What if the Pope came to Minny Street?

Friday to Saturday evening I spent with a bible study group from Pontyclun Parish, who invited me to lead their annual retreat focussing on the Acts of the Apostles. This took place at Trefeca out in the Powys countryside, an hour and a half north of Cardiff. This was once the home of Hywel Harris, one of the great Welsh language preachers of the 18th century Methodist movement in Wales. Trefeca now houses the well apppointed conference centre of the Presbyterian Church of Wales. I had been there for ecumenical missionary meetings twenty years ago. It was pleasing to find the place as tranquil and beautiful as it ever was, and to be there with mission as the centre of attention once more.

While waiting for the others to arrive, I browsed the Western Mail, and found in an article measuring one square inch at the top of a column an announcement that the Arcbishop of Canterbury was due to speak in Minny Street Welsh Independent Chapel, Cathays at 10h30 on Sunday morning. Minny Street is just around the corner from St Teilo's in Flora Street, one of the four churches of Central Cardiff Parish. This was the first I had heard of it. Elsewhere in the news I learned that +Rowan was being honoured by his former secondary school on Saturday, so it was unlikley to have been an error. One of the retreatants, a lay preacher of that denomination, confirmed that he knew +Rowan was under invitation to speak there, but couldn't confirm the date. What a surprise!

Well, actually a bit of an embarrasment if the truth is to be told. Had I missed out on an important circular, or a memo or an invitation? The leader of the Anglican Communion coming to a church in the next street to the place I would, at the same time, be leading one of my four Sunday services of the day. Did everybody else know? Would the congregation be there when I arrived for the service or would they have gone around the corner to hear the Archbishop, or maybe just to wave a flag or two?

I didn't let these discomforting ponderings intefere with a glorious evening journey home, but on arrival I hastily opened my post and went through my inbox in search of signs that I had overlooked a vital message. But there was nothing there.

Next morning, the faithful dozen were at St Teilo's as usual. Nobody had seen that square inch of newsprint I'd read, but someone said it had been harder to park than usual - extra cars in Flora Street, people speaking Welsh emerging from them, headed away from our church. After the Eucharist a handful ventured around to Minny Street to see if anything was going on there, but all was shut. The congregation had dispersed by that time.
Madonna performed to 59,000 in the Millennium Stadium that same evening. Several full pages of text and photos covered the event in advance. The streets filled with provocatively dressed fans from lunchtime until way past Evensong - a nicely festive atmosphere, quite different from football match days, when the centre feels more like a war zone.

The contrast between the visits of these two media celebrities couldn't have been more stark. But I daresay that if Pope Benedict had come to Minny Street Cathays, he'd have got as much coverage as Madonna, if not more. AND the church's media machine would have made sure we knew well in advance.

Quite apart from the discourteous lack of regard for local Christian communities, who might just welcome an opportunity to support and encourage such a distinguished visitor to their locality (even at a distance), the poverty of communication exposes here the virtual absence of meaningful ecumenical relationships between local urban churches in Cardiff, and across the language and cultural divide.

The need to encourage networking by simply letting people know what's going on is hardly covered by issuing a few press releases that get so little attention. Our Anglican leaders fret publicly about the threat of forthcoming international schism, while their media teams unwittingly help perpetuate, rather than challege the isolation of local church communities and the divisions between them, acting as if they didn't matter. A funny way to maintain a 'household of faith'. However, I musn't forget that in the real world 'oversight' means omission, not pastoral supervision as it does in the church.

Not everyone headed for Madonna on Sunday night. After such an intense and busy weekend I opted to renounce the opportunity to join the St John's Ambulance duty first aid team at the Millennium stadium. That's a pleasant duty regardless of what's on in the arena - game or concert. But it required more stamina than I felt I had, so I went home for some peace and quiet rest.

On my way past City Hall after Evensong, I heard the exuberant sound of live Banghra drumming coming from within, and saw women dressed in festive sarees making their way in - presumably for a reception after a wedding - it's a popular venue for Cardiff Asian community celebrations. I hope they all had a good evening - Madonna fans, wedding guests, and ponderers upon the words of +Rowan, our long-suffering local boy made good.

Demolition time

Within a week or so, the familiar if ugly profile of the church halls on the site of St James’ Parish church will be no more than a memory. Demolition started on Monday last, quite a task on an enclosed site. You can’t just bring in a bulldozer and push the building over.
First there’s a lot of dismantling to be done. Electric and telephone wiring, water and gas pipes have to be removed – once you’ve gone through a telephone obstacle course to find out who’s responsible for cutting off supplies, removing meters and sealing off the mains. The weeks leading up to this have been a nightmare of negotiation and bureaucratic steps required to give the project managers freedom to work.
A significant amount of responsibility for this process tracked itself back to me as incumbent of the Parish. I can't say that anything in my theological college training or experience in thirty five years of ministry provided me with the expertise to make light work of this. I daresay the majority of lay leaders in the local church would want to say the same.
It’s probably more complex to demolish a building than to erect one. After the service supplies, there’s the partition walls and ceilings, doors and windows to be removed, drains to be sealed off, sinks and toilets to be taken out. It took hours to remove equipment and furniture before the demolition team arrived. The first thing they discovered was that we’d forgotten about the roof void – full of seats (some broken, some never used, brand new, over-ordered a deace or more ago), also large children’s play toys (absorbed into the next-door school’s stock, fortunately). The demolition team do their job painstakingly. with care. There’s so much for them to think about , to ensure work doesn’t damage surrounding buildings, pollute the environment, or endanger the public.
We didn't have the money to repair the halls. Several months ago the company redeveloping the neighbouring tower block into apartments offered (by way of compensation to the school and church for a year's noise, pollution and disruption) to demolish the halls, then re-surface and re-fence the areas covered for school playgrounds. It was a handsome offer. The outcome will greatly enhance the sites of school, church and apartment block. Turning the offer into a reality proved a little more complex than anticipated, but at last the job is under way!
So many people have over the past century of the life of these hall buildings invested time and energy in them. When they ceased to have any value as a meeting place, their users moved on or the groups disbanded. Evidence of their presence is left behind for others to clear up. They take their memories and their regrets with them. Their junk is left to go in the first of many giant skips that take stuff off to the nearest landfill - office furniture, old typewriters, computer monitors, a dead video player, endless broken chairs and desks, punctured footballs, and table tennis table.
The halls stood on the site where the first iron mission church was erected on the site in 1878. After the present church was built and opened in 1894, the hall buildings were erected. They served ‘senior school’ pupils at Tredegarville church shcool for fifty years. Following a fire in the school, they were pressed into service as a dining room and classroom area until rebuilding was complete, then returned to Parish use as ‘the Guildhall’. The premesis was home for many years to an operatic and drama society, until this moved on and the long spiral into decline of both church and community took place. The funeral rites for this dead community amenity are left to a harrassed cleric and churchwardens, and a dozen brawny suntanned guys in hard hats and hi-viz jackets.
We’ll get used to the empty space once new railings and gates enclose an expanded school yard, revealing the lines of the school, sparkling with the everyday vitality of work with children. All who lived and grew up with the Guildhall will regret its passing. There’ll be more regrets when St James’ church closes next month. Thankfully it won’t be demolished. We're all hoping that it can be leased or sold to a new owner sympathetic with the aesthetic qualities of this landmark buildings and its part in twentieth century city history.
Much use could still be made of St James’ church by community, school or Parish, but nobody so far, seems willing to raise or give the £100,000 needed to repair, adapt and an extra £100,000 needed to develop the running of the building over the next five years. That’s the cost of a house in some parts of Cardiff these days. But it’s money nobody is willing to spend. If we can’t, or won’t come up with the price of using it, we are destined to lose it. Sentiment is worthless unless it materialise in action. ‘Be doers of the Word not hearers only’ said St James’ in his Epistle general. How sad his advice has not been heeded. God forgive us all.

