What's in a name?

A slow start to the day. The morning just seemed to disappear, although I succeeded in recording the audio for next week's Morning Prayer video before lunch. 

In the afternoon, I walked into town through Bute Park for a look around. The park illuminations, skating rink in the Castle grounds and the Winter Wonderland attractions are all closed now and being dismantled. There weren't great crowds of sale shoppers around. Covid nervousness I suspect is keeping people away. I popped into John Lewis' to have a look at what was on offer in the sales but saw nothing of interest.

Before supper, I completed the Morning Prayer video and uploaded it to YouTube. This time I had to think about labelling it differently for the future. Previously it's been tagged 'From the Benefice of Canton', but at midnight tonight the Benefice as a legal pastoral entity is abolished. It's three Parish churches are going to be constituents in the new West Cardiff Ministry Area. The same is also true of St German's, merged into the Roath Ministry Area. It's not a move that I'm at all happy about, but must live with. 

Our group of three churches will continue to work together as they have done before. Relationships forged over the twenty five years the Team Ministry and Rectorial Benefice has existed will continue. I decided in future to label my contributions 'From Canton Parish in the West Cardiff Ministry Area. Although the ecclesiastical Parish is abolished, the civil parish, an area with its own historical record, continues to exist. That'll serve to prevent further erosion of the identity of the local churches planted here over a hundred and fifty years ago.

Unimpressed by the New Year's eve selection of TV viewing. We ended up watching the prequel movie to 'Star Trek' with its convoluted time shifting plot, excessively noisy special effects, and vaguely amusing dialogue recycling phrases from the vintage movie series. Seen it before. Then on Sky Arts, a Vienna New Year's Eve promenade popular orchestral concert from Vienna by André Rieu. A huge exuberant audience of not young enthusiasts behaving as if they were at a rock concert.  A recording from 2002. Another sort of time shifting I guess. The streets are quiet. No noticeable sound of parties. There will be fireworks but there's nothing to stay up for, to toast the New Year in. It's not really worth it until there's no more covid threat to inhibit traditional exuberance.

Death sometimes comes unannounced

With the service at St Illtud's Oxwich at ten this morning, I arranged to take the cooked breakfast offered by Oxwich Bay Hotel as part of the holiday booking at nine rather than nine thirty, to ensure I had time to be punctual. It was nne twenty by the time I was served, and twenty to ten by the time I left to walk to church, just as the rest of the family arrived for breakfast.

There were sixteen of us, plus Sue the newly ordained voluntary priest serving the West Gower group of churches. We started outside, singing 'Morning has broken', as we can't yet sing inside a small church - St Illtud's seats about seventy, in effect twenty under current social distancing regime. After Communion we went outside for to sing a final hymn (a version of Psalm 23), and be dismissed with a blessing. Then coffee was served outdoors for the first time. It was lovely to be welcomed back again, to join this small group of villagers who love their church and enjoy sharing life together in this open hearted community of faith.

When I came out of church I received a text message from my friend Martin to tell me about the sudden and unexpected death at 55 of Archdeacon Sue Pinnington in Monmouth. She and Frances our Rector, are in a Civil Partnership, and Martin knew this would be bound to have an impact on our parish life, as indeed it did. Frances announced Sue death on the Parish Whatsapp group at midday and since then a steady stream of parishioners have posted messages of sympathy, and Fr Rhys has organised changes to the ministry rota to cover her absence on bereavement leave. Although I'm on holiday, it meant that I've had to keep an eye on the exchange of messages all day, and contribute to it, as I am able to. Although Sue's job has been in our neighbouring diocese, she has occasionally contributed to the life of our Parish, notably by being the guest Holy Week preacher this year. It's been truly amazing to witness parishioners rallying around their priest in grief and shock today, I daresay it will be quite a while before things get back to normal.

When I rejoined the family, a picnic lunch was being prepared for a walk along the shore in the direction of Three Cliffs Bay. We stopped about two thirds of the way there to eat our sandwiches. Neither Clare Owain or I were sure we could make it all the way and back, and left Kath and Anto to continue to the destination and send us photos.

It was a gloriously hot day, and as evening approached, we gathered again down on the beach to build a fire and make a barbecue supper. Owain Kath and Anto did well to cook veggie and meat variations on three instant barbecue tinfoil trays purchased from different supermarkets. Clare and I were happy to let them get on with it and enjoy the fruit of the labours. My contribution was to forage for driftwood and feed the real proper fire we made. There was a beautiful sunset, then Clare and I headed back to base and left the others sitting around the fire and enjoying the night air. For is two, it was time for bed.

Transplant Triumph

 Although I'm sleeping deeply I' still wake in the night with low level pain and discomfort I need to deal with if I'm to settle back to  sleep again. That way I lose an hour or so, and need a siesta to compensate. I can go without if needs be, but then tiredness accumulates and that's not a good idea. This morning I woke up before eight, and listened to BCP Choral Matins from Windsor Castle on Radio Four in bed. 

It was abridged to fill the time slot and contained a homily - beautifully done. It was to mark the centenary of the late Duke of Edinburgh's birth that the broadcast came from St George's Chapel, and I think he'd approve of it, being utterly traditional, short and right to the point. It was lovely for me to lie there and pray the words of the old Office by heart. They have been part of my life since I started attending church regularly and singing in the choir over sixty years ago. 

As this that wasn't enough I took a turn as celebrating and preaching at the St Catherine's Parish Eucharist, now allowed to be Choral, which meant that I could sing the priest's part for the first time in a couple of years. Hopefully the ban on congregational singing will be lifted soon as well. I found this experience both uplifting and moving. It was a morning when Clare was scheduled to read, and be a welcome steward. We've done this together a couple of times, and enjoy it. Today she had to cope on her own as I had to get everything ready for Mass - there were two dozen of us, many away for half term I guess,

Suture removal hasn't only put a spring back in my step (I caught myself jigging from one foot to another to the music as I walked around Tesco's yesterday afternoon), it's reconnected me with the desire to sing effortlessly. This is perhaps the strangest consequence of having a tiny foreign body piercing close to my vagus nerve. It was subtle, rarely painful but it made music making an effort, not wanting to pick up the guitar or wanting to sing. A distinctive subversion of well-being. To stand at the altar singing again was a foretaste of heavenly bliss - I can't say more. We've both decided we're going to join the church choir now that it's likely the restriction on numbers will be lifted fairly soon. 

