Caught out by cold wind, again

Cold with sunshine and a few clouds during the morning. After breakfast I finally got around to printing my sermon, having made more small changes after reading it through. I wasn't as confident about what I had to say as I am generally. I drove to St Paul's through quiet Grangetown Streets. There were twenty adults and four young children, all from the same family. I thought there were going to be fewer of us for the service but unusually, half a dozen arrived late. 

Afterwards I took Communion to Basma. She's looking forward to a hospital visit tomorrow to check on an eye infection which is slow to clear. She's had to tape her left eye shut for several months because of this. It's kept her housebound since she moved into her new temporary accommodation, relying on home deliveries and her daughter Maya to obtain everything she needs. Maya has now moved to St Mellons into a place of her own, creating additional difficulties. Basma is exceptionally patient and resilient under the circumstances.

It was nearly two o'clock when I reached home. Clare had left Sunday lunch warming on the stove for me. I went out and walked in Llandaff Fields for an hour, but when I crossed over into Pontcanna Fields that arctic east wind was even stronger. Although it was seven degrees it felt as if it was close to zero. Again I had chosen the wrong top coat to wear, and was compelled to head for home and change it for my old ski jacket. Clare had invited a few study group friends in to read a lecture together and they arrived at the house at the same time as me. I then walked to Thompson's Park and walked for another three quarters of an hour to complete my daily quota.

Browsing 'Channel 4 Walter Presents', I found a third series of the French Canadian crimmie 'The Sketch Artist' and spent the evening after supper watching four episodes, just for the pleasure of hearing Montreal French spoken in a bi-lingual setting. If you're not in a position to go abroad, it's a kind of substitute.

Epiphany Blessings

By the time I took a last look outdoors on the way to bed last night, snow was already being washed away by heavy rain. The car started without a problem for the journey down to St Paul's Grangetown. I left early to give myself time to work out how to get from Paget Street to Basma's accommodation on the site of the old gasworks, next to IKEA. It was more difficult than imagined, as the given Post Code area was too extensive  and the new housing area didn't appear on Google Maps. I had to return to the main junction, go along Penarth Road and turn down Corporation Road to get down to the IKEA roundabout, as streets are blocked off creating linear neighbourhoods across which you cannot drive only walk. OK once you figure it out. I wanted to send the service live stream link to Basma, but couldn't find it, but as a result of looking at the Parish Facebook Page learned that Fr Richard Green, leader of the Aberdare Ministry Area is going to be the next Vicar of Grangetown.

I went into church twenty minutes before the service, to remind myself of the liturgical layout and check what I needed. The order of service is displayed on large screens with a tablet on the lectern for the priest to read from, all very nicely organised. We were twenty one altogether, including three children. One of them read the Epistle, and a teenage lad read the Old Testament and led the singing of the Gradual Psalm. The confidence of these youngsters was heartening. All went well until the celebrant's tablet crashed after my sermon, so I had to borrow someone else's. 

The Eucharistic Prayer is displayed in full on screen, but too small to be read on any device. Fortunately there was a printed copy to hand, just about big enough to read. Just as well I've memorised the set parts, just in case. Just after the Words of Institution there was a blip in the wifi signal causing the sound relay network to crash, with a loud buzzing noise for about fifteen seconds. I couldn't continue speaking as the noise was so loud. There was nothing to do but stand still and wait for the techies at the back of the room to sort it out. Somehow, it didn't throw me and the problem was soon sorted with a system reset.

As I was about to distribute Communion there was another loud audio visual disruption from a video clip with soul Gospel music and, I think, a religious inspirational message. At least it wasn't obscene or violent, but like pop up ads on YouTube it was easily dismissed, well, at least on the second occasion. I guess it may have happened before. The congregation weren't disturbed or distracted from receiving the Sacrament devoutly, nor was I.

I sought more information about the next Ty Hafan housing estate from one of the servers who is one of the Scout leaders in Grangetown, and their HQ is nearby and he confirmed the estate existed in the real world and could be accessed from the roundabout by IKEA. After a quick drink of coffee I drove there but could see nothing by way of road signage saying Ty Hafan and chose the wrong exit initially, resulting in a tour of IKEA's open air and covered car parks. Then I tried the roundabout exit on to the retail park's ring road, and found an unmarked side road, just out of sight of the roundabout, leading to another roundabout which gave access to the housing estate. Not a single sign post to say what's there.