The media circus comes to church

Getting all dressed up
Thursday morning I was at St John's by nine, and soon after the BBC film crew vehicles started to arrive, plus the team dedicated to 'dressing' the church for the purpose of filming. The mis en scène, for the opening scenes of this year's Doctor Who Christmas Special edition, was to be in a church adorned for the festive season. The elegant fifteenth century pillars were draped from top to toe in spirals of shiny red satin cloth, and kitchy plastic vines (?). The young man tasked with this took his life into his hands eight times at least, mounting a 15 foot ladder to cast his drapes and vines out and around the pillars. A Health and Safety nightmare, but not for us, since the Beeb had charge of its own employees. But as the guy was old enough to be my son, my heart was in my mouth anyway.
Antique style lanterns on poles were added to a selection of pew ends of the main aisle for a bridal walk - a mighty fire and safety hazard in the real world, and more plastic flowers and vines installed, not to mention a couple of super iron standing candelabra I wished they'd forget to take away.
By evening the building looked the epitome of bad Italian ecclesiastical taste. In TV-land the church where the drama is set was meant to be somewhere in Chiswick, London, not Parma or Palermo. TV producers are omnipotent it seems. They can violate the norms of taste and culture with impunity. Then the punters watch it on TV and start demanding the church be dressed up like that for their nuptials. It's a bit like 'You may kiss the bride', which features in no known traditional or modern Christian liturgical text but has insinuated itself into the action as people see it in Hollywood movies.
All our church notice boards were taken down and stashed away out of sight. All evidence of context erased. No Christmas tree, however, and no alternative noticeboard was erected. These were to be digitally added later in a cyber studio. If I'm to suspend disbelief for a bit of sci-fi entertainment, I'd prefer everything else was as authentic as possible ... I wonder if Chriswick turned down this unique video opportunity?

Tea and sympathy
The church Tea Room stayed open for business. Customers were meant to come in only through the churchyard instead of having the usual choice of two entrances to get there. As it was a nice day, and a University Graduation ceremony day at St David's Hall just down Working street from the church, there was a steady flow of business, though very little of it from the theatre technicians beavering away all around the building. One proud 'nice' family of a graduate hi-jacked a table meant for customers in the churchyard, and downed two bottles of Champagne there, leaving the bottles for us to throw away. I wonder if they saw that in a TV programme too?
The set dressers seemed to get through the day on paper cupfuls from Café Nero over the way, and pasties from the shop opposite the West end tower. Some folk just aren't spiritually ready for decent bone china cups (bought at auction), home made soups and those cakes-to-die-for that make our little enterprise so valued by Cardiffians and people from around the world.
Several church members turned up to act as 'welcomers' ( also known as ' church minders'). I printed them nice little official badges, which they wore with pride as they chatted up crew members and fielded visitors. Some walked straight past the rather dopey Beeb security hirelings, unaware of the goings on in church, the variety of trip hazards, not to mention the guy tottering atop the ladder. Some were disconcerted and annoyed as they'd come seeking peace and quiet. Most took it in good part, appreciating being greeted and informed by a church member, shown a little of the building and sharing a little of the excitment of the occasion. The usual handful of 'regulars' showed for the 11h00 Eucharist, which took place, a little tensely amidst the hustle and bustle of the moment.

All systems 'go'
Thurday evening and early Friday morning, all the cameras and recording equipment arrived, and the cameras were rolling by 8h00 recording Phil Thomas, our Organist's hands playing .... oh no!!! Not the traditional incoming Bridal March from Löhengrin, but the traditional outgoing Wedding March from Mendelssohn, to accompany the entry of the Bride. The producer decided it was 'brighter'. I'm glad the film is set in fictional Chiswick. We don't do such 'vain things fondly invented' in Central Cardiff wedding services.
Chris, my new Voluntary Deacon came Thursday afternoon, and again on Friday her day off, to share in the meeting and greeting. As a Doctor Who fan this was a treat for her. She was in her element watching the 'takes', chatting with people. The scenes shot didn't include the Doctor, but rather a key story character played by a comedienne I'd not heard of before called Catherine Tate. I consider my ignorance of media personalities to be a pastoral gift. It means one can deal with every human being equally. No more, no less. What else can anyone ask for?

Confession time
Well, the truth will out, I gave up watching TV, apart from news and current affairs some years ago. Game shows and reality stuff are insulting to viewers and participants. Most drama I find too brutal or sordid and leaves me feeling more depressed about life than actual reality does. Speech and music, and a bit too much surfing suffices to keep me up to speed these days. Radio Drama has much better pictures. I hate the contrived illusions of video world and pity the generations growing up who know little better. Thus, I haven't watched any of the 21st century re-incarnations of the Doctor Who show. But, if they don't make unreasonable moral demands, I don't mind the modern illusionists using the church, so long as they pay enough to help us keep this building open as a sanctuary of prayer, encounter and hospitality for the rest of the year. One day these things will be as popular again as TV 'entertainment' is now.

Prayer in the midst of life's illusions
Anyway, back to the story. The Tea Room couldn't open on Friday as it was needed to prepare the stars for their appearances. We were well compensated, needless to say. I was consoled by the fact that several of the regular Tea Room volunteers came to join the midday Eucharist congregation, tucked tightly into the sacristy to leave the rest of the building free for uninterrupted filming. It was the only compromise made to filming apart from restricting church access.
All the Friday 'regulars' showed up, plus those freed from serving food and drink upstairs. Fifteen of us, bonded in worship by an unusual occurrence, and blessed by doing what we love best, no matter what else is happening around us. The last time a celebration in a different setting had quite such a satisfying impact on me was with a youth group around a boulder in a Valasian alpine pasture seven years ago. Again it was gratifying to see members of the church 'home team' just being there for people, being recognised and accepted.

Who is the real thing?
There were sixty 'extras' on site for filming, all dressed in style for a nuptial outing. They were used in different ways for different angles and only occasionally were all on the set at one time, so there were a lot hanging around at any time, waiting to be called, and we got to chat with them, and find out how many different walks of life they came from. At one moment I was amused, sitting outside in the churchyard chatting, to realise that cameras were being trained on me through the railings, by someone assuming I was an actor. Both Chris and I sporting our clerical gear were from time to time subjected to the question: "Are you an actor or the real thing?" It's an interesting question if you're the 'real thing' and you're acting the role of pastor and welcomer, but it's not the same as "Are you paid by the BBC?" There was an actor playing the cleric in the script. Chris learned he was a lay minister in a London Anglican Parish, commissioned to help distribute Holy Communion in his home Parish. Yes, there is a difference between reality and illusion, but it takes a bit of disciplined thinknig to make sure the difference between the two is always maintained. How good are we at doing this in the world of many virtual realities, I wonder?

Aftermath
The day's filming ended almost to schedule. Richard, our bell tower captain went upwards and fiddled the tower clock's hands to instructions issued over a walkie talkie, so that the movement of the hands could be filmed. A special elevating platform vehicle was brought in to film this. Once the work was done, the crew had problems stutting it down. Itz seems the accellerator stuck open, creating huge volumes of noise, and driving away customers from Piazza Italia opposite the church. Then the extending arm dropped slowly out of control on to an (empty, thankfully) table. Apparently the lorry from the hire company meant to pick up and return this vehicle turned up punctually and went away empty because the crew were slightly delayed - profitable for somebody no doubt - so, the platform had to be taken around into Working street and parked until it was collected after the weekend. Fine, except that the arm with the platform on was parked over the church railings, within a metre of a priceless window and a turret capable of giving lead thieves easy access to the church roof.
By the time filming was over, I was at home trying to re-focus on getting ready for Sunday. Around ten at night I remembered there were things I had forgtten to bring home with me from church, so I popped in the car and went down to find this platform compromisingly parked. On the way home I calle din Central Police station to ask them to keep an eye on it till Monday. Fortunately it was plumb in line with the surveillance camera on the Quuen's Arcade roof, so I slept soundly. And I got a call from Central on Monday to check all was well. One nice spin-off from this was seeing a guy I knew on night duty reception in Central Police station (a thankless task Friday nights). He's someone I know from St John's. He brings his elderly mother to church every other week, as his work shifts permit, but had never volunteeed that he worked for the Police. Now I know, and appreciate the effort he makes. Silver linings abound.

