Test Match footnote

The whimsical parson in me felt compelled to write in the service register, next to the record of the day's Eucharist, that the first ever Ashes Test Cricket match to be held in Wales began this day in the Parish.

For no reason that I can understand a photocopy of the present Parish boundaries lies at the moment un-filed like litter on the sacristy table. Truth to tell, nobody knows what to do with it because, like other posher versions of this map in existence, it is incorrect in the matter of the boundary on the East side of the new Parish, which is meant to follow the line of the Bro Taf railway out of Queen Street Station up as far as the road bridge just below Maindy swimming pool. Church bureaucrats are not always as attentive to detail as we'd like them to be. My representations to get the error corrected have so far been ignored.

However, on the West side of the map, the defining boundary is what it's meant to be, encompassing Sophia Gardens, the Glamorgan County Cricket ground, and a diagonal section of Llandaff fields (so called) across to the Blackweir Bridge over the Taff. This means the first Test Match in Wales is being held in the City Parish of St John the Baptist Cardiff. It's not news, and will do nothing to change the world, but maybe in 200 years time, if the church registers survive, some church scholar will ponder the meaning of my marginal scribble, and set out on a trail to discover facts well known to worshippers and historians of the god cricket.

Ashes bounty

Eric Dutton, the venerable president of the Cardiff Hoteliers' Association has always looked with a favourable and generous eye on what we've attempted to do to make St John's attractive and relevant to the city's offer to visitors. Thanks to him we first had internal floodlights to illuminate the windows on the St John Street side, so that they contributed to the Christmas illuminations. And he's been more than generous in ensuring the extra electricity bills were met. He was a bit nervous about last year's nativity installation for fear of vandalism, but we strode defiantly and triumphantly through the worst case scenario last December in a way that did a power of good to people of good-will in Cardiff

He popped into church to say hello yesterday with the promise of a couple of complementary tickets for the historic Ashes Test Match in the re-vamped Glamorgan County Cricket stadium, due to start tomorrow, with the suggestion that we might like to raffle them for church funds. Well, a bit late to organise that properly, but with eBay, and people who know people around here, maybe the tickets can be put to work for us.

We're almost at the end of a quiet three year fundraising project to replace all the old rusty window guards of the church with new high tensile stainless steel mess guards in unobtrusive black. The transformation has been slow but truly comforting to behold. The exterior looks so much more neat and tidy, and they will not deteriorate like those mounted in 1946 did. They'll last at least half a century, if not longer. They may fall off due to wear and tear on their mounting points before they start to look tired.

It's been a worthwhile achievement, all undertaken by one of our members, Sue Morris, passionate about protecting the beauty of our fine Victorian stained glass, ever since we had a vandal attack on the weekend of her daughter's wedding. Now we're within sight of completion. Only Comper's chancel window remains to be equipped with a new guard. So, the tickets went to Sue to use as fund raisers.

When the old guard comes off for replacement, the window will get its first good wash in several decades before the new one is installed. It's a beautiful classic piece of fin de siecle design and craftsmanship. I hope I will see it in full glory before I retire.

Codex Sinaiticus on-line

BBC's Today programme this morning announced the on-line publication of a complete set of images of Codex Sinaiticus, one of the oldest biblical texts available for study, dating back 1,600 years. This is an important event for scholars because it re-unites in the virtual world, a document split into four and parcelled out between Egypt, Russia, Germany and the UK after its 'discovery' in the monastery of St Catherine Sinai in 1844 - another case of colonial looting to match that of the Elgin Marbles in my opinion. At least the removal of the manuscript from the monastery has meant that extensive scientific study has yielded a vast amount of information about how the text was understood by its readers. This plays a hugely important role in our understanding of the formation of the biblical text as we read it today, derived not from a single but many textual sources with their array of minor textual variations.

The BBC online magazine article by Roger Bolton on this matter is interesting, and the range of critical feedback to it equally so. Bolton projects a stereotyped view of how people read and interpret the biblical text, failing to make clear the distinction between simple classic literalism and fundamentalism as a doctrinally driven way of interpretation, which goes to the text with mind made up about certain teachings, looking for proof. Commentators on the article, apart from the usual secularist detractors of religion, make it apparent that a variety of reasoned approaches taking the contents of sacred texts seriously, are neither literalist nor fundamentalist, and are unshaken by the 'alterations' and 'variations' in text revealed by scholarly investigation.

The manuscript contains two deutero-canonical manuscripts - the Epistle of Barnabas and the Shepherd of Hermas - known and referred to since ancient times as early Christian documents but excluded from the authorised selection (the Canon) of the New Testament. Why? They did not match up to the quality of the others that were selected, when it came to authorise texts for reading in public liturgy. People could read them for personal devotion but not rely upon them in making the case for Christianity. So rarely is this said in response to the crazy conspiracy theorists who feel that some great 'truth' was officially suppressed. And this in an age that is so hot on listing for us all the 'must read' books in print.

The news broadcast talked about how the virtual text display showed modifications made to it during the course of its early life (revealed by modern hi-tech tools) as if such 'changes' were an issue of great contention. They chart ancient debate about the meaning and interpretation of the text, in the shaping and transmitting of Christian faith - a debate to be taken as seriously as the received texts we strive to interpret for our own times. The whole process is more complex and dynamic than fits well in the world of instant media and modern PR. This best place to get a balanced view on the subject is the Codex website - well worth a visit.

Radio has the best pictures

Although it was a warm and generally sunny afternoon, I turned down an invitation to a strawberry and cream tea party, to stay in and listen to the first part of a new dramatisation of Le Carré's 'The spy who came in from the cold', which I remember as a marvellous black and white movie starring Richard Burton and Claire Bloom in the year I graduated.

It was a marvellous adaptation for the sound stage. Not only was it beautifully engineered to listen to, but able to evoke images of time and place belonging to my youth - overshadowed as it was by the Cold War, and the popular anxieties it generated. I was overjoyed to witness the death throes of that era in person, when I took part in a parish twinning visit to Leipzig during the fateful October demonstrations of 1990, which hastened the end of the Berlin Wall and the DDR. I hope I shall live long enough to witness the end of the wall that divides the Holy Land between Israelis and Palestinians as well.

After Evensong we had a PCC, in which we managed to get through quite a lot of business in record time. One of the key items of business was the agree to ask for a Faculty to permit a change of use to the empty gardener's hut in the south churchyard garden. There's interest in opening it up as a kiosk to sell fresh fruit and soft drinks during opening hours. That would certainly be beneficial to users, and possibly to the church as well, receiving a modest rental for the privilege. We shall see if the idea matures according to plan.

Risks of the job

Last night's BBC Radio 4's discussion programme 'Off the Page' treated the matter of 'Falling on your sword' - seen in terms of resignations on grounds of principle, or before being disgraced and sacked. Somehow the conversation got on to clergy resignations, for whatever reason good or ill, and how problematic this was when it meant automatic homelessness for clergy families living in accommodation tied to the job, when they didn't own property. There was an interesting exchange about what happened if clergy lost their faith, and could no longer preach with integrity what they were commissioned to preach. How hard if they had a family to provide for, should they compromise, when resigning had such impact?

Stories were told about clergy in remaining post yet openly declaring disbelief in key Christian doctines, and the shock of a chaplain for retired clergy, at discovering that fifty percent of those in his charge openly disavowed the faith that had afforded them a living, once they'd left office and were secure in retirement accommodation. One can also tell stories of pastors who left the straight and narrow and had to resign or else be dismissed, because what was private to them, became public. Or those whose teaching, as opposed to behaviour, caused such mayhem that their license for ministry had to be withdrawn.

Yet, one can just as easily tell stories of faithful pastors resigning on principle, even changing their church allegiance, not because they have lost faith, but because their embrace of faith and commitment changed them, changed where they wanted to be, and with whom they wished to travel the journey of faith.

It's not hard to become disillusioned with churches, given their weaknesses and failures to live in the spirit of Christ's teaching. The anti-religious propaganda of this secularist era has made many believers anxious and put them on the defensive, unable to rise to the challenge of criticism, not least because they are all too aware of the horrendous evils done by religious people in the name of tribe, culture, or their particular brand of orthodoxy. As an ordained person representing the beleaguered band of believers, it's possible to get tired out, experience isolation and abandonment, turn inwardly against any kind of spiritual world view, and just mark time, survive until it's possible to leave public life and religion behind for good. The binding of a priest to a parish, with oaths and solemn undertakings in a quasi-sacramental ritual is in its way as exacting as a marriage. If it all becomes too demanding, retirement for some must feel like a divorce from church and maybe from God. I wonder how many clergy spouses feel their partner's work is a rival for affection as well as attention?

Modern professional-speak for such tensions is 'work-life balance', but in a way imbalance is nurtured by the kind of bonding ritual which initiates a new phase in a person's ministry, with all the ideals and expectations built into it. There's little to help a pastor cope with failure. At a human level, ministry can involve suffering - loneliness, disappointment, frustration, disillusionment within the job, because it's an occupation that involves openness, vulnerability, the risk of abuse and betrayal. The experience of failure can be shameful to speak of. Although preaching the Gospel and healing the wounded belong together, there are situations in which the healer's wounds get overlooked. The outcome is that people are lost from the journey of faith, not just lost on it. Is there a remedy for such tragedy?

