Diaconal ordination anniversary

I didn't want to preside and preach as usual today, but to perform the diaconal role as I did in my first year of public ministry. I still have the ordination stole which Clare made from some of the material used in her wedding dress, and she ironed the wrinkles out of it, ready for today.

Rhys came and presided, and Emma came too, dressed up and walked with us in procession, the sat in choir for the Eucharist. The challenge wasn't preaching, but the choreography of being a Deacon in the Liturgy, with no time to rehearse! I'm not sure if I have done this since priestly ordination. When I was new in ministry, the traditional ceremonial custom of a priest playing the part of the Deacon was falling into disfavour. New priests were generally keen to con-celebrate as the Vatican II Constitution on the Liturgy recommend. This was our idea of being progressive in those days.

Being Deacon for the day kept me on my toes throughout, and thankfully, it worked out OK. In the end, I was happy preaching what I'd prepared, although I suspect it was a bit longer than usual. After the service, I was presented with a huge decorated cake to cut and share.

The Sunday School children made a congratulatory banner for the hall wall as well. What a surprise!

There was lots of cake to take home after everyone present had a piece. I was much moved by the occasion, and the warmth of the greetings I received. I still find it hard to believe it's me. I don't feel I'm this old. There's still such a lot I feel I can do, and want to offer. I must settle for those opportunities that come to me as a gracious gift. I don't think I will ever feel that I've done enough.

We enjoyed a splendid lunch, and time together in garden sunshine after. Kath, Anto and Rhiannon  set out for Kenilworth at tea time, completing their journey home in the usual two hours. It was late when I set out for my daily walk, and nearly dark when I returned. The time from midsummer to the autumn equinox seems to slip by so quickly.

After supper I watched last night's double episode of Danish crimmie 'Darkness - those who kill' on BBC iPlayer, and then finished the final brief chapters of Pablo Poveda's novel 'El Maestro'. It's been a challenging experience reading a trilogy of contemporary novels in Spanish. A struggle on times, as the author uses a wide range of vocabulary, within the relatively simple narrative structure, calling for lots of dictionary look ups or guesswork. Easy enough to follow the story, but difficult to get all the detail, particularly in conversations which carry the inner plot complexities forward.

Although concerned with a dystopic future created by criminal minds harnessing modern technology and surveillance systems, the main character is an archetypal outsider who lives in the moment and becomes an accidental adversary to grass roots champions of democracy. Like many of those who see him as an unique legendary heroic role model and symbol of the freedom cause, his end is violent and bloody. In some ways the stories are as violent and bloody and fast paced as an old fashioned wild west tale. An intriguing set of books, but I might not have read them if I'd seen a review indicating how dark they would turn out to be. Having said that, I can they'd render nicely as a movie trilogy. I wonder if anyone is thinking of this?
   

Post-op day

Yesterday was the fiftieth anniversary of my ordination to the diaconate. I have taken out the slim leather bound KJV New Testament given to me by the Bishop and stole I wore for that occasion, made for me by Clare from the material used in her wedding dress, ready to use as visual aids, when I preach my anniversary sermon about the Diaconate at St Catherine's this Sunday. I've already printed out the text, but keep looking at it and editing it again in my head. Fine if you have the time to do it. 

I had a comfortable refreshing night's sleep, and was up early in the sunshine. I'm amazed at how quiet the wound has been. Two walks to the shops for groceries this morning, then my usual walk around Pontcanna Fields early afternoon, five and a half miles altogether, and not feeling tired afterwards. It indicates how energy draining the wound condition was in the months of waiting for op number three. 

As Clare was out at the spa, I spent several afternoon hours watching two episodes of 'Inspector (but now Comissar Borowski' on 'Walter Presents'. Series One was good, and Series Two is even better, revealing a man at work who is as good at intuition as he is at observation. His feisty geeky female partner is a Chief Inspector, now and has grown out of being his protege into more critical and conflictual relationship. The strengths and weaknesses of both characters are well drawn, and story lines often unusual, if not odd, occasionally verging on the bizarre, mildly humorous. a good watch. The north German way of speaking is easy to follow with the subtitles, adding to the enjoyment.

