drove out to St David's Groesfaen for Compline and Address, graced by the setting sun streaming in through plain glass nave windows in this delightful country church. This time there were three dozen people present.

Tonight we were in St Michael's Tongwynlais for Evening Prayer at the same hour. Quite apart from the return of clouds and light rain, the position of the village at the entrance to the Taff Gorge means that dusk arrived earlier than it did at Groesfaen. Even so, twenty eight people were present. All three occasions, I'd say, were occasions of enouragement, both for the Jenny and Mike, the clergy and to their congregations. Both of them preached very well indeed, and I much enjoyed being on the receiving end.

This morning, Clare had the stitches removed from her wounds, all very healthy and neat. Six days since the operation, and I see progress in her every day. On the way back from the surgery we called into the Apothecary's shop on Llandaff Road, to seek out a herbal remedy to help her dispel side effects of anaesthesia. We returned home with several bags of herbs, seeds and berries for boiling up into a strange tasting concoction to drink. These things have a way of being quite efficaceous, so long as you have the right mixture. No harm in trying it out I guess.

Summer time starts

Over the last three days Clare has been making steady progress and getting used to coping with her immobilised shoulder. The pain hasn't been too bad, but the anaesthetic after effects have been quite unpleasant - nausea, dizziness, fatigue - and we get the impression this could go on for some while. We've gone out for a short walk each day to get some fresh air, longer each time. Exercise makes all the difference. There have been emails, texts and phone calls to take her mind off the symptoms, not to mention the challenge of one handed typing.

Allan and Lynne visited yesterday afternoon and Lynne took charge of changing her wound dressing. It all looks good and healthy, testimony to the care taken by the surgical team. Owain came over from Bristol for a couple of hours in the evening, with a large bunch of flowers to cheer his mum. 

As I've also been feeling quite tired with extra tasks to perform, I made a point of putting the clocks forward in the early evening, rather than wait until it's my usual bed time, and end up losing an hour's sleep. It worked quite well, and I woke up more refreshed than I usually do on this particular weekend when summer time begins.

Clare didn't feel well enough to come so I went to church on my own, joining a congregation of over a hundred at St Luke's for the united Benefice service of the day. It was great to see so many children there with their parents, and to see two other retired clerics who help out in the parish, sitting in the congregation. The day was overcast. It rained and as a strong wind gusted, the usual procession from the hall next door, up the street and back to church was exchanged for an indoor circuit - the first time in his sixteen years as Vicar, said Fr Mark. Throughout the reading of St Mark's Passion, the ominous rumble of distant thunder could be heard. A sobering start to Semana Santa Cardiff.

Thinking of which, a brief search provided me with a link to the live broadcast stream of tonight's processions in Malaga courtesy of Onda Azul Malaga. Clare thinks I'm obsessional, but for the sight of all those people participating in such a massive and well organised social religious ritual is really inspirational. I can't be there now as I was last year, popping into the city on a crowded train at the end of a day's work, but I can do now what I discovered that I could do then, and watch on-screen whenever a visit was impracticable. Ah the marvels of modern technology!

Here's the link to the stream

 

Portable pilgrimage

Tuesday
In the morning, I went into town to the CBS office this morning for an important meeting, then came home mid afternoon to continue preaching preparation. I collected 'Becca from College at seven and we went out to Christchurch Radyr together for Evening Prayer, which she conducted, and I preached. It's just as well I offered to preach in the Parish this week, as Jenny has a chest cold and is on the verge of losing her voice. The extremely cold weather doesn't help, with many extra services to conduct. She has two funerals this week in addition to nine other services before Sunday. Also, Chris her NSM curate, is loaned to Caerau with Ely, to cover services during Fr Jesse's sick leave - a lot of extra pressure.

Wednesday
I collected 'Becca at nine and we made the same journey to Christchurch for a Eucharist, which I celebrated and she preached, circulating an image displayed on her iPad for the congregation to look at while she spoke about it. Only one person managed to swipe the picture off the screen. Using technology live with a congregation is as risky as performing with children and dogs! I sent my apologies to College for the afternoon Strategy Forum meeting. I needed more time to work on my preaching material. In the evening I collected 'Becca from College again and we went to St John's Danescourt where this time I preached and she led Evening Prayer. The full Paschal moon was just visible through a haze of cloud above the car park, as we left for home.

Maundy Thursday
Although still bitterly cold, there was sunshine streaming in to St John's Danescourt for the celebration of the Eucharist at nine thirty. Jenny decided not to attend the Cathedral Chrism Mass, and stayed on home ground in an effort to conserve energy, assisting as I celebrated and preached. For once, although I'd brought a sermon with me, I decided to improvise, and enjoyed doing so. 

I went into town for a few hours, then returned for supper, picked up 'Becca to drive to Christchurch for the evening's Sung Eucharist at which I preached. Jenny, 'Becca and I stripped the altars at the end. It was a first time experience for 'Becca. Then we went to St John's Danescourt where we kept silent vigil together with others for half an hour, before leaving. This time the Paschal moon slipped in and out of broken cloud, as if it struggled to assert its presence in the moody darkness of this first Triduum day's end: 'Judas took the bread and departed. It was night.'

I love Holy week. Its scripture readings never fail to move me, as they evoke memories of key moments in my journey of faith since teenage years. It's a pilgrimage I can make wherever I find myself, whether alone with a Bible and Prayer Book, or in the company of others, whether it's half a dozen or thousands, giving out or on the receiving end, no matter where I may find myself in the world. I can only be grateful for this.

Holy Week in Radyr

I had a cheering  meeting this morning in College with Chris Bowler a member of last year's tutor group. He's now an assistant Curate in a rural Radnorshire borderland parish. He comes to Cardiff occasionally to visit the library, as he's keen to continue studying. It's satisfying to see a former student enjoying his new life and work up country.

After lunch we had a two and a half hour staff meeting, discussing the Bishops Vision Statement on ministry and mission, as part of the preparation for comprehensive course development in the light of the forthcoming College review. The grand plan is to have a modular training programme whose components can be used for lay training as well as all stages of preparation for ordained ministry, and in service training. Fortunately it won't all have to be put into place in one go, but can be grown according to need and opportunity. It'll be quite a challenge to move from grand plan to detailed design, given that all involved in vocational guidance, selection and training programmes across the six diocese will have an interest in shaping the outcome.

After supper I drove out to St John's Danescourt to give my first Holy Week address to a dozen people at Evensong, led by Jenny Wigley, my former parish colleague. St John's is lovely small thirteenth century church with an ancient churchyard around it containing a thousand year old yew tree. Until forty years ago it was set in open countryside with just a farmhouse for neighbour. Now the farmhouse is a pub next to several small shops, all sitting at the centre of a very large housing estate - all part of the post-war expansion of Cardiff. Tomorrow night, the same again at Christ Church, up in the village with its mix of older early 20th century suburban mansions and artisan dwellings. Such a refreshing change after many weeks of being focussed largely on College life.