Mothering Sunday

A return to days of cloud and rain threatening to get worse as the week goes on. When I drove to Saint German's to celebrate Mass for the last time before Fr Jarel the new priest in charge, is licensed a week next Saturday crowds were gathering in the city centre ignoring the lights and swarming over the road to visit the Castle, before this afternoon's international rugby Wales versus France rugby match. No police officers to be seen anywhere. 

We were forty in church, including two mothers with small children, also Hosain an Iranian asylum enquiring about getting baptized, seemingly unaware, from what I understood, that doing this before being granted residency would do his case no good, now the light of suspicion by tribunal judges is cast on anyone doing this, as several serious criminal offenders were found to have been baptized and then granted residency. I explained that baptism preparation would take many months if not years depending on how much a candidate needed to learn. I discussed this with Basma after speaking to Hosain. She said she knew of other asylum seekers who sought baptism with no intention of genuinely converting to Christ.

By the time I reached home for lunch today it was two o'clock. I was grateful that Clare had cooked and kept a meal for me, especially as she was poorly with a cold and unable to go to church this morning. I've had the same symptoms, but milder, and am recovering so far more quickly. After eating, I went out and walked for and hour and a half in Thompsons Park and Llandaff Fields, calling in at the Co-op for some bananas and honey en route.

We are supper together, then Clare went to bed. I spent the evening preparing next week's edition of Sway and making the slide video for my Passiontide Morning Prayer honouring the memory of Thomas Cranmer, one of the great innovative artists of the Word in creating the English Book of Common Prayer, and burned at the stake, for refusing to comply with King Henry's decision to take the Church of England out of communion with Rome. It's surprising he hasn't been declared a martyr for Christian unity. I also wrote and recorded more talks for Basma. I got quite a lot done in just a few hours.

Christmas Eve reunions

I walked into town this morning for the Eucharist at St John's City Parish Church, blessed with a very diverse congregation of adults and children of over seventy people. It was lovely to see many familiar faces, still going strong after the seven years since I retired, some even more active now than they were then, as their own faith has developed. 

It was an enjoyable relaxed, yet quite traditional celebration, story telling the entire Nativity, from the Annunciation to the Massacre of the Innocents using scriptural texts of both Luke and Matthew, and a verse rendering. It's something I've not thought of in the context of a Parish Eucharist before, but it certainnly worked, and mad me think how I might do the same if I find myself with a free hand in organising liturgy on the Sunday closest to Christmas Eve. Afterwards I chatted with a Pakistani Christian woman whose asylum request had been granted. When we talked last year, she was still waiting. Now she was relaxed and joyous. I thought of Hamid, whom I baptized in St German's the other side of Christmas two years ago, deported back to Rawlpindi eighteen months later, finding reconciliation with his Muslim family an impossible struggle at this point in time.

He now lives a good distance across the city from a church. Will he be able to join others in worship there? Possibly not, just isolated and vulnerable in a hard traditional social setting where he no longer feels at home, but is rather, at risk now, thanks to the ill-informed decisions of Her Majesty's Government and judiciary who are less well informed about traditional orthodox Christian belief and practice than should be the case.

I returned from church, refreshed and consoled by meeting and greeting with so many old friends to whom I had already sent cards and emails. No need to explain to anyone what I've been doing since we last met! After lunch, I started packing, both for my journey to Kenilworth tomorrow morning, and separately for my Swiss locum duty travel next Friday. It takes the pressure off me, when I get back home with only 24 hours to spare before heading out again. Perhaps I am taking on too much, not giving myself enough time to recover these days. I certainly seem to take longer to prepare and recover from being away.

It's a consequence, I guess, of getting old, needing to have everything in order and well prepared to avoid the demands of spontaneous organisation, which I think I was quite good at when I was younger, unless I've frogtten how chaotic I really was. Or perhaps my standards are now higher. Once, I could pack a bag successfully and leave the country with an evening of effort. Now I need a day, if not longer. It is all this digital connectivity, taking up so much extra time, to keep life flowing evenly, without dislocation?

Red light St Andrew's day

I had one of those 'red light' starts to the day, it was red traffic lights all the way there and almost all the way back. I was crossing town as usual on a Wednesday morning to reach St German's for the St Andrew's Day 'Class Mass' the last of the series of this term with Tredegarville school children. Next Tuesday, the whole school will be in church for their service lessons and carols, and the midweek Mass will be a more staid and muted affair in the Lady chapel.

After the service, before heading for the dentists in Llandaff North for a check up. I headed back home to Pontcanna to collect a spare 'phone battery, as mine was nearly dead and I was going to be out for the afternoon. The traffic through Llandaff itself was slow, more red lights, and I made it by the skin of my teeth, only to discover that my appointment is tomorrow at the same time. 

