Easter comes again

At the end of the morning I took the bus into town and walked to St Mary's Bute Street in good time to celebrate Mass. For the Greek Orthodox congregation of St Nicholas church across the road from St Mary's, today is Holy Saturday, so there were more cars than usual parked in the vicinity and the church was open. As I'd arrived early, I went over to St Nicholas' and slipped into the crowded narthex of the church. The nave was already packed and the morning vigil liturgy of the Word in progress. 

I recognised the Gospel being read as I arrived, was the passage assigned from the last chapter of Saint Matthew's Gospel, which at some time during college days I had examined in its original Greek text. Indeed, the passage was then repeated in English, confirming that I was correct. Even after nearly fifty years, phrases and words from a time when I took a great interest in the Orthodox church and its spirituality, still sparkle in the memory. I wish I'd had sufficient reason to master Greek properly and use it, but life had other plans for me.

After ten minutes I slipped out and went across to St Mary's. There were half a dozen of us for Mass, and at the end, since it was midday, we sang the Regina Caeli, our Eastertide nearing its conclusion as the Eastern church begins. This year the different Easter dates are about as far apart as they can get. The move to set a fixed date adopted by all Christians world wide does nothing to inspire me. It seems like a way of trying to iron out the wrinkles in history for the sake of convenience. There are different dates and different calendars in use because the church has evolved differently in different contexts each with its own story to tell. Will all the world churches agree to a decision to walk in lock-step on this matter? Or will there be a new era of dissent, with different groups following the traditional western or eastern calendar dates, seeing no point or purpose in the change?

On the way back after Mass, I had to walk to Cowbridge Road east to catch a bus, as Westgate Street was closing for an afternoon of rugby matches in the stadium. After lunch we did our usual circuit along the Taff and back, marvelling at the surge of spring growth, listening to the birds, taking photos, walking briskly, as the weather is still pretty cold. It might as well still be March when we were celebrating our Easter, almost as early as possible.

Holy Week challenges

A car arrived for me in good time to get to St Mary's for today's funeral. On arrival, however, the area of Bute Street near St Mary's was very congested with parked cars and people. Getting into the church yard was gong to take a while, so I got out and walked the last hundred yards, conscious of losing time and needing to be fully briefed before starting. The lady who died was a regular church attender at St Mary's and had lived in Butetown all her life. About 300 people, attended, standing room only inside, and people in the porch and standing outside.

There wasn't enough time to do a full check of the service texts presented to me, and there'd been no time yesterday to prepare a full version of my own, so I had to navigate my way through the complete solemn ritual of a Requiem Mass from start to finish. The six strong serving team couldn't have been more helpful, but the lack of familiarity, and inability to find some of the required prayer texts meant  I had to improvise. This isn't usually a problem, but I felt as if I was struggling, even if that didn't come across. 

The only mistake I made was to miss out the last hymn, though this was no bad thing as we were running behind, so we sang it at the committal instead. Congestion outside the church and some heavy traffic en route to Thornhill meant that our time slot in their busy schedule was shrinking so we had barely ten minutes remaining in Briwnant chapel. It was enough for a brief, dignified conclusion, but more difficult to move the congregation away from the chapel entrance to the flower display area in time to let the next group of mourners enter. 

It's rare for there to be insufficient time between services. Planning by all involved is well thought out. Traffic conditions make a difference, generally catered for, but dealing with such large numbers in and around church is an unpredictable factor, even for a church like St Mary's with its history of big community funerals. Often at a Requiem, there may only be a few communicants, as most attending aren't churchgoers. On this occasion there were about fifty communicants and this adds extra time.

After lunch, I went to a flat in Granetown to meet the woman who had been arranging the funeral of her partner, whom she'd been caring for, as he was bed ridden for the past twenty years. She'd just finished writing some notes for a eulogy, and asked if I would speak about him on her behalf. She gave me a framed photo to place by his coffin in church and a CD with a song by Jim Reeves she wanted played. I shaped it into a suitable tribute to them both, given the circumstances, as soon as I got home. Then, I took the bus into town late in the afternoon and  walked across to St German's for the Mass of the Day.

