A feast of a day

I woke up at seven without needing an alarm, and with a bit of effort we were out of the door walking to St Nicholas' Parish Church at the other end of Kenilworth for the eight thirty Eucharist of the day. It was a the slightly modified 1662 Prayer Book service, from Common Worship 2000, taken at an unhurried pace with meditative silences throughout, in keeping with the timeless tradition of a quiet early Communion. I didn't feel I'd missed out because I didn't get to sing carols at midnight Mass. I appreciated the difference.

As we returned to join the early turkey roasters over breakfast, we hear the sound of church bells being rung the other side of town. The arched gateway to a private house, clad with evergreen bushes covered in range berries was full of chirping sparrows when we passed by. The owner of a Chinese takeaway was out with a roller brush repainting the facade surrounding his show window. He gave me a big grin. Apart from him High Street was deserted except for the occasional speeding car.

After coffee and toast, served as the others appeared from bed, I took the car back to the hotel car park and walked back to join the party, the bubbly already circulating before midday, Christmas songs on the sound system, and the aroma of red cabbage and turkey already in the air. 

By two o'clock the seven of us we at table enjoying a smoked salmon starter with the first of four different wines, the last a Chateauneuf du Pape  of which we had two different bottles, mostly embellishing a 2021 Christmas pudding from Clare's treasure trove. The dish of the day was beautifully cooked, along with all the veggies. Superbly organised by Kath with a willing band of helpers. I enjoyed the fact that my help was not needed at any stage, for a change.

Presents were exchanged around the tree afterwards, but I didn't last to the end. At some stage I fell asleep and spent nearly two hours on the sofa out of this world. This isn't unusual for me on Christmas Day after a busy few days of services, and for good reason. Admittedly, getting up early and in church by eight thirty curtailed a night's sleep a little, but I didn't feel especially tired. I didn't just nod off slowly but lapsed into sleep without realising, and woke up refreshed eventually. The good thing about being old is that nobody worries much if you conk out spontaneously. As long as you keep breathing, and don't have a fit.

We listened on iPlayer to King Charles' maiden speech as monarch. I was interested to see it was branded as 'The Speech' to avoid confusion with the movie about his Grandfather King George VI. He spoke well, covering all bases in terms of appreciation for all the voluntary and professional workers whose lives of public service have made life tolerable and worthwhile for the nation in this past year, and affirmed the diversity of British citizens working together for the common good. 

He paid tribute to his late mother, and was transparent about the importance of his own Christian faith in his life, openly following in her foot steps. A worthy successor to her as chief lay person of the Church of England. The speech was filmed in St George's Chapel Windsor, and was rich in video cutaways to people in all walks of life engaging in public service across Britain, illustrating what he was speaking about. Brilliant thoughtful editing, maintaining a high standard and quietly demonstrating what a head of state can and should be in leading the nation. 

We walked back to the hotel at half ten, ready for a much longer sleep after a lovely day of excellent food and conversation laced with hilarious anecdotes and repartee.

Low Sunday blues

I woke up early and went to the eight o'clock Communion service at St Nicholas' Parish Church. I sat outside beforehand, on a park bench saying Morning Prayer from my phone. I'd have felt rather self-conscious fiddling with my phone in church, where it's customary good manners to switch off and attend to God without digital support.

Much to my surprise, the 1662 Book of Common Prayer liturgy has been supplanted by a select Easter booklet derived from the CofE Common Worship prayer book data store. A youthful looking retired priest five years or so older than me took the service and preached an excellent resurrection homily. I couldn't help but notice that congregational numbers are now down to twenty, having been thirty plus on previous visits. There can be a variety reasons for this, including a changing profile for the church going constituency with perhaps fewer older traditionalists attending. Older people may stop getting up so early, and move to the main service of the day, whether they like modern liturgy or not. Still, in this heartland parish of protestant middle England, I sincerely hope that use of the 1662 BCP hasn't entirely been abandoned.

Apart from me, everyone got up late. We had a late breakfast, and then after a good walk through Abbey FIelds and around Kenilworth Castle and back, lunch mid-afternoon, before parting company and heading down the M40 to Beaconsfield, for a night in a Travelodge hotel prior to the Memorial Service for a friend from Geneva days, John Meredith. He died last summer, six months after losing his wife Elizabeth. It's been lovely to get away, as we have done, but how tiring these days we find both the displacement and the effort.