I once resigned from a job when church leaders refused to trust me to mediate in an on-going conflict between them and the Diocese. It was clear I had to quit to ensure the matter was resolved properly. This left me wounded, workless, and feeling the shame of 'divorce'. Thanks to mother-in-law's legacy, we had a home in Cardiff to return to, and a welcome from another Diocese - the one that had ordained me - countering rejection experienced abroad. The spiritual formation I received when I was young made it clear that keeping faith involved such risks. It stood me in good stead. Are others as fortunate, I wonder? I'm so grateful for the loving welcome St John's gave me, letting me be myself, enabling me to return to action, sharing the faith.

The journey may well take you to hell on times, but it sure can bring you all the way back again.

Farewell Peggy

About fifty people were present for Peggy's funeral office, which began with Vanessa singing 'I know that my Redeemer liveth' from Haendl's 'Messiah', in the morning sunlight, setting the tone for a moving service. I was aware that some of the people present had known her for three quarters of their long lives. Although her attendances at worship during the past three years of her final illness became rarer, I know many of her fitter contemporaries visited her regularly at home and in hospital, as I had done. She coped so graciously with illness and infirmity, and never failed to welcome visitors with delight in her eyes and a huge smile.

This ability to be present to others, no matter what her own condition was indeed an amazing grace, which sent her visitors away cheerful despite their anxieties for her. Remembering her in a brief homily, I spoke about this, as the secret of living victoriously through suffering. It seems as if this thought resonated with many of the mourners to judge by comments made to me afterwards. Fr Paul and I shared the service and took her to the crematorium for the final farewell, before we went our different ways, grateful for having known and loved someone whose faith in God uplifted ours.

Midweek meetings

Robin Samuel came over to church at lunchtime, for another preparatory session towards organising a Cardiff climate change conference this autumn. We still have to confirm a venue, and not being able to do so means advance publicity is delayed. I hope this doesn't mean having to push the conference forward into October.

Then, I cycled over to Roath Church House for our bi-monthly Chapter meeting, attended for the first time by our new Archdeacon, who had us all talking a bit about any 'good news' we were pleased to share from our parishes. It was cheering that everyone had something positive to say. Many spoke modestly of signs of growth.

The reception given to the discussion paper about how to modify the role of the Archbishop of Wales in the light of changing work-load and new responsibilities was somewhat mixed. Some think it's the best effort of its kind of the three attempts over the past quarter century to propose changes in the organisation of the Province's leadership. Others are doubtful of the value of the move, concerned about the long term pastoral impact of making Llandaff Diocese a permanent archiepiscopal see. All felt it was important the matter was widely discussed by the whole Church in Wales.

Whichever diocesan Bishop becomes Archbishop, there'll be conflict of interests between oversight of the Diocese, and duties away from Province. and Diocese. Development of international archiepiscopal collegiality risks creating an Anglican curia, with or without a patriarchal head. It took us long enough in Anglicanism to develop effective synodal governance with laity and clerics shaping church life together. The many meetings of Archbishops have not prevented arrival at the brink of schism. On sheer performance grounds, I'm doubtful that all this additional international work load is justified - to say nothing of carbon footprint and lifestyle issues.

Anyway, back on earth this evening, two dozen church members and friends gathered to receive the body of Peggy Theophilus into church for an over-night stay before tomorrow's funeral. Her old friend and former assistant Curate of the Parish Fr Paul Bigmore celebrated a Requiem Eucharist, and the choir sang a hymn Paul wrote and dedicated to her, a few years ago. During the day, much flower arranging was done, and everything looked beautiful in the rays of the setting sun. It's just what would have given her great delight to behold.

Afterwards, Clare and I took Owain out for a 'new job' and birthday celebration gastro-pub supper, followed by one of mum's special gateaux and a bottle of Cava. It's great to hear him chatting enthusiastically about the challenges of his new role with the British Council.

Initiative on addiction

I cycled to Llandaff Cathedral in the sunshine this morning, to attend their patronal festival Eucharist in honour of St Peter. The Dean presided and most of the Chapter was there, along with the two Bishops. With the exception of Peggy Jackson, the altar party was almost entirely an all male affair., not to mention the boys' choir Sally Davies is currently the only female (honorary) Canon. I didn't see her there. She's recently retired. Admittedly there was a women thurifer, and virger in attendance, but that's all. It just felt un-natural to me to be part of such a top-heavy male gathering, given the considerable number of women in ministry and leadership in the Diocese. Hardly the shape of things to come. Does custodianship of diocesan tradition inevitably mean that the Cathedral and its Chapter cannot also be innovative?

After lunch I met up with Wynford Ellis-Owen, Chief Executive of the Welsh Council on Alcohol and other Drugs, who asked if he could appraise me of a project he is working on, and seeking churches' support for. He wishes to set up in SE Wales an integrated addiction therapy and support service, which will help sufferers and their families together overcome the problems caused by substance abuse. It's based on a successful model developed in Stevenage, known as 'The Living Room'. This is well supported by the Stevenage local Churches Together Group, so naturally Wynford wishes to solicit support from CT groups as well as local authorities and health boards in the region.

I hope this is something local churches can really get behind, one way or another. The problem is that the dynamics of addiction - substance dependency and related co-dependency among people - operate not only in the lives of individuals and families, but in communities and society as a whole. There is a political and and economic dimension that touches us all. As Wynford strongly asserts, much of the initiative taken in relation to addiction problems is only about containment - coping rather than cure.

Cure is neither impossible, nor too difficult, but it does require commitment to a path of healing and spiritual development that may be long drawn out, but ends up changing everything for the better. There's every reason for every faith group to embrace this. There's no better place to start than with City Centre Churches Together, since the city centre is where so many of the problems associated with substance misuse come home to roost.

New Archdeacon comes to town

I had a visit this afternoon from Peggy Jackson, our new Archdeacon of Llandaff, just getting going in the job, and wanting to acquaint herself with the role and ministry of the city parish, as well as doing a site inspection in relation to our umpteenth Faculty application. I was delighted to discover that she had been in her previous post a city centre mission 'practitioner', as we say in today's esoteric trade jargon. It's so good to have someone who not only asks the right questions about church in relation to civil society, but has the fire of enthusiasm for what the church can contribute to secular public life. This gives me hope that the kind of thing I've attempted to do in the Parish over the past seven years has some chance of continuing when I retire.

We talked for a couple of hours, and then she came to Evensong. After meeting the crew, I took her on a short walkabout to give her an impression of what was going on in the city centre. It was pure providence that we should run into a couple of the regular street care volunteers, out and about early, as the city's homeless was something we'd not yet got around to. The brief conversations made summarising past and present developments in relation to the Council's statutory social service commitments a lot easier.

Archdeacons have a lot of thankless tasks thrust upon them because of the hierarchical and bureaucratic character of the modern church. I hate it when I hear them described as 'line manager'. Sharing in the Bishop's episcope as an Archdeacon does at the highest level is first and last a pastoral and missionary endeavour. It has everything to do with enabling freedom and confidence, with stimulating intiatives that make the church more responsive to its calling.

The idea of 'manager' is about regulation, control, implementation of the plans of others. Some of that is necessary, so that all holds together safely. However the role of 'giving permission' to do things has become far too closely connected to compliance and anxious conformity, keeping out of trouble with authority. 'Permission' should be more about affirming and encouraging responsibility to do the right thing with confidence. If this doesn't happen today the way it should, it is to my mind because the church has refused to resist the encroachments of over regulatory governance on common sense responsibility.

One example. Thousands of churches could be easily encouraged to take steps towards zero carbon footprint buildings, using solar panels fitted to roofing. Surely this is an urgent national priority if not a vital investment for the economic and physical survival of churches as community buildings and places of worship. However, this initative is effectively vetoed by quangos like CADW and English Heritage, as they will approve no such changes to the appearance of Listed buildings they contribute little if anything to maintain.

The church seems to lack vision and/or courage to confront on this matter, to demand open policy debate, to question whether preserving architectural appearance matters more than climate stabilisation initiatives. It thus gives no public witness to this real moral concern for the future at this time when radical solutions are needed. Moreover, as long as there is no huge demand to cover the churches of Britain with solar panels manufacturers have no incentive to make aesthetics a strong component of design development.

Sadly, cozying up to authority rather than questioning it is what churches have too often done. When will we learn this does nobody any good?

Limits to comprehension

Singer Michael Jackson's untimely death touches the inner life of the generations brought up on his music - including all three of my children. His audio-visual innovation in the presentation of his music transformed the late 20th century pop music scene in the most remarkable way. His creative genius is undoubted.

I'm not sure I ever worked out what he was really wanting to say about life, except that whatever he was staying seemed to be stated in a frantic if not anxious tone, perhaps characteristic of an insecure age.

