Re-unions happy and sad

We spent a cold wet Saturday morning in Geneva town centre, meeting friends at the Holy Trinity Church Spring Fayre - the 'Book and Marmalade sale', selling English marmalade, bri-ca-a-brac, and second hand books, and serving lunches to any who'd turn up. It was a lousy day for a fundraising event, yet the dogged perseverance and patience of a dozen or so people organising it, earned CHF4,400 for church and charity funds - that's £3,000 in our money. Fantastic.

We met up with our friends Keith who'd come down for the weekend from Yorkshire and Claudine who'd arrived from Yangon with a delegation of top officials from the Myanmar government  the previous week whom she was shepherding for a meeting with the Swiss government. We ended up at Claudine's pied a terre in Carouge, chatting to her while she packed for the return journey, with me setting up her awkward Swisscom mobile wi-fi dongle on her Macbook, iPhone and iPad, so that she'd have immediate access to internet on her next visit home.

We had a superb evening meal at the Auberge da la Bourse near where she lived. Clare and I shared a large Dorade (sea bream) and Claudine had a traditional Swiss dish 'tête de veau' with a parsley and horseradish sauce - something not on the menu over in S.E.Asia. Then we accompanied her by taxi to the airport to drop off her cases, so she could check in for her flight unencumbered early this morning, before parting company.

We attended the nine o'clock Eucharist this morning at HTC. Friends Brian and Beryl were celebrating their golden wedding with a glass of champagne to go with the crossants after a service which included a prayer of blessing over them. What a delight! So glad we chose this weekend. After the service, we went for a train, but it pulled out as we touched the door opening button, and gave us an hour to wait. So we walked down to the Pont du Mont Blanc to watch the local stage of the cyclists' Tour de Romandie, won by English rider Chris Froom, I learned later.

Eventually, we returned to Chambésy for lunch, which Yvette prepared - her first meal cooked on a new high tech stove, part of a kitchen makeover still in progress. She did us proud. While we were waiting for her to complete her lentil gratin and asparagus feast, I spotted two black squirrels cavorting in the neighbouring garden, bounding around like kangaroos in a way I've never seen British squirrels do. I got a photo of one of them using a huge fir tree next door as a vertical playground.

In the afternoon I drove out to Divonne-les Bains in Yvette's Saab to see Julia and Philippe. It's the first time I have ever driven a such a powerful turbocharged motor, so I was very careful. It was an enjoyable trip nevertheless. The night we arrived, I had a text from Julia to say her father had died the night before in Halifax, Yorkshire. We talked about the service and arrangements to return him to Whitchurch, Cardiff for the funeral. I ended up volunteering to take the service and liaising with people involved locally. Over the nearly twenty years we have known each other I have met all Julia's family, so I may be more of a familiar face to them than local clergy. What more could I do to support a valued colleague and friend?

In the evening we visited Ann-Marie and Alec Hester, who'd invited us and Yvette for supper. It was such a delight to see how their three year old gransdson Samuel, adopted by Dagmar and Guy has grown in the year since last we saw him.  It's wonderful that we still have such happy connexions with so many people in a place where I worked last thirteen years ago - something I am most grateful for.

 

Back to Geneva again

Yesterday, we were out of the house and off to the station in a taxi by five past seven this morning. By nine we were through security checks at Bristol Airport with just hand luggage for a weekend trip to Geneva. Our plane, with its eyecatching devout registration code left and arrived early.

We walked out into the Arrival area, to be greeted within seconds by Yvette, our host for the weekend. Amazingly she'd parked so recently that we left without having to pay a fee, as she was still inside the ten minute free 'drop-off' allowance. A true rarity of timing.

Yvette lives in Chambesy, not far from the Orthodox Oecumenical Patriarchate centre. Her husband is Orthodox, so they have close family connexions there and I have fond memories of perticipating in the Divine Liturgy in French in the basement chapel there, and in Greek in the main upstairs church, mostly on holidays after we'd moved away.

Our dear friend Gill invited us to supper that evening, where we were re-united with more old friends, and one new one - Gill's godson Tim Challen who works for the United Nations own Credit Union, which was founded back in 1946 to serve the financial needs of U.N. employees in its main centres. It now has tens of thousands of members world-wide in places where U.N. staff teams are deployed, and must serve as a role model for co-operative banking and all continents. 

Due to time spent working in Africa, Tim has set up an N.G.O. organising young people's formative expeditions to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, with special focus on youngsters from East Africa's urban slumland, and poor rural youngsters living within sight of the mountain, who'd never dream that climbing it would make any difference to their lives. What clearly had made a difference to Tim's take on life, he put lots of energy into making happen for others. An unusual conversation to start our weekend. Tim's account of his climb experience is here. The N.G.O. website is here.

  

St Mark's Day inauguration

Drove Clare to the Steiner School in Llandaff North for her classes this morning, then made my way East through the suburbs to reach Lakeside in time to celebrate a St Mark's Day Eucharist for seven faithful people. Then headed in to town, and left the car in the assigned parking place under the Motorpoint Arena where it had been arranged I would rendezvous with Ashley for another trip to Chepstow. As I was early, I made a trip to the Co-op Bank to complete a transfer of funds I'd only done half of during yesterday's bank visit to deal with a savings account come to maturity. This was followed by a visit to Santander's nearest banking station to arrange an account status change and take advantage of their latest offer. Then, back to the office to collect some equipment and set out for our radio suppliers' HQ in Chepstow.

It was good to have time to chat things over in the quiet of the car during our pleasant journey there and back. We got our new Dell tablet configured for remote access to the SafetyNet server as needed and retrieved the Asus Transformer which proved unsuitable to access a Windows VPN in the way it's been set up. It'll still be a superb platform for an on-line file library to make office facilities accessible in any location. Moreover, I get to take it home and figure out how to get it to play with our office system. All this new technology requires a good deal of thinking though to get the most out of it. Just when you've got used to a new way of doing things, another presents itself. For every innovation there are new complications, and everything has to be looked at with total security in mind. So there's never much room for uncritical enthusiasm when making adjustments to the total system.

We got back to Motorpoint car park and unloaded the consignment of radios purchased on our last visit there, all configured ready for use, then it was time to head off to Llandaff in the evening traffic, with just enough time to get to St Michael's for Evensong with the special ceremony to license Fr Mark Clavier as Dean of Residential Training and Dr John Wilks as Director of Post-Graduate Training. The College chapel was packed with visitors and students. I felt very pleased to squeeze on to the end of a pew next to one of my tutees, having discharged my last responsibility as acting Dean by negotiating and producing the service sheet for the occasion.

It went off perfectly and the Archbishop preached in a way that did justice to contemporary biblical understanding of  scripture. It was comforting to have such a positive message 'from the top' in the light of the last term's out-break of fundamentalist dogmatism, attempting to re-fight battles dismissed by the church catholic as irrelevent even before I occupied a pew in this chapel, three generations ago. It's just not good enough. The Church in Wales is a diverse body. But there are limits to diversity. Convictions about the nature of scriptural authority that contradict the freedom which the Gospel Jesus proclaimed are a challenge to everyone to think deeply about what gives confidence, purpose and openness to the journey as His disciples. 

The dynamism of the Gospel and the richness of ways in which it is proclaimed offers both security and freedom to those who follow the way of Jesus - trusting in a living Word, as opposed to a very fixed idea of how God's mystery is to be understood and lived. Launching out into a different way of thinking may be for some a disconcerting exit from their comfort zone, but the blessings are beyond conception.
    

Sant Sior, nawddsant Palesteina a Syria - Lloegr hefyd

I went into College for Morning Prayer as Fr Mark Clavier, the new Dean of Residential Training was due to give his first meditation/reflection at the service. I was impressed that he stood in the aisle and spoke for the allotted time without notes on the cosmic frame of reference in which the church's ministry is exercised. Later in the morning he came to his first three hour tutors' meeting and listened to us discuss the drafts of final reports recommending to their respective Bishops the nine students due to be ordained in ten weeks from now. A good opportunity for him to get to know those entrusted to his pastoral charge, even if they'll soon be on their way. Over the coming years of their in-service training, they'll return to St Mike's on a variety of occasions, and he'll be there to welcome them back.