I sat at ease on the sofa watching the telly for three hours before supper, and was more comfortable in doing this and less fidgety than I've been in the past year. This is so good for the morale. I went and bought a card to write a thank you note to Mrs Cornish the surgeon. I feel the need to tell her that such a small intervention has made such a positive difference.

Confusion decoded

I celebrated the Eucharist at St John's with nine others this morning. Emma joined us and sat in the congregation. Afterwards she told me that she's expecting her second baby, end of November. That'll  give the Parish as much joy and delight as her family, no doubt!. She also said that I can preach, on the third Sunday in September when I'll be celebrating the 50th anniversary of being made a Deacon and starting in public ministry. Apparently the church wardens want a hand in making this, as Emma says "An occasion with cake and bubbles". I already have in mind a sermon to preach, quoting the words of the Bishop to the ordinand when handing over a copy of the New Testament following the Laying on of Hands: "Take thou authority to preach the Word of God if thou be thereto licensed by the Bishop". It's the first gift which the Church offers to those whose call to public ministry is recognised in the rite of ordination. 

Any baptized person may preach, if they realise they have a story to tell or personal testimony to give, or an insight to share. Some should, when the occasion is right. Some have the gift to preach, as Paul says "In season and out of season", when their insight into scripture has something relevant for others, for the occasion. In traditional mainstream churches, nobody appoints themselves as a preacher, rather the community discerns and invites people to take on a role, which they may not be keen to accept to start with. Even if a person relishes the possibility of being a preacher their sense of calling and conviction must be tested by others. There are self appointed preachers too, who believe the Holy Spirit has called them without consulting others. This is not without problems, to my mind. 

The community needs to have a say in who will offer service, for the good of all. I'm grateful to have been nurtured in and followed the path of catholic church tradition. For me preaching, has remained an adventure of exploration and discovery of God's Word for two thirds of my mortal existence. Being made a Deacon was a unique milestone on this path, and one which I'm glad to celebrate now as a Parishioner in Canton. I may be retired from holding public office in a Parish, but am entrusted with a 'Permission to Officiate' which enables me to take services, and most importantly, to preach as a recognised minister of the church. 

After church I popped in to Stavros for a summer haircut. While waiting, I had a call on my mobile from an un-named official, either at UHW or from the LHB's 'Concerns' team in response to the email of complaint I'd sent on Monday this week. It seems that the 12th July outpatient appointment with a senior nurse is nothing more than a repeat of the pre-op medical assessment procedure, as the last one, done in January, has just expired. There should have been a briefing paper with the letter, which would have explained all, but there wasn't. My 8th August appointment to follow is with Mrs Cornish the surgeon, for the pre-op examination around which the next surgical intervention is planned. Phew! At last! Not knowing has lost me a lot of sleep this past fortnight, but all's well that ends well.

Ann arrived from Felixstowe at tea-time. She's coming with us to Tenby for a long weekend break. At last we're having some genuine summer weather, so we're looking forward to all the pleasures of a very special Welsh seaside resort - even if it is a lot more English in character and style than Welsh. The last time we were there was in 2003, I think, when I was asked to baptize the child of a couple I'd met and blessed the marriage of when I was working in Monaco. That was in Penally church, though we stayed in Tenby overnight, and delighted in most excellent local marine cuisine at the party after the service.

It's Kath and Anto's 27th wedding anniversary today, and they're off to Sta Pola for the weekend to celebrate in a favourite place. How did those years slip by so quickly?
  

New car arrives home

Mid-morning yesterday I had to visit the GP surgery to have some blood taken to test for infections. It's never an easy experience, as even the most skilful phlebotomist can spot my veins, but has trouble getting into them. It general takes two or three goes and leaves me feeling like a pin cushion.

