Having got to bed at the right time a good night's sleep, awakening to another cloudy sometimes hazy day. Clare went out early to buy bread rolls and croissants for breakfast for a change. Then a morning watching the funeral of Pope Francis on telly. Rome bathed in bright sunshine under a clear sky, the streets leading to the Vatican as well as St Peter's Square packed with hundreds of thousands of people watching on giant screens, heaven knows how many bishops and clergy dressed in red, the traditional liturgical colour for funerals in the Byzantine tradition I learned later.
People from all over the world, including heads of state and diplomats gathered to celebrate the life of the much loved 'people's Pope'. The Prince of Wales represented the King, Archbishop Cotterell and Euro-Bishop Robert represented the CofE. Such a huge amount of organisation to enable Communion to be given to so many people. It's something the Vatican and the city of Rome organise superbly.
Although the ritual nature of the occasion was simplified it was truly world embracing and inclusive, with a female American journalist reading the first lesson in English and a Lecter reading the second lesson in Spanish. The Gospel read by a Deacon was in Latin. The 91 year old Dean of the College of Cardinals presided accompanied by an African Cardinal at the Eucharist. I thought he coped very well having to stand for such long periods of time.
What struck me was the Commendation rite after Communion, first the prayers of the Latin rite and then chanted from the Byzantine Liturgy offered in Greek and Arabic, by the Patriarchs of Eastern churches in Communion with the Pope. It may not be the first time this has occurred, but it has added significance given the persecution of indigenous Christians across the Middle East. Until his death Pope Francis called the parish priest of the Holy Family in Gaza city daily.
After lunch I went for a long walk, mostly down river and back, then a lap of Thompson's Park where for the first time out in the open I caught sight of a green parakeet flying down on the the grass by the main pond to forage a piece of bread intended to feed the ducks. Ducks will eat bread but something that's not part of their natural diet isn't good for them. I can't imagine it does parakeets any good either, as they eat seeds and nuts. I got several good photos including this one:
Owain arrived back in Bristol from his brief excursion to Nerja having enjoyed a few days respite under a blue sky in a much warmer place. Two weeks from today we'll be with Veronica in L'Escala. Looking forward to this greatly.
After supper I uploaded photos, exchanged a few messages, wrote for a while and read a remarkable wise homily by Pope Francis, written when he was in hospital, reflecting on the human encounters that occur between medics and patients. Then I tried out a new American hospital feel-good series called the 'Good doctor' about a youthful autistic savant who trains as a doctor and gains acceptance on his first residency as a surgical team member. It's been praised for its positivity and mix of medical drama and human relationships, but to my mind, it's far too contrived and padded out with excess medical jargon and on screen anatomical diagrams that obscure the action such as it is. And so to bed.
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