The reason for my ignorance is that I've always had trouble about memorising, let alone making sense of musical lyrics. Watching TV news reports of crowds singing together Michael Jackson's songs in his memory made me realise how much I failed to connect with the mind-stream of modern pop culture.

Stand alone poetry I can grasp. Music I understand, as well as visual art. But I've always had trouble with pop songs, no matter how poetically conceived. I attribute this to having learned to accompany on guitar in my early teens others singing the lyrics, leading me to pay more attention to doing justice to melody rather than absorbing the meaning of the words.

Quite a handicap really, in striving to engage with contemporary culture.

St John's Day

As Father Roy was off to Caldey Island to lead a retreat today, I stood in for him and celebrated the Class Six Eucharist at St German's. Members of the class read lessons, prayed the intercessions and sang a couple of hymns, while the summer sunlight streamed into the church and lifted our spirits. This was the first of my three Eucharistic celebrations of today, the Feast of the Nativity of St John the Baptist.

There were nine of us at the midday at St John's, and eleven for the Sung Eucharist at seven. It's as much as we can expect in these times when the majority of committed Christians are at least partly disconnected from the traditional liturgical observance of the passage of time. Even in 'Catholic' Spain, on holiday recently, we found that the Feast of Corpus Christi was translated to the nearest Sunday from the traditional Thursday after Trinity to ensure optimum commiunity support.

The one thing the churches won't dare to do is to debate how we might sustain a common witness to the passage of time in the light of changed circumstances in the way times and seasons are themselves regarded today in the world we say we want to evangelise.

Faith Focus finale

This afternoon the Countdown 2009 Faith Focus Group met for a session, with six of us present. Two Christian, one Hindu one Sikh plus the two Council officers, who have supported the work of the group over the past fifteen months, met for the last time, having contributed to the preparations for the re- launch of the city centre after redevelopment with feedback about matters of concern to faith communities.

It's been a worthwhile exercise at one level, in that the partnership between City and developers has seen fit to open, in an exceptional way in these secular times, a channel to hear voices from city centre worshipping communities offering feed-back about the implications of some aspects of the whole process. The group has registered concern about access to places of worship, signage, parking, public transport, alcohol and public order, littering of places outside the realm managed by the City or developers, care for the homeless, and the dearth of public toilets in the centre.

At another level, the level and consistency of support for the group by its members has been disappointing, as if the opportunity has not really been taken at all seriously by those involved to participate. It's really part of the story of our times in which churches and other faith groups have become increasingly passive in relating to social concerns, largely because they are preoccupied by their own internal affairs.

Well, if any religious community complains about the way things work out in the on-going development of our re-furbished city, our civic leaders can say with a clean conscience, that it wasn't for lack of an opportunity to state their case.

Longest day

The shortest night was made even shorter for me by a nose-bleed, a persistent little problem I've not yet managed to sort out despite medication a few months ago that reduced frequency and alarming output. Even so, I was functional for the eight o'clock service. Afterwards, Marion suggested that recurrence might be to do with dry air causing surface capilliaries to crack open - it came back in Spain. She suggested a regular anointing of nasal cavities with vaseline, something I shall try for sure.

It's a bit un-nerving preparing to take a service if you don't know if you're going to be susceptible to a nose bleed or not during the course of the action. So far, however, most of the outbreaks have been at night, or bending down to push a plug into a low socket. It's small things like this which make the necessity of working alone as a cleric into a low level nightmare. I don't hesitate to repeat - it's not what I signed up for! What if I wasn't so fortunate in being surrounded by so many kind and caring laity?

This Sunday morning's worship was somewhat out of the ordinary. The regular congregation gathered a quarter of an hour before the usual start time of the Sung Eucharist to listen to a 38 strong mixed choir Vos da Locarno from the town of the same name in the Ticino (Italian speaking Switzerland). The choir had been travelling and performing on a tight schedule. Their last morning included a tour of the Senedd and shopping before flying home, as well as a half hour visit to sing in St John's.

Their programme was a selection of choral arrangements of folk-songs from their region, beautifully performed, full of rich harmonies, evocative of the Alps. It was a wonderfully refreshing opportunity to sit, listen and savour the quiet beauty of our church, bathed in morning sunlight, before starting our Sunday celebration of the Mysteries. For once, I didn't preach. We simply sat in silence for a while, after the Gospel, bathed in light. It was an exceptional experience, and somehow it inspired lusty singing from choir and congregation during the Eucharist following, I'm tempted to do that a bit more often, but it would feel a bit like dereliction of duty, unless I could devise a more stimulating and attractive way of getting a traditional congregation to engage in reflection upon the Word. I feel we should employ the beauty and stillness of our oasis at the heart of the city, as a resource to make our worship more transparent to the presence and power of God.

Whether because of the choir visit or because it was a genuinely summery day, the congregation was on the high side of average, and included a new member from Uganda, visitors from France, Germany, Malaysia and the United States. The time it took me in between services to re-stock visitor leaflets and Christian enquiry leaflets, after my fortnight's absence, gave me an impression that our visitor numbers are well maintained this year, recession or not.

Afterwards over refreshments a visitor butted in to a conversation I was having with two others, and insisted in giving his testimony, recounting how he'd been through all Jesuit schools in childhood, plus full priestly seminary training, and that as a result he had become a lifelong atheist, and this hadn't done him any harm. Searching for something constructive to say, the best I could come up with was to say that faith grows where there is real loving community, and that institutions don't always succeed in their task of nurturing people in love because they can easily become divorced from community. But he didn't seem interested in conversation, and bade us farewell, leaving us bemused.

You never quite know what's going to happen next in St John's.

I had a snooze in the afternoon to make up for last night, then posted my holiday pictures to the internet, where the family can share them. I also posted some pictures of Santa Pola's traditional Corpus Christi procession. It's something of a local public fiesta, secular as well as sacred, inspiring to watch as well as to photograph. Those photos are to be found here

After Evensong we had a briskly paced Friends meeting, and I was home with two hours of daylight to spare.

Parish Pilgrimage

We began as usual with Morning Prayer in Tredegarville School Hall - three dozen of us. It gave everyone a chance to see the newly completed mosaic of Noah's Ark on the wall of the hall, serving as a permanent backdrop for the altar taken from St James'. It's an excellent choice for a Church School with people of different faiths as part of the learning community, seeing as the story is one that all People of the Book hold in common.

By the time the bus set off there were 41 of us on board for Croft Castle in Herefordshire. It's a National trust property for over fifty years, with a history of occupation by the Croft family going back nearly a thousand years. This stately home, on the site of a mediaeval castle, with a chapel of ease standing right next to it, dedicated to St Michael, feels lived in - present family members have their own quarters hidden away on the top floor, and one of them takes a special interest in managing the superb walled garden with its own vineyard. There was so much to absorb that one visit, many agreed, would not be enough to benefit fully. After lunch, a tour of house and church, an historical talk and a stroll around the gardens nearest the house, it was time to move on, missing out many pathways laid out through the lush grassland with its 350 mature and ancient trees.

Next stop Leominster, a fine ancient market town with some narrow streets, lots of small shops and many half timbered houses. Christian community began here with a monastery in 663AD. The nave of the twelfth century Benedictine Priory is one of three naves this church possesses today. Additional grander ones were added in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The first one is of the same era as the first St John's chapel of ease to Cardiff Castle, so when you look at it, you get an impression of what it looked like before Owain Glyndwr's soldiers burned it down. A splendid tea was laid out for us here, to be shared after first singing Evensong, a task undertaken with great enthusiasm by all four dozen of us, counting in those who'd arrived by car.

As usual, I took photographs, including a couple of Rob and Alison with Katie. It's Katie's fifth Parish pilgrimage since she was born. She figures in pictures I've taken of all of them. We were back home comfortably by eight, heads full of green images of passing countryside, and pleasurable memories of good companionship on the way. You'll find the photos here including one of the Tredegarville mosaic.

Women of courage

First thing this morning we had a phone call to tell us that Peggy Theophilus had died early this morning, following several years of illness. After commemorating her at the lunchtime Eucharist, Pru Mack, one of our regular Friday worshippers told me that Angela Luddy died suddenly yesterday. Angela, a childhood polio victim with osteoporosis had also succeeded in living to a ripe old age.

In twenty four hours, two thirds of my regular list of home communicants have gone to glory. I'll miss visiting them both, because they were both full of faith and courage despite what they suffered, and were an inspiration to be with. They came from a generation of women empowered to take their place in society and in the world of work alongside men, not least because of the war. They were pioneers, who didn't take for granted the opportunities they received to realise themselves.

"Well done, good and faithful servants."

May they rest in peace and rise in glory!

A day of reflection on mission

Back in 1985, when I was Wales Area Secretary for U.S.P.G., I attended a major international conference in Edinburgh on the occasion of the 75th anniversary of the World Missionary Conference which proved to be the founding initiative that led to the establishment of the World Council of Churches in 1945. It was an occasion for me to sit at the feet of a famous Japanese Christian theologian Kosuke Koyama. It's so much easier to read the books when you've met the man. He was certainly influential on me.