Then I headed for Newport, a little earlier than expected to visit Martin for a lovely afternoon of catch-up, after my time away. I meet a couple of young Iranian asylum seekers he's befriended lately, meeting them through Karim, the Farsi speaking Afghan live-in support worker who helps Martin and Chris to look after Andrew and Robert, their foster sons. It's is the most hospitable of homes I have ever had the pleasure to know, open to women and men of all ages, all abilities, and nations, needy and privileged alike. A wonderful practical domestic expression of the highest human and Christian ideals. I come away feeling inspired, uplifted, and glad they are such long standing friends.

While I was there, I introduced Martin to Google Blogger, and showed him how to start an account of his own. As an experienced priest and journalist, he wants to write some reflections on the news and mass media and how present things, as observed from a Christian perspective. It's several years since I last introduced anyone to the use of Blogger. Its user interface has changed, and my ability to use it has changed a little, though not much. I've not done anything to develop my blogs or enhance the sites I use, being too busy with content, so it took me a while to tune myself in to the essential procedures. This wasn't made any easier by working on a Macbook, something I haven't tried for years. It's irritatingly different for a Windows and Linux/Android/Chrome user in in-grained habits, but we got to first base in the end. I look forward to when he starts writing and publishing. I'm sure it won't be dull!

I left just at sunset, and after a cloudless day all over South Wales the entire western half of the horizon was fringed with colour, grading from russet to orange and yellow merging into pale clear blue, an exquisite sight. Such a pity I was in no position to stop and gaze in the evening rush hour traffic. At least on this home run, there were fewer red lights.

      

Wednesday pastoralia

Midweek Mass at St German's again this morning, and a Spanish conversation with the most recent member of the congregation to become a regular worshipper. Enrique from El Salvador is indeed an asylum seeker escaping from the criminal gangs that dominate his homeland. Exactly what the reason for him needing to escape from there I couldn't gather, as my Spanish is still limited, but I think it may be to do with extortion rackets. His wife is dead and pequeño Enrique, his only child is with him. What a story he has to tell. So much for me to learn and pass on to the congregation, so little time. At the Communion, I remembered to give him communion in Spanish - Cuerpo de Crist, Sangre de Crist. To me, there is no more important moment to reach out to someone in their mother tongue. It's a way of voicing the essentially hospitable nature of the Lord's Sacrament.

I learned that Angela, the church administrator had recently fallen and been admitted to hospital with a possible fracture. So far so good. No broken bones identified, but she's still in pain, and the reason for this has yet to be established. Hopefully, she'll be discharged fairly soon. She's not to sort of person to enjoy hospital attention or inactivity for long.

Our local Ignatian meditation group meets today over lunchtime at Ruth's new Vicarage in Tonyrefail. So, Clare and I together with Diana, went together by car, for an hour of prayer and an hour of eating and talking together with others. It's usually a small group, but rich in wisdom and insight nevertheless, and I'm always glad of an opportunity to participate, although on this occasion I was asked to lead, the second time this year. Given the time I spend abroad these days, times of spiritual fellowship of this kind take on an added significance on my journey. Another cause for gratitude in my life.

After our return, I went to Chapter Arts Centre to collect our weekly delivery of organic veg from the Riverside Market Garden, then called in on Fr Phelim on the way back, to return his church keys and catch up with him. Earlier today he asked if I'd cover a funeral on his day off the week after next, just as Fr Mark arrives home from holidays. Glad naturally to be able to help in this way while I'm here in the Benefice.

Unfortunately, Church in Wales parishes are not yet at the stage where they can offer traditionally expected ministries to a wider community without regular help from retired clerics. Others, like me are happy to be useful and fill in the gaps, but it would be far better if there were lay people trained in bereavement ministry, also taking and arranging Anglican funeral services, to support their parish priests and share the burden of pastoral care in the community.

Pastoral round resumed

It was lovely to return to St German's this morning, celebrate their midweek Mass and be reunited with people I got to know during my long stay locum there. Among the ten strong congregation was a man and his son I hadn't met before, and I was told they'd been attending twice weekly over past five weeks. I was told that they are staying at Linx House on Newport Road suggesting they are asylum seekers, but nobody knows much about them as they are Spanish speakers from El Salvador, with little English.

So, for the second time since returning home, I found myself with an opportunity to speak Spanish and not in a restaurant or a supermarket, and that gave me great pleasure. We were able to converse easily for a short while, and they were pleased for this small linguistic respite. James, a long standing church member, already took the initiative to acquire and prepare a special service card of the text of the Mass in Spanish, for them to use. My heart burst with pride, thinking of this hospitable gesture.

I stopped for a while and chatted with people in the church hall day centre. The electricity supply had cut out, due to the upgrading of 50 year old circuits in the caretaker's house next door. The staff were wondering how soon it would take to rectify, as they were in the middle of cooking lunch for a couple of dozen people, and discussing the procurement of meals from the local chippie, if it went on for much longer. It all happened without warning. I don't think anyone recalled how interconnected the hall and caretaker's house circuitry were after all that time.