I was so relieved to have got this far, I didn't check I had memorised the address properly. I hadn't and went to the nearest block and rang a door bell I thought was correct, but soon discovered it wasn't, though at least I learned I was looking for the wrong sort of building. Fortunately a security guard had seen my car come in, then go outside to park it, then walk to the nearest building. He came and found me, and took me to the reception desk. Basma had forgotten to tell me that I needed to sign in as a visitor. I called her to tell her I'd arrived and she was waiting outside her front door to greet me. She lives in a custom made pre-fabricated one bedroom bungalow with facilities designed for people with a disability. It was great to see her again for the first time in five months, looking well and relaxed, safe in a place of her own.

Pondering on the absence of signage for the estate, I came to the conclusion it's a security precaution, that makes it less easy for social media to organise groups hostile to migrants and homeless people to find the place and cause trouble for vulnerable residents. After the terrible things some people have gone through on there journey of escape from violence and oppression, they deserve to have a safe place to dwell and re-shape their lives.

I made a special ritual of blessing for Basma's house, visiting each room with a prayer. Then we read the Gospel of the Three Magii, and I gave her Communion, on this afternoon of the twelfth day of Christmas. For me it was such a gift. To offer the Eucharist, do a house blessing visit and take Communion to a housebound person, all in Christmastide. So grateful to God, so happy to be what I hope is 'my best self'. It's been a while. Clare kept my lunch warm and welcoming for me when I returned an hour and a half late. After her siesta we went for a walk in the park and had tea in Coffee #1 as it was getting dark, on the return leg of a circuit of Pontcanna Fields.

After supper, I watched the last episode of 'SAS Rogue Heroes', taking the story to D Day. I can't believe it's a finale. It didn't feel like one, but there were no teasers about a third series. It's still being broadcast live for the first time, while I took advantage of iPlayer. There were some remarkable poetic moments in this last episode, characters speaking as if they were delivering a soliloquy on stage - all the world's a stage - said Shakespeare. So when you're writing dialogue which has characters thinking aloud, what's not to like about making it beautiful?

After a long stretch in which I've taken only a few Sunday services, I returned to doing duty wondering if I was still able to do all that's required of a priest at the altar without anxiety or exhaustion creeping in or confidence evaporating. Turning eighty in three months means posing such questions, and not deceiving myself. Today was refreshing and reassuring, and despite a miserable week of illness. More to give thanks for. 

Lost and found

Our friend Gail arrived from Worcester yesterday lunchtime for another night at the opera together. This time it was Verdi's 'Sicilian Vespers', something none of us had heard before. I didn't realise that it would be in French, composed as it was for a Parisian audience, although the story was based on the historical uprising of the Sicilians against their French overlords in 1282, so I expected it to be in Italian with some French as a bonus. Not so. It's not so well known or often performed as Verdi's other operas, but the music is rich and powerful.

It was presented with another timeless minimalist set made up of large mobile open frames. It was too dark for my liking but nevertheless highly effective. The singing was as ever, top class, and the middle section included an imaginative and superbly performed piece of contemporary dance, as a medium for telling the background story of two main characters. There was just one interval in the three hour long performance, and that came after the dance intermezzo, so the first Act was two hours and the second was one. For me, that length of sitting was too long in the seats we had booked which were somewhat cramped for a tall person at the best of times, but with the state of my behind was uncomfortable and stressful to manage. 

For the past hour I moved up to the viewing platform for wheelchar users at the back of the stalls where there are half a dozen stand-up places, and a few seats with more legroom. I wished I'd thought about this from the outset. We were sitting in the same row as last time, when it was also equally uncomfortable, but it didn't cross my mind as the wound is far quieter these days. But there's still a limit to the amount of direct pressure I can take while sitting so I need to move around. Hardly the best thing when you're in a front row seat with a dozen rows behind you.

This morning I celebrated and preached at the St Paul's Grangetown Eucharist again, and afterwards officiated at the baptism of a one year old boy. Interestingly, twice as many attended the christening as there were for the Eucharist, and all different people. It was the first christening at the church in a year. The regular congregation hosts a Sunday school with up to thirty primary aged children, so there are young families in the area. There's work to be done by a new parish priest to build bridges between the few families that still attend just for a christening and the Sunday School ministry, and it's not so easy in this highly mobile era of ours.

