Pilgrim memories

I attended the Eucharist at St John's this morning, and after lunch walked around the park, enjoying the presence of many birds out feeding while I was passing with my camera at the ready. Redstarts, long tailed tits, a solitary cormorant in breeding plumage perched on a rock in the river Taff, and a jay that fed on the ground for a couple of minutes as I approached, though I wasn't quick enough to get a shot of it as it moved around. It's just lovely to see.

Then in the evening I continued scanning more old negatives from the year 2000, fascinated to learn where they had been taken. Today's batch was a roll of film taken in Haute Savioe in May 2000. One was of the annual pilgrimage by Holy Trinity Geneva to the Voirons massif where a community of about fifty Carthusian Sisters live work and pray at 1,700m on a ridge with a stunning view of the Mont Blanc range.

In the forest that's part of their domain, looking north towards Lac Leman and the Jura, is a chapel of 14th century origins with an adjacent accommodation building for workers. Each year on Ascension Day, the chaplaincy gathered there to celebrate the Eucharist, using its huge boulder-like ancient altar stone. The chapel is dedicated to Notre Dame des Voirons, and it may have been a local pilgrimage sanctuary many centuries ago. It was a wonderful and numinous occasion, even if it was in shadow and chilly there. Sometimes it snowed while we were there. The photos I took were of our group of two dozen arriving and being welcomed by the Sister guest-mistress. I wonder where the youngsters in the photos are now? Some of the older people are still alive, others of them I laid to rest or have died since.

Another first rate episode of New Amsterdam tonight. It did prompt me to wonder how long it will be before I get my appointment letter from UHW.
  

Reflecting on life of pilgrimage

Yesterday was a day to do the weekly grocery shopping, and enjoy sitting out in our sun-trap of a garden, in the afternoon, as more flowers blossom in the spring warmth. How fortunate we are! I've made the effort to follow tweets from clergy I know at the Diocesan Clergy School in Santiago de Compostela to know what they are doing. Best of all, retired Dean of Durham Michael Sadgrove is there giving a series Bible Studies on Pilgrimage themes and posting them on his blog. I'm so glad that these are not just available to clergy but to anyone interested, wanting to share indirectly in this experience. You can find these addresses and more of his sermons here at his blog site. They are long, but well worth the effort of reading.

This set me thinking about the pilgrimages I have made at different stages of my life. When I was a student, the Russian Orthodox classic 'Way of a Pilgrim' was a seminal book for me. I visited Llandaff, as a teenager, then Glastonbury, Canterbury and Taize as a Uni student, then Walsingham, St David's and Rome in my early ministry years, then Damascus and Aleppo (in search of Ephraim the Syrian). plus Jerusalem and Bethlehem in mid-life. All the earlier ones were made with groups of people. Those in the MIddle East I made alone, but went to stay with Christians living there. 

In retirement I've spent time travelling to places and passing time in locum ministry with Christians wherever I am sent. Early on this meant travelling to parishes within the Diocese, thirty of them in total. Then living in Spain, pastoring during interregnums. This has been a kind of pilgrimage, engaging not so much with sacred stories and places, but with 'living stones'. I look at sacred edifices wherever I go, with pleasure, but rejoice not just in great ancient architecture, but in the ministry of welcome they offer to visitors. Last year in Malaga for Semana Santa was one of the strongest experiences of my life, journeying through the story of Christ's passion on the city streets, juxtaposing the story with everyday life. What would I make of the Camino de Santiago, I wonder, now that I am so familiar with Spanish Catholicism, its history and culture? What would my journey be like? Where would it start, or end?

This morning I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's, and revisited the story of St Matthias with a congregation of seven. In the afternoon I walked over to Tesco's on Western Avenue in search of some file folders as I strive to get my domestic admin tidier. Earlier I spent an hour shredding bank statements up to the time I retired. All the utility bills are there, but jumbled together, and this adds to the effort of referring to them when needed even if it is only once in a few years.

We had a six monthly water rate bill this morning. It's increased by twenty pounds, not because of an increase in prices, but due to an increase in consumption, caused by all the extra linen washing that managing my ailment has generated. And when I think of all the medical waste produced from daily domestic dressing changes, these days thanks to sterile disposable everything, it makes me realise how many aspects of illness are resource hungry in this day and age. As was ever thus I suppose.

Michael Sadgrove's third talk was about Pilgrimage and Pain. It resonated with me because of what I have been through this past nine months. I recognise with gratitude that everyday coping, trying to live a normal life and exercise a ministry with pain, discomfort, vulnerability inconvenience, relying heavily on others, has taught me things I would never have understood before, or just taken for granted. I'm so much more grateful to be alive and occasionally useful than I might ever have been before. When I'm really better, it would do me good to take time out and re-count my blessings properly, but where and how?

   

Disconcerting news

I was saddened to learn yesterday evening that Malaga is soon to be without a priest again, as things didn't work out for Fr Paul with the congregations there, so he's moving to Gran Canaria next month. After such high hopes of a new beginning last Pentecost, this is a crushing blow for the church there. Fifteen months ago it was suggested that I might go there for an interim year of ministry to help the church move on from a succession of shortened ministries and long interregna. A part of me regrets not taking up this idea. At present I'm not in a position offer them any kind of help, which adds to the regret. Well, I can still pray for the resurgence of new life despite everything going on.