I walked down to Blackweir after lunch and a short siesta. There were hundreds of people in small groups picnicking, playing music, enjoying the sunshine, some youngsters paddling in the water or jumping off the bridge into the deep part by the fish trap - a delightful picture of summer normality. Then I walked to St Luke's for a service of Meditation and Benediction in honour of Corpus Christi weekend with a group of ten of us. I walked home chatting with our friend Diana, such a pleasant change from sending messages to each other on-line.

When I got back Clare was talking to our friend Peter in Itzehohe near Hambourg, who had a double lung transplant recently. We first spoke to him the day after the operation a month ago and were amazed to see him already so responsive and invigorated after nine hours of surgery. He went went for a rehabilitation course at a Nordzee coastal resort before returning home, Today he's been out riding a bike. Astonishing! 

We talked for over an hour while I ate supper, and then we watched the first episode of a three part drama called 'Time', and authentic claustrophobic portrayal of prison life seen from the perspective of inmates and officers. It was hard to watch, so brutally honest about life behind bars. For all its best intentions the prison system doesn't stop people re-offending and many prisoners have mental health conditions on entry or while they are incarcerated. It's not working to rehabilitate offenders, so why does Britain persist with a system that's clearly failing in its own aims? 

Watch rescue

Another day of strong winds, clouds and occasional light showers, but not as bad as the past few days. We are promised warmer weather later in the week, for how long, I wonder? This week, the Parish offering of Morning Prayer six days a week starts on rotation between three lay people, Fr Rhys, Mthr Frances, now back at work half time, and myself. This seems to me a good idea, with the variety of voices, and thoughts in a brief reflection as part of the Daily Office. It would be great to add even more lay contributors as time passes and others get used to the idea that they can do it too.

Last night, I had an email request from my sister June to shop for some special 'pill' batteries for a digital clock, as she can't get out to hunt for them herself. With difficulty she'd identified the serial number on the dead battery and sent it to me. I googled the serial number and got the impression that it shouldn't be too difficult to track this type down. I went to Tesco's where I knew a variety of common battery types were on sale. There was nothing with the same serial number on the rack, but when I googled again on my phone standing awkwardly by the shelf, I found info about the serial numbers for equivalent batteries, and that made it easy to buy the right type.

I popped home and put the purchase in an envelope, then took it to the Post Office, as the envelope wasn't thin enough to travel on a single first class stamp. The counter clerk quoted me £3.50 to send the envelope but I was even more surprised when when she pushed a customs declaration towards me. "Since when" I asked, "Since when was it necessary to declare the contents of anything going from Wales to London?" Then the penny dropped "Oh, I thought you said France." she said, staring blankly at the address on the envelope.

After lunch, I walked into town and visited the digital watch stall in Central Market with both my Casio broken watches in hand, to see if the repair guy there could make one good watch out of the parts of two. He took the older one apart and inserted a new battery, but the LED screen wouldn't display fully. In working on it, he had an insight into why the one he tried to fix two weeks ago wasn't working properly. He took that one apart, fiddled about with it, and got the control buttons to work properly. Last time he changed the battery but refused to take payment because it didn't work as intended. This time I insisted on paying him although he was reluctant to let me. I'm glad to have it working again. This means I have two watches to choose from now for the first time in my life.

I rang the Public Health covid Screening centre to confirm my attendance on Tuesday, and mentioned the fact that the facility doesn't show up on Google maps, wile asking for the post code and street location, to be sure I can go straight there without having to stop and ask anyone. From this evening on I'm going to avoid others, apart from Clare, eighteen hours ahead of the test. I'm not taking any risks with surgery at last on Friday this week.

This evening I watched another episode of 'Rocco Schiavone' on Walter Presents. It's another one of those series in which the landscape is as much a star as the actors. It's interesting to have a storyline running in between episodes revealing that this tough detective with unconventional often rule breaking methods and a certain way with the women in his life is also a grieving widower who cannot let go of his wife. He has conversations with his wife about his cases and his life alone which are often philosophical and poetic and that distinguishes this series from other crimmies. Inspector Montalbano is another Italian detective with whom it's tempting to make comparison, and episodes so far have similar richness, complexity and social observations to them. It'll be interesting to see how Rocco's character develops in the dozen remaining episodes to come and how this portrayal compares with that of Montalbano. 

Ministry upheaval

Fortunately, no rain today, warmer with the sun peeping through the clouds occasionally. After the daily reflection upload, breakfast and prayers, a walk to the GP surgery to get my medication prescription and then pick up the pills from the pharmacy opposite. After lunch and a snooze, a walk around Thompson's Park and Llandaff Fields. On my way home, I saw a young girl with what I thought was a tiny sausage dog on a lead. When I looked more closely, I realised the creature was a handsome sleek coated ferret. It's something I've never seen before! 

The weekly Parish newsletter arrived this afternoon, announcing the departure of Fr Benedict, who is to join the Whitchurch Ministry Area for the rest of his curacy. In addition Mthr Emma is being seconded for three months to Fairwater Parish at the other end of our Ministry Area, for an interim ministry until a new parish priest is appointed there. Mthr Frances is still on sick leave. For her to return to a situation in which two colleagues have departed, leaving her as the sole full time priest is, to my mind, an insensitive move. The three of us who are retired clergy living in the Benefice will doubtless fill in some of the gaps in the everyday duties of ministry, but the burden of responsibility for the three churches still remains with the Rector. Surely there could have been a better way to deal with the situation?

