Quarantine Cymru - day Six

A pleasantly cool night up in my attic room, waking up to clouds and warm sunshine. After prayers and breakfast, I started work on next Sunday's sermon.  Plenty of ideas, concentrating them into a reasonable length homily will take up most of the time I need to spend on it.

I continue to walk my 5k daily quota indoors and in the garden. I find the constraint very frustrating with lots of twists and turns not doing my joints much good, although much stair climbing makes up for that. It's a challenge to maintain the discipline.

Before Clare went for her daily walk she helped me take a wound swab sample for our GP to send for pathogen testing, and then took it around to the surgery after her walk. The wound seems to have dried and closed even more recently. Clare noticed the difference since she took a photo last Friday for a GP to examine. Sitting without a good cushion for long periods is still uncomfortable, but less so, which is encouraging, since it's highly probable that I'll have to wait an even longer time for that final round of surgery. The easier it is to live with the better. 

An email arrived this afternoon from a member of Ibiza's consular staff, inviting me to an on-line meeting to discuss if the Consulate could could assist or support the Chaplaincy in any way. Very good to think that they are taking an interest. The news that I have returned to Britain hasn't yet registered there. I forwarded it to churchwardens Jayne and Rosi to respond to, surprised that the message hadn't been copied to them. I wonder if the Consulate might help find a venue for worship which doesn't need to be shared with other congregations, as this would make it so much easier to arrange services under the essential new regime of anti-virus precautions.

Later in the day, I switched to transcribing our 1967 Greek travel diary. It's intriguing to read about what we did and recover detail from rather hazy recollections of events fifty three years ago, and fascinating how a sketchy handwritten narrative is able to conjure up emotional memories attached to places.

State of Alam - Day Nine

Spanish numbers of coronavirus infections and deaths continue to mount, and the State of Alarm now extends to 12th April, Easter Day. Britain is talking about a three month stretch for its new set of restrictions. So far. My dear friend Roy is sequestered in a high rise apartment in Alicante for the duration. He came out to Spain for a Lenten time of retreat and reflection and has got more than he bargained for, but is finding the enforced isolation and solitude gives him time to work on himself.

This morning we exchanged emails about the concept of the 'dark night of the soul' in the writing of St John of the Cross. Born a Catholic, he lived as a contemplative friar during the sixteenth century Renaissance. His mystical poetry and writings appeal to people across the divide the Reformation caused in the church. Now in another time of upheaval and crisis St John's writings have a special kind of resonance with our experience of having everything that sustains our identity and purpose in life stripped away, leaving us exposed and vulnerable before the divine darkness. It's good to have someone around who wants to talk about these things and learn more. 

After twenty years of distinguished service in medical ethics and transplant advocacy, probably more pastoral than promotional or political, he's thinking about the rest of his life's journey. So am I too, even though my life is drawing to its natural end, I don't at all feel like it's nearly time to say 'mission accomplished' and bow out. The time I have may be much shorter than hoped for, so the quality of whatever I have left to do on earth matters to me more than ever. 

Perhaps that's why I've been driven to write so much this past year, transcribing old journals of missionary adventures which I've not looked at since I wrote them, not knowing who will ever read them, but doing to because I wanted to remember my life before blogging and what I learned that shaped the experience I now have behind me when I think and write. I journalled intermittently for fifty five years, so it's great to re-awaken old memories, though all of that is on hold for now, except that I have brought my earliest travel journal with me to decipher and digitize from our 1967 back packing holiday in Greece the year before I went to theological college.

Roy has discovered the work of American Old Testament scholar Walter Bruggeman and sent me some video clips of him interviewing and teaching. It's excellent stuff, on the prophetic imagination as expressed in the poetic writings of Isaiah. Archbishop Barry was fond of quoting his books, but I never got around to reading them. Funnily enough, ideas he expresses seem more than familiar to me, although more profound and wise, his idea of the prophets as poets of the Word is one I adopted and learned to apply in biblical interpretation a long time ago. 

In the Epistle of James, the Greek for 'doers of the Word' can also be rendered as  'poets of the Word' - I remember that being said by Bishop Freddy Temple in my St Paul's Bristol days forty years ago. He was an early adopter among of quoting the poetry of R S Thomas in sermons. I could do with having my volume of his collected poems with me here now, to savour in solitude.

Maaret called by with a nice big extra pullover for me, as I certainly didn't bring enough winter stuff and windy overcast days are pretty chilly. She also collected six eight litre plastic containers to take with her and return full of fresh filtered drinking water. I am so grateful to her for doing this for me, as I didn't get a chance to be shown how to do this by someone with me, and all that is made so much more difficult to cope with by the State of Alarm which forbids people to associate or work collaboratively at close quarters. Such a relief. That's three weeks worth of drinking water, at least!

Tonight I left a message on the UK consular website in Ibiza to say that despite the vacancy for a chaplain, there is a resident locum priest offering telephone pastoral counselling to anyone who asks who may not know about the chaplaincy website - including hard pressed staff members. These days, British consulates tend to keep churches at arms length, due to the secular neutrality which life in culturally plural Britain requires. Policy forgets however that the CofE is still a Protestant Church established by Law. On this the British state isn't yet entirely neutral, even if the status of the CofE is an embarrassing topic of debate - just like the Queen really. Long live both anyway! It seemed to me like a useful ides. You never know what will come up as a result! 

I don't know where this evening went, apart from lots of messaging and phone calls as usual. Time just seems to slip by so rapidly. As life does in old age too. It must to also for the tens of thousands of medics fighting to save people's lives and working around the clock without respite. It may seem to pass slowly, but it's when you look at the clock that the truth dawns how long the battle has been going on and how rapidly the picture changes.