Before the evening's tutor group meeting I celebrated the Welsh language Eucharist. Being St George's Day I reminded the three worshippers present that he was patron saint of Palestine and Syria as well as England, and for a much longer period of time than our near neighbour. At the end I turned the page to give one of the paschaltide prefaces to the blessing, and then my mind went blank, I simply couldn't recall the trinitarian benediction formula in Welsh, which I've memorised - well you need to as it's not printed where you'd expect to find it in the book. Annoying and embarrassing.

The tutor group decided that it would like to do bible study again this term, focussing on one continuous text. 1 Peter was chosen, as it can be covered a chapter a week in the sessions remaining to us this term. It was good that Fr Mark was with us, especially as he's conducted a bible study of 1 Peter in the recent past. Not that we knew this when choosing. I was surprised that the students didn't seem to realise how important 1 Peter is as an Eastertide text and in relation to the baptismal vocation of the People of God. I thought someone might have remembered that much from the liturgical lectionary, or from lectures introducing them to the bible. Sometimes I wonder what they do learn from university theology.

How pleasant that it was warm and dry enough to ride my bike down to the evening's Chi Gung class. How good to get right back down into the body after a day in the head.

 

Learning business lessons

I went into College after breakfast this morning, but people I wanted to see were busy, so I went off and did a bereavement visit in preparation for this week's funeral - a man admitted to hospital with severe joint pain who contracted 'flu  while there and died of pneumonia. His widow rehearsed with sadness but no bitterness what sounded to me like a story of poor patient management, as if the staff just didn't know how do deal with his suffering - dealing with symptoms not the whole person.

I lunched in College, did the necessary catching up and then headed for town to spend the afternoon with Ashley working on an inventory of company assets that will give a necessary overview of what equipment we own, what we paid for it and what it's now worth. This was an outcome of last Friday's steering group for me. Again, this was spurred by a need to make available to newcomers such information as will help them get a more detailed idea of what it takes to run the company, and what subscription revenue has been spent on. The better the picture we convey the better the understanding can be developed that will support the next phase of our development.

It was a satisfying afternoon, crowned, when I got off the bus at the top of Cathedral Road, by the sight of the cherry trees lining the edge of Llandaff Fields in full blossom after a day of showers and sunshine. On my way into work buds had just started to open. In the course of the day, Spring arrived.
 

I felt much better for putting in place another piece of the giant jigsaw of company affairs which should have been there from the outset. It wasn't implemented at the start because of the way the whole enterprise was rushed into being without a proper management plan. Getting the technical side up and running was easy and only took a few days to get started. Getting the financial recording and administrative support in place without it costing a fortune and slowing down growth much further has taken four years. I wonder how many enthusiastic business enterprises flourish and then fade with similar weaknesses they are unable to overcome?

I think that a key business problem today is that successful growth and its rewards are presumed to be possible much quicker than is realistic. The speed of modern technologies is a huge advantage in the communication of ideas promotion of products, rallying support - but only if used to good effect. The benefits of good ideas, good products, may take longer to realise. The work involved in making an organisation sustainable, consistent, reliable enough to keep delivering the goods can be overlooked in the excitement for start-up. Big risks can reap big rewards, but also catastrophic failure. Carefully measured risk may not deliver as much in the short term, but yield more in the long term. Patience is still a virtue.
   

Saturday snaps

We didn't do much yesterday apart from take a routine afternoon stroll around Bute Park, sunny and mild at last. I experimented with the best way to photograph new foliage in bright light, but found the auto settings of the two cameras I played with less than easy to work with. In the process, I lost a pair of reading glasses which I had to take on and off in order to use the viewfinder. I haven't yet worked out the most convenient way to arrange my kit so that I feel in control of what I'm doing. Using a small compact camera or a phone camera is very much easier, but I persist with the high power kit hopeful of more interesting results. Here's the one I was most pleased with:-

And this one too, which the Sony Alpha 55 DSLR took in its stride while my capable little compact camera struggled to get right - in my hands - because it has a focus tracking device which didn't quite explain its usefulness in action.

I was out in St Timothy's Ely for the Eucharist by nine this morning, after a longer than usual night's sleep. I collected Clare from St Catherine's to go to Riverside Market for our weekly organic veggies and cheese. Then I cooked lunch and did little else apart from some reading for the rest of the day. Saving my energies for a trip to Geneva next weekend.

 

Funeral offices and business meetings

Yesterday morning the monthly Radio Users Group took place, and there were thirty people present. It was the best turn-out for a good while, but I couldn't hang around for long afterwards as I had to get home and prepare for a funeral early afternoon.  The service was in Pidgeon's funeral chapel, and there was a similar number present to make their farewells to a man who'd died in his early sixties due to collateral damage from diabetes. I had no appetite for work when I returned home, apart from cooking supper. The first Tai Chi class of the new term left me feeling grateful for the good health and modest fitness I enjoy.

Today was the CBS Steering Group meeting, for which I have done a good deal of preparation this past few weeks, right down to early this morning, assembling at the crack of dawn an up to date detailed account itemising all the Terms & Conditions attached to a RadioNet subscription and use of equipment. Nobody needs to have all that stuff to refer to in separate documents if they are coming to it for the first time. Trouble is, those of us who've worked with the information for so long get used to shuffling pieces of paper - and this can try the patience of people of good will learning how the business works. Now it's done, and the document was something I could deliver when the meeting finished, an hour and a half after it should have done. 

A tour through the draft Constitution produced all sorts of discussion about how the future is meant to work with many more people involved. I wonder if any of the keen ones realise how much they'll be have to work at without any sense of the benefit of an organisation as well adapted to the conditions and needs of its users - there's just so much detail involved in everything RadioNet must do.

When I got home, there was an email from the Area Dean about yet another funeral next Wednesday. It co-incides with Fr Mark's final meeting as Area Dean as he hands over to colleague Bob Capper. I had to turn down a funeral request for today because of the Steering Group meeting which I couldn't miss. It's important to me to give as much support as I can to the full-timers. Their numbers keep on shrinking, but the number of families still wanting funeral with a minister for their loved ones doesn't diminish. It's no more than a holding operation. Sooner or later the churches must see the sense of training lay pastors to officiate at funerals and offer bereavement counselling when needed, the way the French Catholics do.

 

A very public farewell

Back into College to replace laptop plug adaptor this morning. Unable to access internet however. Not unusual in this neck of the woods. As College IT services are now managed by the Representative Body of the Church in Wales, I suspect that the increase in capacity of the system may be a fraction of what it needs to be for present purposes. Glad it's not my job to sort out. I wonder if the churches will benefit early or later from the promised super-fast broadband provision trumpeted as one of Cardiff's recent gains in bidding for new services?

Much local internet excitement last night as Cardiff City Football Club qualified for the Premier League. It's reckoned to be capable of bringing about an uplift of the local economy because of media attention and additional visitor spend. No doubt city centre management colleagues will today be starting to think about changes that'll need to be made to cope with the influx of football supporters for attention grabbing matches in the season ahead. I hope they won't be disappointed. Cardiff City football supporters are very happy today, if not suffering from hangovers.

Before lunchtime I listened on the radio to the broadcast of Margaret Thatcher's funeral, resonant with classic texts from the traditional Prayer Book and Catholic liturgies. Much of the design of the service was her own. It was a long way from the plain Methodism of her upbringing at one level, yet, at another it expressed thoughts of abiding value about the meaning of life and death as our common British culture seeks to voice them. The Bishop of London, Richard Chartres did a good job on the sermon cum eulogy in expressing the core Christian convictions to which her active life gave witness. I rarely agreed with any of the ways in which she implemented her convictions, and regret their outcome to this day, but whatever the limits of her vision or sensitivity to the impact of her decisions, her integrity is worthy of respect.