After supper we sat and listened to the early Miles Davis album Walkin' together for the first time. Owain sent it to me in MP3 form last spring in Ibiza, along with several others of Miles, and that was the first time I'd listened to it since I was a teenager. When Clare went up early to bed, I watched another episode of 'Inspektor Falke' on my Chromebook, a morality tale about what happens to a neighbourhood watch group when vehement social media activists make it mutate into a vigilante group capable of criminal acts. We need reminders of the dangers of social media operating in a climate of uncertainty and fear, over all kinds of common concern.

Celebrating the Saviour's Passion

A cold bright sunny day to mark the Lord's Passion and Death. No service in church this morning, but the grounds of St Catherine's were open, with Mthr Emma and Fr Rhys standing around welcoming visitors. from net until noon, and I went and joined them for half an hour. Earlier a Calvary with three crosses had been set up in the flower bed by the railings on to the street. The grounds are looking so well cared for at the moment, and people from the neighbourhood who come in to walk around are most appreciative. 

After lunch I walked to St Luke's for the Liturgy of the Passion. The church with its socially distanced seating, and stripped bare looked good, like a monastic church There were two dozen of us, much the same people as have attended each day this week and seeing the same familiar faces in a way gives it something of a monastic feel.  

The choir which sang last night sang again, chanting Psalm 22 Anglican fashion and anthems during the devotions at the cross. The crucifix was carried in and displayed but could not be venerated in the customary way, but I don't think this detracted from the solemnity of the occasion. There was no formal procession to begin with Mthr Emma and Fr Rhys took their places quietly and we all sat in silence for a while, like a Quaker meeting, I thought. The lean un-fussy nature of the liturgy this week has appealed greatly to me. 

When it came to Communion, Emma came me half a Communion wafer. I was surprisingly touched by this. It's the first time I have received bread broken since before going to Ibiza fifteen months ago. I'm not a fan of communion wafers. Normally, if I preside and have a priest's host, I break it and share it, though nowadays I'm not sure if that's allowed, so I don't do it. This weeks turnout for services has resulted in the reserved sacrament stock unintentionally running low, so Emma broke some small wafers to give to the clergy - 'family hold back' maxim. It never really seems right to me symbolically speaking, that we don't normally receive a piece of broken bread. I've always thought people's wafers are a practical convenience that undermines the significance of the dominical action.

After the service Mthr Frances asked if I could cover two more funerals, to free up the clergy team to take their leave. I'm happy to do this, and unusually I'll be dealing with three different funeral directors. After the service I met Clare at the Co-op to do some grocery shopping. It was the first time either of us have had to queue for five minutes to get into the Co-op. I think they may have been short staffed, as there was a queue to get out as well. The rest of the day I spent preparing texts for next week's Morning Prayer and editing the reflections I've already written, so that, combined they are no more than ten minutes each in length. Nice to have work to do that I enjoy.

When I think back to last year, being on my own alone working hard at producing services for an audience that I wouldn't meet, it was the challenge of a lifetime. This year's Holy Week, though far from being usual has been such a blessed consolation.

Maundy Thursday back home

After breakfast this morning, a drive up to the Vale Crematorium for my second funeral of the week. This time I allowed half an hour to get there in good time, as the last occasion I drove there the traffic was slow moving, and I arrived just behind the hearse, which didn't give me much time to sort myself out. There was far less traffic today, and I arrived half an hour early. The buildings were locked, and I had to wait outside the the cold along with other mourners until the doors were opened at ten to eleven, an anti covid precaution, according to one of the office staff who came out to explain. It seems ours was the first funeral of the day, as one wouldn't normally expect the place to be locked in between services.

When I got back, I went to the bank to deposit a couple of cheques. If there's counter service I use this by default, rather than use a machine, as it's more sociable, even if there's not much to chat about with the cashier. Today I was informed that counter service will end in June. The branch will continue to be open with automatic machines, and staff on hand to consult. It will also be possible to pay cheques in via a Post Office counter, though why anyone would want to do that when there's often a queue of a dozen people at a Post Office waiting to be served, I've no idea. 

You might have a wait a short while for an automatic pay-in machine or and ATM to be available, but a fraction of the time needed for a Post Office visit. Branch decline is said to be a product of a major shift to digital banking. The upper limit for contactless card payments is about to be raised to £100. It was £30 at first, then went to £45, but during the pandemic, use of contactless payment has rocketed. While the greater limit will be convenient and 'safer' for many, there is also a risk of great loss, from card theft or electronic 'skimming'. A cashless digital society is what we're heading towards, but it trouble me that those least likely to benefit from the trend are the poorest and those without secure housing, forced to beg.

Another funeral has come my way for next Thursday, from a funeral director desperate to find a minister, as all the Parish clergy are taking time out in Easter Week, as they should. The work-load for the fewer number of clergy now serving the city has been made that much greater by the need to create and offer on-line services this past year. The strain on them is terrible.

I walked to St Luke's this evening for the Eucharist of the Last Supper. We had a choir of six singing the Mass and some anthems, all socially distanced. There were two dozen of us altogether. No foot-washing this year, no solemn transfer of the Sacrament or vigil, very low key really, but none the worse for that. I felt so grateful to be able to worship together with others, in such a contrast to this time last year. I think we benefit from overall simplification of our style of worship, but covid safe rubrics have tended to limit active participants, i.e. readers, intercessors, altar servers, Communion ministers. Far too much now has to be done by the priest, adding even more to the demands upon them. Do the rule givers realise?

I failed to spot any April Fool media pranks this year, unless there was one to do with 'Line of Duty' being filmed and having to stop because one of the actors, a Scot, lost his fake cockney accent. Well, it's no more silly than some of the regular media entertainment celebrity news is it?

