State of Alarm - Day thirteen

Not quite so cold and humid for much of today, with some sunny periods to cheer the afternoon and colour the sunset. I sent off the audio files to Dave for uploading, and then walked in silence for an hour thinking and planning ahead the kind of audio liturgies Holy Week calls for. My aim is to offer something related to the readings set for each day's Eucharist, as I would do if I was doing a Holy Week Mission in a Parish. The effort of doing so isn't often rewarded by good weekday attendances but for me is part of the entire devotional experience of walking the Way of the Cross and asking yet again, what it all means for the world today. This I love to do. 

Well, this year we can't gather for prayer and worship at any time in the week but making an on-line offering makes it possible for people to listen on demand, as it suits them, or not. A preacher has to offer God's Word, trusting the Spirit will make use of their endeavours, and do so without worrying about the consequences, neither craving feed-back, nor approval. Heaven knows what is behind the conventional 'Nice sermon, Vicar' with which priests are greeted at the door after a service. It's not like being a classroom teacher where you can reasonably ask 'Tell me, what did you learn?', though I confess I have been tempted to ask sometimes!

From news articles I've read, it's impressive to see medical scientists, engineers and technology specialists working innovatively and flat out to design and produce new ventilators, tests for the virus that will assist in triage of the workforce into immune and vulnerable people. A team at the Royal Mint in Llantrisant found a rough design of a medical visor on-line, and in 48 hours created a design of their own and got their proof of concept prototype medically approved for production. All they need now is raw material supplies, and hopefully logisticians and delivery drivers will help get the manufacturing process running soon. Britain is short of Personal Protection Equipment to meet all the needs of nurses and doctors in close quarters contact with sick patients.

It's been the worst day of the pandemic in Spain today with 832 deaths in 24 hours, the second highest covid-19 death rate in the world. In Ibiza, only sixty six cases reported so far. Numbers of infected people in the United States have jumped, nearly a fifth of the world's cases. The death rate is bound to follow, and the economy Mr Trump idolises is going to collapse. His insistence that it will be over soon and people will quickly get back to work will not be borne out by reality. Another false prophecy for a democratically elected false prophet.

The British Parliament seems to have been too casual about precautions during its recent sittings. Now the Prime Minister, several Cabinet members and more MPs have tested positive and are self-isolating. Not to mention Prince Charles, who should have set a better example, like his mother. He too is at the age of vulnerability. Putting himself at risk of never being king? Did he think of that when he was busy dispensing earnest charm. So irresponsible. How could they? What does this say about the exemplary quality of Britain's leadership and royalty? Not so much invincible ignorance as foolish arrogance, I'm afraid.

When I completed my daily walk after lunch, I played an album by Ali Farka Toure a West African master musician, whose band uses Western as well as African instruments. Quite challenging to listen to, I can't remember if or when I last did. Hypnotic, syncopated stuff. You can see how much Jazz owes to African musical roots. Stimulating stuff.

One small landmark

Confident that I can now manage, I got up early today and went through my usual morning routine, to be out of the house and walking in good time to St John's to celebrate the nine o'clock Eucharist. Our St Padarn's pastoral placement student Peter preached, and did the same again when we both went to St Catherine's for the ten thirty. I had to listen to him carefully both times, and later on give a written assessment of his effort for himself and his tutor. I thought he acquitted himself very well. 

The day's scripture readings weren't easy. Earlier in the week, I looked through my sermon archive and was unable to find a sermon based on them. With time on my hands, I passed a few hours writing one to see what I could make of them, just for pleasure. Our different efforts reflect just a couple of many ways it's possible to approach preaching at the Eucharist. It's good to have the opportunity, all too rare for me these days, to pay attention to another preacher. It did me good. 

I was pleased to find I can do two normal Sunday services again and not be exhausted as a result. It's the first time for a year, I think, and it's very much a measure of how far I've come in getting through this 'thorn in the flesh' of mine.

Late afternoon, a walk along the Taff, then in the evening, a catch-up session with BBC iPlayer for all four episodes so far broadcasted of a new Danish terrorist kidnap hi-jack drama 'Below the Surface' series two. Did we get series one on telly? I really can't remember. We've had several crime series over the past couple of years exploiting the islamist terror plot them. I'm not sure how edifying this is or what's gained by it.

Confusion decoded

I celebrated the Eucharist at St John's with nine others this morning. Emma joined us and sat in the congregation. Afterwards she told me that she's expecting her second baby, end of November. That'll  give the Parish as much joy and delight as her family, no doubt!. She also said that I can preach, on the third Sunday in September when I'll be celebrating the 50th anniversary of being made a Deacon and starting in public ministry. Apparently the church wardens want a hand in making this, as Emma says "An occasion with cake and bubbles". I already have in mind a sermon to preach, quoting the words of the Bishop to the ordinand when handing over a copy of the New Testament following the Laying on of Hands: "Take thou authority to preach the Word of God if thou be thereto licensed by the Bishop". It's the first gift which the Church offers to those whose call to public ministry is recognised in the rite of ordination. 

Any baptized person may preach, if they realise they have a story to tell or personal testimony to give, or an insight to share. Some should, when the occasion is right. Some have the gift to preach, as Paul says "In season and out of season", when their insight into scripture has something relevant for others, for the occasion. In traditional mainstream churches, nobody appoints themselves as a preacher, rather the community discerns and invites people to take on a role, which they may not be keen to accept to start with. Even if a person relishes the possibility of being a preacher their sense of calling and conviction must be tested by others. There are self appointed preachers too, who believe the Holy Spirit has called them without consulting others. This is not without problems, to my mind. 