As the funeral cortege was finally leaving St Paul's Cathedral, I met with four others for the monthly Ignatian meditation group, which I was asked to lead. Such a refreshing contrast to all the other things which occupy my life. I leave a meeting of this kind reassured that pondering on scripture and waiting for insight and inspiration to come compensates for the poverty of communication and trivialisation of language which besets both the church and society in much of today's world. Then, a journey into town to spend the rest of the afternoon in the CBS office, wresting with words and phrases that will discipline our organisation and its policy decisions, and undergird our fitness for purpose.
    

Orange EE blues

I did bother to get up early this morning and get to Morning Prayer in College as my dear near neighbour on the upper corridor Dr John Wilks was addressing students and staff for the first time in the Tuesday Reflection assignment. John is an experienced Methodist lay preacher and a theological educator with a long and interesting track record in working with people training for ministry and mission. It was good to hear him engage with one of the high points of New Testament writing - 1 John 4 - and the challenge that faces every community to make love of each other and love of God consistent with each other.

After breakfast, I had a go at sorting out my new study, which has two computers. One wired up and ready to go, the other just dumped surplus to requirements somewhere else in the building I guess. The one wired up took half an hour to boot up and attach itself to the network. The hard drive wasn't all that full. It was probably eight or nine years old, same age as my oldest functioning laptop from which Windows XP was banished in favour of more efficient and speedy Linux several years ago. 

I went home for lunch to collect the old HP laptop. It had much the same specification as the machine I inherited. It booted up in 3-4 minutes, attached itself to the College network, then blew an adaptor plug fuse. Idiot that I am, I picked one from my collection with a 1amp fuse when a 3amp is needed for the laptop's replacement transformer. Ah well, it can wait. The time for urgency in reading College emails and shuffling documents is past. Thank heavens.

Fr Mark came to the evening's tutor group for a get-to-know-you session. It's not as if students don't know much about him already, but it is as important for them to make their own personal relationships with him as it is for me to step back. 'He must increase while I must decrease', as St John Baptist would say. 

After the session it was satisfying to get away in good time to attend the first of the new term Chi Gung sessions, which did me a power of good. Then I went over to Owain's place to pick up the misplaced SIM card. It worked perfectly after a re-boot. Even so, it's yet a poor advertisement for Orange EE's customer service. Just as well I didn't have cause to rely on a connected phone that I'd paid for to be in urgent contact with someone during a minor personal crisis. Having emergency service access on any phone is all well and good, but why overwhelm 999 with non-critical stuff because your providor cannot deliver accurate and timely information about the phone service you've paid for?

  

Handover time, straightforward or otherwise

I went into College late today, as I didn't feel the need to arrive in time for Morning Prayer on the first day of term. I needed to remove the remains of my stuff from the office which will from now on  belong to Fr Mark Clavier. He was already busy unpacking books, so I collected what was mine and moved it to the empty room without a view across the corridor, which already has my nameplate on it. After lunch we met for half an hour for a hand-over briefing. It's a relief to revert to being just a voluntary tutor again with a better defined part to play in College life until ordination time marks an end and a beginning for those accompanied through training. 

It's been quite difficult to maintain my city centre interest in CBS RadioNet at the same level over the past six months. Having a secretary to take care of the financial administration has been a huge advantage, and it has enable me to concentrate on building the aspects of the organisation which interface day to day operations with the right level of accountability to Business Crime Reduction partners: viz. the Retail Partnership, City Council and South Wales Police. This side of our enterprise was badly done from the outset, and it has disadvantaged us in ways that have made it difficult to grow universal confidence in work that in reality is done very well indeed. We've got things back to where they should have been from the outset, but now there's a lot of work to be done to communicate this to everyone with an interest in the well-being and security of the City. And that's what I'd like to concentrate on doing next.

By the time I'd returned from the CBS office, my new phone had stopped being able to connect with the Orange EE network. Yesterday I'd followed instructions and replaced the still active SIM card from my old phone to the new one, and it had worked in the new phone until now. The sales-girl on Saturday had told me that the new SIM card would be activated in 24 hours, and that was not the case, hence the switch. I thought I'd misunderstood her. Now my old SIM in the new phone was dead. But, unfortunately I'd put the new SIM (which I thought was redundant) into the box with the old phone, which I'd given to Owain. Oh dear, I'll have to wait until tomorrow to recover the SIM to see if it contains my account details. Even if it does, it will mean that the originally promised 24 hour activation period was, in fact, 48. How's that for customer service?

 

Return to Radyr

Another early Sunday start, with not so far to travel. Three morning services in Radyr Parish to take, as Jenny is taking her Easter break. An eight o'clock at Christchurch with twenty communicants, followed by a nine fifteen at St John's Danescourt with another twenty communicants, then a Sung Eucharist back at Christchurch with seventy-five communicants and a couple of dozen children in the Sunday School. It was very enjoyable. This time I got to speak with David and Joyce Suthers, the only Radyr parishioners I have known for ten years since we met over a Korean Veterans' service in St John's City Parish Church. They were there also on Easter morning, but the church was so crowded and busy we missed each other.

At the end of lunch, twenty hour hours after purchasing my phone, it was still not working as it should but the old one still worked, so I called the help line, and was told that all I had to do was swap the SIM card from the old into the new phone. It wasn't something the sales girl had reminded me to do. I guess she must have assumed I knew all about these things - well, if I did, I'd forgotten. Much as technological progress fascinates me, I invest only as much time acquiring need to know-how where phones and other gizmos are concerned. Once set up, my old Samsung Galaxy has 'just worked' and required precious little extra understanding, so I forgot something basic that my grand daughter would be able to grasp. So now my slick new Galaxy Ace 'just works', apart from a few apps still needing to be downloaded to it.

Owain came around, and together we tried to figure out how we could set up the necessary components of Wordpress in the web space I rent from Servage. He wants to build his own website to advertise his professional skills with a view to try his luck as self-employed copy-writer. It was an exercise in learning by doing, rather than simply paying for service providor to do it for us. We followed the instructions as far as we could, but found we needed a registered web address to use with the Wordpress program files we'd uploaded, and Owain didn't have the necessary details, so we didn't reach the start line this time.
  

Tech shopping day

Yesterday I determined that after an afternoon in the CBS office preparing documents to circulate for next week's Steering Group meeting, I'd go and buy a new phone on my way home. It's taken me the best part of a year to get used to a touch screen device. It was old technology when I bought it, and now it feels a little slow to the touch, compared to those used by others that I occasionally get to try. However, by the time I'd completed all my tasks, I was too late and had to dash home for supper. 

As Clare had a school AGM to attend this morning, I was able to take advantage of free time and visit the shops. I texted Clare to join me for lunch in town, and had a wander around the John Lewis technology store, in the hope she'd rendezvous there with me, but her meeting ran on late. But, while I was there, I found a bargain Dell Windows 7 Inspiron Duo convertible netbook/tablet, for the office, and had it put aside for later collection when Ashley gets into town. It'll be able to plug a gap in monitoring the network while he is on the move and make for a more efficient service.

I then went to the Orange EE shop in Grand Arcade where thankfully I had little time to wait before buying a Samsung Galaxy Ace II that had commended itself to me from internet reviews and hands-on browsing in stores while fending off the enquiry: 'Are you alright there Sir?' It always takes will-power to resist the rude auto-response: 'What's the matter, do I look unwell or something?' and it wasn't long before I was on my way home for a late lunch. In fact, Clare rang me from home just as I set out. Ironically, the Grand Arcade shops aren't a good place for reception using oldish technology.

The new phone didn't take long to set up, as it's Android Gingerbread version is only a slightly polished update on the one I've become familiar with, but it's much slicker to work with. The sales girl told me that it could be a while before the new phone was activated for use, as the number transfer could take up to twenty four hours, so the old one remains in use until then.

