The kind of leadership we need

We were on duty at St Catherine's this morning. Clare read the lesson and the Psalm, I stood at the door, greeting people, taking their names and contact details. We were thirty one adults and three children, and that included a few visitors as well as the regulars. I enjoy the aspect of welcoming people arriving. It's a small thing, but engages the pastor still within me. It was nice to get some positive feedback about my week's reflections too. 

Another cheering thing is the resumption of weekday services this Wednesday, with the familiar liturgical balm of the Church in Wales 1984 Prayer Book liturgy. I find its traditional hieratic language a wholesome complement to the contemporary liturgical creativity I advocated for much of my working life. We have some beautiful poetic modern prayers to work with, but risk losing the simplicity of Western liturgical ethos by elaborating elementary phrases and greetings, adding un-necessarily to its formality. Something akin to taking a simple elegant melody and decorating it with grace notes or melismata. It can enhance, but not necessarily so.

Pope Francis has been visiting the beleaguered Christian minority in Iraq this past few days, and such a memorable and significant visit it's turned out to be. A pilgrimage to the ancient Mesapotamian city of Ur, from whence Abraham, an archetypal person of faith, honoured by Muslims, Jews and Christians, went west to settle in Canaan. He visited the Shiite Muslim pilgrimage city of Al-Najaf for a conversation with Grand Ayatollah Al-Sistani, something his predecessors sought to do, but didn't achieve. 

In his days as the Cardinal Archbishop of Buenos Aires, he became a personal friend of both the Chief Rabbi and Grand Imam of the country. They attended his installation as Pope and accompanied him on his pilgrimage to Jerusalem, so his latest achievement perhaps owes as much to his reputation for inter-faith friendship as it does to Vatican diplomatic effort. St Francis of Assisi is remembered for visiting Sultan al-Malik al-Kamil when his Egyptian forces were pitted against a Crusader army. Cardinal Bergoglio's choice of Papal name is an indication of a source of his inspiration as a world spiritual leader.

I walked around the parks after lunch looking for bursting buds to photograph, but the results weren't very satisfactory in producing decent close-ups, I don't know why yet. With more trial and error I'll get to the bottom of this. As I walked, I listened on my phone to a Choral Evensong broadcast from Christchurch Cathedral/College Oxford. It'd be better if I remembered to take a set of headphones with me. Background noise from road traffic or the waters of the Taff tumbling over the weir easily drown out the gentle sound of singing, audible when out in an open green space.

This evening we watched an excellent S4C documentary on the work of First Minister Mark Drakeford through the pandemic, which included interviews as well as footage shot during cabinet meetings. With an improved set of English subtitles, this bi-lingual programme really deserves be seen on UK wide TV, as it reveals the worst of Boris Johnson's leadership during the crisis as it happened. He's respectful and courteous towards a politician with whom he has nothing in common avoiding carping criticism. He does however express his exasperation at the unilateral approach to decision making taken by Westminster towards the Celtic nations. 

It's no wonder the First Minister is now bold enough to state publicly that the UK Union of nations is in effect broken, and needs re-thinking as a federation. I think he's right. It's a somewhat different approach than Plaid Cymru's advocacy for Welsh independence, which I think is unrealistic, as we don't have a long lived legal system and institutions as a foundation. These aren't easily grown. But who knows, we may have enough Welsh governance to make a start, which could be granted more self determination in a revised partnership with Westminster. Along with the SNP's push for independence, this could become a key issue in the three years before the next general election. Unless of course, the Tories rid themselves of Johnson and his cronies, and install a leader who understands the real mean and value of consultation, reconciliation and unity as leadership aims.

Life saving friendship

I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's yesterday morning with eight others, then went to the wound clinic, did some shopping and the walked to the Natural Health clinic for an acupuncture treatment. I was quite tired when I got there but the treatment rejuvenated me. Even so, I laid low for the rest of the day.

Emma asked me to stand in for her at the St John's midweek Eucharist this morning, which I was happy to do. Apparently she'd just received an invitation from a Muslim women's group to visit one of our city's mosques. That's the sort of invitation which wouldn't be extended to a male priest, and it shows what possibilities of dialogue are opened up, simply by having ordained women clergy.