Having spent time writing my Lent Blog postings in advance, to be on the safe side, knowing how easily days slip away almost un-noticed, I have already studied and reflected on the texts for the next few days, and made a conscious decision not to follow my usual habit of writing a sermon, but trusting myself to preach from scripture without notes. It carries the risk of going on too long and losing the thread. I have done this before and know that I can do it, but am always apprehensive about losing the audience. 

Praying extempore from the heart is easy, practice was needed to build confidence in the early years. Teaching and preaching both require careful preparation, yet need to come from the heart. This isn't about confidence though, it's about the risk of being led astray by one's own rhetoric, and, dare I say, by ones own unacknowledged illusions and negativity. A pulpit, like any other medium, can easily become a platform for delivering worthless or unworthy thoughts, nothing to do with God's word. Any time I've looked back at sermons I've preached over nearly fifty years, there have often been occasions which leave me thinking - I wouldn't say that now, would I?
  

Palm Sunday Pastoralia

The sun shone, but it was too chilly to start this morning's Palm Sunday procession at St German's out in the churchyard garden, Palms were distributed and blessed in the hall. Then we walked briskly across to the garden before entering church and doing a couple of circuits before starting the Mass. Last weekend a volunteer team came and did a superb job cleaning and tidying the garden, which had become overgrown in recent years. Then Hilary and Peter came with some bedding plants to give a lovely touch of colour to the place. Such a great source of good cheer to the congregation, numbering fifty people today.

After the service there was a sixtieth birthday party luncheon for local locksmith and church stalwart Richard Hill, his family, friends and congregation members filling the hall. Sadly, being well aware of the excellent food being served, I could only stay long enough to say grace and call for the first toast before going home, conscious of the need to arrange a bereavement visit for tomorrow's funeral at St Mary's Bute Street. Fortunately, making contact proved easy. When I arrived at the son's house, where we were meeting, I was touched to discover that Mam's coffin was in one corner of the lounge, very traditional. It's such a rarity to see nowadays. I introduced myself to husband, son and daughter in law and explained what had happened, and from our conversation gleaned additional information to add into Fr David's notes passed on to me. Then I felt confident about doing justice to the occasion tomorrow.

Another impressive episode of 'The Night Manager' this evening on BBC Four, full of tension and surprises, setting the scene for next week's finale. Straight after it, a Spanish comedy film was showing, also on BBC Four. 'Los Amantes Viajeres' is a very Rabelaisian spoof on the American 'Airplane' film series. I had to stay up and watch it for Spanish homework, and it made me laugh out loud. Although I would have struggled without sub-titles, it was good to hear dialogue at a normal pace, and find I could identify about half of the words, even if that fell short of full comprehension.

Theatrical news

Friday morning I had a bereavement visit to make for a funeral next Wednesday. I met the family in one a house on the main stretch of Cathedral Road, one of a few still family owned and occupied that hasn't been converted into flats, offices, clinics, a hotel or a care home. A nice reminder of how life used to be on this street of prestigious looking dwellings.

Clare arrived on the half past two train from Birmingham and I picked her up from the station, pleased to her news of Rhiannon's half term youth theatre workshop 'Playbox'. She was picked to play Titania, Shakespeare's fairy queen in an extract from Midsummer Night's Dream. She's twelve this weekend, unfamilar with Shakesperian language. With much intense work and a little help from Grandma de-coding texts, she did the necessary learning, and delivered an excellent performance last night, playing with other lead actors six years older than herself. We're thrilled to see her enjoy this so much, taking after her Mum and Grandma.

This morning I went to St Mary's Bute Street, now in interregnum due to Fr Graham's retirement, to celebrate Mass with seven people. It's a long while since I took any services there. Since my last visit, the nave seating has been replaced, and chairs are now arranged in a semi-circular pattern around the nave altar. It looks very good indeed, appearing somewhat more prosperous now than when Graham and I visited here as students on placement duties with The Samaritans forty nine years ago.

The weather had turned decidedly miserable, with lashing rain and wind that roared and buffeted the building during the service.  The prospect of an afternoon walk was dashed. More time to work on preparing the Lent blog, but feeling hemmed in all day. I watched the second double episode of BBC4's Icelandic crime serial drama 'Trapped'. It was good, but a bit slow. Nasty weather seems to be one the chief characters in this detective tale. Not the best viewing after a day indoors. A double episode of 'Benidorm' would have been more cheering.