Ashley called twice, but I didn't reach the phone in time. By the time I'd rung him back, he'd just bought the wrong computer, having requested the one set aside in his name in John Lewis', because the counter clerk collected the wrong one from reserved goods section. It's had to understand how this occurred, as the sales person I dealt with had taken to desired item off the shelf, written Ashley's name, company and phone number on the back of the correct 'special offer' price tag, and taken away from the shelf to re-unite with its accessory components. Thankfully he was still on the top floor and only had to re-join the queue and jump up and down bit. He came away with the right piece of kit, a profuse apology and another £20 off the bargain price!

It was too rainy to go out for the rest of the afternoon, so we pottered about instead, and watched the DVD movie of 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' together in the evening. It's beautifully filmed, atmospheric, with great attention to detail and an absorbing slow pace. In a way it's quite stagey in the way it moves between several scene locations. Having read the book and seen the BBC original film series and heard the radio version, this seemed less complex, slightly abstracted from the original, and the 'mole' unmasked with not quite with the surprise impact delivered by the others. Oldman plays an impressive inscrutible George Smiley, but Alec Guinness' unimpressive little man portrayal still packs more lasting punch for me. With all its complexities this is one of those stories that characterise the second half of the twentieth century.

 

Rainy Birthday

Rain on and off all day, lots of it. Clare was working in the morning so to amuse myself I went and visited Curry's superstore to see if they had any new kit or bargains I didn't know about. Nothing interesting, but I did chat to one of the guys I know there, who used to work at store in town, but left before it closed to work nearer home with free parking. Although a camera expert he earns little more than the minimum wage after a decade in this kind of job. Retail is a tough place to be nowadays.

I collected Clare from school and we drove up to Caerphilly mountain for a walk. We stopped at the now opened stylishly re-built snack bar in the car park at the top, so that could get something to eat, as Clare had lunched in school with the children. I had a huge bacon and egg 'sub' (a giant white bread roll, as used in the Subway fast food chain), followed by a Magnum ice cream. It was just warm enough to sit outside, but by the time we'd finished, the rain started to lash down on us heavily, so we gave up thoughts of a walk and went back home for the afternoon.

Owain came to join us for a birthday supper, bearing a bottle of our family favourite Bourgogne Pinot Noir. I wanted to cook something special, rather than be waited upon, and turned out something everyone enjoyed. Rachel sent me some of her latest batch of her Arizona hand made chocolates. There was a DVD of Bob Marley from Kath, Anto and Rhiannon, plus a CD of 'Arab Spring' popular protest music to invigorate the ears. Clare gave me a year's subscription to the National Trust, and this will make sure we get out and about on visits we've been meaning to do but don't always get around to.

Three years since I reached retirement age, rich and varied years, taking photos, blogging, travelling and really enjoying visiting so many church communities on locum duty. I feel more well and healthy now than I did then. In some ways I'm still working hard, and not infrequently get told off for this by family and friends. But, I'm not working because I need money to survive. I work at a pace I can cope with, only taking as much responsibility as I can enjoy, doing the things I value most. 

A life in ministry should be one dedicated to Him 'whose service is perfect freedom'. I can say without regret that far too much of a working life in the public ministry of the church felt more like compulsion than liberty. Retirement has finally redressed the imbalance. It could never be a question of sitting about all the time doing nothing. It's nice to have that as an option to enjoy now and then, to savour the joy of living in freedom. I recall the story told of Jamaican freed slaves, considered lazy and unambitious by their former owners because they'd only work as much as they needed to subsist on, and then sit around in the shade idling away their days. When challenged, the response was; now at last we can make time to do the one thing we were never free to do before - nothing.

 

New shoes

More work on student reports yesterday, and a trip to the CBS office to wrestle over the detail of the constitution until late. Even North Korea's nuclear sabre rattling young despot is overshadowed by the Thatcher demise debate. I bet Kim Jung Un is well fed up at being sidelined on the world stage by a former female western political heavy hitter. Serves him right. 

I had a funeral at St David's Caerau this morning and took along Phil from my tutor group to share in the service, having briefed him over the weekend about my exchanges with the bereaved family. He was at ease in the pastoral and liturgical roles assigned to him. He could have taken the whole thing with ease if I'd been unable to do so. To some liturgical performance come naturally, for others the beginning is a nerve wracking nightmare. The challenge is to give each one the right measure of support to enable them to develop their own gifts.

I arrived to collect Phil during the morning coffee break. Peter and John from the staff team were there chatting. Before we left, Peter came out and gave me a couple of bottles of fine Bordeaux Cab/Merlot as a thank you gift from the team. Such a nice surprise - one of Clare's favourite wines.

On my way in to the CB office for a final editorial scrutiny of the Constitution text, I stopped to buy some much needed new shoes and sandals. I was pleased to find just what I wanted, but when I came to pay discovered that I'd left my cards at home in a pocket of the shirt I was wearing before I changed to go out to the funeral. I started off for home and then wondered if Ashley was somewhere around the block and in a position to lend me the money. Ten minutes after a text message and a phone call and he appeared with cash in hand, and we were able to leave with the goods and walk to the office together.

My new sandals cost five times the 'el cheapos' I bought in the Vinaros Carrefour when I arrived last June. I wore them non-stop for six months and now they're falling apart, just about wearable in a crisis. At last they can go out on their own with the rubbish, leaving some good memories behind.

    

The death at the Ritz

This morning was my final attendance of the College staff team meeting. Next time the new Director of Residential Training will be in place. It's been a stimulating experience, being accepted even temporarily as a member of such a well focused, confident and creative working team with vigorous commitment to the mission of the church and education of its ministry candidates. While many in the church struggle with the need for change, here's a group of gifted people alive to opportunities that make others nervous. I hope fervently that their vision and commitment will be recognised as they move reluctant learners in the right direction, when the work of the College comes under review in the coming term.

While I was posting some cheques into my account at the end of the morning, the annoying live news broadcast feed that pollutes the dignified silence of the bank - or makes it impossible to overhear the conversations of others, or hear yourself think - depending on your point of view, announced the death of Margaret Thatcher at the London Ritz Hotel where she'd been staying since Christmas. Not totally unexpected, given her age or condition over recent years. There'll be nothing else but this in the news for the next week or so, and the profound wounds which her era inflicted on society will be re-opened and licked painfully by the 24/7 news media.

I hated the change of moral and social ethos which characterised the mindset she represented with such courage and conviction. But her practical realism was to some extent admirable and worthy of respect. She led from the front, but was not alone in her convictions, rather she was the voice articulating a deep shift in values, and I still think that much of this shift generations to come will live to regret. Whatever, may she rest in peace.

From getting an overview of the College's developing integrated pastoral skills training programme in the morning, I moved after lunch to laborious line by line scrutiny of the  draft Constitution for Cardiff's Business Crime Reduction Partnership management board. It's the first time since our landmark meeting last November that Ashley and I have really had a chance to attend to the details and discover potentially risky flaws that could undermine the stability of the organisation's set up. Ninety-five percent of this six page document is just the way it's meant to be, but as ever, the devil is in the detail. Fortunately Ashley is as good at nit picking as I am at seeing the whole picture. So we need a good argument over a document to bring out the best in both of us, for the good of the cause.

It was well after seven by the time I got home. I still had a student report to draft, but after that I was grateful to have nothing much to do except stare vacantly at the telly at the end of a day of such mental exertion.

 

Low Sunday labours

Out bright and early driving up the A470 to Abercanaid to celebrate and preach this morning. I was bemused to see that since my last visit a month ago the shell of a new house had sprung up in grounds next to the hall-church, that were once the site of the old primary school now demolished and replaced on another site.

I ditched the straight text of the sermon I'd taken with me, and improvised, following the thread of ideas and associations evoked by the Gospel of the day. The congregation is alert and listens, and that gives me confidence to speak directly of things that matter most to me.

The old lady who pointed out to me the bed of snowdrops beneath the tree behind the hall-church, sent me out to look at the daffodils now emerging in the same spot.

Twenty five miles north of Cardiff and 150 feet above sea level, the daffs are several weeks behind their counterparts in Thompson's Park. On my journey up and down the Taff Vale, a thin ridge of snow was still visible along the exposed eastern shoulder of the valley. The weather's been that much worse up here in recent weeks.

