Match day aftermath

The Rugy World Cup match between New Zealand and France brought 800 coachloads of visitors into the city on Saturday, to add to those already arrived early for the weekend. Clare couldn't work out why everyone taking public tours at the Castle seemed to have antipodean accents - she wasn't aware of who was playing whom.

The sheer volume of traffic added an extra hour to the journey time of our weekend house guest arriving from the North Midlands. An evening kick-off time of 8.00pm (for the sake of TV audiences world-wide) meant that revelling after the game didn't begin in earnest until after 10.00pm. On this occasion, with both teams playing far from home, there wasn't the usual rush out to the city to the motorways, so the streets were more crowded than usual into the early hours.

One consequence of this was that the streets were still rubbish strewn as I made my way to St John's at 7.45am to start the day's worship. After a normal match day or dissolute Saturday in town, the streets are completely clean before 8.00am. It's one the routine things that gets done well in Cardiff. On this occasion, the difference was quite remarkable.

It wasn't that the street cleaning team were absent. There was evidence that the cleaning machines had already passed through streets around the church at least once, but there was so much litter, their wheels had crushed plastic beakers, glass bottles, and fast food wrappers as they passed, leaving glass and plastic splinters everywhere. We could hear the noise of the cleansing activity throughout the morning services. Those guys really earn their money.

One of the two only rubbish bins within 50 yards of the church entrance had been picked up and tossed over the fence into the churchyard, complete with content. I've been asking for more bins now for four years, and am constantly fobbed off with excuses to do with redevelopment plans. I wonder when 'manãna' will become a word in our local languages.

The stairwell into the church tower entrance was ankle deep in paper, bottles and beakers, the fence spikes decorated with beakers, and paper cups, and entire lengths of railing ornaments had been carefully stuffed with Cornish Party food bags from the shop opposite - dozens of them. Macdonald's, Burger King and the Cornish Pasty shop do a huge trade on match days, and the City clears up most of the rubbish left by consumers, but not all by any means. For a few hours during clean-up time, it's not very safe to walk about.

I would like to see a refundable deposit on every consumer food and drink item traded on days like this. Consumers could then save themselves a little by returning empties to where they could be dealt with tidily - or, if discarded on the streets, the city's drug addicted beggars, many of them out all night looking for money anyway, could collect and return empties and earn themselves the price of a fix. Since there is clearly insufficient political will to provide any serious help to the growing numbers of addicts, and policing efforts are constantly frustrated by the policies of the courts, why not convert the problem into an opportunity to make the city cleaner and tidier?

Over £215 million a year in alcohol sales is taken in the city. How much of this actually benefits or costs the local public purse is anybody's guess, when you think of the extra policing and emergency health care demands, not to mention the burden of unnoticed costs borne by businesses, churches and others present in the public domain, who also bear the impact of all this unbridled licentiousness.

Il Travatore

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Another evening out at the Millennium centre for a Verdi extravaganza, occupying almost front row seats (discounted because you have the extra effort of looking up high to read the surtitles). It's not really my favourite opera, as it's a rather glum melodrama, with a fast paced last act that does little to exploit fully the melodramatic potential of the story. It's most memorable for the famed 'Anvil Chorus', which was taken on this occasion at quite a vigorous Italian pace by Carlo Rizzi and the WNO crew.

Wales' other favoured operatic son, Dennis O'Neill, sang the lead role of troubador flawlessly, with a mighty Italian soprano, Katia Pellegrino, his equal in excellence as the doomed heroine. The set was fashionably drab and minimalist, so it would have been fine just to sit and listen with eyes shut. However, if I'd done that, I would all to easily have slipped into a trance, and maybe ended up snoring - something that wouldn't go down too well sitting just in front of centre stage. So I made the effort and kept my attention on the rather limited action up front.

As a straightforward rendering of storyline in 'historical' context, (fifteenth century Spain) it was adequate but didn't offer a great deal to reflect upon. Transposing the scenario visually to a different context can be stimulating, as WNO has done with a production which sets Verdi's 'Rigoletto' in the world of modern gangsterism.

The bendy bus shuttle from City centre to the Bay worked perfectly for us in both directions. One big niggle, however, is the posh video screens on the bus. When stationary, the display shows views of all the doors and the street by the stop. On the move, sometimes BBC News 24 plays inaudibly, but when the system loses the signal it reverts to a looped promotional video made for the City's centenary in 2005. The new buses have been operational for over a year, and the video pre-dates the introduction of the buses. Far too much of it promotes eating out in Cardiff as if this was the only thing that ever happens. Well, maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea to show pictures of thousands of people staggering about getting drunk, but even a visual tour of the SD2 building site would be a bit more interesting than yesteryear's promotions.

Surely Cardiff can do better than that?

Waldensians under attack

My Pastor friend Valdo has drawn attention on his blog to disturbing anti-religious incidents occurring the other side of the Italo-Swiss border, about a hundred miles south of his Vaudois parish near the Franco-Swiss border.

Prominent church buildings belonging to the historic pre-reformation Waldensian community in the Piedmont, in Northern Italy have lately been daubed with threatening slogans. Before Protestantism became a reforming force in Europe, prophetic communities of bible based radical Christians emerged in the Val d’Aosta, as they did also in the Czech speaking part of Central Europe.

Both were persecuted by the established church of the time. Nevertheless the church of the Valdensians survived in their native land, and elsewhere somewhat better than their Hussite and Anabaptist spiritual cousins, a minority, whose very existence in the fifteen century made them heralds of the spiritual and social upheaval that was to take place in Europe.

In this era of ecumenical reconciliation the shadow of the persecutor falls no longer from Rome but from far-right factions of Italian politics, trying to re-set the political and religious agenda. The current bone of contention is the Italy’s recent abortion law, which extremists seek to repeal. Waldensian acceptance of the need for this law has attracted hostility. Or at least this is the alibi.

The decline of the birth-rate in Italy promises future work-force shortages that will damage the national economy. The drift of people from South to North is leading to de-population problems in remoter southern rural areas. This in turn has lead to a policy of encouraging immigration, from Africa, the Balkans and Eastern Europe, to shore up the workforce and re-populate the villages. Poor migrants may be glad of the invitation to settle in rural areas, but a significant proportion of them end up moving North to the big cities.

As a result, the rate of the ‘cosmopolitanisation’ of Italy has soared in the past decade, and parties of the far right see this as a threat which undermines traditional ways of life. For Waldensians in their mountain border valleys, hospitality, tolerance and justice are treasured values - because of their history of persecution. It’s no wonder they are targeted, scapegoated by those who want to roll back the clock to another era.

Like Muslims and Jews, who are also under attack, Waldensians are ‘different’. There has been deep change in Italian family and social life, which has lead to many people turning their backs on raising large families let alone raising them as Christian. These are challenging times for everyone, not least for those who accept as a Christian vocation the necessity of change, and strive to make it meaningful and worthwhile. As Cardinal Newman said : “To be good means having to change. To be holy means having to change often.”

Meditating on the Majestas

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After a day spent mostly working on administrative aspects of our Spiritual Capital research project, I went up to Llandaff Cathedral in good time to attend the re-dedication service at the end of the diocesan Day of Prayer. I had nearly an hour just to sit quietly, enjoy the arrival of evening, and just look at the building, with its dominant Epstein 'Majestas' statue which has been there at the centre of the building since I was in short trousers.

If I value awe and wonder highly as elements of my spiritual journey, it has to be in some way a result of this immense figure being part of my field of religious imagery since early adolescence. It's as mysterious to me now as it was then. I am drawn to it, and treasure it as part of my faith-experience, and the memories attached to it over half a century. But it doesn't excite sentiments like affection or hatred in me - just wonder.

Who is this man? Such a key question in Gospel narration. Epstein's figure poses this question. It is indeed as majestic a figure as the title 'Majestas' suggests. But what kind of majesty is here portrayed? I still ask myself this, and am still rehearsing answers.

If it's meant to be Christ in majesty - a kind of 20th century pantocrator equivalent - how can anyone be certain of this? The hands and feet are very prominent, very alive, but do not bear the wounds that would identify this as the Crucified One. So it's not meant to be Jesus risen and glorified.

