Time, place and context

There were ten of us for the midweek Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning. Mother Frances spoke to us about the imminent formation of the new West Cardiff Ministry Area, grouping Canton Benefice with the Parishes of Glanely, Caerau with Ely and Fairwater. The existing benefices will be legally dissolved to merge into one Parish six historic parishes, in what will be, in effect, one giant Rectorial Benefice of the kind now commonplace in many rural areas of Britain. Incumbent clerics will be licensed as priests in charge, and the status of curates and NSM will be much the same, except that they may be required to work across old borders I suppose, not that it doesn't happen now when need arises. 

Mother Frances is Team Leader designate. What a job to take on when she's only been here a year and two months. It's a new role and it will involve a great deal of admin given seven church buildings and a team of seven clerics and heaven know how many lay people in voluntary or paid specialised roles to manage. I'm sure she's capable enough to do the job, but she came to us because she wanted to return to parochial life from a diocesan role which by its nature would have involved much admin. Out of the frying pan into the fire, unfortunately.

Never has there been a time when collaborative ministry his more necessary to care for people in a geographical area of about eighty thousand people, of whom less than a thousand may be committed contributing churchgoers. Far more people than those who believe enough to attend look to the church for rites of passage and support in times of crisis, let alone those who engage with church youth and educational undertaking, and this dimension tends to be quite locally based, although not exclusively. It's hard to see how a wholesale reformation of institutional structures is going to work out. 

The structures we have represent the consolidation of historically based missionary enterprises. Church planting went on from ancient times in Wales. It started with the christianizing of pagan holy sites, or with monastic settlements set up near trade routes, which later grew into towns. From Norman times the sub-division of territory into parochial areas was imposed by the state, and fragments of many historic boundaries still remain as part of Church in Wales diocesan maps. Some larger ancient territories were subdivided or merged since the reformation due to the demise of settlements in one place and emergence of new ones elsewhere. 

When urban populations expanded during the industrial revolution, new parishes were carved out of the old, and church planting went ahead at a phenomenal rate in an effort to meet the pastoral needs of the masses. In this century when the masses have turned their backs on the church, the assets of a former generation have become today's liability. Cardiff has less than half of the salaried clergy it had when I returned from Europe eighteen years ago, and a quarter to a fifth of the membership. Certainly radical measures are required when the institutional church is dying, but we have no idea of what a resurrection of the church could look like. 

Church structures and the people who serve them can be tinkered with and altered, but plans fail when circumstances change and how we've witnessed this during the pandemic! Planning is essential, but it's vital to focus around qualities and values. How can ministers and communities become more resilient and flexible, creative in response to change? What's needed to make a worshipping body sustainable if not re-grow from scratch, in the absence of resources? Where do we start while things are still falling apart? Questions I've pondered on for years. The response so much depends on time, place and context.

Biblical metaphors that relate to the propagation of the Gospel are chiefly organic and to cultivation - parables relating to fields, seeds whose form must die to flourish and be fruitful, tiny things that grow into big things, trees and bushes that need pruning. Time, place and context, i,e, environment, are all essential, and it seems to me that grand plans, however well informed and designed, may not achieve all that has been achieved by piecemeal effort, starting with individual responses. It's not about resources. "Silver and gold have I none." said St Peter when he dived straight into healing ministry soon after Pentecost. And St Francis standing in the ruined chapel of Porziuncula, hearing the Lord say to him "Francis rebuild my church!" and then picking up first of many scattered stones to add to a broken wall. The spontaneous expansion of the church in China and Africa happened through the actions of untrained laity, whether or not they've had clergy leadership or support. Growth actually slowed down when clergy were imported to head up the mission in places where it was already well under way. A church which is clerically top heavy in leadership may be doomed to extinction. I hope we don't lose sight of such lessons from scripture and missionary tradition.

Having cooked and eaten lunch, I fetched this week's organic veg bag, then walked in the park for an hour, and got back at sunset. Then, Clare and I sat and watched the last three episodes of 'Fear by the Lake', which turned out not to be about countering bio-terrorist plot, but a psychotic primary school teacher on a personal revenge mission. A bit far fetched, although the portrayal of the the response by the major incident medical emergency response team showcased medics and the gendarmerie working at fictional pace to establish city wide lockdown, deal with violent incidents and get a field hopsital up and running by the end of day two. An experimental antidote was knocked up at fictional lightning speed by a top expert in under a day. Would that real life could be fast forwarded to a happy ending like a movie.

