WNO anniversary milestone

Last night we agreed that the holiday letting we fancy booking is an apartment overlooking Aberaeron harbour. There was a glitch when Clare tried to book on-line, so I rang up this morning and was pleased to find the place was still available. The letting company Wales Cottage Holidays uses a simple payment system working on any 'phone with a tone dial keypad. It's good for those who are unable to pay on-line, and resembles the remote banking transaction system used in parts of Africa, where usable internet is scarce but landlines or more likely, Nokia type mobile phones are commonplace. We've booked for late June, to be on the safe side given that my op is at the end of May. We've visited Aberaeron before when holidaying in Ceredigion. It's a long wait, but something lovely to look forward to.

There were fifteen of us at St John's for the midweek Eucharist I celebrated this morning. Walking home with Fr Benedict afterwards, I discovered that one of his passions is the history of liturgical development. In fact, he's doing a PhD on early Christian eucharistic prayers, and how understanding them has evolved over the past half century. This was something I also found interesting when I was studying for ordination, so I look forward to reading his work when he eventually publishes it.

We had blue sky clouds and rain showers today, and fortunately not when I walked in the park after lunch. I got back at four in time for a Zoom session put on by the Welsh National Opera, reviewing the seventy five years of its life, celebrating its remarkable evolution from a small group of keen amateur singers and musicians, which held its inaugural meeting in a Crwys Road chapel at the end of the war, to a world class professional touring company with its own full time chorus and orchestra. 

It was a delightful hour's watching with the WNO's archivist telling the story and former musical directors being interviewed, and telling anecdotes. The best true story was about a pioneering visit to the former German Democratic Republic, during the Cold War. Somebody joked about the need to omit punctuation from performance related documents, liberetti and technical schedules and notes, just in case the Stasi held up the documents, vetting them scrupulously for embedded microdots. The administrator took it seriously and to everyone's astonishment produced punctuation free paperwork. This occurred in the days before word processors. Imagine!  

This evening we sat together and listened to Oscar Peterson, and Miles Davis albums, and I drafted the last couple of Rogationtide reflections for next week. In many ways listening to jazz takes me back to my youth as much if not more than listening to sixties pop songs. It's far richer and diverse musically than pop songs (few of whose lyrics I can ever remember completely) and like opera, has far more meaning for me. I'm so glad that i grew up in a family with such broad musical tastes. Dad was always contemptuous about the new wave of rock and pop music when I was growing up. I think I understand why now. 

 

Farewell to an old friend

It's been overcast and damp all day today, sombre to suit the mood. This morning I had a funeral at Pidgeon's Chapel of Rest at then, and then on to the Vale Crematorium. Afterwards I was driven by Huw to St Mary's the Docks, as we used to call it, to attend Fr Graham Francis' funeral. I'd requested this drop off instead of going home as time between them wouldn't have allowed me to go home and then go to St Mary's in time. It turned out that Huw also wanted to attend, being one of the multitudes of people Graham made friends with over his lifetime.

We arrived twenty five minutes early and all the seats were taken already, By the time the Funeral Mas began with the Angelus there were about five people in church, with about a hundred of them clergy, half of them robed, and the rest in the congregation. I stood at the back of the church with about thirty others. Although I had robes with me from the previous funeral I felt that I just wanted to be one the receiving end rather than the presiding side of the altar rail. Graham and I were together in St Mikes fifty two years ago. We worked overnight shifts together as Samaritans volunteers, let out of college on an informal pastoral placement by the Principal O G Rees. I was deacon at his first Mass. His wife Eleri is Kath's godmother, so more life family than a professional acquaintance. in times liky this I am grateful if I don't have to give out but can just receive.

The service was beautifully organised in  way he would have approved of. It's likely he vetted the texts and made sure with his advance preparations that every detail as carefully thought through. He was that kind of person, and what a difference it made. Included were a couple of hymns I'd choose for my own funeral, one by Charles Wesley the other  by St John Henry Newman. We started with the Angelus and ended as his coffin was being loaded into the hearse with the Salve Regina. 

Fr Dean Atkins, a lifelong friend and disciple of his gave a truly remarkable homily which was both a eulogy full of joy and laughter, which combined beautifully reflections on the Mystery of the Visitation of Mary to Elizabeth with references to Penrhys and Walsingham pilgrimages, and pastoral life in the Valleys. Bishop Philip North presided, who has known Graham for years. Traditional Catholic liturgy at its very best, something he cared deeply about and encouraged others to do as well as he did.

There was a wake in the Bute Town community centre afterwards, but I had no energy to spend on an hour socialising over sandwiches, so Clare and I walked up to John Lewis' and had lunch there before returning home, pondering the loss of a friend since the beginning of time in ministry. Apart from Martin, there are few others with whom we go back so far. May he rest in peace.