Decisions decisions

Excuses
Blood pressure check up first thing Monday morning - the worst time in the week after a long hard Sunday. It was down, but still not as 'normal' as the Doc would like it to be. He is being very pastoral towards me and trying to understand the pressures and demands. But then life has far from returned to being normal. Coping with crisis just goes on and on.

I was supposed to go on a (mandatory) Leadership Training Course run by the diocesan Continuing Ministerial Education team during the daytime Monday to Thursday, but the week's diary was out of control before I got the details (late) of where and when, so I had to send an apology. Pity really, as I'd decided I was going to spend the four days protesting that I was tired of being in 'church leadership', and would happily hand over all my 'leadership' responsibilities to someone with more energy and competence, in order to return to a simple laid-back life of prayer and pastoral encounter.

Anyway, it wasn't to happen. I couldn't even get someone to take my place to celebrate the four regular weeday Eucharists, and I wasn't going to cancel them if I could help it. I wasn't going to give up playing guitar for 'God on Mondays' either - it's a precious moment of meeting with families finding what church can mean outside the conventional expectation.

Permissions
There was a Tredegarville school governors' meeting, straight after 'God on Mondays' at which I had formally to seek permission to hold Parish worship services in the school, once St James' is closed down. Not everyone is happy about what we propose. There are anxieties which arise from failure to recognise that we are trying to care for people who are outside the existing congregation, plus those of the congregation who have stayed loyal but do relish being welcomed by near neighbour churches, and losing touch with each other an the fellowship of their distant youth. Anyway, we don't know where this venture will lead, and won't unless we give it a try.
I was contacted by the Representative Body's Properties Office to inform me that it was my duty to put in a request for planning permission in relation to the tidy-up works planned for two weeks hence at St James' which will give the school more play area and a secure boundary. I thought this was routinely done when the church want through its faculty procedure, but apparently not. This was something special to do with the transfer of a strip of land a few feet wide and fifty feet long from one Church in Wales organisation to another. City Planning would be interested - interested in what? A theoretical and internal change of ownership of a gap between buildings filled with rubbish, excrement, occasional needles and dossers, sordid enough to be mentioned in a modern novel about Cardiff low-life. Just the thing to make my blood pressure soar.
I got on to a local councillor whose planning consultative group I am a member of, and explained what had happened, asking his advice about whether turning an eyesore into a bit of extra school-yard space was really an issue for the Council as it seems to be for someone in the legal bunker (which seems to be making a bid to become the Church in Wales command and control centre, rather than its servant). His response will be ... interesting.

News of SD Two
Tuesday morning, I had the pleasure of taking my new colleague Chris to sit in on the monthly Retail Partnership Board meeting. People were, as ever, welcoming, and there was lots of interesting input, especially as we were being treated to a first look at the latest designs for the Grand Mall of the St David's II shopping centre. DHL, the meeting Chair was on the ball as usual and said astutely: "Now that looks like the main Mall I visited in Dubai recently, or was it Singapore?" A great discussion starter on the theme 'How are shoppers going to know they are in the Capital city of Wales, without overkill on dragons and daffodils?' Tricky - the designers and architects are not really on the same planet as the rest of us. Their enterprise is still far too London based. I never forget how when the first architects model of the city centre was unveiled, the tiny model of St John's church had been placed on the board recto-verso, with the tower at the east, not the west. It was great to joke about, but a serious side effect of remote control management and design.
Worries about the effect of redevelopment on the supply of shoppers' parking space in the city have been with us for the past two years. A big effort is being put into providing new 'Park and Ride' schemes, but a bit of brilliant lateral thinking has produced an enterprising solution. IKEA in Grangetown is too big for the region's needs and its parking twice what is needed. Five hundred of them are to be taken on for weekday Park and Ride - ten minutes ride from the central shops. IKEA's big retailing time is weekends and holidays. No doubt their restaurant will get extra business from tired and hungry shoppers on the way home. Another site in the Bay promises an additional 350 parking places to ease the loss of central multi-storey parks. City centre site clearance starts in earnest this coming November, a demolition and excavation exercise that will produce enough rubble to fill the Millennium Stadium. It'll all be up and running for Christmas 2009, so they say. While we are waiting, teams are preparing to excavate a new main sewer route through the back streets using underground boring equipment. This report was also the butt of jokes and puns. It's a great meeting, never a dull moment.

Look Who's coming
In the afternoon following the meeting, I had a meeting with Patrick Schweizer, a BBC site manager working for the Doctor Who Production team to finalise details for a two day film crew use of St John's to stage a wedding scene as part of this year's Christmas special. The team would like to have been left to its own devices, but we insisted that weekday worship would continue as normal, and that there would be several 'welcomers' from the church team around during both days, to keep an eye on things and be helpful to the crew. This seemed to me to be the most suitable way of avoiding accidental misuse of the building or its furniture, and was accepted meekly. Taking the church out of use and restricting public access at the height of the tourist season is not the best thing to do, so it was important some of the locals were around to explain politely, rather than leave the task to some BBC security gorilla in a hi-viz vest. It also meant that we were seeking more compensation than the BBC were offering as a starting price. A bit like haggling in reverse, they met our reasonable demand in the end, though some thought we should have held out for more.
Eventually, the publicity will help augment our visitor count. We've noticed more visitors coming in because the City Centenary town trail (in which we feature), its guidebooks and markers are now in place. We have English, French, German and Welsh guidebooks for taking away, and they are disappearing at a pleasing rate. It's a nice quality product.

To be or not to be?
The day ended with a Parish Church Council meeting, to discuss suggestions by the Bishop that the Parish be split to relieve me of some responsibilites and allow Chris and to concentrate on city centre work. This would put Jenny's successor in charge of a Cathays pastoral area, containing St Michael's and St Teilo's. I have misgivings about dividing up something that's working well. There are all sorts of issues, financial and organisational that will be rendered less easy by a separation. But what do the people want? The clergy helped establish the pros and cons and withdraw for the laity to discuss freely. Much to our surprise they agreed to go with the Bishop's proposal. Several key voices in leadership were absent, and St Teilo's under-represented, so this can't be a final position. After the meeting, I emailed a report to the Bishop. My brain buzzed with unanswered questions all night, so I got up at seven and emailed him a memo with nine questions arising immediately. No doubt there will be more!

Tredegarville triumphs and trials

'God on Mondays' revisited
Remember 'God on Mondays' ? It's our school term-time venture, over in St James' church, to bring together children from Tredegarville church school with their parents for a time of Christian worship and storytelling. Started last year before Christmas, now in its fifth series of themed teaching services. The school teachers are marvellous. Generally around half a dozen of them turn up in support. Another fifteen or so parents and relatives, plus children from six months to eleven years old, so we are usually 35-50 people. I lead singing with the guitar and Jenny my colleague tells stories, usually out of the Gospel, only this summer half-term series is based on the lives of the Saints. The church War Memorial chancel screen is decorated with strings of paper people figures of church heroes, and even more strings of figures with the names on them of the adults and children who turn up with delightful regularity. It feels like we are slowly, carefully making community happen, building relationships of trust and affection, or rather, to be honest, building upon the existing bonds of trust and affection well established by the school with its parents and children. Chris, my new colleague has joined us, leading worship and enjoying a new experience - three clergy working together at the same time, right on the edge (sic.) of the conventional frame of parochial religion.