Before returning home for lunch, I drove out to Culverhouse Cross for a rendezvous at McDonald's Restaurant with two sisters whose mother's funeral I'm preparing to officiate at in St David's Caerau next Wednesday. The undertakers are from out of town, family members are scattered, and so we couldn't easily meet in a funeral home office, or in either of the daughter's houses, so this was the next best thing. It's not so easy when you're retired and don't have an office open to the public in your home, as I did for forty years. I'm learning to improvise, however.

Owain came for tea, as he often does when he's in town on a Sunday. The evening was given over to preparing another rota for the coming College term. It's not one of my favourite occupations, but at least this'll be the last time I have this particular job to do, and that's a welcome relief.

  

Severn double crossing

I lost most of Friday to writing student year-end reports. I went out only briefly to retrieve a prescription from the GP surgery, for my next batch of medication and then again in the evening for a bereavement visit in Caerau.

After the usual leisurely Saturday start, we went out to Thompson's Park, awash with daffodils and spring wild flowers at the moment. I took my Sony Alpha 55 DSLR camera and got a few decent shots, but wasn't satisfied that they really captured the amazing expanse of yellow and green glory under a blue sky. 

Te little walk gave us an hour's aesthetic pleasure before driving out of town to find ourselves lunch before heading to Bristol to see Amanda.We stopped at a pub in Caerwent, and had a drink while waiting to order. The place was so busy that in the end we gave up and drove into Chepstow, got sandwiches at the Co-op supermarket, and ate them outside the Castle down by the river.

It's some years since we were last there together. I appreciated the new visitor centre and gift shop which has appeared in one of the rooms to the side of the twin tower gateway. 

We lived near here for seven years while the kids were at school. The area around the castle was a great place off-road where they could play safely. The town looks and feels more prosperous these days, a most congenial habitat for the commuting classes, as it was when Clare used to drive to work in Bristol across the now 'old' Severn Bridge, that opened the year we graduated from University.

It was good to see Amanda back home from her brief spell in hospital, finally being attended to daily by carers and in good spirits. She has acquired an 'ejector seat' armchair that lifts her into a standing position. This is a huge blessing, enabling her to stay mobile, as she can now sit down and then get up to use her walking frame unassisted. She's admirably brave, determined not to be defeated by her condition.

The sky was blue and the sun shone all day again today. Driving home across the newer Severn Bridge into a glorious sunset was more of a delight than a difficulty. Not often do we get to use both bridges in one day.
  

Chepstow - re-visited from a different angle.

I went into College to do some report writing this morning, then into town by car for a change, to collect Ashley for a visit to the headquarters of our radio equipment supplier, PMR products, at their Chepstow home base. The company office is in the vicinity of Chepstow railway station. Trains to Birmingham pass through there and a few local trains stop daily. The old grey stone station buildings are now occupied by commercial companies, as they are surplus to the requirement of current railway use. They testify to a much busier era, when the wonderful scenic line up the Wye Valley was still open. What a tragedy it was ever closed, when it had such potential for development as a tourism resource.

Our initial task for the day was to agree a deal on the purchase of a batch of radio handsets at an attractive price which can be of particular operational usefulness to CBS. Once that was done, we were given a demonstration of the GPS tracking facility inherent in our radio handset's operating system. A mapping display of the area ibn question can be superimposed with location data - just like on the movies! Is it as good, as accurate and speedy in updating? My experience in GPS enabled digital cameras left me with doubts. 

A clear account of this handset function by Adrian, PMR's chief programmer, was reassuring. Then I became part of the demo, sent out into the wilds of Chepstow with a live handset to be tracked on screen by Adrian and Ashley. Every now and then I would report my location and have it confirmed by Adrian from the map on-screen, or else, he would tell me where the screen reported I was standing, and I would confirm it. It was quicker than I'd imagined, plus, I  discovered that the GPS update speed was configurable - useful in a sudden emergency. Just like the movies!

My brisk walk around lower Chepstow was a nostalgic affair, revisiting part of the town where we'd lived as the family was growing up and I'd been working for USPG. It looks a lot cleaner and tidier than it did in those days. It's gratifying to see how many of its 18th and 19th century houses have been restored, rather than swept away in the cause of progress. There's a new Tesco's. Town centre shops and eating houses have been up-graded. It's a nicer place to live now that it was when we lived there in the eighties, but nowadays, I suspect we couldn't afford it.

 

Think citrous

Last night we had a family meal at Stefano's restaurant, one of our favourite haunts, in Romilly Crescent around the corner. After a day of much play and not enough food Rhiannon seemed to be under the weather. The transformation effected by her usual plate of spaghetti with butter was amazing!

What a relief to get up this morning to normal internet connectivity once again. I was reminded of how we felt after occasional power blackouts when I was a child. After a brief visit to College to collect information for report writing, I drove Rhiannon and Kath to Cardiff Central station for their train home, and after lunch, a brief spell of catch-up in the CBS office.  As I left, I was given a box of Israeli Clementines from Jaffa. I don't know why they came my way, but the same happened last year a few months earlier, and we turned them into fabulous jam to share. 

Over the course of the year, however, my eating habits have changed significantly. Time spent in Spain, and then Sicily have made me into a citrous fruit eater in a way that has never been the case in my entire life. When I was young, post-war, oranges and bananas were a rarity in the Valleys, fruit eating wasn't a habit easily acquired. 

After many months of mediterranean diet and successful spare weight loss, I now think nothing of eating half a dozen pieces of citrous fruit a day. This past year, I've had far fewer colds and escaped the common round of nasty viruses. I'm willing to attribute this to improved resistance as much as added vitamin C, but who knows? Needless to say the Clementines this year will not get turned into jam. The gift box represents half a week's provision, given what I've been buying from the market on my way to and from the office this year.

  

The illusion that speed means progress

Easter Monday we all rose late. It's quite a while since I last slept ten hours. We didn't do much or go far, as it was still cold and dull. Irritatingly, the internet was intermittently on and off all day, and for the most part slower than usual. Not that unusual with TalkTalk Broadband however. Most nights we're without a reliable connection from nine thirty for two hours.

Easter Tuesday, rising late again. Mary from across the road came over to ask for help with her computer, as she was getting error messages she didn't recognise. It turned out that her internet connection was also very slow and intermittent, making the job of updating an old XP driven computer into a series of long freezes. Now Mary is a BT customer. I've checked all my equipment, connected to TalkTalk broadband, and the problem's the same. This suggests there's an infrastructure problem somewhere not too far away and it's affecting service providors who buy their slice of the information highway from BT Openreach.

My router shows I am connected, the operating systems on various computers in the house show that my  data is being sent out but only a tiny fragment of data is returning, not enough to display a website, only enough to make the browser hang. Then after a while the router displays 'unable to connect to internet' and drops out for several minutes before resuming at a speed too slow to be functional.

Nothing about local outages on the news. Nothing about it on the TalkTalk website - no point in phoning them as their customer service is rarely of any use at the time you need it. Oh yes, the way I know this is because my BT 3G wireless internet dongle still works, enabling me to visit websites and post this. It's lucky I have no urgent need to spend lots of time on-line at the moment. 

I wonder how many people in business, or managing emergencies are wondering what on earth is happening. It makes me realise how dangerously dependent we've become on internet connectivity over the past decade, and just how wicked it is that internet service marketing promotes an illusion of a world in which every service runs perfectly, consistently and powerfully, when in reality it's still a work in progress whose reliability falls far short of being comparable with that of the national electricity grid.

The Big Joke is all the promotional hype Cardiff is getting to do with the roll out of super-fast broadband services intended to improve economic development. What's most needed is consistency and reliability at whatever speed. Without that your plans always unravel and your emergencies are un-manageable.

What are we doing by lying to ourselves about priorities?