  

Reunions

Yesterday afternoon, Owain arrived after lunch to be re-united with his sisters and stay overnight. It's a great joy for us to have all three of them together under the same roof with us. It's lovely that they all still get on well together, and can enjoy sitting at table, sharing a meal and chatting. 

This morning, I had an early start to be ready to drive to Splott to celebrate the 9.30am Mass, then the 11.00am Mass afterwards at St German's. This time, my old friend Fr Graham Francis was at church, and concelebrated the Eucharist with me. The last time we were together in this way at the altar was probably in the late 1980s, when he has Vicar of Penrhiwceiber, and I was a guest preacher on behalf of USPG. 

It's fifty years since we were both at St Mike's in training. We were among a small number of college students recruited as volunteers with Cardiff Samaritans, allowed to be be away from College on a weeknight, once a fortnight, I think it was, so that we could do the overnight shift on telephone duty. We both learned a lot from this. It was one of the first student pastoral placements outside of the domain of parochial ministry. A modest innovation in those days, but the start of a practical revolution on ministerial training which happened over the next couple of decades.

Graham lives with stomach cancer. It deprives him of his characteristic energy. He needs to rest a lot, but it doesn't hinder him taking as full a part in the Mass as he can cope with. He can't preside and preach at at Sung Mass any longer, so for most of the service he sits, and reserves himself for concelebrating and sharing the distribution of Communion. At the end, he leads the singing of the Angelus, having pointed out to me that it's an hour earlier than it should be sung, an anomalous custom from times when the St Saviour's Mass finished at noon. Since student days Graham has been a master of liturgical know how, with an immense library of publications accumulated over decades. Not an academic but a practical and creative liturgist, to whom a scholar might resort if they couldn't track down a historic resource in any library or book-shop. It saddens me to think that none of our scholarly or training institutions seem interested in inheriting his collection. He started asking when he retired. He's got publications nobody has got around to digitising or ever will.

We had a super family lunch, when I got home. Then I walked with the kids through Bute Park while Clare had a siesta. We took photos in the park and then had a go at a family selfie in the garden when we returned. I wasn't entirely pleased with the result of the latter, which I attempted to do with my Sony Alpha 68. Setting it up to take timed shots is different from the three other Sony cameras I have, and this proved disconcerting, as did setting up the camera tripod. Thankfully, Kath has a lot more expertise than me, in matters audio-visual, and rescued the situation from a long drawn out wait while dad got things right.

Kath drove Owain to the station at tea time, then headed back for Kenilworth. Time seems to pass so quickly on days like these, re-forging family bonds, with the sun shining and nothing to distract us from being at home together. I'd have liked to be completely well, but despite continued improvement this dreaded affliction still pulls me down, somewhat unawares on occasions. I'm resilient, but not as much as I expect to be. I needed Kath to remind me of how much better I am now than I was last Christmas night, when things really did take a turn for the worse. But also for the better, as I had my first contact with the District Nurses team on Boxing Day morning, and since then, I have everything to give thanks for.

Ascension contention

This morning I down walked to St John's to celebrate the Eucharist with a dozen people. A stranger in the congregation told me afterwards that he was visiting from Latvia. He sat quietly on the front row,  standing at the appropriate moments, and refused the offer of a service book to follow. A bit like me when I'm abroad, and not confident about joining in the congregational responses aloud, if I'm unsure about reading them and pronouncing them properly. The structure of the Eucharist is after all familiar enough for people with a traditional Christian background. He spoke reasonable English, and I think I have seen him in church before, so there may be more to his story than is apparent on the surface.

Clare went into town to do some shopping, and called into St John's city Parish church to see if there was a morning service she could attend. She was surprised and disappointed to discover there was no Eucharist on this particular high day. No special service is added into the regular menu of offerings. In some European countries this is a public holiday, but everywhere it seems to be losing its place as a religious observance. 

Did Vatican II reforms accelerate the process by acknowledging the trend, and making full provision for it in the Sunday liturgy following? I noticed in the on-line Roman Breviary that today is marked as no more than the sixth Thursday in Easter-tide, and if custom dictates, it can be observed as the Solemnity of the Ascension, and next Sunday's readings used. There's probably a set of options so you don't have to read the same ones on Sunday as on Thursday. Even if we think many Roman liturgical innovations are worth adopting, the point of the reformation was daring to think and act differently as a church. The church has gone along with the secularisation of most religious holidays. What good has it done, apart from greater convenience I wonder? 