He related how being missionary in Thailand awakened his serious interest in the value of Buddhism.It connects with my experience of being in mission and being challenged by the values of people whose culture and history are very different from mine - European Protestant, Sikh, Muslim, or secular modernity. Koyama died on Lady Day (25th March) this year, aged eighty. I still recall the inspiring dedication of his book Mount Fuji to Mount Sinaii, which reads :-

'To the memory of George Herbert Brand,
whose preaching in broken Japanese
won my father's heart for Christ.

He'd received Christian faith within his family, as members of a tiny and often suspect minority in his native society, and through his life grown to become a true international advocate of of the Gospel. This idea of 'broken language', as a vehicle for the Spirit who moves people to confess faith in Christ made deep sense to me, in the context of living and working with two languages in Wales, one of which I spoke poorly. It was one of the impulses leading me to seek work outside the UK, and personal experience of immigrant life, learning French and settling in Geneva as pastor in the early nineties. Working on the boundaries of language and culture has been an important component of my vocation since very early on.

All this comes to mind tonight, after a day conference held in Newport bringing together mission practicioners from various South Wales Churches to share stories and reflections about their part in urban mission. This event was part of a process aiming to provide local input into a centenary Edinburgh missionary conference in 2010, which will bring together 200 missionary theologians from all over the world to reflect upon the challenges of mission in the 21st century.

On this occasion, most of the delegates will be non-white europeans, in contrast to 1910 when there were only six who weren't white europeans. It will be a richer, more diverse and complex occasion. Given the conflict of tradition and modernity that has scarred and divided our Anglican Communion in the past decade, it will be more than interesting to see if mission advocates and innovators will be able to express a concensus which inspires and unites people of different Christian traditions to engage in presenting the Gospel relevantly to another century.

It's hard to comment on the significance of what I was part of today, since we were a small cross-section, possibly unrepresentative, of those actually involved in urban mission in Wales. I was rapporteur for a group considering issues about health, healing and spirituality. It was encouraging to listen to people finding common ground in their missionary engagements with others: some suffering as exiles from their homeland, some as families of the mentally ill, some as carers for those on the streets. It was clear to me that traditional Christian values of respect and compassion, giving sufferers the attention and space they need for healing are as important now as they ever were, even if the social and cultural conditions in which mission is done are different from any that have gone before.

In its way, for me it was a day of ressurance. Everything has changed at one level, but at another, effective response is no different.

Nice welcome home?

The reds, oranges, browns and olive greens of the Spanish landscape are a wonderfully refreshing complement to the blues and whites of sea and sky. Apart from walking, swimming, eating, sleeping, pondering and praying, I did little else, apart from taking photographs - over five hundred with my two cameras. It was a pleasure to do so, in an environment so aesthetically different from Cardiff.

The Costa Blanca is white, not simply because of its marvellous miles of beach, but because of its 'salinas' - rectangular lagoons where sea water is left to evaporate, leaving behind immense deposits of brilliant white sea-salt, a source of wealth in this region since the time when the Phoencians traded the length and breadth of the Mediterranean.

The ecology of the areas surrounding salt lakes and the sand dunes is uniquely adapted, rich with flowers, insects and bird life. The areas are well conserved, and there's a Salt Museum tucked in by the side of the Santa Pola by-pass, next to a non-working conserved salt lagoon, which explains not only the history and culture of the salt industry, but also the ecology of this unique environment with its indigenous flamingo colonies.

The birds roost a hundred yards from land, and are hard to photograph without a powerful camera. Unfortunately the local seagull colony was also in residence while its latest generation of young grew into flight capability, and were active in deterring visitors from using paths intersecting the lagoon. Nevertheless it was so fascinating to be there that our visit was the one occasion when I got a touch of sunburn.

We returned on an evening flight tonight, and came back from the airport on the 95 bus, which rattled us at high speed through the whole of Barry and Llandough before dumping us on Riverside embankment opposite a crammed and throbbing Millennium Stadium, just as 60,000 people were starting to spill out on to the streets after the first of two nights of 'Take That' pop concerts. The Bus Station was closed for these events.

For us it meant a mile an a half walk home trundling suitcases along broken pavements, since road closures had displaced usual public transport services. Streets were choked with taxis, eagerly waiting, legally or illegally, to take passengers leaving the stadium on more lucrative trips. Unless you're a fan of what goes on in the stadium on any given occasion, your need as a citizen for reliable transport is ofrced to take second place.

Big events are supposed to be beneficial for the city. A lot of money may be taken in the course of them, but how much of it works to improve the city? What is the additional cost to the city of managing them? How much of the money taken on the night is exported for use elsewhere? These are figures I'd like to see available to help establish the true worth of the stadium to the city. Far too much, in my view, is decided on the basis of sentiment.

Free time

On holiday for two weeks in Spain, flying out from Cardiff to Alicante, to stay in the fishing port and holiday town of Santa Pola del Este, where son-in-law Anto has a small apartment inherited from his mother. It's seven years since my last visit there. Thankfully, the flight is from Cardiff Airport in the afternoon, making the transition from work to leisure as painless as possible.

Two weeks without internet, phone or car. A real chance to slow down and soak in the beauty of a Mediterranean environment. I feel very grateful for this opportunity.

Farewell Muriel

Today St John's people welcomed into church the body of Muriel Davies, wife of Canon Edwin Davies, who was Vicar of St John's during the earlier period of city centre redevelopment. She had loved St John's and insisted that her funeral should be held there, among friends.

He son Neil conducted the service, and our full choir turned out to sing Mozart's 'Ave Verum Corpus at her request. Neil spoke eloquently and admiringly of his gifted mother, a musician and teacher. So sad that over the last five years of her life, her memory deteriorated to the point where she found it hard to remember who most of her visitors were. Hard for her many friends too. BUt this was a day to remember the rest of her life, and all that she meant.

Pauline laid on a superb lunch for the mourners afterwards. Fifty per cent of them were members of the regular congregation, and many stayed a talked well into the afternoon, reflecting on the passing of another of Muriel's generation era. May she rest in peace.

Jamaica revisted

In spare moments recently I've continued the task of reviewing photographs taken in my travels over the years. Syria, Jerusalem, Bosnia, Mongolia, by digitising photographic slides and I've now re-visited Jamaica. In 1982, I spent six weeks travelling around the island enquiring into schooling practices and attitudes with a travel scholarship from the Commission for Racial Equality. At that time I was governor of several multi-racial schools, sharing the concerns of teachers about the challenge to engage with black students. Their parents had high expectations, they didn't understand why their kids didn't get on well in school. There were cross cultural communication problems in all directions - children, teachers, parents, management, politicians, the public. As an inner city parish priest, I was well placed to do some investigation, with parishioners who could give me family contacts to visit in both urban and rural areas of the island.

My slides were much used in talks I gave when I returned, so many are scratched. New digital scanning tools fortunately make repair and renovation possible, though it's hard to get the pictures to look as pristine as they did when first used. Jamaica was beset with economic and political crisis when I was there. It was before it became a U.S. cyber sweatshop for the outsourcing of administration. There was plenty of poverty, but my photographs reveal more my nervousness about taking pictures conveying the horror of that - but then I wasn't a professional photo journalist, only a travelling parson - trying to tell a broader story about life in cultured hard working communities in a third world country. Memory can still supply most of the story sub-titles. Travel notes and letters fill in the detail. One of these days I will transcribe all that I wrote. Then maybe I'll save up and see if I can repeat my trip, revisit the places and see what kind of economic and social development has happened in the meanwhile.

It's already 28 years since I was there. How long before I return I wonder? When I do, will the situation there mirror that among afro-caribbean Brits today - some remarkably successful and far too many still losing out, not fulfilling their great potential? I see far too much evidence that despite efforts to counter racism, and superficially liberal attitudes, not enough has changed in Britain or the wider world, not enough lessons learned from the sufferings of the past.

Congestion hindrance

Another quick exit from the noon Eucharist to get to the Castle for the Transport etc Focus Group meeting. I say 'etc' because Public Ream and Wayfinding concerns seem to be on hold at the moment. Traffic congestion problem solving dominates. What happens immediately around the city centre is affected by what's happening on radial routes into the city. The problem is exacerbated by the absence of an inner ring road structure offering easy transit for those not going into the centre, a legacy of development failures a quarter of a century ago. All sorts of tweaks to the present road system can make traffic flow more efficient and predictable, eliminating parking near key points of constriction on bus routes, traffic light synchronisation to favour bus lanes, for example. but these don't eliminate the basic problem.

The future is bound to be with public transport, given the inevitability of rising costs of personal mobility due to fuel scarcity and carbon reduction neccessities, but in the meanwhile the numbers of cars is still set to increase and make things worse. The city could do with far more investment in public transport and a master plan that integrated trains and buses into such a competitive and efficient system that priced private vehicles out of the mobility market. Rather it came sooner than later.