The head is of a man truly awake and alive, looking up and ahead searching in the distance - could you say communing, communing with his creator?

The attitude of the figure's hands is open, but not in welcome, nor raised in priestly prayer. Just sufficiently spread open to suggest acceptance, surrender - 'here I am, I come to do your will'.
It could be the attitude of any man of living faith towards his creator.

Yet, it could still be Jesus, the Christ, in every sense. Regardless of lighting, artificial or natural, there is something numinous about this figure. It could be Jesus at the transfiguration on Mount Thabor, minus Moses and Elijah - well, you're free to imagine them if you like, as did witnesses Peter, James and John.

Or, it could be Jesus at that moment, just before his transfiguration when he asks the disciples: "Whom do men say the Son of the Man is .... and whom do you say?" The answer given by Peter is: "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God."

If this conclusion is correct, then the sculptor's purpose was not to proclaim the faith of the church, but to take the beholder back to the mystery of the Gospel. "Whom do men say the Son of the Man is?" Jesus elliptically refers to himself as 'Son of the Man' in the Gospels, a way of saying 'this man', 'me' - ever reluctant to draw attention to himself as a human being, always pointing beyond himself to the divine Father, to the point of being one with the Father, being the image of the Unseen.

But, that's my conclusion. Epstein's Majestas poses the open question to us, 'Who is this man?', and calls us to make our own response. He was a Jewish agnostic, who wrestled with the text and its question in his own way. His conclusion is not part of the record, but this great image of the Gospel question is a lasting contribution to Christian mission.

I appreciated the energy, sincerity and commitment which went into creating the prayer vigil and dedication service, and the fact that over 150 people turned out on a damp evening to take part in it. However, it couldn't move me or inspire me the way it intended to, once I'd spent the best part of an hour pondering as I have many times before my perception of Epstein's masterpiece.

'Who is this man?' How can I identify with him?

Sunday cheer

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I may get depressed about the overall state of the church, but Sunday worship in our Parish even if it's tiring, usually lifts my spirits. I've got Chris Seaton, a ministerial student from St Michael's College Llandaff on placement with me for two terms. He started today. He's training as a minister in secular employment, supporting himself as an electrical engineer. He had fifteen years in the Merchant Navy, so he comes to ministry, with lots of life experience and a strong layman's faith still intact. It'll be great to have someone around who can see the situation through fresh eyes.

Over refreshments after the main Eucharist, I chatted to a man of retirement age who had attended the service and taken Communion. He turned out to be Orthodox, and had lived in the U.K. for most of his life (without ever losing his Greek accent). Normally, he attended St Nicholas Greek Church, just over the railway line, next to St Mary's Parish Church. But, for a change he'd decided to come to us.

He told me that he'd become acquainted with an older man - probably queuing in the shops in Canton - who was a Muslim. This man had quizzed him about Christianity, which had spurred him to acquire a Gospel text and a few other pamphlets from his church to offer the enquirer, who had been pleased to receive them, to help his exploration along. What did these two men have in common? Both spoke English with a foreign accent, had been born in another country and had settled here earlier in life. And that was sufficient for a little grass-roots interfaith dialogue to begin.

At the Tredegarville School Eucharist in the afternoon, churchwarden Jane made us smile. Since we've been worshipping in the school, Jane has started reading lessons regularly. In times past it had been only occasionally. As is often the case, the problem she has is not with reading as such - she's an avid reader - but reading confidently out loud. It's an acquired skill and needs lots of encouragement.

For the duration of my sick leave, Jane asked if she could have the Sunday readings in advance, both to print out for the others, and to practice. She ended up taking the leaflet into work - she's a baker and confectioner at Sainsburys - to ask advice on awkward pronunciations from one of her workmates, a Minister's wife. This led to her practising the readings in front of her colleagues during the tea-break to everyone's enjoyment. Now they're encouraging her to carry on practising at work. Who would have thought it?

Ah - the ways of the Spirit!

Meribah in Bethlehem

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We had the annual diocesan conference this morning at a large evangelical church conference centre in the countryside north of Bridgend - Bethlehem Church Life Centre. It was a very plain and functional sort of place, like a big warehouse kitted out to support people events, but not terribly inspiring.

The reasons for choosing such a venue when we have some large church schools, not to mention a fine cathedral as possible meeting places is a mystery to me. The only positive reason wouold be relative ease of parking. The conference no longer spans morning and afternoon with a lunch intervening. I guess that saves money. Everything is packed in between 9.30 and 1.30, including the Eucharist.

It's not so much a conference these days, more a series of presentations with little time to reflect or discuss or interact. All three presentations suffered from the inadequate mastery of display technology meant to assist the speaker, rather than embarrass. The quality of the humour in the face of this adversity demonstrated that we didn't really need to be dazzled or irritated by gizmos anyway. Why bother?

It was sad, but inevitable that Barry our Bishop should want to apologise for being away on Anglican Communion business so much in this time of threatened schism, as a trusted broker on behalf of Archbishop Rowan. I was so glad to hear him praise the much maligned American church for its relief efforts in New Orleans. Their justice agenda is far broader than mere matters relating to sexuality. For a host of different reasons, everyone seems fed up about this seemingly intractable state of affairs. And it is having an impact on our life as a diocese, when so much change needs working on at a leadership level here at home. The diocese pays the price for Barry's external diplomatic role in every sense. It's wholly understandable that he should be asking the Province to re-consider the appointment of an Archbishop who is not also a diocesan Bishop, as happens in other parts of the Communion. We need to ask what this solution will do to deepen 'bonds of affection' between Wales and other Anglican Provinces that cannot be achieved by other means. The ratio of prelates per head of faithful members keeps increasing, as the church continues to shrink.

The annual report of the diocesan standing committee attracted just three formal questions. I'm afraid I lost my concentration until I was forced to sit up and take notice when Bob Capper, an outspoken evangelical critic of some current church leadership and policies, stood up and asked why the dissolution of the Rectorial Benefice of Central Cardiff had not been reported as discussed by the standing committee. He'd approached me beforehand and asked if I'd noticed. I said no, I didn't really care.

It turned out that for the sake of economising on paper, the standing committee published report was less than full, economising in its reportage. Bob was not quick enough to ask a supplementary question about editorial criteria used for assembling the report. I noticed that the closure of St James' was also not reported - a potentially major community development project failing for lack of support from church or city. Well, the morning's presentations highlighted inspiring community development successes. Nobody cares to take note of failures which could teach us how to avoid squandering time and energy on things that have no chance of success.

It was a cheerless airless artificially lit gathering. The sense of depression that haunted our clergy chapter meeting on Wednesday afternoon seemed also to lurk in this massive assembly of over two hundred people, clergy obliged to be there outnumbering lay representatives by two to one. Was it just me? Or was it to do with the design of the event leaving so little room for interaction and discussion that it seemed to be designed with only passive acceptance in mind? Have we got to the stage of fearing that free discussion will overturn the boat? Are we giving sufficient time to really examining, all together the way we operate? Or are we sliding fast into a culture of producers of consumers of religion?

There was a time when having a conference Eucharist in the place where all the business was done, the decisions were taken etc, seemed to have a certain incarnational relevance and quality to it. When we came to the Eucharist this morning I wished we could have moved somewhere with fresh air and beauty to commend it, that maybe might lift my spirits. It was nice to sing Taize music, together in worship, but even the ugly barn of a church in Taize is embellished by prayer and decoration in a way that mark it out as sacred space. The Bethlehem people warehouse left all to be desired, to my mind.

At least for sports addicts, it was over in time to get home and watch the Rugby international match. Pity Wales lost. That will depress morale even more. Let's hope that the diocesan prayer vigil in the Cathedral from Sunday evening to Monday evening will prove to be an antidote, a ray of divine light in present gathering gloom.

A journey without shortcuts

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Ever since I heard Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks preach at the opening of the new Cardiff synagogue two years ago, I have been a fan of his. While I have yet to make sufficient time to read any of his books, I take great pleasure in hearing him on 'Thought for the Day'.