Unexpected blessings
Given that 'God on Mondays' gathers parents and children, it's not surprising that the spin-off has been several families asking for Christenings. St James' , although by far the weakest of the four churches of the Parish, has seen four times as many baptisms as the rest of the Parish put together over the past few years. Most people who ask have family roots in the area. Christening their kids is an affirmation of their identity and their sense of belonging in a shifting world. They don't come to worship apart from this special occasion. We try to make it as special as possible, but have to admit that far too much of our worship makes no connections with their longings, their spiritual search. But 'God on Mondays' services and the social interaction produced bridges the gap to some extent. Our biggest surpise came when Julie, one of our Mums asked if she could be christened. She'd missed out as a kid, and mentioned it awkwardly, with embarrassment to some previous clergy, but never been taken seriously. After we'd recovered from astonishment, Jenny and I agreed that we should act decisively. At the first Monday service after Easter, Julie was baptized in St James, and on Trinity Sunday, she was confirmed at a Deanery service in the Parish of Canton. She now comes on Sundays as well as Mondays with her kids. It's been a marvellous experience accompanying her on her journey.

In the midst of life we are in death
Back in April, the Parish recognised that we couldn't afford to keep St James' open any longer despite 'God on Mondays'. In May the University property department officers came and gave the building the once-over to see if it might meet their pressing need for space. Silence since then. After six months of silence, the London-based Historic Churches Building Trust officer got in touch to ask if a joint site visit to St James' with CADW, the Welsh building conservation agency, would be possible, to evaluate the Parish's application for £25,000 to repair a seriously leaky roof - one of the issues that has defeated the church council over the past five years. I wrote back to say that we had been forced to seek redundancy for the church, and received by return a rejection of our application. The building remains one of Cardiff's landmarks, no matter who can afford to maintain it. But we are no longer eligible to be funded, or even part funded.
If we were to take all the salaries paid out to administer and monitor these funds so conscientously I wonder how many more buildings might be saved from ruin. Aspiration to save our heritage is a worthy thing, like aid to the Third World, but the way funding is organised to preserve jobs and channel energy away from the purpose never cease to amaze me.
Meanwhile, St James will close on September 16th, with a European Heritage Open Day event. We'll keep open house and run a local history exhibition in conjunction with Tredegarville school next door - the church was founded from a local pastoral mission which started with schooling in the area back in 1850. Sunday and Monday services will continue in the school hall, saving us a huge amount of money in costs of heating, lighting, insurance and repairs.
We're all sad to lose the building, but heavens, how much has sentiment been costing us, both in money and worry? Nevertheless, losing this building is hard blow for both church and school.

The gift horse cometh. However ....
Admiral House, next door to St James, is a tower of a building, which has lately been converted from being an empty office block to small desirable, profitable residential apartments. In fact, the portacabins of the site office move out next Sunday, blocking us from using the church car park once again. The building work has given both church and school much trouble with noise, dust, rubbish, vibration from pile drivers and demolition work, as well as parking blockages.
After negotiation, City Lofts the developers, agreed an 'everybody wins' compensation package. The church hall, pretentiously known as 'the Guildhall', with its derelict annexe, plus boundary walls between church and school, are to be demolished, and the space created re-used, fenced in as school playground - the school's space allocation is well below standard, so it wiill benefit. The church will be more accessible, (an asset when it comes to sale), and Admiral House will look a lot more attractive to prospective buyers. I can't imagine that the £30,000 expenditure on this project would effectively buy as effective advertising promotion for the new apartments.
Work begins Monday 24th. At the moment church officers are having trouble communicating with the providors of water, gas and electricity to request termination of services, and final billing. Each facet of these services is managed by different companies using different telephone services (automated and otherwise), so that it's impossible to be sure one has reached the right person with authority to call out workers on the ground to achieve the desired objective. The deadline day could prove to be fun, dangerous fun if they don't get their act together. There's even a 'phone line into the premesis, from a letting that finished seven years ago, which was nothing to do with the church, so there is no information in the church record that will allow us to call someone and ask if they want to come and take away their line.
The final nightmare, having received formal approval by way of a Faculty from the diocesan Chancellor to proceed with all these works, was advice from the Representative Body of the Church in Wales to ensure that city Planning Permission was granted for the re-defining of the school site by fencing and demolition - something we thought was covered by the granting of a Faculty. If this is not received, the work is held up sine die, work which must be finished between 24th July and 31st August, or could end up not being done. Without any guidance of offer of support, the resolution of this issue was dumped back on me as representative of the Parish - a move which is hard not to regard as petty and spiteful. Suffice it to say that those who think they are generous and conscientous in the exercise their duties need to get their vision tested. It's no wonder my blood pressure is reluctant to subside, and my doctor wants to give me sick leave. We're all prisoners of modern legal systems, and their logic that so often defies common sense.

Long Time no blog

It's more than two and a half months since my last posting, unintentionally.

One day I started having tingling and numbness in my left shoulder. My dear wife Clare insisted I should get a doctor's checkout, and I complied. It was, he said, a matter of a trapped nerve in m neck. However, my blood pressure was worryingly high, and I should be taking medication as a matter of course. This put the wind up me, and I went home in shock having argued that it was likely to be caused by the stress I have been recently subjected to with the waning fortunes of my bid to rescue St James' church from closure.

I asked for a delay in taking up the pills to get some time out, lose weight, get back to regular exercise etc, on the grounds that my diet was OK and my general health otherwise not a problem. Blood tests showed cholesterol was not a problem, liver function OK. So, I went out jogging, tried to relax and rest more, and work more normal hours, but there was little impact on my blood pressure.

During my month's period of 'grace' my only colleague was asked to take on a new job this autumn - a well deserved move indeed, but the timing was unexpected, and as I was unable to contact anyone responsible to find out if she'd be replaced sooner or later, I was left wondering what sort of work future I would have, recognising that I wasn't just tired, but feeling rotten, physically ill, and honestly, pretty anxious. I spent rather a lot of time feeling angry, self-pitying and resentful that two years of on-off crisis management had left me in this state with no support other than my wise, kind and long suffering wife.

Thankfully, a fortnight's planned holiday in Corfu intervened. I acquiesced and took with me the first pack of pills to try out on holiday. We had a secluded self catering apartment in an olive grove. Peaceful, beautiful, no phone, no computer, no radio or TV, no car. Lots of pure silence warm late spring weather, excellent food and walking. It wasn't a cure all by any means, more of a retreat. Time for lots of prayer and meditation, exercise, and just sitting together with sheer natural beauty and simple country wine. Really I could have done with a month.

I kept my health concerns mainly to myself at the outset, but slowly it leaked out when I realised that my reactions to yet more stress inducing experiences in daily work had turned from my habitual fight into flight. I had such a surprise to discover how many people, both older and younger than myself are also on medication for high blood pressure, and living contentedly with it, as if it were of little concern, as it holds out the promise of less risk of stroke or heart attack. But what sort of world are we living in that generates in normal healthy-ish people such levels of stress that produce this 'silent killer' ailment? I am still not content with having to dose myself daily. If I gave up public ministry and lived permanently in retreat (happy thought), would the change of lifestyle reduce my blood pressure? It it too late? Is it just a matter of ageing that I am no longer able to deny? Questions to live with, not over-react to.

When I went for a review with my doctor, two weeks after returning to work, my blood pressure was still too high, requiring an adjustment in dosage and monitoring side effects. We spoke about work and he asked if the pressures on me had reduced, and how I was feeling. I had to say 'no', and explained what I was facing with the loss of a colleague, at least for half a year. "In my profession", he said "Doctors carrying double patient load get to suffer from real burn-out." I told him I had two books on clergy burn-out and how to avoid it. He'd never heard of clergy burn-out. Maybe I'm his only ordained client. OK, so am I a burn-out case or a survivor of burn-out? Or what?