Our Churches Together meeting this evening decided to abandon Sunday's Pentecost picnic lunch at St John's, in the absence of any firm commitment on numbers attending from the various churches. Not exactly easy to know how many to provide soup for when the total could be six or sixty. Disappointing really. The desire to meet and share across denomination divide is certainly there, but it is weak in contrast to the forces of self pre-occupation that bog down the life of all churches without exception. The same is true of relations between different faith communities also. Sad to say, it's only genuine crisis that brings us together, and calls forth from us the capacity to collaborate. City centre redevelopment has been an opportunity rather than a crisis. Sadly, one that has been missed so far.

The least we can do is mark the end of the process with a celebration, with a thanksgiving for work safely completed and well done. I really hope we can pull our fingers out and contribute something constructive to this end.

Bank Holiday Big Pit

Clare's been on at me for years to pay a visit to Big Pit Blaenafon, but I've been reluctant. My miner father said to me when I was a teenager that here's be hell to pay if I ever went down a pit. He'd spent three quarters of his working life underground in order that I might never have to. As we queued up to join a party, I told him mentally that it was OK now there was no prospect of a job in a pit - I wouldn't even qualify to become a mine tour guide, now would I? I could just imagine him saying that the last place he'd want to go on a Bank Holiday Monday would be back down a pit.

Like the slate museum in Llanberis, Big Pit is one of the crown jewels of the National Museum of Wales, every bit as precious as its Rodin and Renoir collections. It's superbly organised, and run by a team of enthusiastic ex-miners. There was also an excellent, engaging audio visual walk through simulation of a working underground coal face, which somebody on wheels could visit. Access for them undergound would be far too difficult to manage. My first ever trip underground was reassuringly familiar. I grew up with the slang, the engineering terminology, photos and films about the coal face. It wasn't my story, but it was certainly a full part of our family story.

The only thing missing was the dust filled atmosphere. It's one of those childhood memories that persist. The exhaust air blowing up the pit shaft is dust laden. Every coal laden tram raised to the surface was covered with and exuded dust when it met the surface wind. No matter how often everything is painted, it soon acquired a fresh layer of dust, just like the workers, above and below. My cream linen summer jacket was as clean as our tour guide's fresh overalls after our visit. All of the museum's pithead is cleaner than any pithead I remember visiting with my father when I was a teenager, and he a representative of a wire rope haulage company.

It's a great experience and worthy of its World Heritage Site status. It left me thinking what it will be like in generations to come when there are no longer veterans of the 20th century coal industry to bear witness to the life and eventual death of their industry and their culture of cameraderie, which left its stamp on community life and men's sense of dignity and worth. In a way it reminded me of visiting a battlefield museum staffed by old soldiers. Eventually, we'll only have the videos. The noise and dust of industry, as of battle, comes and goes. And at least for the time being, nature reclaims with its beauty what man has despoiled.

The trip to Blaenafon, up through former mining valleys was a feast of Springtime greenery and flowers all the way.

Barrage walk

Caught the bendy bus down the Bay this afternoon. Preparations for this week's Urdd Eisteddfod have filled the area in and around the Millennium Centre with show tents, stands, fairground kit and crowds of people. We circumvented them all and went for a walk across the Bay barrage to Penarth and then caught the bus back home after a brief glance in a few estate agents' windows - eyeing up the prospects for re-locating next year, as we do from time to time. The view from Penarth Head across the Bay is one I could live with, both on a bright day like today, and in all the other damper, darker varieties of weather we have to put up with. I still find the flatlands of the city a trial to live in when it's overcast.

Thinking big on Severn Barrage plans

With Fr. David Lee covering for me at today's lunchtime Eucharist, I was free to attend a meeting of a group called Churches Action on Sustainable Environment at the R.B. offices to hear a couple of expert presentations about the Severn barrage project options. These focussed on the assessing the varied environmental impacts of the different proposals.

I was disappointed to learn that the prospect of a road or rail link across a full barrage was no more than a dream, not only given the cost, but also the technical difficulties of achieving this given the gradients involved. The one possible combination of road plus barrage would not deliver that much value in terms of power, carbon footprint savings etc., in comparison to its cost. The longest and most costly option isn't even subject to government feasibility study at the moment, (the Aberthaw to Minehead proposal) although, this would deliver most of Wales' electrical energy requirements in one project.

What doesn't seem to have been taken into account is the fact that such a barrage would also serve to enclose and protect the Bridgewater Levels area. This is an economically important area, most of which is only just above sea level. It's going to suffer not only from tidal surges but also from overall sea level rises. Being inside a barrage with sea locks for shipping would mean long term stability for the agriculture and shipping trade of this area, as well as its housing and roads. The greater cost would mean savings on protecting the Levels. The expert view is that the further down the estuary a barrage is located, the less the inevitable environmental impact all round.

However, the present global financial crisis means that there's no queue of investors wanting to sink fifty billion pounds into future-proofing the region's economy. Even if the feasibilty study for the biggest option is costly, it deserves full consideration. I suggested that the Welsh Bishops get together with the Bishops of the dioceses of Bristol and (already watery) Bath & Wells, to make some useful representations. Doing nothing or failing to go for a more ambitious option could prove far more costly in the long term.

A right proper Ascension Day

How nice to have a bright, sunny, Ascension Day even if the temperature was more like early Spring than late. Fr Roy Doxsey and I shared the school Eucharist first thing before going our separate ways. He had three more Eucharists to do during the day, and I just two more.

For both of us, I think, this gathering of two hundred children of different faiths and nationalities with a couple of dozen parents and teachers could be no better way to start of day of celebrating our belief in the universal value and relevance of Christ Jesus our Lord for all humankind.

Later, as I was getting ready for the Midday Eucharist at St John's, two young men of middle Eastern origin approached me with questions.

First - how old is the church? (Easy, thirty second potted history)

Second - what sort of church, Catholic or Protestant? (Thirty second introduction to Anglicanism)

Third - do you worship the Virgin Mary like Catholics? (One minute on the difference between veneration, as opposed to adoration of God alone)

Fourth - do people here believe in God without obeying God's laws? (Well, sort of, but it doesn't do them much good - 30 seconds)

Fifth - do you believe people who do wicked things go to hell when they die? (Two minutes - You don't have to wait that long. Guilt, shame, fear in the face of wrongdoing means you've put yourself in hell already. Things can hardly improve later unless you do something about it?)

Sixth - but didn't Jesus sacrifice his life to forgive wrongdoers, whether or not they pray to him and believe? (Two minutes - yes, the point of him showing such love on the Cross was to defeat evil, stop it making people suffer hell, but wrongdoers still need to claim that love, learn to live by it, and change their ways to end their own suffering.)

Seventh - what about people who don't believe, or who came before Jesus? (A minute and a half on spiritual solidarity, harrowing of hell, and the righteous who obey God's law but cannot accept God as portrayed by religion.)

Time up. Sorry guys, gotta go say Mass now. Where do you come from? Kuwait. Are you Muslim? Yes. (Smiles all round) Ma'as sala'ama'. (Go in peace)

I enjoyed telling the congregation of eleven all about this eight minute interfaith encounter. Interfaith? Come to think of it, I didn't know their religion when they asked their questions so keenly. If I had, some of my explanations would have been more concise, as I've learned a little over the years about the commonalities, differences and the language terms that would have rendered my answers more concisely.

After the evening Eucharist, in which I recounted this exchange during my homily, Richard, my Vicar's warden recounted how he'd been quizzed about the church and its faith practices by a young Asian couple, just as he was about to depart after last Sunday's Evensong. They'd never seen an organ before, and wanted to know if the slots in the organ pipes were for posting letters into (presumably prayer texts - a not unfamiliar practice in some Buddhist parts of the world). He took pleasure as a good Christian engineer should, in explaining how this great device made music to accompany worship.

It turned out that the couple were Parsii (Zoroastrians).

Yesterday we had a return visit from a couple of young Cuban women, asking for prayers on the anniversary of the death of their Grandfather and Uncle. They were probably Catholic, but evidently they felt at home with us.

Such a privilege, to welcome the world into God's house.

Family matters

I went back to sleep, woke up late and had a struggle to lively myself up in order to take Auntie Daphne back home to Crediton. Despite the rain, it was a good journey and by the time we reached Somerset it had just about stopped The Devon countryside with its rich red earth is abundant with spring flowers, buttercups, dog daisies, small daisies, lilac bushes was a feast for the eyes. On the way home I paid a surprise visit to my sister Pauline and brother in law Geoff in Bleadon Hill. It's possible to look across the Severn Estuary at Cardiff Bay, and the Beacons from their bungalow. Their street's not called 'Brecon View' without good cause. As I arrived home Clare was outside and waving a phone excitedly at me. It was Owain on the line, announcing that the British Council were offering him the job he'd really hoped for.