Fortunately, Llandaff Cathedral was offering an evening Solemn Eucharist, at a suitable time for folk to get home from work, eat and turn up on time. So that was where we went to together later in the day, and rejoiced in the singing of an early Mozart Missa Brevis, Psalm and Anthem with loud organ accompanying rousing hymns, suitable for this early summer fiesta, and traditionally Anglican. There were fifty in the congregation and as many again in choir with the Cathedral Consort singers, servers and priests. The recently installed Canon Chancellor Jan van der Lely preached, a different refreshing voice adding diversity to the core team at the heart of the Cathedral's ministry to city and diocese. We are most fortunate to live just twenty minutes walk away from here. It's a splendid complement to living and worshipping regularly in a lively grass-roots urban parish.

  

A paradigm shift Taizé embodies

We attended the Parish Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning. Worshipping in the congregation is less comfortable for me at the moment than celebrating, as a priest stands for most of the service! Even so, I appreciate more as I get older the sense of fellowship in worshipping among people, rather than leading them. There's an element of loneliness in leadership requiring a priest to be the voice of the whole praying community. One has a different relationship to 'The Fellowship of the Spirit' when out there at the front. 

The liturgical structure of almost all churches, their architecture, the way we use the buildings to perform our rituals is theatrical in nature and quite hierarchical, we might say, by necessity. Even in far less formal acts of group worship, over time, a structure evolves that makes clear the distinction between the leaders and the led. It gets embodied in church architecture and furniture. But must it  be like this? Must performers and performed always be separated for worship to work? 

Certain kinds of experimental theatre explore the question of separation in their own context, as does the phenomenon of the 'flash mob'. Seemingly spontaneous, but brilliantly, quietly organised outbreaks of group singing and dancing in public places proves both powerful, entertaining and attractive to some, even if others are left bemused, and it breaks barriers between those who act and those who watch. The church doesn't often explore this possibility, with one notable exception. 

I found myself remembering and reflecting on worship at Taizé today, with the community seated together, surrounded on all sides by worshippers. Leadership tasks and roles are well distributed, but despite an east end sanctuary and free standing altar, the conventional church 'tribune' layout, with presidential chair and/or pulpit is absent, there is just the free standing altar table, and it's only used briefly when clergy stand there to say the Eucharistic Prayer. It's the focal point for just as long as it's needed.

This change in liturgical design has proved possible to implement with large crowds of worshippers, thanks to the use of modern sound systems. Seeing the person is hardly important in comparison to hearing them attentively, and this experience is all-encompassing and independent of where people choose to sit. 

There may be few or no seats in Taizé worship spaces, but the design is effectively implemented (given an appropriate sound system) in all kinds of sanctuary, ancient or modern, as witnessed to in the great Pilgrimage of Trust events around the world. Taizé continues to commend itself to rising generations of young people seeking faith. Perhaps this change in approach to how worship is offered could represent a paradigm shift in the life of the church whose significance would be far reaching eventually.

In my lifetime we've recovered a healthy sense of the importance of baptism in relation to our own discipleship and to the life of the church, as the source of our shared identity and purpose. We're learning how to share responsibilities in God's mission as equals, how to play our part in decision making and how our particular gifts can be exercised in serving others. We still rely on hierarchy, but as service to others, not as controlling or forming us in dependency.

Mutual interdependence of equally valued people is how we're learning to understand membership of Christ's Body, in a world where most are better educated and have unprecedented access to knowledge. Worship at Taizé expresses prophetically a transformation of human relationships in society and the church, made possible in this new era of communications and self-understanding. Movement towards achieving greater participation has been happening in a variety of ways in every form of worship over recent decades, but the manifestation of hierarchy still prevails, with the exception of Taizé.

  

Quiet snowy Dydd Gwyl Dewi

Well, some days after the rest of the country, snow arrived this morning, fine powdery snow, as the temperature is still 3-4C below zero. After breakfast, our new hot water and central heating system stopped abruptly, displaying an error message. We phoned Matt, the heating engineer who'd installed it back in January, who was able to inform us that the error message indicated that a pipe attached to the boiler which drains away water produced by the combustion process was most probably frozen outside in these prolonged extreme conditions.

He explained how the plastic outflow pipe was attached to a flexible hose beneath the unit, and was detachable. Within minutes, I'd worked the plastic pipe loose, allowing the accumulated water to be released, and the boiler fired up instantly, thank heavens. Clare wrapped a thin strip of cloth around the now-leaking plastic pipe, to wick away the water into a bucket below. Matt told us he already had ten rescue calls for the day, and was relieved not to have to visit us.