Surprisingly, wi-fi had to be paid for in the hotel, but the phone signal was good enough for this not to be necessary. I leave mobile data on these days, and find I rarely if ever exhaust my rather meager weekly allowance, since I don't need to stream music or video. The room had a telly, we we were able to watch tonight's episode of 'Line of Duty', and be kept guessing for another week about the identity of the most corrupt cops of all - although I bet there are some corrupt politicos involved in all this as well.

    

Early service at Kenilworth

I was awake at seven, and out of the house to attend the BCP celebration of Holy Communion with two dozen others at St Nicholas' Parish Church, before everyone else got up. A retired cleric, rather than the Vicar took the service, and told us that he was volunteering to cover the eight o'clock first Sundays of the month from now on. I don't think there's a Curate at the moment. 

There's nothing quite like a BCP early service in a 15th century church with sunlight streaming in, birdsong in the background in Shakespeare's County, heart of Established Protestant England. Despite changes in appearance of the building and congregation, I get that special feeling, of time standing still. Maybe that's why it's relatively well attended. Eight o'clocks are not as well attended in Wales, apart from Cathedrals and Minster churches. In Canton Benefice the early congregation is usually half the size.

After breakfast, a walk into town for some shopping at Waitrose then lunch, before setting off back to Cardiff late afternoon. We got back just as The Archers was finishing on the radio. An enjoyable few days away, and a pleasure to be on the receiving end again, in the congregation on a Sunday.

Congregational choreography

Up at first light, to be sure of getting out of the house to walk to St Nicholas' Kenilworth for the eight o'clock Communion service for the feast of Candlemas, which is being observed in the CofE today. It's next week in the Church in Wales calendar. Interestingly the 'Sunday Worship' smartphone app gives Candlemas readings as an alternative for this week and next, as the fortieth day of Christmastide is this Thursday, so it can be observed in anticipation or retrospectively. It keeps us on our toes, I guess.

The Reverend Stella, a confident and outgoing priest, seemed a little tentative about keeping two dozen eight o'clockers on their toes, when at the start of the service she asked communicants to approach the rail and fill it from left to right, instead of the other way round. Exit from the high altar through a side chapel is to the right, and this simple logical measure could possibly serve to decongest the area before the sanctuary, so long as people standing in the choir stayed put until there was a pause in the flow from the rail. 

Habits formed over decades of routine worship are not easy to change. Success depends on people's ability to hear and obey one week, remember the next, and so on. It presupposes a degree of awareness of others which is going to vary depending on who's in the congregation, and who follows whom up to the rail. Having a steward place to direct worshippers may or may not be helpful, depending on their experience and tactfulness. Giving choreographic directions to a congregation isn't easy at the best of times. I sympathised with the Vicar's nervousness, something I recall well when trying to do something differently during my life in charge of a Parish. 

The change seemed to work as proposed. Perhaps there'd been a survey or a discussion leading to this? It's such a small thing, but an early, said service in an English Parish church is a model of respect and good manners. Participants, whether they are complete strangers or have known each other at church for a lifetime, give each other space and silence to be completely inward, engaged with the liturgy as much or as little as they desire. The peace is exchanged, as it has been for some years at St Nicholas', done briefly with warmth, courtesy and few words. I wish it were the same at every church service.

I enjoy the early morning walk to church here as the sun rises. The Reverend Stella preaches a modest length, well prepared sermon. Early birds don't get Liturgy Lite. Talking of which, on my way up the avenue of lime trees to the church, I saw several thrushes on the ground, plus a pair of blackbirds, one with a worm in its beak just tugged out of the ground. I haven't seen that since family camping days.

The house was quiet for a good hour or more after I returned, before the family awoke and came down for breakfast, well brunch. Then it was time for me to head back to Wales, as early afternoon they were going to Coventry to meet a student film crew, making a music video to accompany one of the songs on Sonrisa's forthcoming album, being crafted by Anto and the band in the attic sound studio above their house. It rained all the way back to Cardiff, but the roads weren't crowded.