Palm Sunday music-fest

A dull damp day, but nevertheless how good not to be in lock-down and able to worship together on this Palm Sunday. Sure, we didn't have a hymn singing procession around the grounds, for the second year in a row, but we had palms blessed in our seats, and the socially distanced choir sang a couple of anthems. Best of all, S Mark's Passion was read in dialogue form, steeping us all in the drama of Jesus' last week of ministry. For me this is one of the most important things we ever do as a worshipping community. It was so hard last year, having to read the entirety of Luke's Passion into my phone's voice recorder, before making the audio service offering of the day, wondering who'd listen, and identify with the story and be moved by it. There were thirty in church, four of them children. There's a children's Zoom service this afternoon. I wonder which kind of service will impress itself on their memory?

After lunch I went out for a walk early and readied the BBC sounds app on my phone to listen to Choral Evensong at three. I discovered that the preceding programme was a concert of Bulgarian Orthodox liturgical music, sung by a men's choir in the Patriarchal Cathedral of St Alexander Nevski in Sofia. This gave me a sublime treat of choral music of the 19th and 20th century, all new to me. Evensong came from Wells Cathedral, and included Renaissance canticles and anthems. I arrived home just before four. 

Clare and I then listened to another Palm Sunday special on Radio Three - Bach's St Matthew Passion, in a recording from the Netherlands. It seems the live concert had to be cancelled at short notice because of covid among the musicians. I downloaded a German text of the lyrics with English translation, and Clare downloaded the full score to follow the music, a somewhat bigger challenge. We're both familiar with the music, as we have a recording of it, but it was lovely to have time to sit and absorb the meaning of the text as it was being sung. So often over decades, I have been too bust, working under pressure to get everything ready for Holy Week, unable to relax and drink deeply. Laborare est orare, sure enough, but it's such a blessing to relax and reflect on a deeply spiritual work of musical art.

I watched the second episode of 'Line of Duty' this evening. Last week, the first attracted criticism from the media commentariat about shallow portrayal of some of the characters in the drama, and a remark by the lead investigator about a character he hadn't met being 'oddball' because of evidence found in his flat, and the person turns out to have Downs Syndrome, which he didn't know when the remark was made, and wasn't repeated. Not intended to offend anyone, but portraying perceptions made in real time. Were the critics paying attention to the structure of dramatic development here? Tonight's episode left us guessing who is corrupt here, the accuser or the accused? This series introduces a young police officer who was, as a teenager used as a 'runner' for a criminal network. He's now a corrupt undercover cop, bent on revenge I think, a narrative thread opened in the last series and developing in this. Unfortunately his presence on screen is spoiled by the use of sinister background music. Whose idea was that? Unless he is destined for an early dramatic exit. You never know! The enigmatic 'Line of Duty' is much watched, and just as much scrutinised for clues about how it will turn out.

Thinking together

I celebrated the Eucharist at St John's this morning with nine others. The church was open when I arrived, but nobody had a safe key, by Fr Benedict rang the caretaker, and we were able to open the safe at the last minute. Mthr Emma came as well. I appreciated being able to minister to the Parish clergy for a change. 

The Gospel of the day struck a chord with me, Jesus healing a leper whose appeal to him begins; "If you want, you can heal me and make me clean" (Matt 8.2). Jesus says "Of course ..." It's like the man is trying to make Jesus feel guilty, rather than saying outright "Have mercy on me, and heal me" Jesus doesn't try to teaching him a lesson, or play his game, he just heals him, and sends him off to register his healing with the local priest and make a thank offering, and say nothing about how he has been healed. The man can't resist being indiscreet and tells everyone he meets about who healed him. 

Yes, he's got a great story to tell after goodness knows how long living in social isolation, but he ignores the only thing Jesus asked of him in return. There's no comeback, no sanction for disobeying Jesus. He's already on his way, someone else is begging him to heal them. The story begs the question why Jesus seeks to avoid publicising his ministry. It's what biblical scholars call 'The messianic secret'.

It struck me, perhaps for the first time, that Jesus doesn't look for approval or support. He asks those he helps to be discreet about his ministry. He gives to each person individually. Contrary to popular ideas about what a Messiah should be or do, His aim isn't to start a new religious or political movement, but to offer a no strings attached experience of God's unconditional free grace to anyone open to receive it, no matter what their status, motive or attitude. He's not out to change anyone he helps. They must find in themselves the need to change in response to grace they have freely received. This was hard to grasp in His own time, and it still is nowadays. 

Yesterday Clare started talking about making face masks, as both of us find the designs of those we find in the shops are never quite satisfactory in use. She found a sewing pattern to work with on the internet and then produced a trial version which fitted me better than her. I have a larger head and a long jaw. A mask that I wear correctly always feels as if it will slip off when I talk, as I have a big jaw and long chin. It's good to have a mask that gives me more confidence to wear when I'm ministering to others.

I had a walk around Pontcanna Fields after lunch, and was surprised to find, later in the day, that I walked further in total today than at any time since the first week I was in Ibiza, without feeling tired. It's good that my energy levels are still improving - well, maybe not every day. I'm just glad that improvement is still possible at all.

By chance this evening I discovered Series Two of the New York City hospital drama 'New Amsterdam' started last Thursday on the More Four Channel. I was much taken with series one, both the story-lines and the characters, and the first couple of episodes of series two which I watched this evening didn't disappoint. 

It was amazing tonight to see a hospital's medical director portrayed as making a effort to learn what was possible to do to improve the general health and well-being of staff complaining that they never had enough time for themselves and their families and always felt tired. He figures out that most of them are taking four hours a day to commute to work, on public transport if not driving across a congested city, exhausting in its own right. He proposes that staff pool their commuting expenditure and hire a coach that will pick them up from home to take them to the hospital, saving a couple of hours a day to be that much longer at home, and give them quiet time on the bus, enabling them to plan their day, and get extra rest. It just works. 