By the time I got home, Gail had already left, hoping to find a train still running. With warnings of heavy rain and high winds over the weekend, some train cancellations had already been announced. As it turned out, she was lucky in that the train she went for actually did run, although later ones did get cancelled. Walking in the park this afternoon was quite challenging, with occasional gusts of wind of about thirty miles and hour. There had been torrential rain overnight and in the morning, but fortunately, not while I was out. The river Taff at Blackweir bridge had risen by over two feet overnight, with the torrent water covering the fish ladder tunnel, and the water level rising to within a foot of the western side foot path. Huge flocks of gulls and crows were grounded in the fields. For some strange reason, the flocks of starlings congregated in a few select trees.

Clare leaves for Phoenix to visit Rachel and Jasmine tomorrow. She's been packing for a week and is very nervous about every aspect of the journey there, starting with the 05.55 coach to Heathrow's Terminal Five. This afternoon she was distress to find that she'd lost an earring while changing over cardigans. We hunted high and low, with no success. It was only when we emptied the dishwasher after running it that she found the earring in the cutlery basket. It's had to imagine how it go there. Then a little while later, she couldn't find it a second time and fretted about this until she realised she'd re-attached her ear for sake keeping, having taken off the other one for safe keeping earlier. Pre-flight nerves! I wonder how I'll be when I'm about to fly again for the first time in eighteen months?

  

A face from the past on the bridge

Two services to take in Grangetown Parish this morning. I preached what I'd prepared at St Dyfrig and St Samson, but couldn't repeat this at St Paul's as it was a Family Service Sunday, with a dozen Sunday School children in the congregation for the entire service, with children reading, bringing up the offerings, leading intercessions, and one small boy assisting as a server. All was nicely organised, so all I needed to do was deliver a Ministry of the Word that engaged them. I found it impossible to prepare in detail, an didn't quite know how I could make it happen until I got to St Paul's and saw the congregation taking their places.

Neither the Old Testament nor the Epistle were easy to read, let alone make sense of, and the pair of eight year olds who read showed that, despite their good effort and confidence, standing and reading in front of the congregation. I introduced each reading with a brief explanation of what they were about. I didn't then need to repeat this in my homily after the Gospel, centering around the mustard seed and dutiful servant themes it contained. For this, I didn't need use my script, and it was easy to engage my audience. The last hymn was 'We are marching in the light of God', evidently a favourite as the number of people who started swaying with the rhythm of the music grew from verse to verse and joined in the clapping when I launched into it. 

It was a happy fun moment to end on, and people left smiling. I had both a banns certificate and a copy of baptism certificate to fill out afterwards, and was asked if I'd be willing to baptise the child of a church attending Indian family when I return next Sunday. A marvellous opportunity. 

A small boy came to the vestry door to thank me for an enjoyable service, and asked if I would come and be their new priest! I explained that I'm much too old now, and suggested that when he grew up maybe he could come and do this. Well, you never know what a small seed of an idea might lead to.

Talking of which, when I was out for my afternoon walk crossing the Taff bridge on Western Avenue, I was overtaken by a young man walking his white Scottie dog. He looked across and asked "Are you a priest?" "Yes" I said. "Were you ever at St John's church in town?" he asked. "Yes" I said. "I wonder if you'd remember me, it was all of ten years ago I came to church and talked to you a few times."

His face was faintly familiar, but then he's ten years older now. When he said his name was Stephen that jogged my memory. We had talked about basic matters of belief in God, creation and Jesus on a few occasions, there were things he wanted to know, was trying to clarify in his thinking on religion.

He then told me that he'd grown up on a rough housing estate surrounded by drugs and crime, but he decided he wanted out, something more, something better in life. I don't think I was by any means the first person to introduce him to the Gospel message, but he was still getting to grips with it. 

He said that talking to me then had helped him on his way in his journey of faith, to a new life as a member of the church. He didn't elaborate on that, but when I asked him what he was doing now, he said that he was halfway through a degree in Biology, I guess after catching up on his 'A' levels, as I believe he'd left school after GCSEs. He thanked me for those conversations which made a difference for him ten years ago. Then we shook hands and went our separate ways, the other side of the bridge.

I was astonished by this, that he should have remembered me after all this time, having played but a small part in the life of this teenager who didn't want to go off the rails. I often 'loitered with intent' in the church during the working day. The idea of advertising times when a priest was on duty available to listen to all comers didn't occur. There was a pattern of regular weekday worship, but if I wasn't out and about on the streets attempting to know people and make myself known, I'd hang out in church. It seemed in reality to be a more useful place to be recognised and approached by random visitors. That way I met many different people arriving from places far off and places near. Give the place time, and the place gives back to you in unexpected ways. 