His reflection on Jewish New Year last week was notable enough to include in the Spiritual Capital Blog. This Wednesday, he spoke about Sukkot, the celebration in which Jewish families erect improvised shelters and live outdoors for a week, in remembrance of the forty years spent wandering in the wilderness after the exodus from Egypt. Not such a penance to perform in Israel/Palestine at this time of year, maybe, but somewhat more challenging if it rains a lot and the seasonal average temperatures are starting to drop, as it does here. In these circumstances it is more of an expression of solidarity with the homeless and disposessed. He reflects :-

"It's easy to celebrate sudden deliverance, the dates every nation has inscribed in its database of memory; the day the war was won, or the walls came down, or the tyrant was deposed. It's much rarer to remember the long journey with all its disappointments and defeats, setbacks and wrong turnings, the story not of miracles but of human endurance and the courage to keep going even when the promised land is not in sight. Freedom is a journey across the wilderness with no shortcuts. And that unspectacular story of human spirit is what Sukkot represents."

He goes on to think about the Burmese people's current revolt against military dictatorship, and how many years some Burmese have continued to resist oppression, with inadequate recognition or support from the international community. '....a journey across the wilderness with no shortcuts' he says - the struggle of the human spirit to attain justice and freedom. It goes on all over the place, in social and political movements, also in human hearts striving to know what is worth valuing and living for, and summoning the will to strive for its attainment.

It think of the tragic figures of drug addicted beggars I see around the streets - a reproach to our consumer society, also an embarrasment, as nobody knows what to do with them or how to help them in a way that makes a clear difference. Or, if anyone knows a solution, it fails to become an effective priority in public life. How we deal with citizens at the bottom of the heap, who have fallen out of society, trapped in destructive ways of life abusing themselves and others through their criminal acts is an indicator of the kind of society we are. As it is, the police and the courts fail to deal constructivey with them, the social services are limited to performing a holding operation because their powers are limited by the policies of the judiciary, but shaped by national politics and economics. The sufferers are truly in the wilderness, and so too are those who see the need and are unable to help.

To set our culture and society free from drug and alcohol dependency is a long hard journey we've hardly begun. For a lucky few there may be an exodus, and new beginning, but many more are stuck, and the complexity of their personal problems is such that they are likely to remain stuck. And I too feel stuck because I cannot see any useful contribution I can make to opening up the path to freedom.

A very varied Saturday

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St John's Heritage Open day yesterday took place two weeks later than other locally advertised open days, largely due to our need to combine this with the annual Friends festival. Unfortunately we miss out on publicity. Heritage Open Day Organisers suggest using any one of three Saturdays in September, but put all their energies into promoting the first Saturday only. They seem to have a thing or two to learn about sustaining their own initiatives. Nevertheless, we had a steady stream of visitors during the day, to look around and climb the tower, with several church members on hand to answer questions. Philip, our organist, welcomed a dozen members of the Herefordshire organists association for a talk, demonstration and tryout of the 'Willis'.

The city centre was pretty crowded, partly due to the influx of Indian visitors from all over Britain, gathering to celebrate the Cardiff Swaminarayan Hindu Temple's silver jubilee of foundation. The community organised a festal procession from City Hall to the Temple in Grangetown, and there were over two thousand people of all ages walking through the streets accompanying a 'chariot of the gods', a mobile throne for the retinue of their head swami, visiting from India, plus several vehicles for groups of musicians singing bhajans.

I've never seen so many sari-clad women (young and old) in my life - mostly in blue or turquiose - beautiful looking people, full of joy and dignity. Different Temple communities produced large teams of young men or women dancing a simple step and accompanying themselves with percussion. Several Hindus who are prominent police officers were in evidence, and a police silver band headed up with procession, along with horses and motorcycle outriders. What was most impresssive was the complete absence of alcohol consumption - bottled water only provided - and yet the event was very exuberant. It was equally fascinating to observe to reactions of shoppers to this street stopping celebration, varying from bewilderment to fascination to annoyance at the interruption of progress by the procession. A moment to savour.

We had to leave the Friends AGM early, as we had tickets for the opera, which started early. We managed to install ourselves in our seats with just five minutes in hand before the first performance of James McMullen's 'The Sacrifice'. It was a powerful thought provoking experience, both musically and theatrically. I hope it gets the critical praise it deserves. We learned from the programme notes that the author is a Catholic. At the first interval, I realised on the way out to the bar that Archbishop Peter Smith, an occasional visitor to St John's in his capacity as a Prelate of the Order of St John, was sitting close by in the same row..He said it was his first opera visit in many years.. I wondered if he had found it as thought provoking as I did, but I didn't get the chance to ask him at the end, as he left before we did. It will certainly keep me going for a while.

Often I come away from an opera with lots to think about, as a result of something in the story-line or the way the text has been interpreted or presented. Would that the same could be said of church services I've attended.

Back in the swing

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I'm feeling thankful that the road to recovery after surgery has been undramatic, steady daily improvement. The single stitch was removed by the the GP's cheery practice Nurse on Monday, and I was able to resume celebrating the Eucharist on Wednesday with no discomfort or fatigue.
Yesterday, I had both a Eucharist and a Wedding to celebrate, one after the other, followed by a long four hour wedding banquet, all of which didn't leave me feeling wrecked. Today the doc gave his approval to my continuing to 'take it easy' and continue at work officially. Archdeacon Bill popped in to see me at home after the Eucharist, to complete with me the appropriate 'return to work' form required by the new employment regulations. I felt sorry for him having to frame his obvious pastoral interest with paperwork.

I was out for a walk when a concerned call came from the Representative Body about St James' - apparently rough sleepers have installed themselves - a recipe for disaster given the shortage of uncontrolled places for the cities' feral druggies and alkies to shelter since the city centre car parks have been demolished. I just hope they are able to get on top of the problem quickly, before it is burned down or rendered un-saleable. I confess I am relieved that the building is no longer the responsiblity of myself or the Parish Wardens, though I can't help being troubled by this turn of events.

A noteworthy festivity

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This afternoon we took baby Jasmine to Penarth, to enjoy the sunshine, and a walk on the pier for an hour. On the journey home we ran into road closures due to the end of the rugby international at the Millennium Stadium, requiring a diversion of our route home via Grangetown.

For the first time I caught a glimpse from Clare Road of the newly erected domes of the Swaminarayan Hindu Mandir in Merches Gardens, so we drove around to take a look.

The street was a hive a activity, as young men festooned the street in front of the building with coloured bunting, suspended from the facade of the building to create a festal canopy. It all looked so magnificent in the early evening light, and so I heaved myself out of the car, camera at the ready and took several shots of the building and the activity around it.

I was greeted by Sanjay, a young man responsible for public relations, and he was keen to tell me all about the week of celebrations about to start, with the arrival of the head Swami of the Swaminarayan 'sect' (as they call it themselves) from India, to preside over celebrations which will include worship, social activities, and a big public procession through the streets from City Hall to Merches Gardens next Saturday.

There has been a Hindu community with its own place of worship in Cardiff now for thirty years, and this is the silver jubilee of its formal existence. They are well established and contribute significantly, as do Muslim and Christian Indians, to the life of the city. Would that this were better recognised. I hope they get a good representation of guests to appreciate their welcome. They deserve it. There are several thousand Hindus in South Wales, of all ages, for whom this next week will be an important one. I'm so glad for them that the weather is set to be something of an Indian Summer.

Archbishop Rowan on 'defence of faith'

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The Archbishop of Canterbury has been forthright in his advocacy of the traditional role of the Monarch in relation to the establishment of the Church of England, through an interview for the Daily Telegraph, summarised by the BBC News website, reminding the world that the future King, as Head of State inherits the historic role of Defender of the (Christian) Faith, as Head of the Church of England.

This doesn't preclude the Monarch acting as defender of Faith(s), for the head of State is the one in whose name all laws are made, promulgated and enforced. The law of the land is already clear in defending peoples' freedom to believe what they will, to openly discuss and practice matters of faith, outlawing discrimination and persecution on religious grounds, outlawing incitement to hatred, effectively obliging law-abiding citizens to be at least tolerant in behaviour, whatever they think. The Monarch's secular role thus obliges defence of people's freedom to practice a life of faith of any and every kind, provided that practice does no harm to others. Is that as far as the Monarch can or should go?

