The balancing of time and energy

Kath left soon after breakfast, with a weekend of performances ahead of her. Rhiannon had a long lie-in, so I got on with preparing a Sunday sermon, and a funeral service for next Thursday, before having lunch and being driven to Thornhill for this afternoon's funeral. Despite the high winds of yesterday, the grounds looked immaculate. No fallen branches or other detritus. This service was unusual in that the next of kin booked a double time slot in the big chapel. There were a couple of extra pieces of music, but also quite a lengthy eulogy delivered by the son of the deceased, telling his father's life story, plus a poem written by a grandson, and a video slide show of photos from the last seventy years, so we were in chapel for longer than the usual assigned half hour. Much thought went into the family's preparation, and this made it easier for me to officiate.

I returned to an early evening meal, as Clare and Rhiannon had tickets booked for a performance of 'Pride and Prejudice' at the Wales Millennium Centre. I decided not to accompany them, when Clare booked last week, as I've come to appreciate having 'down time' after funerals, which require a lot of energy and attention to perform well and make it meaningful, as every event is different. Celebrating the Eucharist with an assortment of church congregations I know quite well now is quite different, as each setting and each group is more familiar, and I can receive as much energy as I put into a service, simply because the congregations are 'friends not strangers' (John 15:15). 

Congregations for a funeral or other occasional office are generally strangers to me, if not each other, and that demands a lot more energy to work with. As I get older, I'm more aware of this, and simply need to take time before and after, so that I'm satisfied I've done the best I can to minister to others in public. How hard this can be for working clergy with half a dozen funerals a month, if not more, plus all the other demands, both pastoral and organisational, involved in serving a Parish.

There wasn't much on telly to relax with, after sitting through a couple of repeat episodes of NCIS, I switched off and continued reading the biography of Hewlett Johnston, the 'Red Dean' of Canterbury, which I received for Christmas. I don't read nearly as much as I could, and didn't have much energy for reading when I was occupied with running CBS, and spent much time working on the computer. Now slowly, I'm finding I can read undistractedly and enjoy it. With so much rubbish on TV, I'm glad of a relaxing alternative which feeds my mind in a different way.

    

Waiting for news

I had a funeral yesterday morning at Thornhill crematorium to start this half term week the first of three. A retired steelworker in his mid sixties born and bred in Splott. The chapel was full to overflowing, with about 350 people, former colleagues and friends from the community in which he grew up. I gave an obituary on behalf of the family, and his two children also spoke movingly. When I got home I had a call about another funeral for two weeks hence. So it goes on. A funeral director said to me "I don't know how we'd manage without the help of you retired clergy." I don't know how the reduced number of full time clergy also manage at busy times like this. 

Today the diocesan electoral college meets in Llandaff Cathedral to elect a new Bishop. I hope that whoever is chosen is aware pastorally of the great strain funeral ministry places on clergy, and how this can dominate their work and missionary priorities. I believe it's still an important service to offer to the wider non-churchgoing public, part of knowing and being known, maintaining bonds of affection between church and local community. The fact that many non-churchgoing people still request a funeral in church, and that the building figures in different ways in family histories is important. Lay people are involved in welcoming and preparing for services but we need more of them trained and authorised as officiating ministers, as there aren't enough Readers and NSM clergy available. Will it ever happen I wonder? 

At lunchtime, I had my second funeral, this time in St John's, of a woman in her early sixties, and the church was full. Afterwards at the crematorium, the chapel was half full, half the numbers of yesterday, but that's still a lot of people. The family didn't want hymns, but selected some pieces of soul music and reggae to play. Each track was carefully recorded on a separate labelled CD, but none of the would play, as the tracks, presumably MP3s or WAVs were recorded to disc in data not CD format. I had warned them to be careful about this, but maybe I hadn't been understood. Thankfully, their nervousness about getting it right meant that one family member turned up with a laptop and extension speakers, and another with the same tracks on a phone, plus a Bluetooth Boombox. The latter was tried first, but it kept disconnecting and reconnecting with a robotic voice informing the world of its status. The same as happened at a funeral a couple of weeks ago in St Catherine's.