This encounter on the bridge was such an unexpected surprise, a blessing, for which I thank God, giver of every good gift, from the bottom of my heart.

    

A timely anniversary

This morning I had the challenge of getting to St Dyfrig and Samson's for a nine o'clock Mass, and then going on to a ten thirty Mass at St Paul's. Thankfully, driving I'm finding is now getting more comfortable, at least for local trips and that's a positive outcome from the op, ten days ago. I really had to think of my feet, as I'd prepared a sermon on St Michael and All Angels, but the Parish was celebrating Harvest Festival, with the readings for the Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity, so I had to ditch my text and ad lib elements of all three together.

The were twenty at St Dyfrig and St Samson, three dozen adults and twenty children at St Paul's, including a robed choir of five young women, who sang well. For the time being services are taking place in a room big enough for eighty worshippers, screened off at one end of a refurbished hall next to the church building. The screen can be opened to extend the space for a funeral congregation, and in this Parish, I I discovered standing in for the Vicar in times past, that can mean several hundred mourners attending.

The church is closed, pending a major conversion project which will see the vast nave turned into apartments with the choir and sanctuary area re-worked into a new chapel, accommodating a hundred plus, with a vestry and Parish office on two levels. Meanwhile, the congregation fits comfortably into the reserved space and this helps to generate a relaxed atmosphere for worship. The number of young couples with children in Sunday school is a tribute to the Messy Church initiative, and the hard work of those who make it happen as a first point of contact. Much the same as in St Catherine's.

Clare and Ann went to St John's City Parish Church this morning, and from there walked to the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama for lunch. Having returned home for lunch, I took the bus into town and joined them there for a matinee performance of a new play called 'Kamil and Francis' which recounts and reflects on the meeting of St Francis of Assisi and Sultan Malik al Kamil nephew of Saladin and ruler of Cairo during the fifth Crusade, eight centuries ago this year. It's a story I remember reading about in my student years in Bristol, when we got to know Brother Christian an Anglican Franciscan who came up from Hilfield Friary to the city for dental treatment, and stayed with us. Clare's father was named Francis, so it was natural to take an interest in the spirituality and lifestyle of the Franciscan movement.

This story tells of an interfaith encounter and peacemaking initiative which St Francis made unsupported, apart from a companion Friar. Unarmed, and totally vulnerable before an adversary of Christendom. His wasn't the only effort made at dialogue between religions in the Middle Ages, but others are less well known. We hear little of the fact that imperial Muslim rulers employed learned Jewish and Christian advisors and officials, whom they knew were trustworthy, such was the confidence in their hold on power.

It's far less certain that Muslim intellectuals were similarly employed when Christian rule gained the upper hand, although Christian scholars certainly took advantage of the work done across the Muslim empire, to acquire and translate ancient Greek literature, philosophy and drama. Without that immense information harvesting project, there would have been no Renaissance or Enlightenment, no Western culture as we know it today. The violence of contemporary Islamism has obscured this fact, as its qu'ranic fundamentalist approach denies much of the value the great work Muslim scholars did in restoring Classical knowledge and critical thought to the world.

The play as a highly speculative account of that landmark meeting, the content of which nothing is known. The fact that it happened at all, between these two particular men, when it did, is remarkable and inspires imagination about the current need for dialogue between adversaries, both religious and political. It ended with a conversation between its four actors, its author D.J. Britton and an audience, which included several Egyptian Muslims as well as some active Christians, and a majority of uncommitted but curious people. It was a fascinating way to spend an afternoon indoors, even though the sun shone brightly in between showers.

Verification vexation

As expected, St Paul's Grangetown was three quarters full for Tuesday morning's funeral. A family member give a delightful eulogy, much of which consisted of hilarious extracts from her Gran's letters, written to her during the three years she was away at University. These were an affectionate narrative of observations about everyday life and and remarks about family members which had people smiling if not laughing aloud with recognition. What a remarkable way to bring the memory of a person alive. The rest of the day I spent working at home on CBS affairs.

Wednesday morning, I celebrated the midweek Mass at St German's and chatted with people in the church hall afterwards, then again spent the rest of the day working at home on CBS affairs, and didn't even go out for some exercise to take advantage of slightly better weather. How dull and inert I can be on times.

We heard yesterday that Clare's godmother Auntie Daphne had been admitted to hospital with a stroke. She's in her eighties, and it's serious, albeit early days. It's going to be imossible to get to see her before we go away. I wonder if we will see her or even be able to talk to her again on the phone.

