Prime time

I find myself conflicted when my birthday falls in Holy Week. My attention and energy is focussed on the Passion story, whether I'm busy with services to prepare for, or with not much to do and appreciating time in quiet retreat. Family and friends are good at remembering and sending greetings and gifts, and if there's an opportunity, making a little party, but it never feels like the right time. I'd rather postpone everything until after Easter Day, when celebrating feels like something I really want to do. But the cards and calls arrive on time no matter what I think, and from far and wide too. Nice not to be forgotten. 

Seventy seven today - in my prime, seven times eleven - I find it hard to believe I'm that old. I guess I'm fairly fit and well for my age. Only occasionally do I sense my vulnerability and the physical encroachments of age. I'm thankful for all that I have and all that I have experienced, and still open to experience new things, if not chasing hungrily after them. The great sadness for me right now is this war in Ukraine. Nothing like it in Europe in my lifetime, and no idea how this will end.

I worked all day on constructing the master audio file for the Good Friday on-line service. Andrew and Clare recorded scripture readings for me on their phones. Clare and I recorded some material together and there were nine pieces of music. I was pleased to find that the completed article was forty nine minutes long, well within the planned time frame of the original script. Tomorrow I'll put together the audio and visuals and make an uploadable video from them.

Late afternoon I walked into town in search of some herbal remedies for Clare from Neal's Yard. Then, an early supper, so that I could attend Mass at St Luke's. Mother Frances is giving a series of sermons this week around certain 20th century works of art. While a copy of tonight's painting was on display, lack of light and distance from display meant that I couldn't figure out what the subject of the painting was, let alone how this related to her interpretation of it. It was frustratingly out of reach for me. Something to do with age I wonder?

I got home in time for this week's new NCIS episode, then got ready for bed. Just as I got into bed I had a WhatsApp call from Rachel on a bright sunny afternoon in Tempe. Kath and Owain called earlier, and I had a text message from Amanda as well. Whar a lucky guy I am!

Holy Week challenges

A car arrived for me in good time to get to St Mary's for today's funeral. On arrival, however, the area of Bute Street near St Mary's was very congested with parked cars and people. Getting into the church yard was gong to take a while, so I got out and walked the last hundred yards, conscious of losing time and needing to be fully briefed before starting. The lady who died was a regular church attender at St Mary's and had lived in Butetown all her life. About 300 people, attended, standing room only inside, and people in the porch and standing outside.

There wasn't enough time to do a full check of the service texts presented to me, and there'd been no time yesterday to prepare a full version of my own, so I had to navigate my way through the complete solemn ritual of a Requiem Mass from start to finish. The six strong serving team couldn't have been more helpful, but the lack of familiarity, and inability to find some of the required prayer texts meant  I had to improvise. This isn't usually a problem, but I felt as if I was struggling, even if that didn't come across. 

The only mistake I made was to miss out the last hymn, though this was no bad thing as we were running behind, so we sang it at the committal instead. Congestion outside the church and some heavy traffic en route to Thornhill meant that our time slot in their busy schedule was shrinking so we had barely ten minutes remaining in Briwnant chapel. It was enough for a brief, dignified conclusion, but more difficult to move the congregation away from the chapel entrance to the flower display area in time to let the next group of mourners enter. 

It's rare for there to be insufficient time between services. Planning by all involved is well thought out. Traffic conditions make a difference, generally catered for, but dealing with such large numbers in and around church is an unpredictable factor, even for a church like St Mary's with its history of big community funerals. Often at a Requiem, there may only be a few communicants, as most attending aren't churchgoers. On this occasion there were about fifty communicants and this adds extra time.

After lunch, I went to a flat in Granetown to meet the woman who had been arranging the funeral of her partner, whom she'd been caring for, as he was bed ridden for the past twenty years. She'd just finished writing some notes for a eulogy, and asked if I would speak about him on her behalf. She gave me a framed photo to place by his coffin in church and a CD with a song by Jim Reeves she wanted played. I shaped it into a suitable tribute to them both, given the circumstances, as soon as I got home. Then, I took the bus into town late in the afternoon and  walked across to St German's for the Mass of the Day.

Having spent time writing my Lent Blog postings in advance, to be on the safe side, knowing how easily days slip away almost un-noticed, I have already studied and reflected on the texts for the next few days, and made a conscious decision not to follow my usual habit of writing a sermon, but trusting myself to preach from scripture without notes. It carries the risk of going on too long and losing the thread. I have done this before and know that I can do it, but am always apprehensive about losing the audience. 

Praying extempore from the heart is easy, practice was needed to build confidence in the early years. Teaching and preaching both require careful preparation, yet need to come from the heart. This isn't about confidence though, it's about the risk of being led astray by one's own rhetoric, and, dare I say, by ones own unacknowledged illusions and negativity. A pulpit, like any other medium, can easily become a platform for delivering worthless or unworthy thoughts, nothing to do with God's word. Any time I've looked back at sermons I've preached over nearly fifty years, there have often been occasions which leave me thinking - I wouldn't say that now, would I?