Rowan Williams has stated a clear position, and it won't be long before the polished advocates of secular atheism rise indignantly, crying out against State privilege accorded to the minority of citizens (in their opinons, according to their statistics) who adhere to a religious faith.

Even among religious people there are many who favour Church disestablishment, including the Archbishop (unless he has changed his mind of late). But whatever his personal opinion he is, by virtue of his office, the guardian of our socio-political heritange, and reminding us, as a good pastor should, that none of this can just be swept away when it no longer appears to enjoy much public support, without inflicting serious damage on the nation.

The high principles of the law of the land always need implementing. This leaves lots of room for activities ranging from excessive zeal, to virtual neglect. If the Monarch wishes to encourage 'defence of faith', what better benchmark could there be for this than considerate compromise, tolerance, moderation and respect, characteristic of the CofE at its best.

Evidently, these values can never be taken for granted in society, nor can they be enforced. But they can be upheld, and their adoption can be persuaded and encouraged by a Monarch who is both head of Church and State, as the Queen has demonstrated so well throughout her long right. If this tradition ceased to be followed, it would be necessary to think long and hard before any action to replace the status quo. Secular republican models, whether French or American, despite their high ideals, leave much to be desired.

Home again, recuperating

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Two days in hospital, two days staying with old friends in Beaconsfield, now finally home again to a not very large pile of mail, thankfully, and zero messages (the answering marchine was left switched off), allowing a little breathing space, and time to adjust. I'm grateful to have come through my modest surgical intervention without huge pain and discomfort, and I notice improvements in my mobility during each day. People have told me not to overdo it - heavens, even the Bishop has hold me not to overdo it! I understand why. Most of the impact of surgery is internal, and not always immediately felt. Overdoing activity can result in inflammation causing discomfort. Standing for too long causes the wounded area to heat up. Ignore, and it becomes stiff and painful. It pays to listen to the body, and accept and enjoy passivity, well, physical passivity. Can't stop the thoughts moving, and fortunately writing places no stress on my operated area. So this enforced time off is hardly a penance, atthough not being able to ride the bike for a month is real withdrawal of pleasure.

Nine eleven remembered

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Well, I expected to be away from a computer for the inside of a week, as this is down time for me,in St Luke's Hospital for the Clergy in London, for a hernia repair. St Luke's has been totally overhauled, however, and each bed has its own thin client system, delivering radio TV and Internet services. The touchscreen virtual keyboard is not wonderful, but adequate to email the kids, and surf for news.

TV, since my admission on Sunday evening, has had a rash of programmes on 9/11, including Michael Moore's polemic documentary Fahrenheit 9/11, last night. It's been good to have something to occupy my mind, useful for dealing with the pain, and staying relaxed in the empty hours, except for the annoyance when web mail keels over and refuses to send, and loses the message! Still, it's a unique opportunity to practice patience as well as be a patient.

I remember well where I was on 11th September 2001, when I first saw/heard the news of the first plane collision with the W.T.C. We were living in Monaco, and it was a hot clear sunny afternoon, with not much to do. I switched on shortly after the first collision had been reported, and sensed this was going to be a world shaking event, and not just a tragic accident. I remembered the earlier failed attack on the W.T.C, and even then thought - this is the shape of things to come.

I kept vigil in font of the screen for a couple of hours, and then stated to work out what to do. That week, the church was kept pen for prayer, and I stayed round it for counselling opportunities. Few people came, a couple of dozen during the week. We held a special service, which was not hugely well attended, despite the number of Americans in the Principality. Once it was clear what had happened, people worried a lot more than they prayed.

Having time to reflect, and catch up on my memories of the event during my enforced idleness here - to hear stories I missed at the time - has been valuable. I just can't help wondering what the past six years of history might have brought us, if others than the Bush mafia had held the reins of power. So many hundreds of thousands of innocent deaths at American hands might not have occurred, with a wiser, less corrupt leadership holding the world together.

Images from the past

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Fifteen months after purchase, I finally got around to unpacking and installing a scanner that scans slides and photo negatives a couple of days ago. I bought it not long after Rachel's wedding, meaning to start the task of producing a digital archive of family photographs, but never felt well enough to get to grips with the project. We have thousands of hardcopy images from the sixties to the end 2000. I bought my first digital camera in 2001.

In one of the containers where I keep my travel photos, I found some loose negatives and slides that were dirty and scratched, dating back to the early seventies. There were pictures of Clare and I with Katherine and Rachel, both under three, that someone with us had taken and passed on to us. We couldn't afford much photography in those days. Two pictures in particular we could date back to the summer of 1968. That famous 'Summer of Love' we spent, a second year running, back-packing in Crete.

The first year we met an olive farmer, Yanni Moutakis, who befriended us gave us hospitality. The photos were of him, smiling and giving a thumbs-up, and of us with him and his mother and the wife of our companion on the second occasion, Sylvia. Her husband Laurie, a fellow student took the photo slides, and thanks to the scanner they came back to life again on my computer screen some thirty nine years later.

The first year, we stayed a week, the second time a fortnight on his farm. I was bearded, but not yet long haired, nor attired as a hippie, though we knew all the Beatles songs - let's face it, we were both pretty 'straight'. I was studying Greek, being at St Michael's Theological College Llandaff, and taking an interest in Orthodoxy. Clare was much more confident than I was about communicating, using the only Greek phrasebook available to travellers in those days. That was fine for Yanni. Despite language limitations he knew who we were as a young married couple. I was the 'theologos apo Galles', so we were welcome guests at Betrothal and Baptism celebrations in mountain villages, and attended the usual Sunday Liturgy in the local parish church, not to mention the Feasts of the Transfiguration (our wedding anniversary) and the Dormition of the Virgin Mary, both occasions of local village 'festas'.

Every social gathering was a family event, accompanied by wild Cretan music and dancing, in which we endeavoured to join - Clare excelling herself in an emulation of the Highland Fling to a hot Cretan dance called the Sousta, meriting the smashing of many plates beneath her feet. We were the only foreign visitors, and their hearts opened to us. In that Year of the Colonels' time of dictatorship, friends from outside meant something to the older people who'd fought for their freedom. There was freshly killed and roasted lamb, cucumber and feta cheese and much, in retrospect, horrid pink local wine to wash it down with. Not a bottle of lager in sight, and the water was cool pure, straight from mountainside wells.

Yanni took us out and about to visit Moni Arkadi, now a famous tourist site, then a simple monastery with a story to tell about resistance to the Nazi occupation, 25 years earlier. We met monks who had helped the partisans, if not actually been partisans, and we learned to drink Raki, and survive. On one occasion he took us to a photographer, and we were invited to robe in Cretan national costume for a formal photo. That black and white image still sits on the window shelf in the lounge, as it has done wherever we've gone in the years since it was taken. Most who don't know its story don't recognise us, posing therein as warrior and maiden.

When we returned to Crete after a 25 year absence, we went looking for Yanni. We found that the tiny hamlet of Platanos outside Rethymnon on the north central coast of the island was now a small town, with a substantial holiday complex attached to it - Village Moutakis. We asked around and found that Nicos, Yanni's brother ran a hotel with a bar near what had been the bus stop in the village where Yanni had first greeted us in his inimitable broken English: "Goodbye, you must be Eeenglish, come stay with me."

Here we learned that Yanni had died young in the early eighties, having worked with the family to take the village from peasant subsistence farming to a sound place in the island's international tourism economy. He took us to see Yanni's tomb, also to see the farmhouse where Laurie had snapped Mama, Yanni, Sylvia, Clare and I, with a huge green mound of freshly picked bamias (okra) taking pride of place in the foreground.