This morning, another funeral at St Paul's Grangetown, my last assignment before we go away. There was a cold wind blowing into a cold church when the doors were opened. It was cold at the graveside in Thornhill cemetery afterwards, and I wish I'd bothered to put a long sleeved pullover on under my jacket. These days, even if it's bright and sunny there can still be a wintry chill in the air, so it's easy to get caught out by changeable weather. Clare is already in the throes of packing to go to Spain next week, wondering how changeable the weather will be there, but already it's 8-10 degrees warmer than here, and that makes clouds and rain a bit more bearable.

After lunch I went into the office and did the necessary banking preparation on-line to pay Ian's salary while I'm away. I also went to the branch which handles our business bank accounts to present the signature change mandate, only to have the correct documents rejected again, on the grounds that two of the signatories are not HSBC customers. The fact that I countersigned all of the identity and address documents presented to verify them was unacceptable to the bank. The individuals need to present themselves with the appropriate papers in person at one of their branches, to someone assigned to process identity documents, who is most likely not to know them personally

I have been countersigning to verify passport photographs, and pension fund identity documents for people I know personally for the past forty years, and this is considered acceptable confirmation to Her Majesty's Government. I can still legally solemnise a marriage at which I have officiated, and commit a dead body to the ground with a word of legal authority that requires a legal exhumation order to undo. Banks however, play by their own rules, nationally and internationally, and they have taken us all hostage, by making the world over-dependent on their services and infrastructure, which despite their security regimes contain criminal activity of all kind. They get away with it because of the impersonal nature of data abstracted from social context. De-valuing the authority of personal knowledge and trust based on real relationships will ultimately do the world no good, and leave many people craving for the real security of knowing and being known.
        

Laptop rescue saga

As the school is on holiday this week, the midweek Eucharist at St German's was a quiet affair in the Lady chapel, a welcome change after the intensity of last week. I went straight home afterwards and did some necessary food shopping, banking and parcel posting before lunch. Then I settled down to see if I could fix the broken Acer Aspire Core i3 laptop which Kath acquired from a fellow gym member and passed on to me to play with.

Normal booting caused it to crash and reboot, so I tried booting into 'Safe Mode' but without success. It got so far and then hung after a file check, displaying a desktop wallpaper but nothing else. Eventually the hard disk light went off, indicating there was no activity. I then modified the boot settings and tried a live version of Linux Mint on a USB flash drive. I was astonished at the speed with which it started, took full control of the hardware and gave me a fully functional machine. 

Linux showed the Windows file system was in place, seemingly uncorrupted. The name of the last user was evident, but data file folders had been emptied or never filled. I was able to email Kath with a status report, but nothing more than this. At least the hardware works.

Today, I took the funeral in St Paul's Grangetown of a well known local lady who'd lived in the same house for sixty years. The church was packed, and there was standing room only. St Paul's is a big church, impossible to heat properly. It was cold indoors, despite the sunshine streaming in. One of the granddaughters gave a moving and funny tribute, much of which was devoted to extracts from Gran's regular letters to her when she was in university. There were more smiles than tears. 

Among mourners were two relatives of the deceased whom I knew - one was Brian, Martin's father in law, the other was Tony Bishop who was city centre Police Inspector when Vicar of St John's. He retired around the same time as I did, and it's the first time we've met in five years. The Committal was in the South Glamorgan Crematorium, closer to Grangetown than Thornhill. We sang 'Amazing Grace' which in the crem hymn book had an extra verse that didn't appear in the service hymn sheet, a verse I don't recall singing before. Not everyone had brought their service sheets with them, so there was a little confusion which left people bemused, if smiling.

After a late lunch I went into the office with a few small jobs to complete, and then brought home with me the office copy of Windows 7 installation disks, to see if I could effect a system repair on the Acer. No luck. The DVD/CD drive certainly worked with other disks, but would not boot from the Windows installation disks, for reasons which I couldn't fathom. I was able to use one to create an ISO file and copy it to a flash drive, having had success with booting Linux from flash. This was a tricky process of trial and error to get right using only the resources of the Linux live flash version. No luck again. There seems to be enough of Windows operating system to block the use of anything other than a Windows backup taken from the Acer itself. Or else the CD firmware is rigged to prevent this. 

In the end, there's no alternative to getting rid of the offending operating system, and install Linux Mint. That little pleasure will have to wait until tomorrow.