Then, at lunchtime I went again over to Splott on the 61 bus to pay for and collect the car. With the MOT certificate done, having insured it last night, there remained only the tax to be paid. It was not possible to do this on-line as the paper documentation of change of ownership had only just been signed, but it was possible, thanks to a bar code attached to the registration document to visit the Post Office in Splott Road, and pay for it there, knowing this would immediately be registered if I should get stopped on my way home. 

After a brief introduction to the car's layout from Phil, I took to the road and drove across town. It's the first time I've driven for seven weeks in any country, so I needed to go carefully. I wasn't pleased that the space outside our house was still occupied by a car that occupied space carelessly, so that another smaller car could squeeze in behind it, which could have been possible if this car had parked closer to the one in front of it. This often happens in our street: un-mindful parking. So I had to park a little further down, so I can't look out of the window and admire it. Here it is!

Today I had an early appointment with my regular GP Dr Jordan, and basically we reviewed all that had happened in recent weeks, and my treatment. Where we proceed from here depends on success in dealing with the abscess. My blood test result had already been logged on the practice network. Very speedy! I'll have another one next week to see if the remaining traces of infection are eliminated by the penicillin I'm currently taking. It seems that apart from this my vital signs are normally healthy, which is good news. And so on it goes, getting fully fit for purpose again.

Today is the 49th anniversary of my ordination to the Diaconate and the start of my full time public ministry. so went to the usual Thursday Eucharist at St John's to give thanks. How blessed I felt, to be one of a dozen congregation members, on the receiving end for a change, and to feel I'm back home in the Parish I call home. Afterwards, I had a chat with Emma our new priest. She expresses her delight at being in Canton enjoying the people of the three churches, and settling into a lively community and making a new home here. I'm so pleased for her and her family. On my way back, I bought one of those foam doughnut shaped rings to sit on. It'll protect my healing wound from excess pressure, and make life less uncomfortable when sitting. This really makes me feel my age!

I cooked lunch for us, then later we went out food shopping together. Clare's been laid low with a virus this past few days, so it was her first proper outing since Monday. We had nothing better to do than watch different TV programmes in the evening, me live streaming an episode of 'Vera' with an app on my tablet, something that wouldn't have been possible in this household three years ago. How times have changed!

  

Preaching anniversary

Monday, after such an simulating Sunday, I wasn't so much tired, but had no desire to go out or do anything. So I stayed in all day, and spent my time writing and uploading photos, with breaks for meals and no lakeside walk. Sometimes I seem to need lots of time to just digest everything I've experienced.

Tuesday was the 47th anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood. No opportunity to celebrate this with others. That's often been the case over the years, as I was ordained on an autumn Ember Saturday before Michaelmass, and it's seldom been the case that I've been in a place where a daily Mass is the norm, But never mind, I was taken by to Monica's house for an afternoon Bible discussion group with six others, looking at the theme of last Sunday's readings on reconciliation, and that was enjoyable.

After lunch, I walked into town to do some food shopping, and in the evening, walked in the dark along the lakeside to Chillon. By the small marina near the railway station, I startled a large bird which took flight into the darkness, squawking its annoyance as it left, a heron, I think.

Today is the 48th anniversary of my ordination to the diaconate, and for me this has always been an important day to remember, as it's the day when my public ministry began. 'Take thou authority to read the Gospel in the church and to preach the same ...' said Archbishop Glyn Simon, handing me a copy of the New Testament, as is customary. It was and still is a task and a role which carries with it a measure of apprehension, as a task entrusted to me by the church. In the early days, I was nervous about standing up and speaking to a congregation. It was reflected in dreams about starting to take a service and being unable to capture the attention of people chatting among themselves as I spoke. Now and then I still have them, although I'm quite at ease in front of any congregation nowadays.

At the midweek BCP 1662 Communion service I had a congregation of three adults and a five year old brought by her mum. She helped me this time by lighting the candles as well as putting them out. We used the St Matthew's Day readings for tomorrow, as these were the readings used on the first Sunday after my deaconing, when I preached on the text 'We proclaim not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for his sake.' This is a salutary reminder to anyone who preaches. There's nothing wrong with anecdotes in a sermon that draw on personal experience, but preaching isn't an opportunity to draw attention to oneself and one's opinions, but to point to Christ. It's always a challenge. 