There was an article on research into clergy burn-out in this week's "Western Mail", saying how widespread it had become with decline in numbers of working ministers. I didn't recognise the role portrayed by the report given on the research, which made ministry today sound as if it was just about rushing around taking lots of extra services, and carrying an even larger pastoral case load. What a delight that would be compared to the reality. More and more paperwork, negotiation, fundraising, publicising, event co-ordination, caretaking buildings, coping with crisis in organisations fending off collapse and dysfunction. These are the matters that drain life from a pastor trained to be people centred. This produces the stress edging ministers toward burnout, or coronaries, cancer, mental or marital breakdown, even suicide. In a few words, ministers are taking on many tasks for which are they untrained and ill-equipped, simply because there are no longer sufficiently skilled lay church members to take them on. They feel duty bound to do something to try and stop the collapse of all they have cherished and worked for. It's so hard to let it all die, especially when it's been the source of your revenue as well as your way of life and your identity.

It's taken me a while to come back and record all this. Shame is a great inhibitor. Knowing how many sufferers there may be. Not wanting to whinge about how tough it is. Because at some levels it's so rewarding, such an adventure to be where I am in ministry at this time of life, seeing God at work in people's lives in the heart of the city. It makes me want to fight on and not throw in the towel - to 'give and not to count the cost', as that beloved prayer says. Except there comes a time when giving to the limits does nobody much good. Nobody can run on empty. Many things about the church will have to fail and die, since so many people no longer want to support the way it is or used to be. Living with all that heart-break, suffering powerlessness, weakness and limitation, is what all of us in the church must learn to live with or be broken by. A bit like taking up the cross and following Jesus. I'm not so sure how good we are are going that any more.

Nevertheless, a month before my colleague intimated her likley departure, the Archbishop asked if I'd like to help train a deacon who would work as an unpaid volunteer in the Parish. So it was that on St John the Baptist's day, 24th June, Christine Colton was ordained in Llandaff Cathedral and started next day with us. She's a mother of two grown up sons, married to a priest working in the Parish of Whitchurch, a few miles away across town. Moreover, as well as her pastoral and lay training interests, she is taken with the idea of learning her way into city centre ministry. For me this is a great delight. Now I have voluntary lay and ordained partners to take an interest in the world of everyday business, commerce, hospitality and tourism, and make the Church's interest in normal life known by their presence and their attention.

In this opening few weeks I am acquainting her with the routine life of St John's, taking her around to introduce her to people, 'walking the talk', as the saying goes. Amazingly it's a great comfort to have a companion who is interested in seeing the city differently, seeing it as a pastor does. For once I felt a kinship with the police who patrol the streets in pairs. It's encouraging to see the odd glance of recognition, the smile, the greeting from strangers as we pass.

We were entering the churchyard one day this week, and a woman accosted me. "Don't you work here?" she said. I confessed jokily. "Sometimes." "Yes, you're the one I spoke to six months ago. The first time I came in here to pray. The first day I joined AA. I've just been in to say 'thank you' to God. I'm getting my own flat again next week. I'm sober, and wouldn't be if it wasn't for Him above. I've got my life back again, thanks to Him." It was so good to share that moment of blessing with a colleague. The church building ministers to people when its pastors are elsewhere, strugging to cope with the demands of the bureaucracy from hell which is the diocesan and provincial administration of the Church in Wales.

Nothing personal, bosses. You suffer from this organisational dinosaur as much if not more than the rest of us. I just hope you too have moments like this to keep you coping.

End or new beginning?

Costly guests
For the past two years we have struggled to keep St James' church open with shrinking numbers and income, just about managing, because of regular donations from the Cardiff Christian Life Centre our 'guest' Pentecostal congregation who use church buildings twice weekly generously compensating for the costs of heating and lighting they use. Back last autumn they told us their numbers were also decreasing and that they could only afford to pay half of what they had previously. We simply had to accept this, half a donation is better than none.
However, fuel bills at the end of the winter quarter turned out to be a thousand pounds more than the amount budgeted for on the basis of the original agreed donation. Late last year we reduced our cash-flow reserve to next to nothing to pay for modifications to the heating boiler that would allow it to be certified as safe under new regulations. So, suddenly, as Lent was under way, bankruptcy stared us in the face. Neither the Pentecostals nor the Parish is in a position to rescue St James'.
The Pentecostals are a modern congregation in every sense, in worship and in their offering of ministry to young individuals and families. The difficult thing is that their expectations about how warm a building should be for worship are different from ours. Their members like to pray in shirtsleeves, as they would at home. So, the past couple of years of their being with us have been punctuated with embarrassing conversations, requests and un-kept promises relating to thermostat levels.
At one stage during Lent they ran a midweek convention in addition to their usual services. During this, the church heating was maintained at such a high level that the heat started to affect the pipe organ. It started emitting strange sounds or unexpected silence instead of sweet music. Thankfully Spring's here and it's possible to switch off heating we can no longer afford to run. It made us realise that we can no more afford to offer hospitality to our 'guests' than they can afford to contribute to maintaining the church in the style to which they are accustomed. They are costing us and we can ill afford it. Sad but true. What to do next?

Cardiff to the rescue?
I recently learned that city government officials were hunting for space to accommodate Cardiff's local history archives, and possibly to open a reading room for public access as part of this. Ideal, we thought, agreeing what a great use of the empty nave of the church it would be. So, I did some soundings, to see if there was any interest. The council sent a surveyor to look at the property, but he looked doubtful because the archive people are greedy for as much space as they can get. The floor space would only be adequate, if it were possible to build upwards into the fifty foot interior space of the nave before reaching roof level. We hoped it would be.
Well, the discussion of this lasted an anxious week. It was just our luck that the same week a decision had to be made, another city government department announced that seventeen schools would have to close as part of a rationalisation programme, due to the shortage of pupils. With all that empty property to choose from, and a political storm brewing, overtures in our direction turned quickly into an apologetic finale. It would have been a great project, and would have done the area much good.

Mission with hands tied
If only we could have given the church to the city, in return for its repair and maintenance, and the occasional use of the chancel, as happened 40 years ago to St Nicholas in Bristol city centre, maybe it would have been worth further thought. I learned from the Church in Wales Properties Officer, however that we can no longer give buildings away. Only sale at market rates is now acceptable in conformity with the Charity Trust deed governing church assets. Apparently in the past, redundant school and small church buildings had been disposed of at less than their real value, perhaps because of the need to lighten the burden of liability for managing so many decrepit properties. No longer is this allowed.
Charity is now more business-like, some would say too business-like to reflect its spiritual origins, when trustees are obliged to make a decent profit, and go the way of the open market. The Pentecostals would love to be given the building to run at their expense, and would even let the Parish continue to use the chancel for worship - well they think they can afford it - how come they had to halve their donation to running costs? It doesn't make sense, any of it.

Biting the bullet
We had a St James' annual church meeting after the Eucharist on Easter day. Jenny and I, plus eight others of thirty registered members. Iris, sub-warden and treasurer announced that we were all but broke. Having explored the idea of temporary closure to save heating costs altogether next winter, and obtained permission to move regular worship into the school, it seemed as if the time had come to admit that our ambition to re-develop the church for multiple community use was foundering, for lack of support from all directions. Yet, the school thrives and our recent work with some school families has been promisingly supported. Difficult though it was for anyone to accept, we agreed the best possibility would be in establishing worship and pastoral care permanently in the school, and giving in to the insistence of the Representative Body to accept the inevitable, declare the building redundant and put it up for sale. All would not be lost because there'd be the prospect of raising funds that might be used to establish a new pastoral centre, more sustainable and appropriate to our actual needs, in the school.