Sadly, with the onset of children and decades of economy camping holidays, our hoped for return was over-long delayed. We lost touch, as Yanni didn't have enough English to reply to our letters, and must have been busy anyway, developing his land and his community, to have time to think of us, although he did once send us a large can of olives as a present, and a much treasured reel tape of Cretan music, which made it to cassette and then to CD. For years it was the only 'foreign' music we played, reminding us of adventures which opened us to Europe and initiated us into the way meetings and hospitality influenced the way we live, right down to today. Our lives owe so much gratitude to that big hearted man who befriended us. It's hard to believe that it's already forty years ago last month since we first met.

Inspirational leadership

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BBC Radio Four's programme 'The Choice' this morning interviewed Laurence Anthony, the South African Game Reserve director who took himself to Baghdad in the wake of the US invasion force in a quest to do what he could to rescue and animals in the zoo. He recalled the loss of the entire zoo population in Kuwait when it was invaded, as also happened in Berlin when it fell in 1945, and Dresden (presumably in the dreadful firestorm, a few months earlier). No provision for animal welfare was included in the Iraq invasion plan, needless to say. Of 650 animals in the Baghdad zoo, some three dozen of the larger animals had survived barely a week without food and water, imprisoned by their cages. The zoo also suffered from stray bombs. The condition of the creatures was so pitiful that he was ready to shoot them and put them out of their misery. However, the chief animal keeper turned up and wept with gratitude that someone had come with money and veterinary first aid resources in the nick of time. Some else cared. That was enough.

Together with a handful of assistant keepers, they worked to save the remaining animals, and were completely successful. Within weeks they had set about rebuilding damaged enclosures with US military help. Volunteers started to appear, including off-duty US soldiers, fighting by day, shovelling manure by night, alongside them Republican Guard deserters, and ordinary citizens. The US military governor fortunately understood the value of rebuilding the zoo and keeping it open as an amenity for all to appreciate and benefit from, so at least in one corner of that strife torn city, a peace project was born, around caring for animals.

It's a striking story of determination and courageous leadership by one man prepared to risk himself for the stricken animals in a situation where nobody else had really considered they were anything other than expendable 'collateral damage' caused by war - like so many poor people who also end up at the wrong place at the wrong time. The interviewer pushed him on the question of justifying his action when there was also so much human suffering crying out for attention in the same conditions. He had no answer, apart from saying quite unsentimentally: "I just did what I felt I had to do."

As a game park warden his entire existence revolves around wild animal husbandry. He even admitted to hating zoos, yet he gave everything he could to rescue a zoo from destruction, for the sake of the animals there. As he spoke, I couldn't help thinking how wars, for whatever purpose they are fought, have no regard for life of any kind. The destruction they cause shows how the fates of humans, animals and the environment sustaining us all are all inextricably linked with each other.

As soon as fighting paused in Southern Iraq, Marsh Arab community members returned to areas drained of water by Saddam's ecocidal policy directed at this group of political opponents, and breached the dykes allowing water to return to where it had been the source of life and economy for an entire culture for several millennia. Much had been destroyed but in a few areas marshland is recovering and its bio-diversity slowly returning. How much the healing of the wounds of war relies upon the vision and brave leadership of a few, who are willing to set the tone for renewal even before the guns have been silenced.

Installing Cardiff's bell

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In a special extra service this morning for members of the United Services Mess, Commander Mike Beardall the last captain of HMS Cardiff formally handed over the Ship's Bell to St John's for safekeeping. It was a splendid occasion, graced by the presence of crew members from HMS Cambria in uniform, former Cardiff crew and mess members, wearing their medals or in uniform. There were over ninety people present with the choir. The sun shone, and everyone enjoyed themselves. At the 9h30 Eucharist we had the largest congregation (just over fifty adults and children altogether) we've had over the summer months - and all this despite road closures all around the city centre which made it especially difficult for people to find their several ways into church.

The road closures on this occasion were occasioned by more modificatory work on the junction in front of the Castle. Some closure notices were erected a week in advance on main routes into the city, but these were not a model of clarity. If there was other publicity in the press, it didn't stop many people from being caught out by the road closures, including me. In the morning I went in by bike and simply didn't notice which roads were shut off, because that didn't affect my route into the city centre. For the evening service, since it started to rain as a made ready to leave, and I was pretty tired having already done four services earlier, I decided to take the car. The road closures were still in force, and the five minute journey took me twenty minutes. Just as well I left as early as I did, or I'd have been the last one in, of a congregation of a dozen.

Remembering Diana and Teresa

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I was annoyed to see a publicity banner for the 'Echo' midweek, denouncing the lack of a tenth anniversary memorial service for Diana, Princess of Wales. Annoyed because I knew for certain, for the past week or longer, that the Cathedral would be having a special commemorative Evensong on this day, with a special choir and music for the occasion (since the regular choir was on holiday still). Pauline, our chief tea room activist was a member of this choir and having to juggle end of Friday tea room chores with getting her ninety year old mother's supper, with the six o'clock start time. Pauline has an impressively full schedule most of the time. She told me that the Lord Lieutenant had initiated the organisation of the service, and had invited the Mayor and other civic dignatories.

My conscience prodded by this knowledge, plus an enquiry from a passer-by about whether we had a service for Lady Di, a few days earlier (evidently mis-informed by the 'Echo'), so I made the Friday lunchtime Eucharist a Requiem for both Diana and Mother Teresa, whose tenth anniversary of death fell within the same week. Different though these two modern women were in every way, both were champions of poor and suffering suffering people, and both made the most of the opportunities that came their ways, to challenge others and set an example to the world. No better reason to give thanks for both their lives.

There were sixteen at the Eucharist rather than the general average of ten or twelve, and that was with no extra advertisment. It's good to think that people can just turn up and find in a routine worship event something that relates to their need to pray at that moment. Being there for people, attuned to life around us, and offering it up to God is both a responsibility and an immense privilege. I guess the Cathedral would say the same. But not even the Diocesan Press officer was informed that a commemorative service was being held there, so someone somewhere messed up from the Public Relations viewpoint, and the newspapers got a cheap jab at the church which could so easily have been avoided.

On being left out of the debate

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After the lunchtime Eucharist today, Ian my city centre mission co-worker handed me for perusal a copy of the Council's draft policy document on licensing premises for entertainment and alcohol consumption in the city. It's published for a two month consultation period before being adopted. It's a good and reasonable document, significant in that it's now proposed to cap the number of licenses to be issued for premises in St Mary Street - the epicentre of the capital's party culture playground. It's clear there is a strong intention to contain by legislation the problems public debauchery causes for the reputation and running of the city, and the welfare of its citizens. Although the welfare of its citizens frequently seems to come second in order of priorities.

What's significant about the document is that the list of fourteen 'consultation partners' does not include any religious organisation, nor any organisation concerned with the social and medical consequences of alcohol abuse. Admittedly, if you ask teetotal evangelicals or Muslims, you are going to get a pretty negative critique of the whole scenario, in which economic prosperity whether localy or nationally, seems dependent upon alcohol sales revenue (and its taxation), regardless of the damage this may inflict.

Even so, teetotallers for whatever reason, are also tax payers and citizens whose quality of life is impaired by the feeling that the city's streets aren't freely and safely accessible during weekend evenings, because of appalling behaviour, no matter how well policed (and it is well policed), of foul mouthed, lewdly dressed people acting in chaotic and unstable ways, to their own merriment if nobody else's, and to the detriment of the public realm. Yes, it's easy to forget and omit form the consultation process severe critics of the status quo, but this denies the possibility that there might be constructive innovative ideas out there among those who are unhappy with the way things are, which everyone can benefit from.

The way it is, religious organisations if informed, can read the policy document and submit responses to the policy makers right up until October 1st, if they know about it, if they can be bothered, if they aren't already convinced that they have both a right and a duty to make their voices heard. Really, the Council should see it as their moral if not legal duty to canvass all shades of opinion, however difficult. But they don't. And far too many religious communities seem to be so self-preoccupied, that they are equally responsible for allowing this 'democratic deficit' to increase.

I hope our Spiritual Capital research project can make some sort of difference in this area.