There was a message awaiting me to tell me of the death of Muriel Davies, the widow of Canon Edwin Davies, my predecessor but one. Later, her son Neil rang about her funeral. It was her express wish for this to happen 'among friends' in St John's, not in the Cathedral Parish where she'd lived until she finally had to move into a care home. Nothing against the Cathedral, but those who've belonged to St John's retain that bond of affection with the heart of Cardiff's holiest and most venerable place. All those of the St John's 'family' who remember her will be there, for sure.

Dream time

I awoke early this morning from a low level anxiety dream. Familiar yet different. Since before I was ordained I've dreamed of being in front of a congregation and being ignored, or not being able to communicate, or being so disorganised and unprepared that I just can't get the service started. It happens still, every now and then, after forty years.

What was different this time was that I was in a vast church building, full of people. They were all praying, waiting on God, not waiting for me to get things started, as they were already worshipping. They were waiting for me to teach them from the Word, lead them in meditation, offer them something that would take their worship to a new level. And I had no trouble about what to say, or about being listened to, only about being organised and getting myself to the place in this vast throng from where I could feed all these spiritually hungry people.

There's never been a vast crowd like this in any of those previous anxiety dreams. It's been rare throughout my working life that I've ever had that privilege - even the full church in Geneva was only 150 people at festivals. Mine has been a ministry through the generation of decline - perhaps that itself has been a source of perennial anxiety.

I don't know what to make of this.

Opera talk (2)

Paul Hocking and I had a meeting this afternoon with Paula Whittingham of HANR to firm up some of the details of the planned induction course of Street Carers. We hope the initial pilot training evening will take place on 9th July. It's taking an age to put together, simply because of the difficulties of co-ordinating the timetable sof those involved. It should have taken place by now.

Afterwards, I met up with my cousin Lindsay, down in Cardiff to visit his mother, my auntie Joyce now in a care home in Cyncoed. We sat upstairs in one of the market's snack bars and chatted until closing time. We talk mor eoften of the phone than we have met since his father died a couple of years ago. Whenever he comes to town, he's busy with mum, or I'm busy with work. I wonder if it will be any different when I retire? Or will there really be more quality time for people?

'La Boème' was beautifully produced and sung, and Bethan in stage costume was easy to identify by her willowy movement - she is also tall for her age. She really looked at home, and enjoying the experience. She's performing with WNO in Brum next week.

'La Boème' is a real tear jerker, for its tragic plot and emotional music. Doubly so for me, as my mother and sisters used to perform its great arias at home when I was a child sixty years ago in Ystrad Mynach. When I was too young to stay up, I used to sneak out of bed and sit on the stairs if it was warm enough, in order to hear them singing better.

Sitting there listening to 'Si, Mi Chiamano Mimi' in the Millennium Centre auditorium, beyond soloist and orchestra, my memory echoed with the sound of mum's piano, and contralto voices singing in English 'They call me Mimi', transposed for lower voices. It was more than making our own entertainment. It was also an education in its own right, for which I am immensely grateful and also very proud.

Opera talk (1)

Last night, Clare and I went to hear the Welsh National Opera's performance of Tchaikovsky's work 'The Queen of Spades' - three deaths in three acts. In essence it's a Russian moral fable about the futility and dangers of indulging the passions, money and gambling being the targets on this occasion. I wasn't expecting to enjoy it, but the music and the singing were superb.

Before the main Eucharist this morning, Bethan (10) was telling me enthusiastically about her involvement with WNO as a crowd singer and actor in Puccini's 'La Boème'. As it happens we have tickets. Clare and I are taking Auntie Daphne. It's impossible not to be thrilled by the way WNO and the Millennium Centre involve children and adults in all sorts of activities in and around their principle mission of putting on Opera. When we arrived last night the area outside the Centre was filled with tents erected in preparation for the Urdd Eisteddfod this week.

Urdd, for non Welsh readers, is a Welsh language youth organisation with a superb record in nurturing all sorts of performance skills and creative activities in the Welsh language cultural scene. It has its home base in the Millennium Centre these days. That's what Opera in Wales is on a par with Rugby, when it comes to pride and lifting the spirits.

Actually, I think Opera is more successful in this endeavour more often. Long may it be so!

Intruder

I got down to church to let Steve and Mike into the sacristy to finish off the window installation job, to discover that someone had climbed the scaffolding, ripped out the top section of board covering the window light awaiting the return of its glazed panel, climbed through the narrow opening and dropped down over twelve feet into the sacristy, to snoop around. Finding all the doors securely locked, the intruder moved a ladder and climbed back out the same way.

Thankfully the miscreant's precarious decent in darkness didn't result in damage to the new glazed panels. Nothing was taken, nothing disturbed, except the well being of those of us who discovered the intrusion. Annoyingly, the office phone was not working, and the internet connection down, as the junction box came off the wall recently and got filled with dirt and water, so I had to go over to the City Centre manager's office and beg the use of a phone to report the incident to the police, and alert the phone company to our need for an engineer's visit.

By mid-afternoon the window job was complete, and the new guard installed. Now the whole thing looks great. both inside and outside. It's amazing what a difference having all new guards properly fitted has made to the external appearance of the church, a real face lift. The have one left to do now. The Comper High Altar window needs a good clean, and a new window guard that'll cost several thousand to make and a few more to install, given the price of scaffolding hire. But it will be worth it.

Thankfully too, by the end of the day, the phone was working again.

Biking Bishop and bendy buses

An early start this morning to be down at church to open up for Steve and Mike Haskins, the glaziers, who'd come over from KIngswood Bristol, to re-instate the sacristy window removed for repair and renovation before Christmas. It meant I had a great opportunity to photograph them at work. The results are here

At a few days notice the venue and timing of our Deanery Clergy meeting was changed to make possible a meeting with our new Assistant Bishop, David Willbourne. I had to arrange someone to cover my midday Eucharist, in order to attend the one celebrated by the Bishop for clergy, at St Luke's in Canton. Fortunately, Canon Holcombe from the Cathedral was able to take my place, so I was able to be there on time.

At the Eucharist was was impressed with our new assistant Bishop's way with words, his thoughtful turning of well worn phrases. He's a Yorkshireman and brings some original freshness to us as part of his engagement with his new ministry. If he can get us all thinking and shed new light on our contemporary malaise, the welcome he gets will be far more than courtesy demands. I was delighted to learn that he's a committed habitual cyclist, already discovering that he can commute by bike to the Llandaff office as quick if not quicker by bike than by car.

Getting to St Luke's meant catching a number 17 bendy bus plying the route out to Ely, the third day in a row for me to use this service. One thing struck me on the outward journey. The bus was about half full, but seemed more crowded as there were three people with wheeled trolleys doubling up as a zimmer frame; three mums with push-chairs; another two with wheeled travel cases; all crammed into the first section of the bus designed with wheeled passengers in mind. This made it hard for passengers without whelled appendages to get on and pass up the bus.

Rather than go to the back of the bus to get off, those in the front part of the bus walked forward, using the same exit as passengers getting on. Are the numbers using wheeled appendages rising, or peaking at a certain time of day? Or is there simply not enough space to accommodate this change, even though the bendy bus is designed to take wheelchair passengers. I must find out if anyone's doing homework on this. One factor in keeping buses running to time has to be time spent getting passengers on and off. If there's congestion in the buses as well as on the road, that's not going to help much.

Believers and unbelievers in dialogue

This last two mornings, I've been up early, out of the house and on my bike into town, to catch a bus out to Ely for a 9.15am start at the Jasmine Centre, where I've participated in a training workshop on Anti Discrimination and Religious Diversity Awareness, along with fifteen others who work in public sector or voluntary organisations with an obligation to implement policy shared by the new Equalities Act. My participation in this dates back to an interesting invitation received from Terry Price of NovaScarman Trust and Charles Willie of the Cardiff & Vale Coalition for the Disabled back in January, to participate in the pilot project which they were planning, as part of a Europe-wide initiative.

The two days were carefully planned and executed with perfect attention to timing, without this feeling in any way contrived. Terry and Charles are experienced trainers and very relaxed in their work of facilitation, without ever losing focus. It's an admirable skill to have. There was a good mix of participants in terms of age range, gender and ethnicity. There were two Muslims, one Sikh, and apart from me, several churchgoers, although it never became entirely clear how many active committed churchgoers there were, as opposed to people identifying with Christian faith but not involved in any faith community.

What was good about the process was that it gave participants a change to air their views about relgious matters and be listened to, without ending up in argument or diatribe, knowing that all exchanges were governed by 'Chatham House rules'. So really there's not much more I can say about the participants or the detail of discourse. For me it was a rare opportunity to listen to the stories of people who had been raised completely outside the influence of any faith community, and to listen to people who had been raised in a faith community but have rejected all that they grew up with.

It was difficult, almost distressing at times to realise how far their experiences of other people's faith differed from my own - not that I haven't had enough negative experiences of religion to keep me closer to the edge than the centre as a religious professional - it's the never ending search for the truth of God that keeps me going, I guess. Could I give up, as some of them have? Sometimes, I think that's possible, but the feeling passes. I wish many of my colleagues could have had the privilege of sharing in this exercise. It would perhaps help us to re-think how we approach proclaiming the good news and living the faith relevantly and attractively today. All of us, me included, need to get out of the religious ghetto more.