 

Early Easter

Back to St John's Danescourt with 'Becca for a nine fifteen Easter morning Eucharist, and Jenny joined us. The sun was bright and the air clear and invigoratingly crisp. I was better for not having lost sleep. 'Becca read the Gospel and Jenny interceded. I celebrated and preached. Every seat was taken. There were fifty people in church altogether.

At Christcurch Radyr, for the eleven o'clock, I sat with the choir and did little apart from joining in with the distribution of communion. Jenny celebrated and preached superbly, 'Becca read the Gospel and also shared in distributing communion. There was a full church, a hundred and fifty people, including children, and a hundred and thirty of those took communion.

Not long after I got back for lunch, Kath, Anto and Rhiannon arrived from Kenilworth in time for lunch, and then Owain arrived on his bike, somewhat tired by two nights deejaying on the trot, plus losing an hour. But that wouldn't make him miss a family meal. We are, drank some good wines and ate chocolate, went for a walk with Rhiannon to see the horses over at the riding school on Llandaff Fields, then it was time to get back to Radyr 

I celebrated the Eucharist on this occasion, and 'Becca preached very well. Eighteen people were present. That meant a total of over a hundred and eighty people made their Easter communion in the Parish despite the loss of an hour, despite the cold weather.

'Becca looked slightly surprised when I said how rarely during my latter years of ministry I'd ministered in full churches. Occasionally a full house in Caerphilly during my curacy, hardly ever in St Paul's area churches, except for some funerals, occasionally in Halesowen apart from bapstims, weddings and funerals, quite often in Geneva, but it was a small church with a big constitutency. At St John's in the city centre, it was only ever full for big civic events and occasional funerals. Apart from that, it was not often more than a quarter full even on the great festivals. The difficulties of getting there were such that people who made the effort were really committed. 

You can get so used to not having a full church, it takes quite an adjustment to cope with scaling up if you have to. A priest has to learn to be grateful that anyone comes, regardless of numbers. To be privileged to offer ministry at all is always a gift, and one I appreciate more now I'm retired and reliant on the generosity and hospitality of colleagues and parishes for the invitation.

Easter Eve - getting ahead

It was good to have a quiet uneventful day to reflect and prepare tomorrow's Easter sermon. We went over to Roath in the morning to shop for organic veggies for the weekend, but the cold wind ensured we were more brisk and businesslike than usual.

I collected 'Becca from College at half past five and we went to St John's Danescourt for the Easter Vigil, just as the sun was about to set. The Paschal bonfire in a bucket was so so hot that it melted without igniting two tapers from which we attempted to light the Easter Candle. A little gas lighter came to the rescue. Why not embrace modernity and bless one of those next year? I thought.

There were thirty of us in a church that holds fifty, many of them present for the baptism of a young girl, old enough to make the baptismal promises for herself. It was a joyous event, which finished with a procession to party at the church hall nearby singing 'We are marching in the light of God.' As I arrived home Clare was just on her way out to the local Parish Easter Vigil. 

I idled the evening away watching telly, then put the clocks forward, and for the first time in living memory, went to bed an hour early to offset the loss of an hour. I don't run too long on reserves any longer

Good Friday night out

Up to Radyr with 'Becca for a ten o'clock start this morning, for a short youth service at Christchurch, then a walk of witness down to the Methodist Church, where we were joined by the congregation there at the end of their service for a prayers around the cross in the public garden opposite the church. It was bitterly cold, and waiting for the rendezvous wasn't much fun, but when the brief prayers were over we went into the Methodist church hall for tea and hot cross buns. I met Aled Edwards, General Secretary of Cytun, who was worshipping with the Methodists this morning and we chatted for a while, then I went home, feeling in need of some quiet solitude before my afternoon preachment. Clare was just on her way out for the service with Bishop David at St John's Canton, so I had the place to myself.

Jenny, 'Becca and I shared the conduct of Good Friday Liturgy between us, with three dozen people in attendance. After I'd preached, 'Becca read a poetic meditation on the Cross she'd written. It was one of the first reflections she sent me after she started in College. I remembered how personally honest it had been, and was delighted she agreed to read it in a service. I felt it fitted well with the conclusion of what I had preached about. It was a fitting introduction to venerating the cross, which we then processed in with. For 'Becca this was an all-new experience. There are few occasions over forty five years when I haven't been at this liturgy and venerated the cross. It means a great deal to me.

Owain came over for an early supper, and then we went together to the Millennium Centre to watch a dance event which brought together sixteen Shaolin monks and a contemporary dance in an east-west fusion performance called 'Sutra', a Sadlers Wells production. 

Everything about it was truly amazing - the use of seventeen huge two metre tall wooden boxes as props constantly moved around on stage and used as a theatrical framework for executing a host of high speed athletic feats. They certainly deserve their reputation for being 'flying monks', they jump so spectacularly high. Many components of the movements performed I recognised from Tai Chi and Chi Gung, although delivered in the dynamic fashion of martial arts.

It was a wonderful spiritual offering from a group of calm focussed recollected young men emptied of egotism, connected to each other so tightly that their movement gave the impression of an active swarm of bees. It was moving and uplifting to watch and I loved the music by Szymon Brzoska. 

There were moments in the performance when the boxes were laid out horizontally and piled up in a four by four array, each occupied by a still performer, suggesting a funerary columbarium of the catacombs . Echoes of the Saviour's death and burial are never far away on this most holy day.
   

Portable pilgrimage

Tuesday
In the morning, I went into town to the CBS office this morning for an important meeting, then came home mid afternoon to continue preaching preparation. I collected 'Becca from College at seven and we went out to Christchurch Radyr together for Evening Prayer, which she conducted, and I preached. It's just as well I offered to preach in the Parish this week, as Jenny has a chest cold and is on the verge of losing her voice. The extremely cold weather doesn't help, with many extra services to conduct. She has two funerals this week in addition to nine other services before Sunday. Also, Chris her NSM curate, is loaned to Caerau with Ely, to cover services during Fr Jesse's sick leave - a lot of extra pressure.

Wednesday
I collected 'Becca at nine and we made the same journey to Christchurch for a Eucharist, which I celebrated and she preached, circulating an image displayed on her iPad for the congregation to look at while she spoke about it. Only one person managed to swipe the picture off the screen. Using technology live with a congregation is as risky as performing with children and dogs! I sent my apologies to College for the afternoon Strategy Forum meeting. I needed more time to work on my preaching material. In the evening I collected 'Becca from College again and we went to St John's Danescourt where this time I preached and she led Evening Prayer. The full Paschal moon was just visible through a haze of cloud above the car park, as we left for home.

Maundy Thursday
Although still bitterly cold, there was sunshine streaming in to St John's Danescourt for the celebration of the Eucharist at nine thirty. Jenny decided not to attend the Cathedral Chrism Mass, and stayed on home ground in an effort to conserve energy, assisting as I celebrated and preached. For once, although I'd brought a sermon with me, I decided to improvise, and enjoyed doing so. 

I went into town for a few hours, then returned for supper, picked up 'Becca to drive to Christchurch for the evening's Sung Eucharist at which I preached. Jenny, 'Becca and I stripped the altars at the end. It was a first time experience for 'Becca. Then we went to St John's Danescourt where we kept silent vigil together with others for half an hour, before leaving. This time the Paschal moon slipped in and out of broken cloud, as if it struggled to assert its presence in the moody darkness of this first Triduum day's end: 'Judas took the bread and departed. It was night.'

I love Holy week. Its scripture readings never fail to move me, as they evoke memories of key moments in my journey of faith since teenage years. It's a pilgrimage I can make wherever I find myself, whether alone with a Bible and Prayer Book, or in the company of others, whether it's half a dozen or thousands, giving out or on the receiving end, no matter where I may find myself in the world. I can only be grateful for this.

Holy Week in Radyr

I had a cheering  meeting this morning in College with Chris Bowler a member of last year's tutor group. He's now an assistant Curate in a rural Radnorshire borderland parish. He comes to Cardiff occasionally to visit the library, as he's keen to continue studying. It's satisfying to see a former student enjoying his new life and work up country.