Caught on camera

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St Bartholemew's Day began, not only with sunshine, but the discovery of a bundle of fresh green beans on the doorstep, from a dear friend who's a genius with gardens. I went into church early to help out in the Tea Room, because several of the Friday team were going to be missing. However, several others had stepped into the gap, so I was able to get on with preparing the Sunday bulletin and a sermon. After Mass I popped up for a cup of tea to be greeted with quiet excitement by two of our volunteers. "He's here", they said. I knew whom they meant - a certain visitor who has been in and out of the building on several occasions uniquely within minutes either side of a handbag theft. I turned around and recognised him, as he had spoken to me several times - once to complain angrily when someone else recognised him as our suspect, and told him to shove off. He saw me looking, and got up and came over and started complaining loudly (the tea room was full) about the way he was being treated. The two women behind me were saying: "It's no good, we know who you are and what you're up to." One time had followed her surreptitiously into the Tea Room when it was empty, but then she'd immediately left, locking behind her, unaware that he'd locked him in. He'd made a big fuss about that, and she was shocked to realise that he could have attacked her in an empty room. (We've improved security quite a bit since then.) As they talked,he got angrier, so I asked him quietly to leave a couple of times, and eventually he went off down the stairs, cursing his ill-luck.

At this moment, I realised I had my trusty camera in my top pocket, fished it out and followed him. None of the CCTV images we had of him around at the time of thefts were high quality, so I thought I'd help myself. He tried to shut an inner door to stop me following him outside, but nevertheless I pursued him into the street calling out "Come on then, let's have a picture so that we can eliminate you from our enquiries, if you say you're innocent." As we left the gate, one of our female regulars saw me and crossed the street to accost me in hot pursuit, with my quarry turning round and hurling abuse at me. The another man appeared - it was of one of the fishmongers from Ashtons in the market, on his breaktime. He thought I was pursuing this guy because the female regular, who'd come from another direction, had had her handbag pinched (unusually, she never carries a bag of any kind, and so stands out in a crowd of women), and there would have been a fight if I hadn't been able to de-fuse the situation. Nevertheless, I got a perfect photo, and according to our crime prevention officer, the subject is for certain the man we thought he was. A drug addict, a skilled thief, well known to the police.

Now he knows we know him and have his picture, maybe he'll be just a little deterred from trying to sneak in and take some other vulnernable person by surprise, with his charming smile and relaxed attitude. As I returned to church, a guy who was begging by the gate (another of our regulars, also a druggie, though curiously he reads novels while there is a gap in pedestrian traffic), asked me what was going on. When I told him he said. "Oh him, yes, know him from prison. Always a loudmouth he is when there's trouble around." So he's been to gaol for theft and drugs - we learned it on the street, even before the police informed us.

Today, he made a couple of mistakes - though not enough to get caught red handed. Firstly, he came in just four weeks to the day after his last visit, and so was much easier to remember by workers on duty. Secondly, he made the first move denying that he was up to no good when all anyone had done was glance at him. Possibly, he was all tensed up because street drugs are currently in short supply, due to a spate of dealer arrests. Thus they are more expensive, and that means more risk required to steal enough cash to buy drugs with. What a life to lead. And so much misery caused to others as a result.

When I got home, I emailed the photo to the lady who rang me after seeing the 'Echo' article, a worshipper at St John's Canton where there has been a series of identical thefts by a man of his description, good at blending in and making himself inconspicuous, then striking when people are relaxed. If we can prevent further thefts, deter him from thinking we're such an easy target, all well and good.

In quieter moments, when I stop laughing to myself at my boldness in pulling out the camera and seeing him off, I think - what if he'd pulled a knife or a gun? What if he comes back for vengeance? It's also possible I guess that some legalist worm will crawl out and accuse me of some sophisticated crime against 'human rights', privacy violation, or aggression with a camera. Nothing is straightforward any longer. The police always advise: "Don't do anything, just call us." Well, that way, too many minor criminals get away with things, cause a lot of suffering, and huge expense to others. There's no such thing as life without risk. Becoming indifferent to lawlessness of a relatively minor kind, opens the way chaos and anarchy, and more suffering.

Having said that, even more than wanting to see this guy caught and punished, I would much rather see him confronted with a much more positive alternative - therapy, rehabilitation and worthwhile work that will turn him away from stealing in support of his addiction. It's just terrible to realise how limited are the resources to achieve this. And as we fail on the cure, we also fail in prevention - another bumper heroin crop will be harvested from the flowers that are farmed under the noses of our troops fighting the Taleban in Afghanistan this summer.

Farewell Wally

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Wally Burns was given a great send-off at St Michael's church this afternoon. There were over 150 people present - family and friends, Cathays neighbours, church members, former Cardiff Bus Company colleagues, and Burma Star Association members, who formed a guard of honour with the Association's flag. All the circles of community life that were part of his life paying him tribute. The service concluded with the Kohima epitaph, Last Post and Reveille, played on a bugle. It was the kind of occasion he would have approved of for others, and in a way it was strange that he was not there to oversee the event, to make sure in his warm and easy going way, that all was being done decently and in order. I was happy just to sit at the back, there being no reason for me to take part in its conduct, with Burma Star Branch Chaplain, Bill Barlow on parade with Caroline Downs, Wally's Vicar, and fellow West Midlander - she used to tease him in her broadest Black Country accent (although she's from Coventry), and he loved it. Who will take over at caretaker of St Michael's? Who will take on the secretariat of the Burma Star Branch? Everyone is wondering. It's not longer quite to easy to find good people who will take on such tasks and give so much to them. May he rest in peace.

Missionary hospitality

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Archbishop Barry came into the Parish on Sunday night to visit to 'Pub-Church', the new evangelistic outreach venture run by Church Army Sister Wendy Sanderson and a young probationary Baptist pastor James Karran in an upstairs room of one or other pub venues in Castle Street - either Dempseys or Clwb Ifor Bach, depending on which week of the month itis. Barry faced an audience of several dozen young adults in discussion for several hours. The local media was full of it - a page article in the Western Mail yesterday, BBC weekend web pages, plus a Radio interview this morning. I hope it went well for him, talking to the subject : 'Is religion bad?'

Wendy and her co-worker Roberta were doing tea room duty at St John's this morning, so I had a chance to ask her how it went. Wendy commented that the audience was a little bigger than usual, keen and willing to listen to a real live Archbishop, and on the whole, respectful. Apparently, when it was time for him to leave, many people wanted the chance to speak to him personally, and it took him ages to get away. I imagine how tired he may have been, past ten on a Sunday night when I wouldn't mind betting this was his third public engagement of the day.

Shortly after they began the venture back in April this year, Wendy and James invited me in to share in an open discussion on the theme of the relevance or irrelevance of the church to life today. I found that people listened and discussed politely. I'd been ready for more robust debate, and found it a bit more churchy than I'd expected. It turned out that rather few were non-Christians. Most participants were young adults from suburban churches, so although there were more young adults there than I'm used to seeing in the normal course of a Sunday, it felt a bit like preaching to the choir.

I was pleased there was plenty of publicity for a relatively small event. It's needed, not only to attract new clientèle, but also Wendy's work is under scrutiny by the Church Army, which is expecting her to move towards self-funding, and wanting there to be more to show for what they invest in her. She raises a work team that spends a day a week earning funds for her project in the Tea Room, as part of the effort she makes towards paying her way. It'd be great if Barry came and joined a Tea Room team for a day, as a show of support - as good as a diocesan cash injection in a way. I'm sure Wendy and Roberta would make room for him, as a washer-upper. However, if he came on Friday or Wednesday when the older church stalwarts are on duty, he'd never get near the sink. They wouldn't allow him, any more than they'll let me - unless they're desperately short of help. They just prefer their clergy to chat up customers, something I'm always pleased to do.

The fact is, a great deal of primary evangelistic work is mundane, unspectacular, hidden learning, building trust, earning the right to be taken seriously in a context where Gospel values and church culture have become strangers to peoples' lives. Wendy will have done five years in post this autumn, having arrived around the same time as me. In another five years there may be something noticeable to show for her fieldwork. That's how long it takes. To her credit, she hasn't retired after three years to write up her anecdotes into a PhD, and become an instant mission expert. She's still there, at the grass-roots frontier. No better place to be.

