Have we lost the plot?

Another glorious summer day with 23 degree heat at breakfast time and 30C by lunchtime. The Radio Four Sunday Worship service was from Senghenydd, the parish next to where I served my title as Curate in Penyrheol housing estate, now part of the Caerphilly Ministry Area. Mark Greenway Robbins Rector of Caerphilly is now Ministry Area Leader for the conurbation which covers the ancient Parish of Eglwysilan and  that of Caerphilly. Bishop June preached, and among the other contributors was a community worker supported by the Citizen Church in Cathays Cardiff, which took over St Teilo's Parish Church, to provide a working base for an evangelical church planting 'resource church group' back by Holy Trinity Brompton in London. 

The community worker is based at St Peter's Senghenydd, aiming revitalise it and work on regeneration of a deprived and marginalised community that never fully recovered from the loss of over five hundred miners in pit disasters a century ago, and the loss of its last pit Windsor Colliery, just after I left Penyrheol for Birmingham fifty years later. Only one contributor had a distinctive Valleys accent, a former miner at Windsor Colliery. The rest sounded as if they'd crossed Offa's Dyke to re-evangelise the Welsh. Sure, the idea is to 'reach the unreached', in a secular society. I wish them well, but is this enterprise now beyond us natives? Are we being shamed by these enthusiastic in-comers? Is Welsh zeal reserved only for sports and music-making nowadays? How can we rekindle indigenous zeal for a real relevant Christianization of our national culture?

I took my choir robes with me conscientiously to St Catherine's for the Eucharist, and was relieved that it was decided not to robe up, as it was only just a little cooler in church than outdoors. Archbishop Rowan celebrated and preached. It was lovely listening to him again, he has such a relaxed and thoughtful style and always good insights to share. He was talking about Jesus re-inventing the idea of humanity, by abolishing all divisions of status, wealth, power and ethnicity - the ultimate 'levelling-up'. It's not just me that mocks Boris' latest content free catchphrase.

It was good, singing in the choir, such a change from presiding or sitting in the congregation. It keeps you on  the alert and aware of others in addition to the celebrant. I think I'll do more of this in future on the Sundays I don't have other duties, but it will be September before I can make my next appearance in choir, as all but one of the August Sundays I'm at St German's, and the other one I'm preaching at St Luke's. Next week we're down in Oxwich Bay with Owain, Kath and Anto.

Hilary was outside after the service with the first church garden courgettes of the season and a pot of blackberry jam for sale, both of which we bought. For lunch we had the first fruits of the French beans which were grown from seed. Summer delights!

My walk in the afternoon heat took me almost entirely under tree cover through Pontcanna Fields. over the Taff and back through the woods in Bute Park At a guess, there were a couple of hundred people on the pebble beaches along the river or messing about in the water at Blackweir. Hundreds more, in small groups found shader trees or erected their own canopies for shelter. I was accosted by a teenage couple in Bute Park, when the young man noticed the Olympus OMD I was carrying, and asked what type it was. I chatted with them for a while. I think they were at sixth form college. I was wearing my summer beret, which attracted curiosity and conversation about Spain. The girl had visited Fuengirola when her granny was the Church of Scotland Minister of the ex-pat community in Andalusia, around the time I was on locum duty there with the Costa del Sol East chaplaincy. Small world!

After supper we watched Antiques Road Show from Kenilworth Castle, which was very interesting and then the first episode of the second series of 'Baptiste'. An engaging if confusing plot line, as the story is told, switching between flashbacks and the present moment, a little confusing when it's not exactly clear if there's any point to this.

Life Passages

This afternoon we drove to Caerphilly to attend Jane's funeral at St Martin's church in the parish where I served my title over forty five years ago. The last time I was in this church was for the first Eucharist celebration of Sarah Rogers five and a half years ago. We arrived early and there was time to realise some of the changes that have taken place over the years. The Benefice of Eglwysiland and Caerphilly now embraces ancient Aber Valley Parish of Eglwysilan, with Senghenydd village. The Benefice population is about 37,000, five churches, served by three clergy. Caerphilly alone had three clergy three churches when I was there, and was about half its present population.

The back of the nave is now pew free, with a kitchen enclosure, chairs and tables for hospitality. Out in the churchyard, an area is being laid out and paved for car parking, a vital asset as St Martin's Road outside is usually full of parked cars along its length. We had to walk a quarter of a mile from where we found a space, to get to the church. Also I noticed several new stained glass windows, and a glass panelled vestry. All very nicely done.

Over sixty people were present for the funeral. Another family friend, Fr Derek Belcher officiated, with assistance from Team Rector Fr Mark Greenway-Robbins and Fr Kevin Cecil, a school friend of Martin's. I gave the eulogy for Jane, whom I'd known for forty eight years. She was a truly remarkable nonagenenarian who'd married at sixteen, been a munitions inspector during World War Two, and had several successful business careers, one as the Manager of Caerphilly's famed 1000 seater Double Diamond Club, and two in clothes retailing, while she brought up two teenage boys on her own, after having been deserted by a traumatised war hero husband.

The funeral was concluded the other side of Caerphilly Mountain at Thornhill Crematorium. I couldn't help but reflect on times I'd driven over the mountain to Thornhill, for the funerals of my parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts, let alone for those of parishioners while I was curate, over the years since the crematorium first opened in 1953.

We went home, rather than go to the reception following, as it was back in Caerphilly. I needed to go to the office, prior to going to St German's for the evening's Stations of the the Cross. Co-incidentally, News arrived of the death of a contemporary from my theological student days, Jani Farrel-Roberts. Born as John Roberts, trained and ordained a Roman Catholic priest, married an Aussie social worker met while doing post graduate studies in London, fathered two children, before coming to a life crisis and going through the process of gender reassignment. 

Jani then worked as an investigative free lance writer and journalist, campaignng on land rights issues with Queensland Aboriginal communities. Unusually, the couple didn't split up while the children were little, as was recommended in those days. When they returned to the UK and lived in St Paul's Bristol, they stayed with us for a while, then rented the spare curate's house across the road from us. Their kids grew up with our kids for several years, and are still in touch. Having never sought official permission from the church hierarchy for any of her life changes, Jani disconnected from Christianity and found a spiritual home among neo-pagans, and exercised a Wyccan ministry as priestess, with poetic flair. 

The last few years of her life were marred by the aftermath of a debilitating stroke. As she moved from Wiltshire to Shropshire to be nearer her sister we lost touch. Sadly our commitments won't allow us to attend her funeral next week, one that promises to be pretty original, like that of our friend Moonyeen a couple of years ago. If Jani's biography is ever written, it'll make amazing reading for anyone who is interested in the demolition of sterotypes about ministry.