Before being ordained priest, a person has to serve a pastoral apprenticeship with an experienced cleric as a colleague. Spending time in the diaconate assisting in the ministration of sacraments and preaching but not celebrating, is a salutary reminder that the first calling of every priest is to proclaim the Gospel and gather a community around God's Word to celebrate the mysteries of the Lord's Supper. Without the former, the latter cannot happen. How often that has been ignored over centuries past, in which reading and preaching from scripture has been regarded as secondary to offering Mass. 

Are we getting this right today I wonder, distracted by clever opinions posing questions about the attention span of contemporary smartphone toting people? Politicians the world over are still fond of making lengthy speeches, but preaching isn't a type of religious oratory, even though a preacher may use oratorial rhetoric. It's a heartfelt communication between people who are together paying attention to God's Word and what it means for us in present experience. 

There's no reason why it shouldn't be a two way conversation when preacher and audience know and trust each others, as long as it ends naturally in prayerful silence. Time taken depends on how much time is available and how much people want to be included in this conversation. It's important not to benchmark our expectations by what psychologists or spin doctors say, but be guided by what the community needs to give attention to. I'm still learning this, fifty years after I started ordination training in September 1977 at St Michael's College Llandaff. Soon after I started there, I was called upon to officiate and preach at Sunday Evensongs in Parishes around the rural fringe of Cardiff. I reckon I've preached over three thousand sermons since then, and am still not bored with it. That's what I call job satisfaction.

Again in the late evening, I went for a walk before bed in the dark along the lakeside again. Near the small marina near the railway station,  there's a sharp bend in the footpath, occasioned by a large protruding rocky outcrop. This section is unlit and quite dark. I exercised caution in not walking too close to the low port wall to avoid tripping and falling in among the boats. Instead, I walked into the rocky promontory and fell on to it, hurting my knee and left hand.

It was so annoying, but nothing was broken and I walked, more than limped back to Church House before it began to stiffen with bruising. Both knee and hand were bleeding, and I couldn't find a first aid kit but was able to clean the wounds and apply a little calendula cream, before going to bed. I can't believe I'd forgotten that bend in the footpath, as I nearly tripped there before in broad daylight. Sheer stupidity.

   

Getting there

Today is the anniversary of my ordination to the Diaconate forty seven years ago. It remains for me a key day in my life, receiving authority from the Church to proclaim God's Word and preach the Gospel. I'm still at it, and still look forward to the challenge scripture presents each week, to relate what's said in the readings to what's happening around us in the world. For me it's still a pleasure and privilege for which I am most grateful to God, and to the Church for putting up with me for so long.

The weather was warm, but pleasant enough for walking, so as well as going out to get some batteries, I walked the main street and the promenade before lunch. Again, after siesta, I went out for a much longer walk along the coast path, the full length of La Cala del Moral, and on to La Araña, the next and much smaller bay hosting the cement works. That's roughly half the distance to Málaga.

The N340a main road runs through La Cala del Moral about 200 metres inland. There are houses, some with gardens, down to the beach promenade, which runs roughly where the old railway line used to be. It's a good hundred metres from the promenade to the shore, and close to the promenade are some grassy areas palm trees and an asortment of beach restaurants. It's less built up and more spacious than Rincon, and that's more congenial.

La Araña, the next cove is such a contrast. Here the four lane highway cuts the heart of the original coastal village, from top to bottom. There are houses right on the beach, then the rest of the village is across this busy noisy road. The entire place is dominated by the cement factory, looming in the background. It's now owned and worked by a Chinese company. The village looks tired and drab, perhaps because of pollution from traffic and from the cement works. There were just a few people on the beach, but now it's no longer peak holiday season, and thee are more congenial places nearby for recreation. It felt like rather a sad place ruined by industry and not benefiting from it.

I'd been walking for nearly two hours by the time I got back, and really felt the benefit of a longer walk than usual - in all, eight kilometres.