One small delight was getting to know a young man who arrived at the workshop on Monday, having flown back from Saudi Arabia over the weekend, where he'd been making the Hajj, after a visit to Jordan and Israel/Palestine with a group of young muslims. His iPhone was packed with pictures which he shared with me, taken by himself as a pilgrim, circulating the Ka'aba, and visiting Mecca's Grand Mosque. The prize for me was seeing his photos inside Al Aqsa Mosque in the heart of Jerusalem's Old City. One of the photos was a view from the side of the Dome of the Rock across the valley to the Mount of Olives. He wondered about one of the ornate building on the hillside, whether it was a synagogue. He was intrigued to learn it's the Church in the Garden of Gethsemane - familiar to me from my visits there. Oriental style churches with domes and cupolas were unfamiliar to his eyes.

The fact that he and the group he'd been with were all young, and had been allowed into the Al Aqsa complex told me something I hadn't seen reported. People under forty were for some time banned from entry, in case they started a protest and caused affray, but now visits are possible. A small sign of hope maybe?

One small step in the Holy Land

The Pope's in Jordan, and that's newsworthy enough. His next stop, Jerusalem. On the BBC Sunday programme this morning I heard an encouraging news report, which re-connected me with the last week of my stay in Jerusalem during Advent 2000. Sabeel hosted an iftar (ramadhan post sunset breakfast meal), at which Christian and Muslim leaders with pastoral responsiblities for the churches and mosques of the Old City, sat down at table and ate together for the first time ever - I believe. In that same month the top regional Jewish Christian and Muslim leaders met in Alexandria, Egypt for a first ever conference. This led to an unprecedented declaration about the incompaitbility of violent resolution of conflict with the teachings of the three faiths. Words are one thing, practical outcomes are another, and effective timetables even fewer.

Eight and a half years since then, Israel now has a council of three faith community leaders who had special responsibilities for the sites that are sacred to some or all of them, a meeting in whch problems of responsibility, ownership, security, and visitor care can be addressed. This is a real break through in recognising that the needs of each has an impact on the others, and expresses a desire to do something about common concerns. No doubt progress will continue to be slow. We'd all like a miraculous win-win resolution of all the Holy Land's problems. A commitment to meet and share practical issues, is as likley to be bureacratic as it is diplomatic. But it's in keeping such commitments that can lead to effective and peaceful transformation.

Mission endorsed in principle

I was pleased to hear from Father Graham Francis this evening that Thursday's review of the work of the Lightship and Bay Chaplaincy ended with resolve to pursue the continuation of this mission project with increased ecumenical involvement and support. There was no doubt about the value of what has been achieved up to now, after the presentations and endorsements received. The only way forward that can strengthen and build upon these achievements is a broader base for support, so that we get nearer to having someone representing the interests that many Christian denominations in the working life of the Bay area.

The challenge is now to move from good participants' good intentions to a financial commitment from denominational treasuries to pay out over the next three to five years. It shouldn't again be left to one denomination (the URC) to foot the largest part of the bill for a post that has value for all Christians and their communities in the city.

Order, order

Yesterday afternoon I met Mike Parfitt in Church Street. He works as part of the city centre management team to ensure the night time economy functions legally and safely, by reminding everyone doing business of their obligation to ensure an ordered, stable environment. If they get it right, violence and social chaos at night reduces. In fact, that's what is happening. Several years ago Cardiff drew national and international media attention due to problems arising from nocturnal binge drinking in clubland. Cardiff has got right both policing and regulation of legal commercial night-time activity. Crime and disorder in the city have dropped, though it's far less well reported than earlier problems.

Mike talked to me about introducing bollards as barriers in Church Street during pedestrian hours to deter people from slipping in with their cars and making life unpleasant in a zone which, by nature of the vast majority of its businesses is going to be serving food and drink inside and on the pavements (most have permits) during pedestrian hours. Bollards are flavour of the month around the city centre, used everywhere to delineate spaces and keep vehicles of all kinds from intruding upon pedestian space. If only we had been able to invest in underground parking, the equation would have been so different.

By the time I arrived in church this morning, Robin Samuel had arrived, set up the Christian Aid Week publicity display in the north aisle, and left. I'd like to have been able to sit with him and have a cuppa, but anxiety about removing his car before parking restrictions start, drove him out early. One of the side effects of inevitable regulation at the heart of the city.

After the Eucharist, I spent some time in the tea room, as I often do on a Friday. This week as journalist with a photographer was in, taking pictures of home made cakes on sale, and interviewing Margaret for her recipes for a food page in a forthcoming weekend newspaper supplement. A very nice piece of indirect marketing for our little social enterprise, that provides a convivial space for all sorts of people, centred on simple good food and a warm welcome.

Welcome of a different kind early evening, when St John's served as host for the annual investiture ceremony of the Order of St Lazarus. One of the Orders of Chivalry with a charitable interest in those suffering from leprosy, its members are drawn from all churches. Members came from all over Britain to take part. It's good that they wanted to come to us, and that we were able to welcome them, even though it mean that Philip and I were late arriving home for supper.

Reviewing mission in the Bay

Another early cycle trip down the Bay this morning. First, to County Hall to pick up the video camera loaned to me, to record an interview for use in the Street Carers' training programme next month. Then, on to the Millennium Centre for a meeting with church representatives with an interest in the future ministry of the Cardiff Lightship.

Mission to Cardiff Bay's regeneration project began twenty years ago, and the Lightship became its physical as well as symbolic base. Although established as an ecumenical enterprise, the burden of responsibility for the ministry of the Bay Chaplain and the presence of the Lightship has fallen mainly on the region's United Reformed Church. Monica Mills, the present Chaplain retires just before me in 2010, and URC Wales thought it appropriate to review the achievements and changes of recent years, and pose questions about the future of this excellent initiative.

The meeting was well supported, not only by ecumenical church stakeholders, but also by the CEO of Cardiff Council and the deputy Speaker of the Assembly and the Millenium Centre's assistant director, all expressing their appreciation of the presence of a ministry to them that was outside the confines of their professional frame of reference. I hope this made the church representatives sit up and take notice. You don't get this kind of support unless you pay proper attention to the realities of your local environment.

I was unable to contribute anything to discussion about the future, as I had to slip off at the crucial moment to celebrate the Eucharist at St John's. I had to confine myself to emailing thoughts to its organisers later in the day. The occasion was well organised to encourage all participants to think about the meaning of mission in today's world of everyday work, outside the usual framework of involvement in the local domestic community.

The Bay is a crossroads for many communities of interest which are not based on geography but on opportunity, initiative and institutuons. The church is still learning how to relate to this melange of meetings and concerns. The desire to care for people pastorally and share the Gospel with them is a driving force that leads in all sorts of unexpected directions, as the Spirit moves. It's different in many ways from the accepted conventions of ministering in residential settings where the bulk of the church's present ministry is located, and exposure to it can make people feel nervous, out of their depth.

There's so much that the settled church has to learn about its own local mission from the existence of ministry shaped only by opportunity and initiative. Both need each other to express the full authenticity of service to the Gospel. I can only hope that today's meeting will help generate fresh support for the future of the Lightship and Bay Chaplaincy. The former is unique. The latter is typical of the church at the frontier of society, doing what it should be doing. Listening, reflecting, helping others to understand: 'What is the meaning of this City?'

Keeping Cardiff moving

Another meeting of the Countdown 2009 executive board this morning, reporting back on all the different components of preparation to re-launch the Cardiff as 'capital of shopping' this autumn. Much of the meeting was devoted to transport concerns - inevitably given the inadequacy of road infrastructure to cope with growing demand, and the need to make the centre as accessible as possible for workers and shoppers - worshippers as well.

Public transport won't be able to benefit the public if congestion from cars and taxis make punctuality impossible. Since de-regulation came to the taxi world, the numbers plying their trade has escalated. Regulation of their competing efforts to provide a public service has not kept pace with growth, despite the best efforts of Council and police. Those who issue taxi licenses in the Borough don't seem to understand the impact of their actions on other road users, nor the meaning of sustainability in a city which is paying dearly now for failure to implement far reaching infrastructure changes thirty years ago.

Changes there must be, and everyone will complain at having the change their habits of mobility. Unfortunately, current thinking is based on predictions of growth presuming little will change from the trends of recent years, yet already change is on the horizon. World recession could contribute to long term change in spending habits, especially when (rather than if) energy costs, and therefore transport costs make car use and ownership less attractive compared with the cost of public transport.

In my view, the sooner public transport becomes fully competitive, altogether more attractive than private transport (cars and taxis), the better for all - less congestion, less pollution. The City's forthcoming carbon reduction strategy is going to throw down the gauntlet on this issue, sooner rather than later. Yet, I sense that many of those wrestling with problems of today and tomorrow, if they are aware of what's coming the day after, are denying attention to things that could contribute radically to an effective longer term solution even earlier.