So often in life complex problems can be addressed in a simple creative way, once a right understanding of surrounding issues has been reached. John Bell's 'Thought for the Day' on Tuesday spoke of Jesus, not as one who handed out edicts from on high, but as one who sat down and discussed essential matters with people at grass roots level. It's something the church needs to pay more attention to in its 'strategic' planning, rather than do surveys and bring in experts to forge policies everyone can follow,

Eco-parable

I went to the Eucharist at St John's this morning and then went to Tesco's to buy a HP printer ink cartridge for Clare. I was astonished at how expensive they now are, unless I suppose you buy one on-line from an official seller. Mother Frances spoke again about the Ministry Area merger, which again got me thinking. She spoke from the scriptures of the day about the difference small things can make, (e.g. grains of wheat,  mustard seeds) and how every small contribution from a disciple of Christ adds up to great things. Agreed, so why is bigger better when it comes to proposed ministry areas? 

Among biblical references to agriculture, fields occur several times. Breaking down field boundaries and walls isn't a part of planned growth. Destruction by enemies of a land owner is part of a plan to degrade undermine and subject people to the power of others. It happens all the time in the struggle for control in business and politics, so it seems unfortunate when it becomes a strategy for institutional survival. 

The church has seen its far share of political tensions and conflicts between conservatives and liberals when it comes to accepting and acting in response to social change. Can't we come up with a better way to build, nurture, maintain church communities? If church decline leads to weakness and death, that would be nothing new in history. It's a natural process, more like ecological and biological processes than man-made management designs and strategies. Within our own West Cardiff Ministry area is the ruin of a mediaeval church on a hilltop where once there was a village, and before that an Iron Age settlement. Once the river plain on which the city stands developed with industry the old hamlet on the hill died out. 

Cultural rather than demographic change has lead to the demise of the church in our time, but which church communities will die and which will come through decline remains to be seen. I don't think we really understand well enough the evolutionary process we are living through. But why not just let it happen, rather than try and fix things with another pastoral reorganisation?

On my walk in Pontcanna Fields this afternoon, the length of west bank of the Taff this afternoon, was being cleared of undergrowth and saplings, a zealous crop to say the least, perhaps the  first for a decade. I imagine that this is seen as a flash flood prevention measure, since river bank trees and bramble patches snag floating detritus, and hinder water flow. If detritus builds up along river banks, flood water will back up and burst the banks. 

We had such an incident back in February this year. So lessons have been learned. Birds and bunnies lose out at first, it's inevitable, due to habitat loss, but there are other wild areas close by. Come the spring, the brambles will grow back and stumps of the waterside willows will sprout fresh shoots to provide a perch for the few kingfishers along the river. For the first time in more than a month a heron was perched on the east bank witnessing clearance work. Bute Park side of the river is still a mess. I wonder to what extent clearance work will take place over there in weeks to come? Urban development has altered the course of the river from the days when much of the plain was tidal wetland, so it needs much maintenance to prevent flooding, not least because natural growth and decline, for better or worse, never ceases. It's an environmental lesson modern church leadership fails to take seriously.

On-line Advent

We've seen a heartening increase in the number of parents with children at St Catherine's recently but this morning there were fewer, as there's a Christingle service at St John's this afternoon, booked to the full capacity allowed of eighty people. Now that's encouraging to know in these tough times! Mother Frances is on leave for the rest of this week, and has been busy attending to necessary details to cover in her absence - tiring in itself. She sent me a briefing email on safety protocols for church based funeral services, as I have my first one in St John's twelve days hence. 

Funerals directors must provide a list of mourners and contact numbers in their family groups who'll be attending, so that the verger can check them in on their arrival. I don't know if the same applies at crem funerals governed as they are by public health regulations. A list may need to be provided, but I've never seen a attendant checking mourners into the crem chapel. Some enter beforehand, others follow behind the coffin. 

Life is more complex when it comes to church services, as the dioceses are eager to impose strict safety conditions to minimise  contagion spread.  It's true that there are instances of funerals, weddings and other church services being 'superspreader' events before contagion dynamics were properly understood, and since then by groups wilfully, if not piously putting God to the test by denying the problem and ignoring the dangers, but these are the exception rather than the norm. 

Anglican traditional culture has long emphasised the importance of everything being done 'decently and in good order', despite the risk of seeming conventional and dull. Being a safe and stable foundation for communities of faith, innovating and adapting carefully, perhaps too slowly for the impulsive natured believer, has seen us weather centuries of harsh and hostile times of expansion and decline.

I'm surprised it's taken so long for church leaders to complain publicly about the government closure of churches during lock-down. It's in the interests of justice to demand evidence that stricter church service management regimes add to local contagion statistics, especially when churches actively support Track and Trace mechanisms properly with a steward signing worshippers into services. A one size fits all closure approach does nothing to help identify and sanction churches that don't comply. It is of course impossible to do anything to control the behaviour of worshippers once they have left church grounds where they are free to obey or break the rules and risk infection any way they want to, but it is vital that Parish congregations continue to act in an exemplary manner, for the common good.

Talking of church regulations, when I walked to the Cathedral straight after lunch today, I saw a notice displayed on the board outside about a petition for a Faculty (the church recognised equivalent to civil planning permission) to install cameras at four points in the Cathedral whose purpose will be to record or live stream worship services. Bravo, at last! This would have been beneficial earlier in the century, but video technology is so much more sophisticated, affordable and acceptable now that the pandemic forced so many more people throughout the world to rely on new technologies to communicate, socially, domestically, scientifically and economically. 

I remember meeting Fr Mark in the Cathedral one Sunday afternoon, and him talking about learning to record a Sunday Eucharist for on-line consumption during lock-down. What this revealed was the enthusiastic reception for the Cathedral's offering by a range of people, duty bound or housebound and unable to attend, plus extending the ability of ministry to reach out to a new audience ordinarily out of range. I hope we'll see this kind of initiative taken up at Parish level, the more affordable it becomes.

I got back from my walk early enough to listen to Evensong on Radio 3, except that it was an Advent procession of Carols  live from St John's College Cambridge, beautifully sung. In fact, as I was a couple of minutes late, I found the programme on BBC iPlayer on my Blackberry, rolled it back to the start, and listened with the phone plugged in to the dining room hi-fi. A lovely treat.