Looking at news and photos on Facebook later, I was reminded that this afternoon was Archbishop Barry's farewell at Llandaff Cathedral. The place was packed with clergy and representatives from all over the diocese. Even if I'd been able to get home in time, I doubt if there'd have been a free space for me, and I wasn't aware in advance of how I might get one. Some time ago I decided to settle for sending him a personal letter of appreciation and farewell. He'll certainly remain in my prayers as he makes the transition from being a very public servant of the church to private citizen who happens to be a retired priest. May God bless and prosper him in his new way of life.

        

A St Nicholas Sunday

I woke up early and was out of the house, on my way to Kenilworth's St Nicholas' Parish Church before sunrise this morning to attend the eight o'clock Book of Common Prayer Holy Communion service. It's a refreshing change not to need a book, having memorised it back in my days of BCP early Sunday Communion services in Halesowen, nearly thirty years ago. I was delighted to learn that the Parish now has a new incumbent, the Revd Stella Bailey, inducted on 11th October. 

As this is the Sunday nearest the Parish patronal festival, she started, preaching about St Nicholas, then moved into speaking about the extent of people trafficking, the broad modern designation for slavery of all kinds. She got there by citing a story about St Nicholas secretly providing a dowry for the three daughters of a poor man, about to sell them, as he was unable to afford to keep them and the rest of his family. It's something still happens today, we were reminded. A wholesome remedy against Santa sentiment. Invigorating stuff for a frosty Advent morning,

Rhiannon enjoyed her weekend lie-in, and I cooked us lunch. She then suggested an afternoon walk, and we tramped across the Abbey fields, white with frost, past the lake, where Mallards and a solitary Moorhen were coping with the largely frozen waters, to Kenilworth Castle. Its dark sandstone walls became almost incandescent, lit up by the setting sun - a lovely moment. Then we walked into the town for drinks and a cake in Costa Coffee, a favourite Rhiannon place to go and chat. She told me all about school and the subjects she likes most. She's lucky enough to be taking Spanish and French this year. Her school is in the throes of becoming an academy, she told me, unsure what this would mean, apart from a more prestigious status at this point. Yes indeed, we'll see. I'm not sure either.

Kath and Anto arrived home from their gig in Bournemouth just before eight. I'd already decided that I wouldn't drive back to Cardiff in the dark, as the temperature had dropped below zero, so Rhiannon and eventually Kath and Anto after they'd eaten, watched 'I'm a celebrity ...' together before turning in. I watched the fourth episode of S4C's 'Y Gwyll' (Hinterland) on my tablet. Impressive as ever and far more unmissable. 'Fraid I have no time for any of these celebrity programmes. I'd rather listen to the shipping forecast instead.

     

Another Parish vacancy

Saturday was a quiet uneventful day, Rhiannon didn't get up until eleven, then after a late late breakfast, she cleaned out her rabbit hutches diligently. Later we walked into town and had a coffee in Costa's, and then bought a pizza for supper. There was nothing to watch together on telly, so she sat with her iPad watching one thing and I with my Nexus watching another. Sign of the times I guess.

This morning I went to the eight o'clock Holy Communion service at St Nicholas Parish Church. The service was taken by an retired locum priest, wearing unusually a surplice, scarf and hood. Quite a while since I've seen this attire, as the incumbent hitherto wore alb and stole. I learned that the incumbent Canon Richard Awre has retired, as we prayed for guidance in the matter of the appointment of a successor. Come to think of it, he wasn't celebrating last time I was here. When I checked on-line, I learned that he'd finished last September, so the parish has been in interregnum for eight months. Everywhere now, vacancies get longer and larger busier parishes can be difficult to fill due to the shortage of suitably experienced candidates. Another sign of the times. Still, there were two dozen worshippers present, as there were previously.

Walking back from church down the long avenue of lime trees from the church to the main road, with the sun shining through the still small unfolding leaves, to the sound of birdsong across Abbey Fields was utterly exquisite, and well worth the effort of rising for the early service.

Kath and Anto arrived home safely from their gig tour around two in the morning, and took time to surface, as did Rhiannon, but we had a pleasant long breakfast catch-up chat when they did. Rhiannon went off to town as soon as she awakened, to meet with her friends for coffee and chat. After a snack lunch I set off for home, arriving just after five, and ate the meal Clare had set aside for me at lunchtime. She arrived back from her study group in Bristol at six, and we passed the evening, thinking about our Danube cruise in just nine days from now, and some of the practicalities to be sorted out before we leave, like currencies, and reserving our seats on the plane.