The strange long view
How are the mighty fallen! It's just about 115 years since the church was built to replace an overflowing temporary building where the church halls now stand. That had been constructed 20 years earlier next to the site of the very successful Tredegarville Church school in response to the pastoral need growing out of the school population. Here we are 135 years later still with a very successful school, staffed by keen and dedicated Christian teachers, with more practising Muslims among the children than practising Christians, and the rest belonging either to lapsed families or families which lost connection with the church generations ago. The school still offers the best opportunity for Christian mission in this context, rather than struggling to put to better use a building which has become a huge burden to church members.

Vain ambition?
As I said, our Pentecostal 'guests' would love to take over the building. They have a large house which was formerly a doctor's surgery a few hundred yards away, across Newport Road. It has a sign outside proclaiming 'Cardiff Christian Life Centre - building a Cathedral for the 21st century of living stones.' I wrote to the pastor to tell him that we wouldn't be able to offer his people hospitality much longer because we couldn't afford to do anything but close down and sell up.
Within hours, however, I had a return message from him asking whom he could contact about acquiring the building. I still await a response to the news, an expression of concern or regret or solidarity. I did my duty as civilly as I could under the circumstances, but couldn't resist pointing out the irony in his advertising strap line, as he so much wanted to take on an edifice from the century before last as a base for mission today. Is one man's millstone around the neck really another man's springboard?
No matter how much people and enthusiasm for mission are in abundance, one can get overwhelmed by the duty of responsible stewardship of difficult to manage resources. Travelling light, 'mission with empty hands' is another option, which also has its disadvantages, but after years of struggling not to be overwhelmed by building management problems, the grass certainly looks greener on the other side.

Time for creativity

It's over a month since I last posted. Life has been full, with lots to recount but not enough time to do it. After the first week's lapse, I decided it would better to keep my thoughts to myself for a time and then try to summarise the important things. I didn't know how much there'd be to tell when it was time to catch up again.
Lent is generally fairly busy, with a Friday lunchtime lecture series to run, and a Wednesday lunchtime biblical meditation series to write and lead over and above usual activities. Then there were the extras.

Lent in a multi-cultural context
God on Mondays for Tredegarville school-kids, staff and parents carried on, with a Lenten theme, and culminated in an end of term 'Palm Thursday' celebration with all the school, at which over 200 Palm Crosses were distributed as a reminder of the forthcoming Holy Week celebrations. It's a lovely thing to be able to do, but we need to find a way to discuss this with Muslim parents, to reassure them it's not an attempt to proselytise, but simply a gesture of good will and a reminder of the love of Allah for all his children. Some children were at ease refusing to take a cross, others just felt left out, one little boy even cried, and was given a cross surreptitiously. "Don't worry"said his teacher, "I'll explain to his mum later."

Confirmation experiment
This year my colleague Jenny and I decided to take the junior confirmation candidates away for a weekend preparation course, rather than struggle to keep them together for ten weekly sessions, doing battle with candidates' domestic and schooling schedules, not to mention sickness and other arbitrary forms of leave-taking interrupting the flow of the learning programme. Planning and preparation were quite hard to insert into the regular schedule, but somehow we managed it, and found ourselves excited at the prospects of a new opportunity.
On the first weekend of April, we escaped a Cardiff overrun by football fans for a big game and head for Mid Wales, to Cefn Lea Holiday centre near Newtown, a place with accommodation and conference space for hundreds, run successfully by a Christian farming family for the past 25 years.
It was good for our group of a dozen to mix with larger church groups also there for the weekend, for the children to see themselves as part of something Christian much bigger that they are used to and country wide. Our programme worked well. Everyone joined in and enjoyed themselves, in spite of the heavy rain which fell in between sunny breaks. It was a weekend in which we saw several wonderful rainbows spanning from hillside to hillside, when we succeeded in getting out and about. Now that's something worth remembering, to associate with Confirmation.
On the way home we stopped at Brecon Cathedral for long enough to have a look around and attend Evensong. I wonder what the youngsters made of that, it being so different from their usual experience of worship. They were quite respectful, it struck me - and the staff and stewards were very welcoming to this group who invaded without warning and filled the place with their curiosity.

Lay ministry in action
Being a football weekend, with road closures in place, the parish gathered at St Michael's for just one Eucharist in the absence of the clergy, presided over by the Assistant Bishop, who had the rare pleasure of baptizing an infant during the service. St Teilo's church was occupied by Riding Lights Theatre Company, setting up and rehearsing to perform the 2006 Passion Play 'Calvary'. We arrived home with just enough time to wash, eat and get to St Teilo's to be part of this. 220 people came to witness this powerful piece of drama, set in an act of worship. With clergy away for the weekend, everything had to be left to the good people of St Teilo's to organise. The way it turned out was a credit to them, an example of lay ministry in action. Matt, the new People's sub-warden at St Teilo's conducted the liturgical elements. It was the first time he'd ever done such a thing and he certainly rose to the occasion. Marvellously donations received covered the cost of the event in full, it was a vindication of the faith of Pete, the Peoples' sub warden, who was convinced the church should host the play and risk losing money on it.

Holy Week
We had evening Eucharists at which Jenny and I shared the preaching and the presidency, moving around the four churches on different evenings. We got about a dozen each night, twice that on Maundy Thursday. I preached the first two hours of the Good Friday Vigil, the first time to do so for three years. I made myself prepare the requisite set of six addresses from scratch, as a Lenten discipline to get myself thinking afresh on familiar stories. That way it did me good. For the event itself, an average of thirty people stayed for each of the first two hours, and sixty for the final hour of the Liturgy of the Passion. About thirty passed through for part of each hour, quietly and reverently, but quite a distraction when standing in the pulpit preaching, and wondering if your words are driving them out or simply the clock, or the appetite.
We made something different of the Paschal Vigil the following night. Ten of us came to church at seven thirty in the evening, and waited silently in prayer without liturgical intervention, simply waiting and listening and watching the dusk arrive at the heart of the city. When it was dark we lit and blessed the paschal candle in the porch, accompanied by a loud female folk singer, busking outside the shut pasty shop opposite. I sang the Paschal Proclamation, Jenny read the Resurrection Gospel, and we each acclaimed in turn : "Christ is risen. He is risen indeed!" Orthodox style, then renewed our baptismal vows, and went home, quite refreshed by seventy five minutes of total silence together. After that, Easter Day was a joy and delight to share, although the attendance reflected that many people were taking their Easter vacation away from Cardiff this year.

Altogether, a satisfying time for doing priestly things.

How marvellous, if this were the only story in need of telling.