After lunch we had a two and a half hour staff meeting, discussing the Bishops Vision Statement on ministry and mission, as part of the preparation for comprehensive course development in the light of the forthcoming College review. The grand plan is to have a modular training programme whose components can be used for lay training as well as all stages of preparation for ordained ministry, and in service training. Fortunately it won't all have to be put into place in one go, but can be grown according to need and opportunity. It'll be quite a challenge to move from grand plan to detailed design, given that all involved in vocational guidance, selection and training programmes across the six diocese will have an interest in shaping the outcome.

After supper I drove out to St John's Danescourt to give my first Holy Week address to a dozen people at Evensong, led by Jenny Wigley, my former parish colleague. St John's is lovely small thirteenth century church with an ancient churchyard around it containing a thousand year old yew tree. Until forty years ago it was set in open countryside with just a farmhouse for neighbour. Now the farmhouse is a pub next to several small shops, all sitting at the centre of a very large housing estate - all part of the post-war expansion of Cardiff. Tomorrow night, the same again at Christ Church, up in the village with its mix of older early 20th century suburban mansions and artisan dwellings. Such a refreshing change after many weeks of being focussed largely on College life.

  

Palm Sunday at St Mike's

Yesterday was another dull cold grey day. Apart from a trip to Tesco's for weekend food shopping, I spent the morning in College, writing emails, working on next term's chapel rota and clearing the office of my stuff ready for Mark Clavier's arrival. Then I drove over to Bristol to return James' repaired laptop and visit Amanda in the Bristol Royal Infirmary.

I slept longer and rose later this morning. For once I didn't need to drive somewhere for an early locum duty as I was booked to attend the College end of term Palm Sunday Eucharist, at which Archbishop Barry presides. Having prepared the student team that was sharing in the conduct of worship, I turned up early to give them some support and check on last minute details, and give the Archbishop a quick briefing about the arrangements. All was happily in order.

The chapel was full, and all went according to plan. Wendy's way of presenting the narrative dialogue Passion story from Luke's Gospel took me completely by surprise. Three of the key part readers were dressed in black robes and wearing masks over their eyes, the fourth representing Christ was in white. Other part players were in the congregation. When we got to the crucifixion part, all the players left the 'stage' so to speak, and then there was a slide-show of via Crucis images set to a song (which I didn't know). The rest of the text was on the sheet provided to follow if desired, but the invitation was there to simply watch the images and recall the story.

It was amazing to move from something theatrical in quite a classical manner to contemporary audio visual, in such a conventional liturgical framework. It compelled me to pay attention, but then I know the story well and have been reading or listening to some version or another of this in dialogue form over the past fifty years. I wonder how it would have been received by someone less than familiar with the text?

Archbishop Barry preached well, comparing and contrasting the procession of Jesus with that of Pilate arriving from the opposite direction to watch over the security situation on Passover weekend. Which procession are you part of? He asked. Are you sure?

Afterwards the College photo was taken in the Old Library conference room. It was took cold to arrange to take it outside, as it had been to cold for an outdoor procession. Peter and I sat on either side of the Archbishop, which gave me a rare opportunity for a brief chat. I felt as if I was there in a prominent position under false pretences, as my role this past term has been unofficial. There's also of photo in which I feature prominently on the cover of the College Annual Report, even more embarrassing. I bet many outsiders with College connections will wonder who on earth is this guy?

With Clare being away in Kenilworth, it was nice to sit down to a Sunday lunch with all the College members and families, as it meant I didn't have to cook. Then I went home and uploaded the photos I'd taken during the service to a newly opened Flickr account, so that they could be shared. Some I was quite pleased with, but others, particularly the telephoto ones were less sharp and prone to motion blur. Indoor lighting conditions were quite good, and it seemed as if auto-focus and image stabilisation weren't working as well as intended. They are at their best in bright light outdoors. I daresay my Alpha 55 would have produced better pictures indoors.
 

Gearing up for Holy Week

I drove Clare to a school meeting early, and said goodbye for the weekend. She's off to Kenilworth to look after Rhiannon, then going on the Selly Oak to see Rachels' Sicilian godmother Angela, and rejoice with her over the election of Pope Francis I. I wonder if she still prays for our conversion, wanting only the best for us?

I went into College for a while, to check if there were any further repercussions for yesterday's session with students, which there were. More choppy water to navigate, but the full time staff are experienced and capable, dealing sensitively with every issue affecting students. It's a privilege to be part of this on a temporary basis, but I don't have the stamina for such intense activity in the long term. Three hours sleep deficit on the trot are as much as I can handle. I have to accept that ageing weakens one's emotional resilience every bit as much as it makes the muscles weaken. The only way to keep functioning well is plenty of activity punctuated by rest. The price paid for skimping on either as you get older is higher.

Once I was fully updated on what was going on, I drive to Radyr to meet with Jenny Wigley to fill in the details of next week's Holy Week services, at which I will be preaching, along with one of my tutees, 'Becca, who'll be preaching a couple of times and officiating at Evensong. It'll be great to work with a former colleague again, especially one who is as full of energy, deep insight as she is down to earth and wickedly humorous. Great also to be kept on our toes by someone who is doing a full Holy Week liturgy programme as a contributor for the first time.

I returned to College for lunch, then went into the CBS office for a few hours, returning for conversation with a couple of students before cooking an evening meal and catching up with myself in the quietness of being home alone.

Dog tired

A lousy night and an early start, and meetings with members of College staff to consider how to address the outcome of yesterday's conflict. Stephen proposed a meeting with a discipline process inviting all present to listen carefully one at a time to any with a grievance, and time set aside for it this afternoon. Having done the Mennonite mediation training programme, Stephen is well equipped to lead this.

The Bishops' statement on Ministry and Mission for the next stage of life in the Church in Wales arrived in my in-box last night. This is to guide the planned review of the College. Well, it's a carefully thought out document of over two and a half thousand words, unpacking some of the findings and suggestions of the Church in Wales strategic review from the end of last year. Decent words but only words. Too many words. In effect it's a report on a report, no executive summary, no images to work with, not what I'd call a vision statement.

The existing College vision statement from years back is concise, imaginative, relevant. If Jesus had used as many words as the Bishops' report does instead of images and parables, just imagine how long the Gospels would have been. By now you'd think I'd be used to this, but I still live in hope of fresh creative sparks that give insight and direction and permit a free response to a constantly changing situation, yet still move in a strategic direction. I'm disappointed.

I went off to the CBS office for the monthly RadioNet user group meeting, to hear the moans of retail security staff about the lack of response and interest in the crime issues they have to deal with. Police websites trumpet the fact that crime is down in the city centre, ducking from the reality that fewer crimes are reported because it's such a hassle to get a policeman to attend and deal with matters as they arise, and little ever seems to happen as a result.

I got back to College in time for lunch, and then  there was the College meeting mid afternoon, attended by staff and students. Several people spoke appreciatively about life in College, how good everyone had been about welcoming prospective students and the contentious service was clearly not a bad experience for some. I expected to end in the hot seat. I didn't expect to be inarticulate and tongue tied when I did. 

What upset me was discovering how little the message of the Port Talbot Passion had been absorbed or influenced watchers, before contention erupted, following an act of worshipping the Crucified One. The connection between message and application, theory and practice seems to get lost in an instant. How little human beings change. Centuries pass, still the same faults and failings that Christ died to redeem. How fragile our hold on what gives us life and sets us free.

Although I was very tired and sad, I was grateful to slide into the normality of the evening's Tai Chi class, and work for a couple of hours at perfecting familiar moves under clear and disciplined guidance in an environment of remarkable mutual trust between people of all ages. It was such a simple refreshment. I even stopped fretting about the fact that it rained all day.

  

Our teacher Christie recounted working with a group of visually impaired people, one of whom had a guide dog. She worried about how the dog would react, being surrounded by lots of people moving slowly and waving their arms in a way that might suggest command to the creature. The  dog wasn't the least bothered and just basked in the peaceful atmosphere generated by the movement, rolling over on its back with pleasure and then falling asleep.