The community needs to have a say in who will offer service, for the good of all. I'm grateful to have been nurtured in and followed the path of catholic church tradition. For me preaching, has remained an adventure of exploration and discovery of God's Word for two thirds of my mortal existence. Being made a Deacon was a unique milestone on this path, and one which I'm glad to celebrate now as a Parishioner in Canton. I may be retired from holding public office in a Parish, but am entrusted with a 'Permission to Officiate' which enables me to take services, and most importantly, to preach as a recognised minister of the church. 

After church I popped in to Stavros for a summer haircut. While waiting, I had a call on my mobile from an un-named official, either at UHW or from the LHB's 'Concerns' team in response to the email of complaint I'd sent on Monday this week. It seems that the 12th July outpatient appointment with a senior nurse is nothing more than a repeat of the pre-op medical assessment procedure, as the last one, done in January, has just expired. There should have been a briefing paper with the letter, which would have explained all, but there wasn't. My 8th August appointment to follow is with Mrs Cornish the surgeon, for the pre-op examination around which the next surgical intervention is planned. Phew! At last! Not knowing has lost me a lot of sleep this past fortnight, but all's well that ends well.

Ann arrived from Felixstowe at tea-time. She's coming with us to Tenby for a long weekend break. At last we're having some genuine summer weather, so we're looking forward to all the pleasures of a very special Welsh seaside resort - even if it is a lot more English in character and style than Welsh. The last time we were there was in 2003, I think, when I was asked to baptize the child of a couple I'd met and blessed the marriage of when I was working in Monaco. That was in Penally church, though we stayed in Tenby overnight, and delighted in most excellent local marine cuisine at the party after the service.

It's Kath and Anto's 27th wedding anniversary today, and they're off to Sta Pola for the weekend to celebrate in a favourite place. How did those years slip by so quickly?
  

Last visit to Llanos del Peral

There were thirty people for the Eucharist at Llanos this morning, with Margie preaching an excellent sermon to an attentive audience. She ended with a simple prayer, and the congregation replied Amen with a single voice. That's how I was certain they were listening carefully. She doesn't have big voice but she does have a clear voice, and is able to measure her pace of delivery in tune with a resonance of the building's acoustic, so nobody would have to strain to hear her. Her unpacking of the parable of the talents was thorough and thoughtful. She admits to being enthusiastic over studying scripture and having an opportunity to convey this in preaching. The interregnum gave her an opportunity to do this more often and gain experience. It's been good for her and for other members of the ministry team in this far flung Chaplaincy.

Given the widespread shortage of Anglican clergy to fill vacancies and the length of time taken to fill them, the problem is also capable of being at the same time an opportunity to develop lay ministries. The challenge then for any incoming cleric is to enable this to flourish, and not to be an inhibitor of emerging vocations to new areas of ministry. The trouble is that whether clergy like preaching or not, they feel they ought to preach more often than not, as this is one of the key apostolic duties of every cleric, whether they are good at it or not. 

Perhaps it would be good for every church encouraging lay ministry to consider with its pastor how often each ministry team member should be assigned to preach, so that a spectrum of different interpretative voices and witnesses to discipleship can be heard by the whole community over time. The priest isn't just there to teach, but to make sure the whole church learns and teaches through all its ministers. Discerning together and organising a whole church education programme, taking into account the particular gifts of each contributor is quite a task. It cannot and should not be done solely by the cleric in charge, even if this is the dominant expectation on the part of church leaders. Doing this well so that church members are enthusiastic and motivated to learn can involve self-effacement for a cleric. Not preaching so often could be a more effective way of ensuring delivery of the 'Ministry of the Word' by affording fresh opportunities to others. And I say this as one who loves preaching and works hard at it.

As a locum priest, wherever, I go people make an effort to thank me for preaching, more so that for celebrating. Some say how much they appreciate having a succession of locum clergy to listen to during an interregnum. Evidently, variety is perceived as beneficial, and as such can be incorporated into the ministry of the long term resident priest also, if all involved give the matter adequate thought, and show willing to change traditional expectations. Now that I'm retired all I can do is plug the gaps, as requested. I'm no longer in a position to implement ideas I muse about here. Could I have done more of this forty years ago, I wonder?

On my return journey, I stopped outside Garrucha at one of the few convenience stores I know to be open on a Sunday, to buy the bottle of red wine I'd forgotten to get yesterday. A bottle of Romanian Pinot Noir caught my eye, one of several wines of Romanian origin in the shop. It's unusual to see foreign wine imports, with some French and Italian exceptions in bigger supermarkets. I wondered if the store has Romanian owners with links to a home wine exporter.

Spain has employed Romanian agricultural workers since well before the country joined the EU ten years ago. Some work in trucking and hospitality businesses, so why not food retail too? There are said to be a million Romanians in Spain, a third more than the number of British expats. Its Orthodox church has twenty parishes and a Cathedral in Madrid, almost the same number as the Archdeaconry of Gibraltar, though there are over seventy Anglican places of worship embraced by its Chaplaincies. Funny how noticing a wine label in a shop set me off on this little excursion of curiosity.
 

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?