After supper, I accidentally came across a surprise music programme on Sky Arts, all about a London concert in 1985 by Rockabilly legend Carl Perkins and his band. He wrote and performed several songs which were huge hits for Elvis Presley, including 'Blue Suede Shoes'. The event seems to have been set up by South Walian rocker and music entrepreneur Dave Edmunds, brother of Ricky Dee who deejayed the parish discos at St Andrew's Penyrheol in the late sixties early seventies. Dave was there performing on stage as a guest star along with Ringo Starr, Eric Clapton and George Harrison. An amazing hour of music which took me back to my early teens and got me on my feet trying to sing along to lyrics half remembered, to fantastic live versions of songs unlike those on the '78 or '45 recordings of my youth. 

An unusual way to begin Advent indeed!

Another lock-down Sunday

Last night I frittered away the gift of an extra hour's sleep with the clocks reverting to GMT working on my novel in bed. I woke up at first light. The sky was clear, a beautiful pale blue, with a single planet Venus visible above the horizon. I looked away for a minute and when I returned to the view, a flimsy layer of dark cloud was traveling from west to east over the rooftops. Amazingly, Venus could be seen shining through.

When I got up at eight, the sun was shining brightly in a sky decorated with small clouds. Sadly, no church because of lock-down today, so I listened to the Radio Four broadcast for Bible Sunday, a service of the Word from St Martin in the Fields, with the Vicar Sam Wells, a Thought for the Day regular, preaching an fine meditative sermon to suit the occasion, Anglican chants and traditional hymns appropriate to the day. Surprisingly, he worked almost entirely from Exodus 3.1-15 and didn't use the Common Lectionary texts. It was beautifully done.

After breakfast, we watched Mother Frances celebrate the Parish Eucharist at the Rectory, and sang along with the hymns and Ordinary of the Mass. The service ended early enough to allow time for an hour and a half's walk before lunch. The weather forecast was for rain within the hour. Cloud built up ominously but no rain fell. In fact, it didn't rain for the rest of the day. The clouds went away at sunset leaving the moon to rise in a clear sky. That made a change from being rained upon and getting soaked unexpectedly.

I went to bed early to watch the political crime thriller 'Roadkill' on BBC iPlayer as Clare preferred to watch interviews with former Abba members on another channel at the same time. Then an hour's work on my novel before surrendering to sleep.

Harvest festival weekend

Another rainy morning, enough to make me feel very grumpy arriving at St Catherine's for the Eucharist dripping wet. It was our parish Harvest Festival Celebration, with all the offerings being of foodstuffs that will be of use to the local food-bank. We were about four dozen, including over half a dozen children. A good number considering both the weather and the covid secure restriction, which still un-nerve some of the regulars. I was most touched afterwards to be offered by Hilary from this week's fresh produce for sale from the church garden a jar of crab apple jelly she made from the fruit of a tree planted there last year. The church tree is a little ahead of the ones we hope to harvest in the park, but there seem to be different varieties growing and coming to fruit at different times in different terrains. Marvellous!

By the time we had lunch, the rain had stopped, so I went straight out and walked up to Llandaff Weir via the Cathedral again. It gives me a chance to enter and offer a few prayers in the spot where I was ordained. With my cold almost gone, I feel I no longer need to self-isolate, just wear a mask in enclosed spaces as usual. From Tuesday, I'll have to be stricter, no visiting enclosed spaces, avoiding going near anyone when I'm out walking. It's not so difficult if you pick the right time of day, there's plenty of space in the parks most of the time. Trees are turning colour and shedding leaves day by day now, so each day I take photos of a select few, to record the changes. A small autumnal aesthetic pleasure.

We watched another three episodes of 'The Shtisels'. It's a series that really draws you in, as the characters are believable and you start caring about them and what happens in their lives. After supper we watched the Vienna Philharmonic concert recorded a few days ago in the Schoenbrunn Palace gardens in Vienna. Neither the orchestra nor the audience of several hundred were socially distanced, and only a handful of the audience wore masks. Pre-pandemic this concert would attract an audience of tens of thousands. The audience size limitation seems to have been the main concession to covid-19. I believe that there's a virus testing and tracing regime and other social policies which made the concert possible in this form. In some other European countries concerts and opera performances have resumed under controlled conditions. In a way, all these projects are experimental, an opportunity to find out what works safely and what doesn't. The UK hasn't yet been so bold, not surprisingly, given the difficulties the government has encountered in managing the crisis and retaining public confidence.

Space-maker jubilee

By the time I got around to printing my sermon, first thing the morning I was satisfied with its content, and use the thematic headline 'Blessed are the space-makers, for they shall be called God's people' to introduce it. Conscious of not being on my best form physically, I was a tad nervous, but fine once I got started. To make this occasion special for me personally, I wore the white stole with blue satin Greek crosses on it which Clare made for me to wear for both my ordinations from a piece of her wedding dress silk. It's travelled with me and been used in many places, and its most frequent use has been in taking the Sacrament to the sick and housebound. Amazingly, it's still in good condition, and responded well when it was given a gentle wash some time ago. 

Having Emma distribute Communion worked well. We were thirty four adults and four children, a steady number now from week to week, everyone masked up, taking seriously each other's need to be safe and secure. At the end of the service Emma presented me with a mini party cake and a bottle of Veuve Cliquot champagne - plus an IOU a party card of congratulation. A lovely touch bearing the promise of better safer times to come, when there will be lots for us all to celebrate together. 

Clare was feeling under the weather and didn't come, but stayed in bed, in self quarantine, to be on the safe side. So I was glad to be wearing the stole she made for me beneath the green chasuble of the day. She suspected she was starting a cold in Friday so we kept apart. Often over the years, she's gone down with a cold in and around her birthday, but I don't. She speaks of it now as the time of year when her constitution is at its weakest, and has taken all the required precautions about her business away from home. Sure she'd be happier if she could get eliminated with a covid test., but when she checked the website the nearest test bookable was Taunton. It's a joke, a shambles.