I had an email from Emma today asking if I could do a funeral in two weeks time, when she and all the serving clergy of the diocese are at Clergy School in Santiago de Compostela. This takes 'Pilgrimage' as its theme, though why it's necessary to fly everyone to Spain for a few days for this when you could do the same at St Beuno's in Denbighshire or St David's in Pembrokeshire puzzles me. This comes as Parliament debates the global climate change emergency and people are on the streets protesting that not enough is being done in response to the crisis of this magnitude. Increasing the diocesan carbon footprint to such an extent won't do anything to enhance the credibility of the church at this moment in history. I see it as a spectacular own goal.

Emma told me that the appointment process to find a new Team Rector was unsuccessful and will have to be run again. So the interregnum is now set to continue into the autumn. She also asked me to do a Christening at St Luke's next month, on the day of the Benefice Confirmation service. It's one of those situations when it's not practical to do this during a main service. I'm happy to help out with this. This a rare treat for me these days. I did one last summer in Montreux, and one the previous autumn in Villars, and before that, I cannot recall.

It was otherwise a routine day, with a visit to the wound clinic, the weekly grocery shopping to do, and bereavement visit arrangements to make. I needed extra rest too, as the weekend's travel drained my reserves. I still can't get used to this, and hope it's nothing more than a consequence of on-going wound healing.
   

Midweek pilgrim encounter

There were none of the regulars at St George's this morning, but two American women arrived for the Eucharist. They'd been in church last Sunday, learned of the midweek service and decided to come. Today it was my turn to celebrate St James the Apostle and pray for Spain, after last night's celebration at Santiago Parish Church in the Old Town and they were glad to share this.

I learned that they were related through the marriage of their children to each other. Both had been widowed in the previous year. They decided to take time out to travel, and to think about what they might do with their lives, post three score years and ten. Over the months past they had lived and travelled an unplanned journey in Europe, especially Spain, and felt much enriched by people they'd met and places discovered they never knew about before on their personal pilgrimage. 

They hadn't yet come to a decision about their futures, but both said they had experienced freedom of the Spirit in a new way, having sold up their homes before leaving, to make ready for whatever new life might lay ahead of them. I thought about T S Eliot's phrase in the last stanza of 'East Coker, which equally applies to women

'Old men ought to be explorers

Here or there does not matter

We must be still and still moving

Into another intensity

For a further union, a deeper communion...'

After we parted company I went to the bank nearby to cash a cheque I had been given by the church treasurer. Last time I queued for ten minutes, this time I was there for forty, chilled by the air-con, which didn't seem to have a de-humidifier setting. I was glad to get back to the apartment for a cold cerveza sin alcohol before making lunch. This week I have been winding down the perishable food stocks, as the apartment will be empty for six weeks or so. It means I have to think more carefully about what I need to buy, so there's nothing but rubbish to dispose of at the end of Monday, when I have to clean, pack up and wait for a 04.00am taxi to the airport. I'll appreciate a more temperate climate back home for a while, but soon start missing endless sunshine.

In the evening, I took a walk along the Paseo La Malagueta and around the port. At the moment no cruise ships are docked, just a few luxury sailing yachts, so it was quieter and less crowded than usual, and perhaps a little more hazardous to walk as more space makes pavement cyclists and skateboarders bolder in weaving their path at speed among walkers.

  

Tabarca trip

I woke up and got started early, Clare and Ann rose and breakfasted later, then we made our way to the port to take a ferry boat across to Tabarca Island. It's a 'must do' excursion for any Sta Pola holiday.

The ferry arrived at the modern jetty in a bay at the narrowest stretch of the island just after midday. The ancient point of arrival is on the foreshore beneath the town walls near the 17th century church of St Peter and St Paul. The mediaeval walls give access through three gates, one of which, dedicated to Archangel Michael, is above the mediaeval landing area on the island's north side.

Since our first visit from Geneva in 2000, I have observed the slow progress of restoring this the largest and most prominent building in the town, if not the whole island. It follows the Spanish tradition of fortifying church buildings - iconic in defence of the faith, I guess. The church job seems complete, although access to it wasn't possible.

The parish rooms and clergy quarters attached to the church east end are still a roofless ruin. But, a place with potential as a hospitality centre, much needed today. I hope something happens to complete the picture even if it takes another decade to find the funding. This is indeed a special place to visit for whatever reason. Like the foreshore of Sta Pola bay it was probably first colonised by the Pheonicians, then the Romans. It was conquered by the Moors, then reconquered for the Spanish monarchs and again conquered by the Kingdom of Morocco for a generation in the 18th century, before being liberated yet again.

It was too early to eat, so we walked the length and breadth of the island before settling for lunch at the Gloria restaurant on the south side of the island. After lunch, we spent another hour walking around discovering different places, then took a boat back to Sta Pola at five so that Ann and Clare could swim from the beach next to the port. 

We were fortunate to have such a beautiful day for our island excursion.