Community in contradiction

I didn't sleep well and was up early to walk  into College. I wasn't in the mood for Morning Prayer to be turned into an informal prayer meeting half way through, I needed propping up and withdrew into silence alone in the crowd, to let it carry me through. Too many words - just like me yesterday morning.

We had seven prospective students visiting College today. My task was to give a introductory presentation on living and working together in the College community. I had as a starting point a short Powerpoint file from last year, which left unsaid a number of things which were probably said without notes or slides at the outset, so I set to and quickly added some material to to it, reflecting what I should remember to say. I was pleased with the result, and it came easy to present it with enthusiasm.

Today is the deadline for students' self-assessment reports and delivery of their work portfolios, and I had nobody to chase, which is good. There were people to see before slipping home for an Ignatian meditation group at midday followed by lunch. Again I devoured the silence hungrily. I'm not getting as much as I need with all the added pressure of responsibility this time. I'm looking forward to working myself out of a job when Mark Clavier arrives in a month from now.

Before returning for the weekly College Eucharist, I went into the CBS office for a couple of hours. There are always small tasks to be done, decisions to be discussed, and if it's not done in person, it gets done by phone. We've made a lot of progress in the past few months. It's great to have a good secretary with us. She understands what we are about and her methodical thoroughness improves our effectiveness as a team no end.

The Mass setting at the College Eucharist was new to me and very singable. Three of the four hymns I knew almost by heart. It's nice to sing without a book in hand. The last hymn was a Marian hymn, quite orthodox and not nearly as exotic as some of the peculiarities on offer, yet strangely it wasn't a rendering of the Stabat Mater, which is the Passiontide Marian meditation, and I wondered why. Sadly, an inoffensive hymn caused uproar with confrontation and accusations afterwards, revealing how difficult some students find living with differences, let alone understanding, trusting or respecting each other. I found it alarming and distressing, I felt as if the community had lost its senses. Sure, it could be like this in my student days too, times when listening to each other became intolerable. Maybe it's all part of the learning experience.

I had to wait until after supper to rehearse the Palm Sunday service with those who will assist the Archbishop, and reflected on the decline of the church throughout my career, in relation to the perpetual difficulties of Christian life together. Still working at it, still unsuccessful, still making the church less than easy for people to find attractive or credible. I was back in my old weekend nightmare  - appealing to a congregation to get the service under way and being totally ignored.

While people were still at dinner, I wrote this on the College noticeboard, thinking will anyone notice the writing on the wall?

Those whose dogma makes them deaf and blind to others 
risk losing their faith and making themselves useless to God.

It was the only protest I could conceive of in an environment where people have stopped communicating and can only emote. And I know it applies to me too, knowing how close I come to losing my faith. I expect it will offend everyone, but maybe that will prod us to find a way out of this vicious circle.

 

The Gospel of us

When I was a student in St Mike's forty-five years ago the down-turn in vocations and church membership was already noticeable, and made some of us think about what needed to be done by us, as people called into ministry, to continue the offering of service to God and others in the face of the decline and implosion of the institutional church which backed us. I was all for non-stipendiary ministry, but the path which unfolded didn't me in that direction, until I retired after forty years as a full timer. 

What we thought might happen after ten years is now happening noticeably, and the Church in Wales is going through a major adjustment to its organisation as a result. Those coming into College to train are aware of this, so uncertainty about the future is a key contributor to low morale. But then this has always been a feature of College life in Spring Term, along with epidemics of 'flu and tummy bugs. It helps to realise this and focus resolve on enduring in as disciplined a way as possible. Or go down.

It was my turn to officiate at Morning Prayer and give an address in College chapel  today. I compared the testing experience of training in community with the desert and exile experiences of the People of God, maybe comparable with contemporary idea of pressure and discomfort in an army 'boot camp'. It's preparation for coping with the struggles and disappointments of ministry 'in the wild',  doing without the consolations of success and acclaim - as these cannot be relied upon.

I drafted, re-drafted and edited this several times over the past few weeks, and it was still too long when I delivered it. Did I make myself clear? I wondered. It seemed to speak to a handful of people, apart from that there was no feedback, but then it was intended to remind everyone how much we need to look back in hard times to when we were called to a life of faith and service, and see this period of training as equipment for the unique challenges facing the church today.

I chaired our Tutors meeting after breakfast, and then in the afternoon the College gathered in the Old Library for a showing of Michael Sheen's Passion Play, set in Port Talbot, called 'The Gospel of us'. It was arranged by my tutor group, including drinks and popcorn. I felt very proud of them, and so grateful for Phil's organisation and technical skills. The film, involving thousands of people as well as actors drawn from the locality was shot live on location over the Easter weekend two years ago. It's a powerful piece of theatre, interpreting the meaning of the life and death of a Christ like figure in the context of a community torn apart by a motorway and losing its identity. At the end almost everyone left in complete silence.

There was meant to be discussion about it over supper and afterwards, but I wonder how much there was. I didn't stay as I had to return home and then get out for my Chi Gung class. I was late again, but so grateful for the time I had. That was quite a demanding day.

 

BCP Sunday and an unexpected travellers' tale

I had a quiet Saturday mostly to myself, as Rhiannon had a theatre performance to attend with her theatre workshop group in the morning, and a birthday party in the afternoon, at which she was introduced to the indoor rock climbing at the Warwick University Sport centre. All I had to do was make her a packed lunch to take with her.

I had time to write two sermons, take a trip to the shops and watch Wales win the Rugby championship match with a thrilling victory over England while Rhiannon was out. She was quite tired when she returned, but stayed up until her usual bed time and explored further how to use Corel Draw, producing a teddy bear picture on her own before asking me to read to her when she eventually retired. Amazing to see how quickly she mastered the basic techniques and employed them in a credible design of her own.

A retired priest was celebrating the eight o'clock at Kenilworth St Nicholas Parish Church this morning. He greeted the congregation, and then commiserated with them on the English team's humiliating defeat in yesterday evening's game against Wales. I sat in the front row grinning from ear to ear.

 
It was a Book of Common Prayer 1662 service for a change, and having celebrated this rite myself only recently for the first time in years, it was gratifying to be on the receiving end of it in a middle England mediaeval church blessed with a regular early congregation of forty devout souls.

I overheard someone at lunch in College the other day disparagingly describing the use of the 1662 BCP  liturgy as "A nod in the direction of Protestantism". To my mind, it is classic creation of late renaissance thinking which is equally able to contain the interpretation and devotion of both Catholic and Protestant convictions, despite each having their own misgivings as well as assurances about it. In a middle of the road, middle England parish, it represents a reconciling traditional path. For a while in its history (sadly) its use was enforced, but for the most part it was received and slowly adapted, to become a home base for national prayer together.  Quite an achievement.

Every attempt at subsequent modernisation of liturgy owes something to the BCP. Glad I learned it by heart 25 years ago, but sad that working with so many different liturgical texts with minor and major changes in them ever since, has corrupted my memory for recitation. I stubbornly resist using the book, for cues, preferring to stumble and mumble my way through with interference breaking in from the more modern language versions in my head. I rough handle this cultural treasure but cherish its persistence nevertheless.

Before leaving for home, I breakfasted with Rhiannon, Kath and Anto, and heard about their weekend gigs in Lincolnshire. They were chatted up in a cafe by a pensioner with a long beard in a wheelchair. He'd recognised them as likely to be musicians, and claimed to be a drummer. That ran bells for Chris the band's drummer, who investigated the interloper via his smart phone. It was none other than Robert Wyatt of Soft Machine and Matching Mole fame, who broke his back falling drunk from a balcony in his youth, but continued his life in recorded music and performance with distinction despite this.

I left in a shower of sleet, and by the time I reached Cardiff the weather was much kinder and the sun was peeping through the clouds. I was back in time for lunch, and we managed a walk around the park and a cup of tea in Cafe Castan (aka Caffi Ty Bach, because of its location in the former toilet block on the corner of Llandaff Fields.), before Owain arrived for a catch up session.