HMS Cardiff's bell welcomed home

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A few weeks ago, I was contacted by Elizabeth Anderson-Reed, receptionist at City Hall, who also happens to be one of Llandaff Cathedral's Church Wardens. The ship's bell of HMS Cardiff had turned up following de-commissioning at City Hall. Nobody was sure what to do with it and where to install it for safe keeping. Elizabeth was asked if the Cathedral might take it. "But the Cathedral already has the bell of HMS Llandaff." she said; "So why not ask St John's, the Parish Church of Cardiff, if they'd like to have it." "OK" said the keeper of City Hall's historical artifacts. Hence the phone call. An offer impossible to refuse, especially as St John's is a place many veterans' organisations regard as special to them. We have a couple of dozen voluntary organisation flags laid up in the north aisle. The bell of a ship bearning the City's name, laid up in this war memorial chapel would be an added distinction, and honour.

So, last Friday, I collected the bell from City Hall, and this morning it was installed by a team of no fewer than three council workmen, up above the door in the north aisle, just below one of the ranks of flags. One man to drill the holes, one to manage the tools and one to hold the ladder. Twenty minutes, no hassles, all done safely with huge six inch long screws and plugs, enough to take the bell and mounting, weighing around twenty pounds. I went straight over to the Market after the men had left, to buy a locking cable, such as you'd use to secure your bike, to wind around the neck of the bell and attach to its mounting, in case any thief had mean ambitions.

The Sunday after next Cardiff's United Services Mess will hold its annual service at St John's, a perfect occasion on which to conduct the formalities of a bell handover. The Mess chairman Tony Lewis (RN retired) was delighted with the news and has organised for Cardiff's last ship's captain, Mike Beardall, to make the hand-over in person. Members of HMS Cardiff Association and HMS Cambria are also invited to swell the numbers on this special occasion.

Inscribed on the exterior of the bell is HMS Cardiff, 1979 (when she was commissioned). Around the interior of the rim are inscribed the names of children baptized on board ship. Naval custom is for the ship's bell to be used, upturned and filled with water, as a baptismal font. We can only be proud to have custody of such an unusual sacred object. It's so much more meaningful than putting it in a museum.

Sans frontières

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Médecins and Reporters sans frontières are organisations with high public profiles - the former because of their presence in just about every natural disaster or war zone in the past quarter century, and the latter more recently evident during the kidnap of Alan Johnston in Gaza. Today's BBC News Technology page introduces another - Telecoms sans frontières - which organises international groups of volunteers who go into disaster areas at an early stage to work at providing emergency communications, then restoring as far as possible sufficient electronic infrastructure to make it possible for a stricken zone to maintain contact both internally and with the external world.

However good local army or rescue services may be, floods, earthquakes, hurricanes, even huge avalanches can destroy power stations and exchanges, satellite earth stations, kill telephone lines or relay masts, and make it impossible for any modern means of communication to function. Rescue services can find the range of their radio equipment inadequate, and if an airport in a difficult location loses its radar, then organising, controlling and co-ordinating movements can be impossible, just at a time when speed is vital in saving lives.

Technicians willing to travel, face hardships, maybe take risks in order to do their everyday job in most challenging situations demonstrate an unusual face of good-will and compassion for those in need, as do doctors treating injuries, and journalists determined to tell the real story, no matter what the risk involved. Volunteers, offering their skills freely to help others in a suffering world, are one of the great signs of hope for the future of humanity.

This is a bit of good cheer, at a time when everyday life in our city church has us perpetually on the lookout for someone prepared to prey on the vulnerable and elderly. Indeed, for the first time, at a wedding this afternoon, we paid someone to be official doorkeeper, to prevent tourists and others apart from the wedding guests from entering during the service. It's the first time we've done that for a generation, as we're now determined not to get caught out again.

Untimely passing of a war veteran

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I had a phone call this morning at 8.20am to tell me that Wally Burns died last night.

He'd been unwell for ages with broncho-emphysemia, but that didn't stop him playing his usual role of organising the Burma Star veterans' annual get-together. I sat next to him at lunch on Sunday, and he was so disconsolate at the loss of his wife Phyllis's handbag, that he hardly ate a thing. Apparently, his condition deteriorated despite medical intervention over the two following days, although he did not take to his bed, but carried on, taking his time, getting around the house as best he could. He even gave an interview about the theft to the Echo the day of his death. In the end he struggled from the bathroom at bed-time, got into bed and simply died there. He wasn't the kind of person to give up. He just carried on to his last breath, a true old soldier, and mainstay of St Michael's Church and the old Cathays community. Maybe the shock hastened his end. Maybe it was sheer shame and sorrow at the defilement of a church by conscienceless thieves.

When I visited Phyl, she was obviously sad, still waiting for the impact of his death to hit her, but also expressing her gratitude for the sixty one years of their marriage. Many of her contemporaries have been widowed for a decade or so. Many more were widowed in the same war from which Wally emerged as a survivor from one of its harshest campaigns. That's something his offspring, down to his great grandchildren, will not forget.

On not getting the message

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Today's Gospel at the Eucharist contained the phrase : "You can be sure that if the owner of the house knew the time when the thief would come, he would not let the thief break in and steal. And you too must be ready.." (Luke 12:39-40). At Evensong St Peter reminded us that "The day of the Lord will come like a thief." Sure enough, we had a thief. The scriptural hint was lost on us.

Just as we were about the start the special Burma Star veteran's annual service, following the Eucharist, someone posing as a tourist talked off with the handbag of event organiser Wally Burn's wife, containing several hundred pounds. The thief went un-noticed in the traffic of people coming and going, mostly connected with the service. We haven't so far discouraged visitors from coming in when there's a service on, hoping they will stay with us and join in, but now we'll have to review our security policy completely.

We wait to see if the recently installed CCTV cameras yeild any indications as to the identity of the culprit. The incident cast a cloud of outrage over the service. Most of those present were over 75, used to feeling safe and at home in church. Evidently for some people, nothing is sacred. It's not just theft, it's desecration of a holy place. If the person was caught, would they be charged for this as well as stealing? It's very hard resist the temptation to seek vengeance on those who so dishonour and prey upon the elderly of a generation owed so much by the world we live in. The freedom they fought for can be used well or abused. How can we any longer make wrongdoing so unworthwhile that choosing to do good is the only satisfactory option?

Anglican atheism

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On this morning's Sunday programme Martin Rees, the Astronomer Royal, and Master of Trinity spoke interestingly about being an Anglican atheist.

He said he was largely sympathetic with the views of Richard Dawkins, but still held in high regard the culture, tradition and values represented by the CofE. In this respect, he said he felt he was like some Jews, who are content to practice the domestic and social rituals, even the prayers of their cultural and spiritual background, for their expression of the highest human values, but without any need to acknowledge a transcendent divine source to all that exists.

(Come to think of it, a recent Sunday programme featured an article about an American Jewish atheist of poetic bent who has re-translated the Jewish manual of prayers as collection of humanist meditations which dispose of references to God.)

I guess the same may be true for many occupying academic Oxbridge positions, where the appointee has traditionally been drawn from among Anglican church members - probably since Enlightenment influence really took hold. No doubt they are excellent at their job and jolly decent fellows. It's better that Anglicanism is a community which (a bit like Hinduism) embraces wide ranging beliefs and convictions, than it is to be exclusive and persecute people of integrity and good will, as some 'orthodox' seem to relish. Even so it's a bit of a puzzle.

How can institutions settle for leadership from good chaps who are so comfortable with humane endeavour and achievement that peering into the beyond unknowable, in search of the ultimate truth and value that embraces us, seems for them to be a discarded option? Has the power of today's intellectuals totally disposed of the spiritual power of holy people? Are there any left?

Creation in the midst of desolation

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I'm posting some new links tonight, representing the outcome of discussions and bits and pieces of work I've done in recent weeks. These relate to the CDF funded research project, for which we now have a small team of University Research workers in place, preparing for the fieldwork to be done between September and December. In order to publicise what we're doing, I've created two simple website, a blog that chronicles the stages of project development, and another blog that will be the collecting point for stories and raw case study material to feed in to the researchers.