We walked to St John's Canton where I was due to celebrate our national Patron Saint's feast day. We had been warned that none of the regulars would turn up, but as we were out and about, we went anyway, just in case. Normally at St John's, I wouldn't suggest a service in Welsh, as worshippers are for the most part unfamiliar with the language or liturgy in Welsh. Since it was just Clare and I, we used the 1984 Welsh Language Eucharist, something I haven't often done over the years. Only when I was working for USPG and visiting Welsh language parishes did I learn the Welsh language rite. Although I'm rusty and still have trouble with pronunciation and the rhythm of words here and there, it seemed a good opportunity to do justice to the day.

Before lunch, we went for a bracing walk across Llandaff Fields before lunch, and although we were well dressed for the weather (I still use my 20 year old ski jacket), the stiff wind blowing from the east quickly chilled us to the bone, so we soon returned home. I took several photos while we were out, and more from indoors during the rest of the day,  but there was no need to venture out again. So relieved and grateful it wasn't difficult to get the heating going again.

Operatic annoyance

This morning I went to St Luke and celebrated Mass for half a dozen people in Fr Mark's absence. Then in the afternoon, we went to the Millennium Centre for our second opera outing of the season. Verd's 'La Forza del Destino, which neither of us recall seeing before. The music was unfamiliar but so beautiful, the story a bit far fetched, about the far reaching consequences of a tragic accidental shooting, but the chorus and all the performers sang superbly. 

The set was minimal and abstract, albeit cleverly designed to represent the various scenes. I took exception, however, to the portrayal of the chorus, in one scene, supposed to be a choir of monks at a religious ceremony, which had all two dozen singers wearing white mitres. They were supposed to represent a community of friars for whom wearing a mitre plays no part in their life. Not even a global assembly of Benedictine mitred abbots would see that number of white mitres used in one place at worship. It was a vain pointless expression of 'artistic liberty', that would un-necessarily bewilder and distract a liturgically ignorant opera goer.

Come to think of it, I was equally annoyed at last week's 'Tosca' performance at the end of the first act where a congregation is assembling for a festive Te Deum, to see that the liturgical procession resembles an old style Papal procession where the Pontiff is carried aloft by bearers, wearing conical white hoods after the manner of Spanish 'penitentes'. Sure these costumes are used in Sicily, which was rule for a couple of centuries by Spain, but this is Rome. 

The mise en scène is the Roman city centre church of San Andrea in Valle. It's not a place where the Pope would turn up and take part in a parish event, in those days, when his life would have been confined to the Vatican and St Peter's. Once again, annoyingly inappropriate and un-historical use of church ritual and symbols, when the actual liturgical conventions, properly used are just as dramatic and powerful. It's now the third time I've seen this production, and nothing has changed. I should have complained before!

  

Church smoke legacy

As I headed out of Calle la Mata to drive through Mojácar to celebrate the Eucharist at the Ermita de San Pascual this morning, the road was blocked off by a Guardia Civil patrolman, probably due to a cycle race passing through. I was sent up a side road along which I have walked several times, which leads eventually up to Mojácar Pueblo. There were no deviation signs, to indicate where one might re-join the Paso del Mediteraneo using one of the many side streets, so I dutifully drove half way up to the Pueblo, and then back down into the Playa's commercial hub to get back on the main road. It was only a ten minute delay. There were no further hold-ups, no sign of ciclistas anywhere, but it made a change from routine. 

There were forty in church for our All Saints' Sunday celebration. As is customary on this festival incense was used, one of the few remaining occasions when it is. I suspect it's endured rather then enjoyed by most, but it's a legacy from times past when there was a 'high church' chaplain. I love the use of incense in worship, although the grand formal rituals only work in large liturgical spaces. It's something which needs room, and a small crowded chapel isn't the best place for this. I would prefer to have a small bowl on the floor before the altar, or on the retable behind, underneath the cross, burning gently without being swung around. 

I've seen this work in monasteries, across the religious divide to evoke a scent of the sacred, and it's quite enough. Portable censers were used in outdoor processions of public officials in ancient Rome and were adopted for church processions as state and church officialdom began to blend post-Constantine. The lovely smell matters far more than the delivery ritual, so long as it doesn't make people cough, which it's more likely to do in a confined small space. I restricted incensing to the Offering of the Gifts this morning. No dignified processions are really possible in this space, so I omitted to use incense for the Gospel. Well, it makes sense to me.

During an interregnum, nothing must change. It'll be interesting to see what the newly appointed Chaplain decides to do about this. I hope there is real discussion, and not just a hanging on to legacy customs which don't really work well in the ermita anyway. Afterwards, five of us went to the Kio Ice Cream parlour in town for a drink and a chat before heading home. I cooked myself a tuna steak and green veg for lunch. Then a siesta, then a walk around the charco, with a glorious sunset against a sky with high clouds to take photos of. Then an evening of writing and reflecting before an early bed-time. I need to be sharp and on form, as tomorrow's funeral is early, and I'm never quite feel I'm at my best until after elevenses.