In the past five years Cardiff Bus has done well to improve services. A great start has been made. Lots more development is needed to prepare citizens for a different kind of (low carbon) future - more bus lanes and synchronised traffic signals, new vehicle designs catering for those on wheels, and those who don't cope well with being shaken around, by stop-start, weaving through traffic movement that can make bus travel an ordeal for both the very young and the elderly.

If only we could go for a light tram network ... if only.

Now wash your hands

Finally, I got around to buying a transparent plastic mixing bowl from Poundstretcher for use at the altar. Yes, at the altar - something big enough to contain a few litres of water to use for proper hand-washing before the Liturgy of the Eucharist.

In common with other churches retaining a tradition of liturgical ritual, custom at St John's has been for the celebrant to wash hands (fingers, in effect) as the last action of the Offertory - the placing of the Gifts on the Holy Table before the recitation of the Eucharistic Prayer. The prayer recited during ablution is : 'Lord, wash me from my iniquity and cleanse me from all my sins'. Washing becomes an act to remind the celebrant of his limitations and God's grace, when remembering and re-enacting the last supper during the Eucharistic Prayer.

Contending with a cold on Sunday after my Bilbao visit, as the news about swine 'flu broke, I was struck by advice from the head of WHO, to curb infection by hand-washing. If you have 'flu or are in contact with someone with 'flu, wash your hands. Nothing spiritual about that. Just practical prudence. When I reflected about it, I realised our ritual act belongs to the world as it was before anyone had any idea about how disease was transmitted. Today every food hygiene programm teaches people to wash their hands before preparing food, not after. Amazing to think that the church hasn't yet universally reflected this in what it trains its clergy to do at the altar.

It's a small change to make, but I decided that in future I'd wash my hands every time, before beginning to prepare the bread and wine for Communion and not after as is customary. So last week, after all the potentially cross infecting hand shaking at the Peace during the Sunday service, I slipped into the sacristy and washed my hands properly before the Offertory. Now I have a proper bowl which can be filled with soapy water, to perform a ritual which is both practical and devotional, before preparing the table for Communion.

It's ages since the ridiculousness of the gap between ritual and reality first insinuated itself into my consciousness. Shame on me that I didn't do something about it before now.

Food in the Garden

To start the Bank Holiday, a nice lazy lie-in followed by breakfast. Then an hours trip West down the M4 to the National Botanic Garden. It must be a year or more since we last visited. Today was the second day of the West Wales Food Festival, and there were lines of booths set up in the square outside the Healers of Myddfai exhibition promoting the very best eatable and drinkable produce of Cardiganshire, Carmarthenshire and Pembrokeshire. What a delight.

There was a stage, with some excellent live music, traditional May-pole dancing, bouncy castles, all the usual festive stuff. The weather wasn't up to much, with wind and drizzle on and off most of the time. Wandering away to overlook the lakes and Paxton's tower with the feisty sound of electric harp and bass propelling the music Welsh jigs and reels up the hill behind us was enchanting and invigorating - contemporary Welshness at its best.

Mid afternoon in the lecture theatre BBC's Jamie Owen interviewed Simon Wright, owner of Y Polyn, a restaurant, close by the Garden, one of Wales' finest eateries, on the quality of food alone. Simon is poacher turned gamekeeper, having been a food writer cum restaurant critic in his earlier days. Not only is he running his own outfit these days, but growing his own food in situ as well, recently subject of a documentary series on BBC Wales. The hour long conversation with Q&A at the end was an interesting celebration of values in the realm of things we eat. Having inevitably done school dinners, teaching kids to cook, and rubbish restaurants, I was only sorry I didn't ask my one nagging question. How do we set about restoring to families and communities the desire to sit down and enjoy eating together regularly, as part of the heart and soul of their lives?

Which reminds me, I must get in touch with photographer Paul V Kelly to find out if he's been able to make any progress on mounting an exhibition of his work themed around the subject of eating together. I was fascinated to meet him two years ago when he exhibited his photos of an African leprosarium at St John's, and ran this idea for another show past me.

Match Sunday

Quite a full day today, with three home communions to do in the afternoon, and a church council meeting in the evening. There was a rugby match in the stadium, so road closures and the ending of the game at five thirty meant that the streets were filled with tens of thousands of people walking away from the centre as I was making my way into church to say Evensong. It was quite difficult, handling a bicycle, impossible to ride against the tidal flow of people absorbed in their own thoughts and feelings. They were well behaved however, as rugby crowds generally are, and the atmosphere was comfortable, even though Cardiff just lost the game in unique circumstances.

Just half a dozen of us managed to make it through the crowds to pray together. The crowds had cleared by the time we came out, so I was able to ride home quickly to get ready for the meeting. A Sunday evening church council could be hard work at the end of a long day, but I find I am blessed by a group that works together well with 'light touch' guidance. I never have to be referee. 'One in heart and mind' would be a suitably paschal way to describe our deliberations. So often over forty years I have found such church meetings hard going, but not so here and now thankfully. Maybe it's taken me most of that time to learn how to let others do together what they excel at when given the chance.

Re-greening the Valleys

This afternoon, Clare and I took ourselves out of Cardiff to explore some unfamiliar places within easy reach by car.

First we headed out of town through Llandaff to visit Llantrisant, which still has the appearance of a hill village, and commands views of both the Vale and the Valleys south and north. The central square of the old village is called the Bull Ring and is dominated by an old workhouse building, converted into a very fine craft centre that not only showcases many different kinds of artists working there, but also offers a base for educational activities and creative workshops. It's a superb piece of social enterprise, under the brand name of the 'Model House'. Worth a visit.

Whilst there are shops in the Bull Ring, selling toys, jewellery, garden supplies, a few pubs, there isn't a grocers, a bakery, or a mini-market, a pharmacy or a doctor's surgery immediately evident. This suggests that the heart of the old village has lost much of its convivial character. On the valley floor below, at Church Village, there's a huge retail park and supermarket. All anyone could want (as long as they are still physically mobile), is there for the asking. But it drains life from a town centre which has been there for seven centuries. The Model House is an exemplary piece of social re-cycling of a public building, but the regenerative vision doesn't appear to have extended far enough to ensure that this hill-top village still works the way the heart of a village still should.

We drove on from there up Ogmore Vale to Gilfach Goch, one of those back of beyond valley villages, which end up in a no-exit cwm. A place which only exists now because it once had its own coal mine. A place defined by its terraced houses slicing inot the rounded hillsides of the landscape. No superstores up here, but still a noticeable number of small shops, serving the local community not only with domestic provisions, but also gathering points, essential places in the social network of the valley. Are such enterprises valued enough by those with grand designs, I wonder.

We walked up the stream, presumably the source of the Owgr river at the head of the valley, through the landscaped zone where one the local colliery had stood. Much effort has been made in re-shaping the contours of land scarred by mining spoil heaps to ensure there is no repeat of the Aberfan disaster. What are in effect storm drains have been constructed in stone down steep slopes to channel rain water run-off to the stream at the bottom, rather than let rain sink into the hillside and risk de-stabilising huge masses of relatively small grained material in flattened out coal tips. After thirty years, the surfaces of these engineered areas are far less bio-diverse than ancient hillsides. Full integration biologically speaking may take centuries.

I was raised in a mining valley with coal dust in the river water, and in the sand along its shores. I'm delighted to return to Ystrad Mynach these days and see a clean water course with small fish stocks in the Rhymney again, and no sign of coal effluent. Shoals of river sediment are the same colour as the South Wales coalfield Pennant sandstone rock from which they were ground by the forces of nature.

Up at the head of the Ogwr Valley, the same Pennant sandstone is also a feature of the local landscape. The river is pure and clean. It leaches a pale red colour from surrounding strata that stains the rocky bed of the river in a distinctive way - the reason why the nearest village is Gilfach Goch (Goch=red in Welsh). As you climb up the artificially landscaped part of the stream, it's noticeable that in the river bed there's a lot more than the expected grey silt, pebbles and rocks of a pristine Pennant sandstone valley. There's a variety of colours, red, grey, blue, black in the pebbles, as colourful as a beach in Corsica. All this represents material washed down into the stream bed from the old coal tips. These are made up of stones raised from a half mile underground along with the coal. The stone ended up making the spoil heaps.

Beaches in Corsica, scree on alpine slopes may be equally as diverse in stone colour and character, representing aeons of geolgical change thrown up to the earth's surface by volcanic and glacial action. What so remarkable about the diversity of the pebbles in the Ogwr watershed is that they are so as the unique result of human enterprise. It's a tiny thing, give the scale of geological events, but nonetheless remarkable.

We drove from there down to McArthur Park outside Bridgend, a lovely scenic journey for the most part, with the aim of getting ourselves a cup of tea and inspecting the famous 'Designer Outlet' shopping mall. It was clean, well presented, well managed, but to me uninteresting, compared to the hillsides we'd just left behind.