A story from Birmingham days

After breakfast, a little later than usual, I walked to St John's to celebrate the Eucharist with eleven others. After the service I had a long catch-up phone call with a former St Mike's student while I was walking home. That's the second time a former student has been in touch this week. The other one was by email from a man who was an undergraduate in Birmingham while I was a chaplain there forty nine years ago. 

He came to see me after he'd met evangelists from Campus Crusade for Christ who were new to the scene in those days. He didn't have a church background but they'd got him thinking though not altogether clearly about religion and spiritual life. I don't think he was too sure about why he was in university either. I suggested he might take some time out at Hilfield Friary to sort himself out. 

For him this proved to be the start of his faith journey. He dropped out of University moved to London and started worshipping regularly at All Souls Langham Place at a time when John Stott a great evangelical apologist was Rector. This was where his commitment flourished and eventually he followed the path to ordination and ministry in the Church of England. Now he's retired and had decided to get in touch to tell me his story, as the last I heard was that he was quitting student life. He reflected that we're never aware of how seeds we sow bear fruit. He thought I'd like to know. I was delighted to say the least. 

A retreat at the Friary when I was a second year undergraduate seven years before him, had been a powerful influence in deepening my faith and moving me towards a life in ministry. I wonder how many people over the years have shared that experience after spending time with the Franciscans? More than ever join the community that's for sure. The advice I'd given was nothing more than one beggar telling another where to find bread.

When I got home I cooked lunch in time for Clare to arrive from her last school session of the term, then I worked on my Sunday sermon before walking over to Lidl's to stock up on wine, as Owain is coming over for a belated birthday weekend. Then I started work on next Thursday's Reflection and recorded the proper readings for Morning Prayer, to give myself a head start. Before turning in, I even found time to read a few pages of 'Invierno en Madrid' for the first time in months. All in all, a productive day, more so than usual. It's something to do with the healing that's nearing completion. It's easier to sit and concentrate with less physical distraction than at any time for the past three years. Thank God!

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.

    

Malaga - Holy Saturday

Today there are no processions, it's a Sabbath day of rest for all involved in. For the Municipality it's business as usual, with the streets to tidy up, seating to be removed and roads to re-open. There are cruise ships in port and hundreds of thousands of visitors out and about wanting to go shopping and enjoy eating out.

For us it was a quiet day of recovery too, with just an Easter sermon to write and a paseo along the beach promenade. I had intended to go and witness the kindling and blessing of the Easter light at the Paschal Vigil, either in the Cathedral or the barrio church of San Gabriel, as nothing was planned for St George's. I was too tired however for a sortie at eleven o'clock at night, even if I only stayed for half an hour, so I prayed where I was instead.

It's been a vivid and often intense week of encounters and impressions left by seeing the many fine artistic depictions of Christ's Passion, and the crowds of local people watching them pass through their own barrios. Some of the trona subjects are unique, others are repeats, though never identical. Given the procession scheduling and one's own positioning in relation to their passage, there's little chronological order to the experience, certainly earlier in the week. This doesn't matter, however, any more than the sequencing of shots or even whole scenes in a movie, play or a novel matters, if the story is being told from different perspectives or includes flashbacks.

It helps to understand and be well acquainted with the whole story, to be able to see the week as a whole. Witnessing it all once or twice in a lifetime by a visitor with no background knowledge must be a puzzling experience. For those who witness these processions year in year out, with or without the support of the church's teaching, there's a element of familiarity and perhaps personal links to cofradia members, which may bring understanding, though not necessarily.

Knowing the whole story of the Passion and what leads up to it provides a frame of reference for recognising its visual representation, and in a rapidly secularising western Europe, including Spain, ignorance is growing, despite us living in the Information Age. There's still so much to be done to make the story of Jesus properly known to people in our era, so they can make their own informed judgement about who he is for us today.