I was very annoyed to discover that on our Ryanair flight to and from Budapest, we have to pay almost £25 to reserve particular seats in order to obtain both boarding passes in advance, something I consider essential, rather than have to rely on someone printing out boarding passes for our return, at whatever additional cost, once we are over there which is what happens if you accept automatic seat assignment by default, when you don't pay to reserve. No doubt Ryanair has its justifications for doing things this way, likewise Riviera Travel, which books the flights. I wouldn't willingly fly Ryanair, after my previous experience flying to Reus in 2012. I wonder how many other hidden extras we'll end up paying for on this trip?
   

Sad news

I made it to eight o'clock Eucharist at St Nicholas Parish Church this morning, still with several dozen regular attendees who seek out early morning peace and quiet. 

Other worshippers, not just the Vicar, make an effort to greet strangers like me. It's great they bother, but in my case, most of the time, it's not what I need. Silence and simplicity in conventional liturgy is what I crave most. I think the whole church still struggles with this notion, as if it doesn't trust the power of Word and Sacrament at its most basic to commend itself. 

Rhiannon was content to play in her home environment for most of the day, apart from an afternoon expedition to Waitrose's. I cooked my paella to match Kath and Anto's return from their Leicester performances at supper time.

During the afternoon, I received messages from my cousin Alan and my sister June telling me of the peaceful death from lung cancer of my cousin Gareth at Holme Tower hospice in Penarth in the middle of the night. He was seven years older than me, the first and eldest of our generation of cousins, active in his local Parish Church for decades until he became too sick to attend.

I'm grateful for the opportunity I had to see and pray with him there three weeks ago. May he rest in peace.
  

Kenilworth Weekend

After a Friday morning of errands, we drove to Kenilworth to spend our first free weekend together in many months looking after Rhiannon two evenings running, while Kath and Anto were out performing in far flung places in Worcestershire and Staffordshire. We spent most of Saturday and Sunday with them and made the most of the extra hour's sleep due to the clocks going back. I strolled out in Abbey Fields and practiced with my new DSLR camera. Getting the best out of it is going to take some time. I managed a few decent bird shots down by the lake, including pictures of the tamest moorhens I have ever seen. I saw a green woodpecker flying fast and straight as an arrow between groups of trees, but was unable to switch on, let alone raise or focus the camera quickly enough to capture the moment.

This morning Clare and I went to the eight o'clock Communion at St Nicholas' Parish Church. Why bother, why not have a weekend off? Enquired Kath. Surely we can say our prayers wherever we are? She still doesn't get it - the one who demanded to be confirmed at age eleven. What a failure my confirmation classes were! Also she was raised and nurtured in worshipping communities, but it left no impact on her. She is a strong sensitive creative caring individual, and a great team player, yet she doesn't see the nourishing value of being, listening, offering and receiving together at the heart of regular corporate worship. Her experiences is simply different from ours.

As ever the eight o'clock was attended by three dozen people and not all enjoying the early quiet were pensioners. The Vicar invited regulars to notice who sat where, who might be missing and who came and went around the year, pointing out the value of remembering who's who in the church community, always being ready to welcome newcomers. A good  point, if rather diffidently put. It occurred to me how good a thing it was to remind people to be aware of their pew neighbours are. Most of us tend to sit in the same place habitually. I know I do when I go to a church. It's near the front and on the left. Church congregations are more mobile in our era than at any other time in  history. It affects both where and how often people attend. Nowadays, they can make their spiritual home and support the church in several different places separately. So really, we're having to change our sense of what belonging to Christian community means.

We all went for a brisk walk on a newly discovered cycle track while Sunday lunch was cooking. As in so many places, it runs along the path of a former railway line, and it has some fine Victorian black brick bridges to admire as well as woodland and open common land. Rhiannon took her bike and cycled ahead of us. She's grown so much since she first had it, that I needed to adjust the seat height for her when we returned. Hopefully, that'll make sure she isn't quite so tired at the end of her next ride.

Our drive home was in the rain and in early darkness. No pleasure at all.