There was a telling mini-story line in which a group of a dozen or so asylum seekers escaped from their lock-down at a reception centre and presented themselves for duty at the gendarmerie field hospital, as each of them had been doctors or nurses in their home countries. A neat piece of movie fiction advocacy to champion the cause of asylum seekers to work and be useful in their place of refuge. It's a hot potato political issue across Europe and beyond. 

It was a good watch and less difficult to get the gist of what was going on (with or without the subtitles) because the past ten months have exposed us all to the vocabulary of medical statistics in a way without precedent. Not so much a feel-good movie, but one perhaps to make us feel less bad. We'll get to where we wish we were, eventually.

Repair days

Tuesday afternoon we had a visit from a craftsman who specialises in the installation and repair of built-in shutters and window blinds, as several in the apartment no longer work. It was a good opportunity to make my Spanish work, while looking up technical words and phrases I didn't know. We had a big laugh when we discovered that the reason for the shutter in the main lounge not to work was the removal of its guide rails, and concreting over of the containing channel at the time when double glazing was fitted to the window, years ago. A historic instance of communications breakdown for this to have been done, and never noticed.

The other problem shutters were all fixable, although showing signs of their age. The man worked solidly for an hour to put them right, then cheerily went on his way, setting us free to walk to the Old Town for a visit to the Picasso Museum. Interestingly, this time we were offered pensioner discount tickets. This didn't happen when I went with Owain, perhaps because I didn't take my hat off to reveal my white hair.

On the way there, we passed Santiago Parish Church, where Picasso was baptized, and it was open, post-siesta, so we were able to look inside. It's said to be the first church to be built in 1490 after Malaga's reconquest. Its tower and west facade reflect the Andalusian mudéjar architectural style, but the rest of the building is renaissance gothic. I took a photo of the famous font, but was annoyed to discover later that it was slightly out of focus. Very unusual for my HX50. I probably didn't give it enough time to adjust to lighting condition.

This morning, we celebrated the memory of St Benedict (a day late) at the midweek Eucharist, just three of us present. Afterwards I re-parked the car away from its usual place, as building contractors are due any time this week to bring in their equipment and start work on repairing terrace walls in the cemetery, and construct new columbaria, for future interments of cremated remains. This will in effect make the small parking area on the north side of the church unusable due to contractor's equipment, but also potentially make it impossible for cars to park around the church in future. 

This is a cause of great concern, as many regulars travel great distances by car to attend worship. If they had to use public parking, this would involve several hundred metres of a walk and the last stretch steeply uphill, quite a difficulty for older churchgoers. It seems as if some elements of this plan have not been well thought through by the Fundacion which now manages the cemetery as an historic asset of the city. Archdeacon Geoff and Bishop David have been trying to engage those in authority to discuss these matters, but so far communication is not proving easy. It's not so much a matter of language difficulties as difference in perception of the part the churchyard plays in the life of a worshipping congregation.

This is a besetting problem for many churches which have ancient churchyards. They are both a big liability to maintain, but also a social, historical, cultural and spiritual resource as well as outdoor meeting place for the community, a tourism venue. Many church people fail to see the value of their 'church plant', to recall a very sixties phrase describing parochial assets, rather than starting a new mission congregation. Relationships with people are given such dominant priority that the physical social environment is under-valued. Perhaps we have simply failed in our teaching about Christian stewardship, or in helping people understand that there a practical consequences to having an incarnational spirituality. It's easy for me to be wise after the event. 

Managing buildings and land are huge worries for parish clergy, so necessary, but so difficult if few people can be bothered to take proper responsibility for them. I must say that in all my incumbency jobs, I was blessed with people who did care. It didn't mean that I never had to do any care-taking, but it could have been so much worse.

After the Eucharist, we walked into the Old Town and visited La Casa Invisible for a delightful menu del dia alumerzo. Then we visited the Cathedral, spent half an hour looking around, and paid five euros each for the privilege. You don't have to pay if you arrive in the half hour before the evening Mass, as I have several times. Then, as we were making our way home for siesta, I had a call to say we could expect to receive a visit within half an hour from the MAPFRE insurance company repair team to re-tile the bathroom floor and wall, broken into for pipe repairs Saturday last. Fortunately, we got back just ten minutes ahead of them. In two and a half hours, they were on their way home, job done, place left clean and tidy. Splendidly efficient.