Working with Roy, who is managing the project on behalf of the Steering Group, is proving very stimulating because he sees many more angles than I do of the whole picture, and at the same time is as keen to prosecute the cause of getting the contribution of all religious communities to civil society taken much more seriously than it is locally.

Between our efforts and those of the Gweini research project, now in full swing, I hope that a proper appraisal of the 'social and spiritual capital' generated by faith-communities will lead to some changes of attitude on the part of civil society. Too many seem stuck in a mindset that belongs to the past, where it is presumed religious people all stick to the kind of beliefs and behaviour that Richard Dawkins so devoutly and enthusiastically labours to discredit.

Actually, the work I've been doing on the side gives great cheer on a day like today, when I had to play caretaker at St James' for a couple of hours, to give access to the contractors who are going to be removing the font to the school and the reredos down to St Theodore's Port Talbot, now that all the permissions are in place. One of my tasks was to shift half a dozen large display panels from church over to school. They were taken down last September and used to mount the exhibition of school and church history we prepared for the closing weekend of the church. I took them down ready for removal, and they've stood propped up by the door, still covered with exhibition material, ever since. Nobody bothered to come and fetch them. The church still has lots of old hymn and prayer books, altar frontals, and stacks of dismantled pews which we failed to re-cycle. There simply hasn't been enough people, or enough interest to clear the place properly. It's been too painful.

I'm just hoping and praying that someone with the vision and energy will come along and see the potential of the building as a community arts centre. Over the past year, several different groups have taken a look at the place with interest, but have been non-committal, perhaps because it wasn't yet definitely up for grabs', so to speak.

I wait to be surprised.

Big Weekend of chaos

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Edward VII and Museum Avenue started filling up with huge pieces of fairground equipment from Wednesday onwards, some so big that they seemed to dwarf the elegant civic buildings lining the roads. Then came the Heras fencing, linked to make a complete enclosure of the area, obliging pedestrians and cyclists alike to make detours, and forcing hundreds of cars to find somewhere else to park.Thne during the Friday morning rush hour the road line painting crews were out, blocking traffic lanes and adding to the chaos, as they installed new signs adjusted traffic lights and painted sections of the inside lane along the Kngsway in British Racing Green to designate it as a bus and taxi lane. Nowhere set aside for cyclists, as usual. When later I crossed into Church Street going to St John's, I noticed a 'no cycling' sign had gone up. Is this another piece of inspired thinking to avoid having to pay for the installation of the cycle racks we've been asking for over the past three years, I wonder?

Preparation for the Big Weekend festivities managed to co-incide with the weekend on which St Mary Street was to be come 'experimentally' a private exclusion zone - buses and taxis excepted. Hence the fervent activity by the line painting brigade at the least agreeable time of the week. Nobody really seems sure how the plans, showcased in a recent brief 'consultation' on the part of the city transport planning section in the Old Library. It's unclear what diverted traffic will do to reach its destination, especially if it's bound for Cardiff Central Station, access to which has also been drastically limited. All week church members have been ringing each other up and worry about how they are going to get into the church for services, and to deliver goods for the Tea Room and Church Mission Fayre next Saturday. Despite the reassurances received that it will be possible, it's hard to work out exactly how. Not exactly easy for people to plan around.

In the midst of all this on Saturday lunchtime, the annual Carnival procession danced its way up Bute Street, along St Mary Street and the Kingsway up to the Big Weekend site. Scores of costumed dancers, several sound systems on pullable cards made of scaffolding, and bands of drummers beating out salsa rhythms for the dancers, as well as three Banghra drummers. People of all ages took place, and it was just warm enough for the scantily clad to be able to enjoy (as opposed to endure) the stately procession over the two mile course. A couple masked and in costume consisted of one in a wheelchair, pushed by another. I was taken by the huge diversity of people involved, having a good time, smiling, waving, pausing for the hordes of photographers. One tall grey haired lady dressed in yellow and orange had also partly coloured her hair in those colours, not thereby disguising her age, but, well celebrating it, I guess. It gave much food for thought for my Transfiguration sermon. For once I had something different to reflect about on this theme, which now appears twice yearly in the church's lectionary. The sixth of August is also our wedding anniversary as well the anniversary of the Hiroshima atomic bombing. Not to be forgotten in our family's world.

St James Church - the last gasp

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In this morning's post I found the Deed of Deconsecration issued by the Bishop that marks a formal end to the life of St James' Church building in relation to the Parish. It was closed for worship 16th September last year. Legal responsibility now passes to the Representative Body of the Church in Wales, which as trustee of all church properties, is able to lease or sell it on the open market. It means the end of (albeit minor) bill payments, and maintenance obligations. Not that we've been able to afford to do anything to maintain it, apart from pay someone to mow the can and bottle strewn prairie which was once the church lawn. If anything had happened to the place that could cause danger to the public, the Parish would have been obliged to pay up to make it safe. Thankfully that now becomes someone else's responsibility.

Just the day before receiving the Deed, I was showing around the church a couple of people looking for performance space to hire, possibly for a year, while Chapter Arts centre undergoes a major renovation. The building will now be handed over to an estate agent, and who knows, maybe it will be possible for Chapter to do a deal that suits their needs. I imagine that even a year's lease would be regarded favourably, given that the building standing empty is still going to need some expenditure to keep it safe and secure.

When I went in there last week to show someone around, I discovered that a door had been left unlocked by its last visitor. Fortunately none of the area's rough sleepers had discovered this and taken advantage of it, even if a few do use the side alley for a toilet from time to time. In former times, it was used by druggies as a 'shooting gallery', but things have improved - one of those stand-alone automatic pay toilets near Roath Library is now their favoured place. Hundreds of needles a week a fished out of the wire mesh grid under the floor which serves to filter out blocking materials from the automatic sanitation system that keeps the floor clean.

I just want to see some good use made of the huge empty building, as soon as possible. It's a scandal it's stood empty and unusued for nearly a year, and only partly used for a lot longer. It might have been more 'ethical' to invite all of Cardiff's down and outs to hang out there and use it to sleep in. But with no toilet or washing facilities, and nobody to look after the building or exercise any care over the poor folk compelled to fall back upon it, it would have quickly have become a neighbour from hell to Tredegarville school, which backs on to the church. A church that stands empty and unused for any reason is a symptom, not only of the collapse of religious community, but in fact the collapse of community in the wider sense, and the inability of local government, statutory and voluntary agencies to rise to the challenge of meeting the need of those who are, in a sense, the 'collateral damage' resulting from social fragmentation.

'Deed of de-consecration' - what a non-sequitor, what an inelegant phrase! You cannot undo the fact that this great building was consecrated - from the first ideas of the Vicar and patrons who wanted it, to the first designs of the architect who built it, to the solemn prayers uttered by the Bishop when it was opened as a place of worship. The fact that it has been abandoned for sacred purposes (and it was erected by public subscription), is an everlasting reproach, and a stain on the history of the church in the twentieth century.

Part of the weakness of the church, perhaps since its earliest time, is that it permits the mystery of the sacred to have legal substance and definition, so that it can have social status in civil society. The one minor practical difference a 'deed of deconsecration' makes is that a building that has been state registered for marriages since its earliest days, thereby entitling residents of the Parish to be married therein, can now officially be un-registered with the civil authorities.

Any time in the past year, it would have been theoretically possible for someone to demand a marriage or a funeral in the church, and have the legal right to do so. If a church is only 'closed' and there is another church open and available in the Parish, there is sufficient provision as law requires, from the viewpoint of both the Bishop and the state registrar. But just imagine the hassles if someone awkward had wanted to insist on their 'rights' and sought a legal ruling, or maybe compensation claim for the lack of availability of St James'. Yes, it's silly, but we live in silly times where hungry lawyers are concerned. Well, nobody asked, and it's finally no more a worry to me.

Well, not quite - only last week did we get legal permission to remove the font and reredos, side chapel screen and bronze war memorials. We have the building contractors lined up to do the work, but it's August, and they've not committed themselves to a removal date yet. It's not over until it's over, as they say in the movies.