After a clinic visit, lunch and a siesta, we drove to Newport to visit Martin. It's the first time we've seen him since his life-changing colostomy operation three weeks ago. We're amazed at how well he is looking and how active he is able to be, within limits, like me. He had prepared tea for us, with cream cakes and cucumber sandwiches to celebrate. He spoke inspiringly of the positive experience and of people he'd met through this truly life-threatening crisis. 

His GP recognised before the hospital specialists who'd been scanning and testing him, exactly what had gone wrong. She rushed him to hospital, with only hours to spare before toxins overwhelmed his vital organs, saving his life. She'd been a youngster in the Parish of Pontyclun when he was Vicar there. He followed the development of her vocation and career, and kept in touch. Eventually he signed up as one of her patients in a local medical practice. Who could have foreseen this?  

When we returned home there wasn't anything I wanted to watch on TV, so I went up to bed to watch a French crimmie from More Four's 'Walter Presents' on my tablet. This one is called 'Murder on the Lake'. Setting is Lake Annecy in Haute Savoie which we know well from camping holidays when the children were young over thirty years ago. And it's great to get glimpses of familiar much loved landscapes - and to hear French spoken with hints of a familiar regional accent as well. It's yet another 'hunt the serial killer' show, in which a social media dating app plays a key part in the killer's modus operandum. The plot twist is that some of the cops involved in the hunt are using dating apps to cheat on their spouses while at work. I wonder if the truth is as strange as the fiction here?

Down memory lane

I celebrated the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning, and then after an early lunch Clare, Rachel and I drove to Bristol to visit Amanda. She told us how the care agency which now looks after her is managed and staffed by Muslim care workers, who have been most attentive to her needs, so that now she gets taken in her wheelchair to the Parish Eucharist in St Stephen's Southmead on Sunday mornings. Her carer sits at the back or goes outside during the service, and pops in now and then to check she's OK. The congregation is friendly and welcoming towards them both, and having a burka wearing care worker in church regularly offers a low key opportunity for growing respect and trust in an area not exactly renowned for tolerance.

Amanda, always outgoing and curious, has been learning from her carers about muslim culture and faith practices, as well as explaining her own. She has given them permission, should they need to while they are with her, to take a few moments time out for prayer in another room. Through this kind of everyday inter-faith dialogue, grass roots progress can be made in learning how best to live together with our differences.

At Rachel's request on our return trip we drive across the old Severn Bridge and visited Chepstow, where we lived for seven years when she was in primary school. We walked down the Dell to the Castle, along the west bank of the river Wye and back up through the older streets of the town. It was no surprise that Rachel should find a chippie open and buy a bag of chips to share. Chips over in Chepstow (aka 'Chipstow') was a regular treat when we lived in St Paul's Bristol, and crossed the bridge to visit the Wye Valley for some respite from the concrete jungle. Happy days back then over, thirty years ago.

    

Whirlwind Tour

After a huge snack supper in the hotel bar, washed down with a bottle of cheap Rioja from a nearby gas station shop, we touched base with home, thanks to the excellent in house wi-fi network, with its rigorous security protocols (one device only per user). Then we turned in, coping with the heat of the night, rather than the noise and chill of the zealous air conditioning system. We were up at dawn and heading out into the rush hour traffic for the last 11km stretch into Granada, by 8.30am, making for the Alhambra's hillside car park. By 9.10am we were walking down the tree shaded path below the Palace walls, enjoying the cool mist from irrigation system sprinklers which bathe the trees with water during the day. A very special way to start and finish a walking tour around Granada, where summer temperatures of 35-40C are considered normal.

We followed the road up the side of the Darro river which flows through the valley below the walls of the Alhambra Palace, then climbed up through the Albayzin barrio for a beer and a tapa in the Plaza Larga, before visiting the Mirador San Nicolas to take a selfie or two to send to the family. Owain is the only one not to have been with us on various previous outings to Granada. I was so glad at last to put this right.

Work on San Nicholas church has progressed somewhat since I was here this time last year. The chancel rood has been removed entirely and reconstructive work on the top of the walls goes on before a new beams and tiling can be added. Before making our way down to the city through the back streets of the barrio, I took Owain to show him the new Granada mosque which is quite near the Mirador. It's not open to the public at the moment, only at the prescribed times for prayer for Eid el Fitr. 