A good walk in the park in the afternoon, then in the evening on BBC Four - an Australian arthaus film called 'The Ghan'. It documents the 3600 mile train journey from Adelaide to Darwin, featinging one of the largest passenger trains in the world over its fifty five hour trip. There's very little commentary apart from the train conductor, no interviews, and the sound track consists solely of the music the train makes as it travels through different environments. The terrain is awesomely beautiful, even if largely flat. It's compelling to watch. Such historical and cultural narration as there is is carried in text messages which float into view as the journey progresses. When historical matters are considered, the film goes into black and white mode. It's slow TV, a feast for eyes and ears, restful and fascinating at the same time. It made me think of the long train journeys we've made across Europe. Will we ever repeat them again I wonder?

Homecoming

Unfinished business

I went to St John's for the Eucharist this morning. After the service Emma asked if I'd be willing to celebrate next Thursday. Fr Benedict will be there in support, to ensure that I get the new health and safety protocols correct. It'll be the first time since the eighth of March, my first and only Sunday in Ibiza to lead public worship. She also asked if I'd be willing to offer half a dozen written reflections for the St Catherine's Facebook page. On both counts, I was delighted to be asked.

I haven't actively sought to re-insert myself into locum duties locally since my return, being content to be in the congregation and pray, and willing to serve if  asked. In my fiftieth year of active ministry, you might think that I'd miss leading worship and preaching, but I've had no liturgical withdrawal symptoms. Perhaps the experience of being without the perpetual duty of gathering with others for sacramental worship for twenty weeks, having to rely on prayer in solitude has been an unexpected source of grace, teaching me to be less pro-active and more able to wait receptively on God.

As it's the first opportunity I've had to think ahead, I felt emboldened to ask if I could preside at the Parish Eucharist at St Catherine's the weekend of the golden jubilee of my ordination to the priesthood. Last year the congregation made a right fuss of me when I celebrated the start of my public ministry as an ordained deacon. I wasn't thinking of a big celebration for my priesting anniversary. Lots of clergy treat this as more important. I've always rebelled against this. 

I presided at Mass for the first time at the Parish Communion in St Andrew's Penyrheol, a routine Sunday gathering, serving the congregation and God (hopefully) in my new role, representing priesthood a praying community exercises. The public sees any ordained minister of religion as an ambassador of the church, without distinguishing a deacon from a priest. Bishops are recognisable, distinctive because of their historic social status. Accepting the mantle of priesthood is a gift that has meant a lot to me, because of the responsibility it confers to enable a community of worshippers to be more truly itself, with a recognised person trusted to gather, unite and hopefully inspire them in mission.

All ministries are or should be about sharing the Gospel and the teaching of Jesus, making sense of it in every way possible, to win people over to faith in God. That's the reason and purpose for which I was ordained. Mission of one kind or another has been the driving force in my life for the past fifty years, and it seems I'm still learning about its many dimensions as my life is heading towards its conclusion. Regardless of my life's work and its strivings, it'll remain as unfinished business until the end of time. 

After church I popped into Tesco's for some wine. The store's shelving layout is being totally rearranged. It's happened in the past week since I was last in there, and is still a work in progress. When I came out it was pouring with rain, and I got quite wet walking home, even though it was easing off by then. Later in the afternoon, the clouds parted and the sun came and went. It was dry long enough for me to walk in the park before supper however.

Later we watched episodes of 'Call the Midwife' together, a blockbuster series from eight years ago, set in the East End of London sixty years ago. It's drama with a feel-good factor, though not without its tragedies and sorrows. It faithfully portrays the social issues and challenges of that era in an authentic looking environment and makes good watching for people our age who remember those days.

Fair and fruitful ground

Again, I failed to get ready to leave in time for the midweek Eucharist at St Catherine's, and that was after a long night's sleep too. I don't lack energy once I get going, I seem to have slowed down a lot lately. It may be the impact of the medication, or it could be this blocked ear which stubbornly refuses to yield completely to an otherwise effective wax solvent. I'm impatient, and unused to being impaired by feeling not quite right in myself. I always want to get well at an unreasonable pace. Ah well, I did some writing and then cooked us a veggie pasta dish for lunch. 

Clare returned from her early morning walk with nearly a pound of blackberries she picked, so instead of picking litter when I went out for my afternoon walk, I picked blackberries from bushes along the river embankment, another pound in weight. On the way back, I was in time to see the family of swallows that spends the summer in Pontcanna Fields swooping low over the grass at waist height. That's the first time I've seen them since the evening of my return from Ibiza, when I sneaked a quick walk on my own before self-quarantining. 

Clare stewed both lots with cooking apples and loaded them into her special straining bag, tied to an upended stool on the kitchen table, to make some more blackberry jelly. It shouldn't be long now before the fruit on the park's crab apple trees is ripe enough to pick. But will we have enough empty jam jars by then? Clare likes to use the smallest sized jars for different jams and jellies to give as Christmas presents. She generally stars thinking about Christmas gifts during the summer holidays, and has done all our life together. Start early, avoid the seasonal rush and enjoy more of the festive season is her philosophy. I can't fault it. I'm the one who's prone to do things last minute, however.

Before settling down for the night, I walked out again around the park to clear my head and get some more fresh air. Over by the riding stables, the cry of a screech owl penetrated the darkness, only a few hundred metres from the busy A48 Western Avenue, Cardiff's inner ring road. Between the large municipal allotment area and the containing stables and paddocks, there's an environment rich in insect and plant life which is very wildlife friendly, just a couple of kilometres from the city's commercial and business heart. We are so lucky to live here - just West of the Centre.