The congregation seemed quite relaxed about it, and thankfully the guy with the laptop quickly stepped in and stopped the whole occasion developing into a farce. I announced and commented briefly on each track, wondering if I sounded like a Radio 2 deejay doing a prayer sandwich. It all worked out in the end, and I found myself walking, first out of church and later out of the crem chapel, swaying gently to the reggae beat. It's actually easier to do that than walk against the catchy rhythm. It reminded me of being back in St Paul's half a lifetime ago. Several people noticed and commented with a smile. I was already remembering church processions in Jamaica and in black Pentecostal churches back here in UK where this was just the way it happened naturally. Ah happy days!

At the end of services which are painfully difficult, due to a perceived untimely death, I can feel some satisfaction abut my role, if I see people visibly relaxing and smiling as they walk out, even if they have tears in their eyes at the same time. It's an important moment of closure, a chance to draw breath before grief returns with a stinging sense of absence, and the loneliness often associated with it. Yet again I was glad that I had little else to do for the rest of the day, apart from go food shopping with Clare. And wonder how the electoral college was getting on. 

When I learned, late afternoon that there was no election news today, I thought about ringing my old friend Martin, to discuss the possible candidates but before I could, he rang me and said what I'd meant to send him in a text message - No white smoke today.

  

Developing residential Cardiff

I was asked to do a funeral this morning, so I wasn't able to celebrate or attend the St John's midweek Eucharist as the times coincided. It was an occasion when the son and grandson of the deceased both gave tributes, and I didn't have to tell his story on behalf of the family. It did mean that the service was five minutes longer than usual, however, and though I didn't rush to finish I was conscious that it might have created problems for another funeral following immediately. It turned out that the regular service time slot is longer than I thought, and has been for some time, since the second chapel on site opened some years ago. 

Strange to think that I wasn't aware of this change. It happened in 2000, and my memory of shorter service slots harked back 25 years earlier. In my experience, it's rare for such services to go on longer than I expect. Content and some elements of the form of a funeral service have certainly changed, over the years, but my sense of timing and pace in delivery remains shaped by the experience of my first Curacy, and trips to Thornhill from Caerphilly to take services, often nervously. 

Straight after lunch I had to make a bereavement visit in a newish housing area in Leckwith, west of Canton. Finding it looked straightforward from Google Maps. I memorised the route and set out, but I couldn't see street signs directing me to a housing estate, set back from the highway, close to where Sanatorium road starts. I found myself driving along the boundary of the new housing development on the industrial site which once contained a huge paper mill, alongside the river Ely. 

The route of Sanatorium road itself is being changed to link up with Cowbridge Road West at Ely Bridge, so I had to turn around and retrace my steps. I stopped to check the car's A-Z street directory, but there was no sign of the housing estate on the map. The edition pre-dated the construction of the estate! I took a chance and turned into a housing area at a set of traffic lights and this proved correct, although it was still difficult to identify the street and even hard to find the right house, as it was offset at right angles in a street, which was otherwise straight and unbroken.

After the visit I returned home, charged with telling the story of the man who'd died not long after his retirement, after four decades on the front line of production in a steel works. Evidently a dangerous job, but some of the real risks are hidden from sight. It's not the first early post retirement death of a former steel worker I've come across in the past few years. Health and Safety regulations are often a subject of mockery and contempt, due to what some people think is excess attention to detail, but if you look at the big picture, it's no hard to see how hazardous some industrial work places still are.

Funeral oversight

Yesterday, the beginnings of a head cold laid me low and kept me indoors. This morning a funeral at St German's got me out of the house and in church by ten, functional, but needing to make an effort to give of my best. As has become almost obligatory these days, the family arranged hymns with the funeral director and had a special service leaflet printed. Normally, this is not a problem, even if the choice of hymns is tiresomely repetitive, and not what I'd have chosen if consulted for suggestions. 

The arrangements made by a bereaved family are usually made in a priest's absence if a funeral being planned is not of a regular church member.  The choice of an officiating minister may not have been considered by the next of kin, but rather left to the funeral director to phone around and find someone who's free, if they don't get lucky first time, asking the local Vicar. Often there's no opportunity for a full discussion, so arrangements are often presented to a cleric as a fait accompli. It's a fact of life and death in a city these days, something that has to be worked with, rather than fought against.