Outside there was a young woman, plainly dressed, wearing a hijab, engaging three girls in English whom I think were American or maybe Spanish tourists, dressed down, as westerners do, for the heat, reliant on the mercy of sun-cream to compensate for their lack clothing. It was, apparently, a dialogue of the deaf, which left the young muslim woman with a look of exasperation on her face.

I wished her 'Eid Mubarak' and we chatted with her for a while. From her speech, she might have been an English speaking Swiss German or Austrian convert, in search of a new authentic way of life, and eager to give an account of her new lifestyle choices to anyone willing to take her on. It's one of those cases of learning by doing. She had a lot to say, overlaid with presumptions about the nature of others' faith, but wasn't too good at listening, yet. 

After a while we parted company, with a mutual blessing. I wondered about her journey of faith and who was helping her on her way. Owain and I spoke about spiritual struggle in Christian spirituality and jihad in Islam, as we wound our way down steep narrow streets to the main street. From there we made a brief excursion into the old town area where the Cathedral and Chapel Royal of Los Reyes Catolicos are situated, but as it was getting really hot we decided this was enough of a taster visit for Owain, and headed back up to the car park.

On the way there, I found an open door in a gateway which gave us access into the area in between the Alhambra Palace and the Alcazaba fortress known as the Patio de Machuca. I recognised where we were, but had forgotten this part was open to the public without the need for booking tickets. This enabled Owain to have a glimpse at the domain from the inside, which was most pleasing to be able to share. By 1.30pm we were on our way out of Granada, heading for the autovia that would take us back to Salobrenia on the coast, and on to Nerja. It's such a spectacular journey to share. We parked in the main surface car park in Nerja, walked about and saw something of the beaches and the Balcon de Europa, before lunching on beer and tapas at Biznaga in the Plaza El Salvador, which is a favourite place for Clare and I.

Suitably refreshed we headed back to Malaga, at a lazy pace alone the coast road all the way. We ended up hunting for petrol in rush hour traffic, having missed an opportunity to refuel on our way into town, and this took us all over the inner city, nearly on empty. It was gone six when we reached the apartment. Owain went for a swim while I did some Monday shopping, then later we ventured out in the cool of the evening to eat at the Cafeteria Flor across the street. The food was excellent. It was a little too noisy for eating out doors for my comfort. Owain was happy however, tucking into a generous portion of pez espada, one of our family favourites - swordfish. A nice memory to take with him back to Bristol. It's been lovely to have quality time together. More of the same would do us both good, I reckon.

  

  

Remembering where the adventure began

This morning the weekly Mercadillo was in full session when I walked out and uphill into the neighbouring urbanizacion of St Juan Capistrano to visit Carol and Lawrence for our 49 year catch up. Their small house is quite high up with a view out and over the sea with a large 18th century watch tower nearby, somewhat incongruously placed in the garden of one of the modern houses. The skies had cleared and we were able to sit out on the terrace to drink coffee and talk, and eventually have lunch. 

It was a lovely experience, as both of them had spent their professional lives in education and are active in the life of their local parish in High Wycombe. Both are committed internationalists, europhiles and liberal multi-culturalists, so we had a great deal in common and much to reflect upon together. Lawrence is a Lay Reader and works on Christian - Muslim dialogue and reconciliation in their local community. He has remarkable stories to tell of good-will and trust building, that give the lie to phobic news mongers whose shrill anxious voices so dominate the contemporary stage. It made me feel proud to have been part of that Swinging Sixties cohort - we have made a difference to the common mind set!

The couple were introduced at University by John, a mutual friend with whom they are still in close touch. Carol insisted in ringing him up and getting me to speak to him out of the blue. He seemed quite bemused initially. John ran a study group for Anglican students, on J A T Robinson's landmark religious paperback book, which was such a strong influence in not simply retaining but developing my faith and vocation at that time - 'Honest to God'. He was the first, indeed the only person to ask me "Have you ever thought of becoming a Vicar?" It all happened from there, in the spring of 1964. Carol and Lawrence return to Britain tomorrow, but will be back again not long before I leave, when surely we will continue where we left off.