I returned home to have lunch with Clare, and walked over to a house near St Luke's for a bereavement visit. James Done, the man whose funeral I've been asked to take was a local sculptor, renowned for statues of comedian Tommy Cooper in Caerphilly and boxer Johnny Owen in Merthyr Tydful. I was surprised to learn from his widow that he'd spent much of his creative life making high quality porcelain figurines for Wedgwood and Villeroy & Boch, even more surprised to learn he had no formal artistic training, except as an opera singer. I guess some people's work demonstrates unequivocally how gifted they are, so they don't need qualification. I imagine that St Luke's will be pretty crowded for the service on Friday.

People sometimes remark on how busy I seem to be, from what they read on this blog. But it's hard to describe the lengthy periods of idle leisure which punctuate flurries of activity. There's a bit more to do here at home than there was in Spain last month, and the change in activity as well as climate is enjoyable.
   

My reasons for voting Remain

Bank holiday Monday passed uneventfully, as neither of us felt inclined to travel far and face the prospect of busy roads and crowded beaches. There'll be enough of that when we go to Nerja next week. We just walked up the Taff to Llandaff in the afternoon for tea, and back again. Now, leaves on the trees are fully out and the grasslands alongside the river carpeted with buttercups and daisies. Already the aconite and bluebells have gone, though here and there the aroma of wild garlic is still pervasive in the warm air. The tree canopy is alive with birdsong - thrushes, blackbirds, robins, tits, wrens, starlings. This is British Spring at its best, even though it seems late arriving after a spell of colder than expected weather.

Tuesday morning my referendum postal vote arrived, and was quickly filled in and dropped in the post box on by way to a bereavement visit in the afternoon. This was for me a moment of sacred duty. I voted to remain in the EU. Despite annoyances with the European Commission, its vast unelected bureaucracy and the seeming ridiculousness and irrelevance of some of its legislation, I still think the experimental process of governing such a complex entity as Europe should be trusted.

Getting it right may take a century, but constant multi-layered thought and discussion about what best serves to ensure the peace, security, welfare of millions is utterly preferable to armed conflict and insurrection. Born in the spring when the Nazi Third Reich was defeated, I was nurtured on the idea of a new european peace and unity from my youth. Britain's isolation, any further curtailment of our country's accountability to its neighbours in the community of nations, cannot, I believe, in the long term be beneficial. Why abandon a work of democracy in progress, without precedent in history?

Remaining may have consequences we aren't comfortable with and need to take issue with, but the objective of continent wide peace and security is worth striving for. The only thing that really worries me is the underlying presumption by both Brexiters and Remainers that economic growth and increased prosperity are to be somehow eternally guaranteed by one strategy or another. We don't know what the future holds whether prosperity or adversity, but facing whatever lies ahead together, not separately, is to my mind the greatest asset we can have.

I had a message from Hamid to say that he's not been successful in finding anyone to give him legal support. Nobody down in Portsmouth seems interested in taking up his case, and tomorrow he gets evicted and loses support payment. What's going to happen to him then, neither he nor I have any idea. It seems he's been in touch with the Red Cross refugee and asylum seeker organisation there, but this hasn't yet promised any outcome. With such poor English, he is going to be vulnerable out there on the streets. He's received no notification of collection for deportation and I wonder how well that is going to be coordinated after a Bank Holiday weekend. It's a worrying time for all who have his interests at heart.

    

Sight and vision in perspective

School Eucharist again at St German's this morning. I talked about St Paul's conversion and his travels thereafter. Hamid wasn't there. It's the first time he's missed in several months. Earlier this week there was some news controversy surrounding the issue of wrist bands to Cardiff asylum seekers to display their entitlement to free meals. It seems that some of the city's xenophobic low life characters had been verbally abusing people wearing wristbands, and they were quickly withdrawn. Disturbingly however, a photograph of the hotel which houses asylum seekers was printed by the Western Mail. Heaven only knows what impact that could have. Such a short sighted expression of the 'what can be seen must be seen' contemporary philosophy. What if it were your home in the frame Mr Editor? It's a violation of the privacy of vulnerable people.

I couldn't go around there and check him out after the service, as I had to drive straight to the School of Optometry for a further eye test, this time involving pupil dilation. It's the first time I've ever had this examinarion. Clare came to collect me from there, as blurring of vision resulting from the dilation left me needing to be driven, for safety's sake. Walking around Lidl's looking for a couple of items hard to find elsewhere was quite an odd experience, with both eyes focussing differently, reading glasses no help and no glasses just as bad. Apparently my eyes are in reasonable condition, with a little wear and tear to be expected at my age. I should appreciate this more and not take good vision for granted.