Lenten trials and encouragements

How different life would be if church law required each parish to have an administrator to support the community and its pastor. There was a time when each Parish church had its full time Virger, who took care of both buildings and much parish administration. Back in Halesowen in the early nineties, during my stay, the last Parish Virger retired and was not replaced because the church could no longer afford to employ someone under modern pay and conditions. Managing a mix of volunteers and part time employees subsequently was quite a task, and not really a change for the better.
Getting a Lent programme together proves to be a struggle each year I do it. No matter how early I start drawing up a programme and recruiting speakers, getting responses to invitations is a bit of a nightmare, despite email, telephones and parish offices, colleagues are often reluctant to commit early to a set programme, not because they don't really want to do it, but because a lot more of us working in the church are overloaded, juggling times and opportunities, and almost fearful of becoming too tied down, as finding people to cover for absences gets harder. This is also a problem with making arrangements to cover absence on holidays. It absorbs time and generates anxiety.
At the last date possible for getting Lent programme publicity out on time, I succeeded, but with five Friday lunchtime lecturers this year instead of the usual six. I simply ran out of time to find someone for the first Friday in Lent. So we began our series: 'Spirituality for Today', with Monica Mills, the Cardiff Bay Lightship Chaplain, speaking about healing, and stimulating some good audience contribution.
I wasn't very pleased with the turnout, just over a dozen. Also the church was cold. It made me wonder why I bothered. She deserved a better audience than this. However, the first of the half-hour Wednesday lunchtime Johannine meditation services drew eight people, and the second today, fourteen. A woman came last week whose face was unfamiliar, though she said she was an irregular visitor. She said she had been reading some of the Christian apologetic leaflets I'd written, under the title 'Christianity for 21st century people', which she found in the tract case at the back of church. She'd found them helpful, and asked if I'd published any books!. This is the first feedback I've had on these leaflets in the three years since I produced them. I was amazed.
I told her I had a book on the Internet. She wasn't impressed or interested, but she did turn up to worship.
The book, 'Stones into Bread', an account of Christian faith for adult enquirers was completed in the middle nineties, re-edited to the bone over several more years, and uploaded to the Web over a year ago, after my few feeble attempts at finding a publisher had foundered. A few friends and family have read it in the past, including my late mentor, Dean Alun Davies, who said of it what he always said reflectively: "Interesting", followed by silence. I've caught myself saying the same about things in situations where I have been reluctant to elaborate. I daren't ask him what he meant by 'Interesting', just in case I didn't like the reply.
A month ago, someone thinking about confirmation asked for something for an adult to read in preparation, and so I handed them the copy which Dean Alun Davies returned enigmatically, which had sat on my shelf for three years unread. To my delight, it was returned a few days ago with a touching note to say that it had been there to read just at a moment of personal crisis and self-searching, and that it had been helpful.
Then a couple of weeks ago, someone else told me that they'd found reference to the book on this blog and had ventured to browse it, and had then downloaded it, printed it out, and read it. I was amazed by this, and even more delighted to learn that it had been helpful.
And it's left me wondering.... does this mean that the time is arriving for others to read it? Should I make a few more braver attempts to publish? I love writing and this blog has given me back a taste for telling of what I know and see.

Awayday in Broadmead

To follow up to the successful 'Church in the Centre of the City' conference last September, regional meetings of city centre missioners was proposed, and ours was arranged for Bristol. Five of us who had been at the conference from South Wales met at Cardiff Central station and took an early train to Bristol Temple Meads, then a bus into Broadmead shopping centre to assemble with others from Nottingham, Oxford, Swindon, Gloucester, Plymouth and Bristol at Broadmead Baptist Church, known as 'the church above the shops'.
There's been a Baptist congregation in Broadmead since 1640. In those days it was well outside the city centre. The old building was devoured in 1967 by redevelopment of the area as a modern shopping centre. The new building's entrance sits among the shopfronts of the main north south thoroughfare. It is a three storey affair with a basement, a collection of different sized meeting rooms, and a voluminous sanctuary the height of the building, to seat several hundred. It represented the latest thinking in liturgical architecture thirty years ago when I first visited it, and I was delighted to see how well it has stood the test of time.
The holy table, baptismal font and lectern/pulpit are all set in proximity to each other, and could easily be used for a variety of different kinds of worship. From each level of the adjacent stair well serving different floors a tall window permits passers by to look in on the act of worship. The solidity and permanence of the sanctuary is a reminder to all who come and go in the building (it is very busy with a great variety of daily activities, religious and secular), of its fundamental purpose, and of the relevance of God to every aspect of our existence. A good choice of venue, by our organiser Professor Paul Ballard.
We spent some time getting to know each other, exploring what sort of issues might be useful to address in future sessions. We looked at the outline of a publication proposed about ministry in city centres - well thought out, but still amenable to modification. Although mudane tasks, they gave us an opportunity to realise what concerns and experiences we had in common as Christian pastors and ambassadors in the realm of secular commerce.
Among the key areas of shared interest were, relating to change in big redevelopment projects (a new large modern shopping mall is under construction in Broadmead to match the one about to be started in Cardiff), change in the city centre economy, the night-time economy, how to relate to the governance and administration of city centre life. Pastoral issues weren't a topic in their own right, but really a dimension, a dynamic of all the bigger concerns attracting attention. We were Anglican, Methodist, Baptist and URC in denominational affiliation, and yet coherent in the sense of our engagement with the same mission. And that was encouraging in these times when it seems as if ecumenism counts for little in church life.
During the lunch break, I took my camera for a walk, as far as St Stephen's the one working Parish church of the city centre, which in Victorian days had eight or more. The fifteenth century church tower bears a strong family resemblance to that of St John's Cardiff, with the same kind of elaborate tracery around its parapet, although the edifice is narrower, and the church itself is smaller. Possibly the same builder was responsible for both. A far sighted Vicar and congregation back in the fifties built a meeting room extension in the churchyard, which serves as a café and place of welcome. Such a pity our parallel project at St John's was constructed inside the building, with its meeting place upstairs.
After lunch, Paul Orders, one of the lieutenants of Cardiff city council's CEO Byron Davies came to speak about strategic planning and development policy. It was good to have an overview of the world in which our work is set, interesting to realise the growing importance of cities as key drivers of regional economy in a long-term perspective being taken from the national government level downward. It's true that 'without a vision the people perish' but technological and social change world wide is occurring and accelerating at a pace without precedent in history. Futurologists try to imagine the outcome of trends, and their ideas are overtaken by facts on the ground. The bigger picture is the moving picture. And where is the church in all this?
We are currently struggling to envisage how to manage ministries and congregations in seven years from now, whilst local government is preparing for 2020 and beyond. Some strategic planners work with building a picture of our environment in 2050, with a changed climate and all that issues from that, to re-shape the face of the earth and the lives of maybe ten billion people on it, if that many survive the unknown side effects of change to come. It all intrigues me so much, I wish I could be around to see it all happen.
Meanwhile, I shall just look forward to the next encounter with colleagues talking the same language, for a change.

A St David’s Day worth remembering

How annoying for Ash Wednesday to fall on St David’s day, March 1^st, as it must do every once in a while. Sensibly, our Roman Catholic neighbours in St David’s Cathedral kept the feast the day before on Shrove Tuesday. The Church in Wales calendar, stuck by its convention of keeping the feast the day after, the second day of the Lenten fast – silly really. An example of how rule bound and unimaginative Anglicans can sometimes be. Secular Wales and Cardiff commerce simply ignored the first day of Lent altogether and kept St David’s day with much pomp, ceremony and promotional psazz.

The Craft market, that comes at Christmas and midsummer, took up residence along St John’s Churchyard railings for the few days either side of St David’s Day, and there was a stages with bands and performances going on somewhere, I didn’t get to see. We woke up to a light covering of snow on our emerging daffodils. It was cold, but soon the sun was out. Quite memorable really.

The Queen came to open our new Senedd building, housing the debating chamber and committee rooms of the Welsh Assembly. Clare and I went down to view the inside last week and were much impressed by Richard Rogers’ simple light and airy design, with stunning views across the Bay. And in its context, next to the Millennium Centre Opera House and the Victorian Pier head building, it looks great. It’s built with sustainability in mind, and heated by geothermal energy. Expensive? Sure thing, but worth it, to have a striking building that really makes an effort to embody the values of a participatory democracy. I hope Her Majesty was pleased with the building.

Quite apart from the Queen’s visit, it was also a big day for the Army, to mark the merger of the Royal Welch Fusiliers, The Royal Regiment of Wales and The Royal Welsh Regiment into one new body to be called the Royal Welsh. A drumhead service of dedication had been planned to take place close the new Senedd building in the Oval Basin, a much used open air arena made from in a filled-in dock. However, uncertain weather predictions required a fallback venue be organised. At the end of last week I was contacted by the County protocol office to ask if St John’s could be used. I met with the officers charged with organising the service, and they made their preparations. Then, the day before, I received a phone call to say that the Army had been offered free use of St David’s Hall for the event – in fact, a much better option because it can seat four or five times what St John’s can contain.