We were then free to go down the beach for Clare's daily swim before supper. It hasn't been a very hot day today, but it has been humid, leaving you feeling as if you had a fever. I don't know how anyone can labour physically in heat like this, let alone sleep at night.

  

Llanos Harvest Festival and Sunday Lunch

Having gone to bed late, it was well after sunrise when I woke up, so there was no time to take a look outdoors or eat breakfast at a leisurely pace, but I was in the car and on my way to rendezvous with Alwyn and Pam at a commercial centre close to the autovia, about 15km from the apartment, so that we could travel together to the church at Llanos del Peral, where I was to celebrate at preach at eleven.

I took a wrong turning in Garrucha, the next town north along the coast, and went south west instead of north west. I realised the further I travelled that landmarks I'd noticed close to the road during last night's journey were not appearing, so I stopped and called Alwyn and was re-directed to the autovia, several junctions further south from where they were waiting for me. I made it to the agreed place only ten minutes late, and we proceeded to Llanos and arrived when we'd planned to.

It was a Harvest Festival celebration, and there were sixty people present, forty nine of whom received communion. The place was beautifully decorated, and all the foodbank offerings were arranged in a pleasing display before the altar. We even had a traditional wheatsheaf shaped Harvest Loaf, and some purple grapes on the altar. I just remembered my Jamaican bus driving non-stipendiary curate back in St Paul's Bristol using the very biblical descriptive word 'shewbread' in this context. 

The church building is a simple functional twentieth century 'mission church' design, with several rooms, used for educational and social purposes, with a kitchen and toilet, all behind a worship area accommodating sixty. There's a large patio on the south side, where tables and large umbrellas had been arranged for 'bring and share' lunch following the service. 

Llanos del Peral is a spread out rural village in rolling uplands with the sierras behind. It's grown in recent years as Brits have settled there, away from the coast, converting old farmhouses or building anew in the Andalusian arichtectural style. It's an area of orchards and horticulture. The dark green of the fruit trees contrasts with the pale yellow, if not white or grey sandy soils of the region. Ranks of mountains several hundred metres high seem to erupt from vast plains at intervals, not close enough to each other to form what may be considered valleys. I'm finding it difficult to estimate the scale of distances, as happens when travelling in the plains of East Anglia. It'll take a while to get the measure of this region, classed by low rainfall as 'semi-arid', and for that reason ecologically interesting.

I received such a warm welcome, and it's clear there's a lively sense of community spirit and pleasure at being a congregation among its members. Former Chaplain, Pauline Williams, ex-Llandaff diocese, was asked to create an opportunity for worship in this area two years ago, and once a gathering place had been found, people gathered in good numbers and the community has continued to grow in the twenty one months since they began. The time and place were clearly right, and it's to Pauline's credit for realising this. Needless to say, she is much missed.

It was gone two by the time we headed back towards the coast. After collecting the car on the road into Garrucha, I spotted a small 'open all hours' convenience store that was open, and was able to buy fruit and veg for an evening meal. This isn't a region where the supermarkets feel the need to stay open on Sundays, outside holiday high season. Once back at the apartment, a siesta had to be my priority after a long drink of water, then a walk into Mojacar and back, to learn about the neighbourhood.

The beach is a 50-100m deep. In some places there are houses along the edge, and in others there's an open area with a few restaurants, children's play parks and several beach sport recreational areas. The coast road runs along behind, and then, further back behind lawns, are hotels and holiday apartment blocks, but nothing higher than four storeys and mostly in the Andalusian architectural style. I guess that Mojacar developed later than other coastal resorts, and in a way where there's been more planning than in those areas where builders and landowners once competed to exploit lucrative space, producing tall, sometimes ugly urban sprawl right next to the beach promenade. Mojacar Playa has certainly grown a townscape that's more pleasing to the eye than most.

I began to walk up the road toward the old pueblo blanco, as the sun was setting behind the mountain that cradles the ancient hill village, and took some photos, but then turned back. I'd been walking for an hour. It was twilight by the time I reached the apartment, but the exercise did me good, and helped to make me feel grounded in my new abode, as did cooking supper in an excellent spacious kitchen, in a lovely house, in a quiet street. A good place to return to, given the distances needing to be travelled. I understand the pastoral area is roughly the size of Wales!