On this occasion, I was completely caught out. The second hymn choice as 'Ava Maria' (literally) and when I received the notification sheet from the funeral arranger, I took this to be a reference to a well known Marian hymn which appears in popular modern hymnals, rather than the classic text sung as an anthem to a melody either by Gounod or Schubert. Either way, I was mistaken. The leaflet printed the text of what I took to be a Marian devotional poem I'd never seen before, whose lengthy verse and metrical structure made it unlikely to find music that would make it singable.

After a quick discussion with Brian our organist, we agreed that hymn books should be given out to the congregation, to sing a Marian hymn which was less unlikely to be familiar, and I would read the un-singable text as well. We explained this to the chief mourners, who seemed somewhat bemused by the issue, possibly because they were in any case totally unfamiliar with all hymnody and just going the motions of doing what was recommended for such an occasion. They were at ease with this idea and so we proceeded. The poem wasn't easy to sight read. It didn't represent a high point in artistry with words. I hope I gave it my best effort, given how thick headed I felt due to the cold. In the end, all was well, and after the burial at Thornhill, several people expressed their appreciation, which was a relief.

It's extremely rare for me to get caught out like this. If only I'd spotted the possible anomaly and then checked it out during the bereavement visit. But by that time, text checking and printing had already taken place, as I understood. But whoever in the family had checked may have thought it all looked correct without any understanding of the content. I've never had this happen dealing with wedding arrangements. 

Admittedly, wedding preparation takes far longer. It's often discussed with a wedding planner, and then submitted to the officiating minister for approval, so anomalies can more easily be spotted. At funerals, there are often quirky choices of accompanying music, but only occasionally of hymns. It's astonishing that so many funeral requests still come to clergy, even in the face of competition from humanist, non-religious celebrants. There's rarely enough time to do the pastoral occasion justice, as the period between death and funeral, albeit increasingly lengthy these days, is so busy for those responsible for arrangements. Even so, in future I will be sure to double check the hymns arranged, with the next of kin, in person, just in case.

I was home again in time for lunch. Clare had cooked a curry, as we were to eat our main meal in the middle of the day, rather than the evening. Later I went on errands to Post Office and bank before heading into town to walk back home again through Bute Park. All morning and right through the funeral, Cardiff was shrouded in low level mist, so it was gratifying that the sky was clear while I was out walking, just as the sun was setting and birds were making their evensong. Some I could identify, but others were intriguingly unfamiliar. I have a lot more still to learn about the denizens of our city parks. 

         

A funeral to prepare for

Just after a late breakfast, I received a phone call from an Englishman working as a funeral director to ask if I'd take a service in the village Church at Antas, about half an hour's drive inland from the coast. He gave me the widow's contact details, and those of the Parish Priest, who said he'd like me to get in touch. I then phone made a midday meeting arrangement to prepare for the service in a cafe on a trading estate close to the A7 autovia exit nearest to Mojacar, which is actually within the boundaries of Antas, although separated from it by the road.

I arrived just at the same time the widow and her widowed friend, and noticed how members of the staff in the cafe greeted her with of sympathy, clearly she and her husband were regular customers here. We talked for a long while and I gleaned enough information to write a eulogy, as family and friends didn't wish to. The deceased was an aero engineer, what had worked on building Concorde at Filton in Bristol, something recalled understandably with great pride. 

A selection of popular music had been chosen to play during the service. No hymns, and very few prayers I was admonished, as the widow claimed not to be a believer, although her husband had still possessed respect for the faith of his boyhood, if not actual practice. As the shock of his death, unexpected due to complications after an operation was still raw, I felt it wiser not to argue, but later, it meant that I'd need to give careful attention to liturgical content with this in mind, as to crafting the eulogy. The issue is not leaving God out as much as bringing God's presence into focus in a respectful way - inviting those who can to pray, rather than just saying prayers on everyone's behalf. Thankfully there's plenty of precedent for that in Christian tradition, always having to cater for diversity in the participants at an occasional office of the Church..