 

Cathedral reunion

A cool overcast start to the day. It didn't warm up until the cloud broke up in the afternoon. Before we left for the Parish Eucharist at St Catherine's, I started setting up a Pay Pal account for myself, and was much annoyed and frustrated by the refusal of HSBC to let me add my Visa debit account card details to Pay Pal, with no reason given. A web search revealed others have had the same problem, but nothing to indicate how this is resolved. It means I will have to go into the bank in the morning and ask how it can be achieved. It's something I don't need as we're due to drive to Oxwich tomorrow morning.

We were two dozen at the Eucharist, with Mthr Frances. She'd just come from celebrating a Facebook broadcast Eucharist at St John's, nice and simple, using the Lady Chapel. 

After lunch we walked to Llandaff Cathedral where we met Fr Mark. It's the first time we've seen him in six months, so it was good to catch up with him, and learn that all is well with him and his family. It has been a busy time for time with the Dean off sick since April. The Cathedral offered on-line Eucharists in the lock-down months, and has decided to continue, realising that there's a big audience of housebound people out there that they are able to reach better than ever, via the internet. 

Attendance numbers after the first week have been steady, about twice ours in Canton, after near to safe capacity attendances the first week back in church. It's a fraction of the old regular congregations. It's a common experience that many people are still nervous about resuming church attendance. And, there's the summer holiday travel factor to take into account as well.

Before supper I went to Thompson's Park with my Alpha 68 and took some photos. Later, I created a new Google Photos account, having realised that I'm running out of free storage space with existing accounts. Quite apart from the photos taken today, I remembered that I'd not uploaded my Oxwich photos from last October's half term visit, nearly three hundred of them. That was probably when I started thinking about starting a new archive account. It's taken me that long to do anything about it.

 

Progress, for better and for worse

Another sunny morning for a walk to St Catherine's for the Eucharist. We were about thirty this week, and it was Fr Benedict's first appearance at a church service there. Emma preached a superb sermon evoking memories of childhood in the Valleys, talking about 'Our Mam's' ability to conjure up a plate of food for anyone who turned up, when often it seemed she had very little in the larder to conjure with. The context was the Gospel about feeding the five thousand. She also talked about moments when Jesus just wanted to be alone for a brief while, to absorb what was happening before re-engaging with the crowd. It rang true.

Good news! The mid-week Eucharists can resume this week. St Luke's on Tuesday, St Catherine's on Wednesday and St John's Thursday, all at 10.30, so there's a standard time to remember across the Parish. Socially distanced coffee and chat to follow - bring your own!

I walked to the Cathedral in the afternoon for the third Sunday in a row, and said Evening Prayer from my phone, just at the time Choral Evensong would normally be taking place. Will it ever return?

Mother Francis asked Clare if she would video herself reading in Welsh the section of the Song of Azariah which features as a canticle in the daily office of the Church in Wales. She was bewildered, as there were a few oddities in the Welsh text. She wanted to cross check with the English version that she'd understood it correctly so she could recite it correctly, but was even more bewilderment when she couldn't find it in her bible. 

She was looking in a Bible without the Apocrypha - that slim volume of scriptural texts regarded by some, though not all Protestants as of secondary significance because their origin was not in a Hebrew text, but a Greek one. They come from the three centuries before Christ, and played a part in Catholic and Orthodox Churches, whereas reformers regarded them with suspicion, alleging they were source of abuse and false doctrine. Hence they find their place as supplement in reputable translations, and are omitted from conservative ones like the KJV. 

I realised Clare doesn't have a Welsh Bible with Apocrypha, only a Testament Newydd. Anyway I was able to find her the right passage for checking. A phone call to Eleri revealed that the Welsh text of the canticle published in the new Prayer Book office contains two typos. And how many more, I wonder. That's disgraceful in a bilingual church, although these days one can always get away with laying the blame on digital text editing rather than inattention or ignorance.

The new Google blogger interface is awful to use, as its drop down menus and search facility are so slow. I hope this is a work in progress and that it will improve. It makes my old Chromebook almost unusable. It's also uncomfortably slow on my Windows workstation, which equally robs me of time forcing me to machine mind whenever it updates. They're all the same, these big tech corporations  taking a simple easy to get used to product and imposing changes unasked for and unwanted.

Wednesday friends re-united

St Swithun's Day today. At least it didn't rain!

After breakfast I had a phone call from my GP in response  to my email of yesterday. She's booked me in for an ECG next week, and promised to write to Mrs Cornish the surgeon as I had expressed concern about the need for at least an examination of my wound, as it's nine months since she saw me. Since the infection, its stability seems to vary widely from day to day, which makes me wonder if I am still managing it correctly.

Mid morning there was a socially distanced coffee morning in the gardens of St Catherine's held at the time we'd normally celebrate the midweek Eucharist there, and maybe will once more in a few weeks from now. It was great to see people for the first time in five months with whom I have kept contact via email, such a happy reunion. The church garden looks so well cared for and abundant with fruit and veg too! Last week there was a produce sale which earned £140 for church funds. When will be the next, is what people are interested to know.

In the afternoon I was called by a HSBC Safeguarding officer enquiring about the small trust fund I manage, as there's been no activity on it for several years. He wanted to know if it was still needed, as it was only intended as a 'holding account'. I was able to explain the situation to him satisfactorily, as I'm in the throes of handing over trusteeship to someone with a longer life expectancy. I'm of an age where it would be far wiser to relinquish such a responsibility, rather than leave this as a legacy issue to be sorted after my demise. Progress to complete the handover has inevitably been delayed by the pandemic, but the path ahead is now straightforward thankfully.

This evening I took part in a Parish Zoom meeting to review and discuss the future offering of on-line services. It's been popular and appreciated, and I'm very proud that Canton Benefice was one of the first to broadcast a live Eucharist. The challenge is how to sustain this along with the offering of public worship in churches, which will require so much more effort to prepare than ever before.

Unusually, I completed my daily 10k in three shorter walks today. It's proved to be not nearly as tiring. Interesting.