On the way back to the apartment I did my main weekly shopping trip to Lidl's in Garrucha, but after lunch I realised that I'd forgotten milk and margarine yet again, so walked into Mojacar to buy some, and get much needed exercise. In the evening I called Fr Enrique, the Parish Priest of Antas, with my well rehearsed speech in Spanish, but got no reply. Half an hour later, however, he rang back, and after a successful start in Spanish, he switched to English, keen to practice his foreign language as I was. I'm looking forward to meeting up on Wednesday for a chat before the service.

I went down to the beach again in search of pictures of the moon rising out of the sea, but there was thin cloud down to the horizon, and little to be seen, let alone photographed. Ah well, another night maybe.

  

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.

Epiphany reprise

Late last night I had an email from Fr Mark to ask if I could cover the ten thirty Eucharist at St John's today, which I was able to respond to, as I was still working on my tribunal statement at the time. So, I celebrated a Prayer Book Epiphany Eucharist this morning for eight people, stopped for a cuppa afterwards and bought a jars of home made apple and black current jam and marmalade. At breakfast earlier we'd just emptied our last home made marmalade jar, and this is far more preferable than shop bought marmalade. Hopefully the Seville bitter oranges will be appearing shortly to buy and turn into this year's marmalade batch.

I had a phone call about a funeral before lunch, but the timing clashed with the usual midweek Mass celebration so I had to turn it down. The funeral arranger asked desperately if I knew any other retired cleric she could ask, as the full timers were all busy. Busy, doing midweek services, as are some of the retired clerics. Cutbacks in clergy numbers this past five years mean that there are fewer clerics to cover demands all round. So far the Church in Wales has failed to develop a programme to train lay ministers to officiate at funerals and work with the bereaved, in order to share the work load. 

What the church doesn't do is providing more work for Humanist and Pagan celebrants. The default choice of having a cleric is slowly being replaced by a menu of options, whereas at one time all but the very anti religious would settle for a parson to take the service. I believe they'd settle equally for a lay man or woman who was well trained and had more time to spend with people than clerics rushed off their feet with many duties. What's the obstacle? It could do the reputation of church ministry a lot of good to use lay officiants in this way.

Clare noticed yesterday that there were some daffodil stems with buds on, in a sheltered spot, about to burst in Pontcanna Fields when she was out for a walk. On my way to the office after lunch, I scanned the grass verge on the approaches to the bus stop, and there, where they are more exposed to cold winds, some daffodil shoots were through and already a good six inches tall, a little behind those Clare had seen. They are remarkably early, about a month early, if a remember aright. Last year I took photos of the first daffs, but am hunting to find them in my collections to check the date. It has been a very mild winter indeed, although Owain texted me from Berlin where we'd been holidaying over New Year, to say it was -10 degrees centigrade there, and they'd had snow.

I spent a couple of hours in the CBS office failing to get to grips with how to make our Sage accountancy package produce the year's first batch of invoices to order, and tweaking the terms and condition document which is issued with each annual invoice - there always seems to be something that needs to be modified slightly. Now is the best time, rather than later in the year.

Then, at tea time, I went over to the St David Centre and met with Andy and Michelle, a couple at whose wedding I will be officiating in February at St German's. We sat in Pret a Manger with a drink and I took them through the order of service and answered their initial questions. I haven't done a wedding in the UK for five years. There are similarities and differences to preparing couple for the blessing of their civil marriages, and that certainly kept me on my toes.

Before returning home I looked in John Lewis for a Chromebook and wireless printer for Amanda, but couldn't find the printer model I was after at a decent price. I need to do some shopping around.

We spent a couple of hours of evening together watching programmes about house building and restoration projects, marvelling at the stamina, determination and ability to invest large amounts of cash in customised bricks and mortar, some people are willing undertake, fulfilling their dreams the hard way, often with spectacular results. I can't imagine putting so much of my life into that kind of home making. We lived in a dozen different places and made homes therein before finally settling in this house to retire. I don't think I've yet got used to the idea of living in one place for the remainder of my life. Perhaps I shall always be a restless soul, happier borrowing a place, a sojourner in spirit. 'Here we have no abiding city, but we seek the one that is to come', says the letter to the Hebrews, but is that really true of me?