Much appreciation was expressed for our readiness to assist and I was invited to attend the ceremony and the Civic lunch and tea that went with it. Since it was Ash Wednesday, I declined, but went to watch the Mayor and the Colonel of the new regiment take the salute at the first march-past of the combined forces after a quick snack lunch at home, before going on to share with Jenny in doing an Ash Wednesday service for the children of Tredegarville school.

Preparing for this school service necessitated me going down to the church late Tuesday evening, and setting out seating, moveable pews and stacking chairs to accommodate 250 people, single-handed. Not much fun, but there aren’t any able bodied people to call upon to do such vital caretaking operations. Two days later, I am still stiff from humping heavy pews around. It’s cheaper than going to the gym, I suppose.

The children were all a bit high from the snow, and from having their traditional St David’s day school Eisteddfod that morning. (not even the school seemed to care that the Church in Wales had transferred St David to the next day). However they sang the few familiar songs we used very cheerily, and were very attentive for Jenny’s story. Such a pleasure to see their bemused faces when signing their heads with a cross in ashes. They take it on trust, but whether they really understand what it’s all about apart from it being something special we do on this day, I have my doubts, despite Jenny’s outstandingly accessible way of speaking about the importance of this first day of Lent.

We finished just in time to allow me to get a lift over to St David’s Hall for the re-located drumhead service. However, Jenny’s car was blocked in by a van whose owner was nowhere to be found, and I was obliged to jog the three quarters of a mile to the St David’s Hall instead and got there breathless, just before the service started. Not bad, considering I am still limping from an ankle injury back in January.

The drumhead service was a impressive display of military ceremony and formal Establishment type worship, diplomatically put together. The chaplain general preached and said all the expected things, although it was notable that he emphasised the importance of the moral struggle, and higher values in the complex scenarios presented to modern soldiery. The Colonel also spoke very well. It was a bit like having two sermons. All the soldiers of the regiments were there, plus families and friends and members of veterans associations. A real family gathering, followed by a bun fight and beer for the troops in City Hall.

After the service, I made my way home, and finished my preparation for a short PCC meeting later on. Then it was back down to City Hall for a Conservation Advisory Group meeting at 6.15 in a committee room, with the background sound of revelling squaddies finishing off their little tea party. There’s was lots on the agenda but we got through it all in just and hour, which meant I was able to get up to Saint Michael’s for the Parish Ash Wednesday Eucharist and Ashing ceremony in good time.

The heating hadn’t switched on, the church was cold, so worship had a brisk pace about it – just as well with a PCC meeting to finish the day. We gave ourselves half an hour, and dealt with just one item of business properly, and I was home by ten past nine, finally to eat my evening meal cold.

An unusually full day, capped by the pleasure of a full page of pictures and story about the restoration of several stained glass windows at St John’s, which have been boarded up due to vandalism since last June. Haskins’ the glaziers from Kingswood, Bristol took a couple of buckets loads of glass fragments away in the middle of last June, and eight months later, here they are again, good as new. What skill! The first window was re-installed last Thursday, and the second on Tuesday. Monday evening I phoned Lauren Turner at the South Wales Echo, who did a good report on the vandalism, and told her the good news. She did an excellent job, not only celebrating the glazier’s art and craft, but plugging the fact that we are now fundraising for new window guards.

Night time economy and Christian presence

Today, the city centre management hosted a meeting of people interested in the issue of community safety and the night time economy in Cardiff – club owners, social workers, police, loca government officials and others – to hear a presentation given by Sister Wendy Sanderson, the Church Army Evangelist who is licensed by the Bishop to work in the city centre’s clubland, ministering among the staff and 70,000 nightime revellers who descend upon the city at weekends.

Officially, Wendy is a member of Central Cardiff Team Ministry, but the life of the Parish, even one as unusual and varied as ours, is so remote from the cultural and social life of clubland, that it’s difficult to inagine how they may connect. Wendy’s weekend work is mostly at night, and this precludes her from worshipping with morning time congregations. She lives in a neighbouring Parish, and worships there as and when she can, and draws her inner resources from being part of the community of the Church Army, which is the founding sponsor of this outreach project.

She’s been working in the city centre for over two years now. I have been involved in the diocesan group that oversees her work, and we have met from time to time at church conferences and meetings. I had no expectation it would be otherwise, and was determined not to make demands that drew her back from the diffficult challenge she faces. I made it clear that whatever useful support I could offer was there for the asking.

In her second year, the Church Army, facing its own financial difficulties began to put pressure on Wendy and her team to fund-raise for their own work. Not an easy task, even when you have access to a media relations office, and get a fair amount of press and TV coverage about the night time economy. One concern emanating from a long period of listening to clubbers was about the vulnerability of clubbers at the end of a night of partying, drunk, tired, needing to get home, finding taxis hard to come by, and at risk from being picked up by predators masquerading as taxi drivers. Wendy had the idea of opening a night time refuge where people could wait safely, have a cup of coffee, and if needed talk through problems with a friendly volunteer. Great idea, but where to start?

She came and discussed this with St John’s church committee, with a view to using church facilities, but it soon became clear there were too many risks and difficulties attached to opening St John’s at night from the standpoint of public safety. However, when she realised the Church Tea Room had two days a week when it didn’t open for lack of volunteers, she suggested taking on doing one of the days with her team. They did a few sessions of training with other teams and then got stuck in, raising funds for their own work, and evidently enjoying being part of such a successful little enterprise. In fact the extra day a week seems to have helped increase customer flow through the week. We only have Mondays to fill now.

When it was realised that St John’s wouldn’t work as a night-time post-clubbing venue, an approach was made to Ebenser Welsh Independent Church in Charles Street, opposite St David’s Cathedral, which has an unused basement, accessible from street level. After some deliberation the congregation there has agreed to welcome the initiative in their premesis. The Club Network team want to start with running a café there on Friday lunchtimes to promote their night-time presence and reach office workers in town who are likley to return later for a night out. Which brings us to the point of the meeting with all the stakeholders in the night time economy.

Wendy’s presentation was designed to solicit their comments and possible support for development. Her ideas were responded to with both interest and caution. She did particularly well, with both an unknown audience, and her new boss present, meeting her on the ground for the first time. It was clear she had identified concerns which they all shared, but had so far not addressed. There are also potential safety problems about the Ebeneser site. It’s quite a way to talk from the epicentre of clubland in St Mary Street. Aware of this Wendy has long wondered about alternative places for a refuge, but now for the first time was in the company of people who could brainstorm from practical experience about possibilities, and talk to her about accessing public funds interested in the aims of her project.

Because of a flat bike tyre and a chaotic start to my day, I turned up late and had to leave early to celebrate the midday Eucharist. Fortunately, I didn’t have anything to contribute to the meeting, except personal support. My co-worker Ian had done the ground work, made the introductions to the City Centre management team, and it all flowed from there. It makes me think that our city centre mission is really turning a corner. A real cause for thanksgiving.

My only observation after the meeting was the extent to which so many of the stakeholders in the meeting were saying in effect : “This city is unsafe in the wee small hours of the morning”. Doubtless someone may eventually pick up my thoughts and try to sensationalise them, and others may say “You shouldn’t write things like that because it’s bad for Cardiff, bad for business.” Well, it’s the business ambitions of a variety of entrepreneurs that have made the city centre into a night-time playground that excludes large sectors of the population who are too old, or can’t afford to stay out late and get drunk. It has created huge public order problems for others to manage. None of this development was ever ‘planned’, nor put through any public consultation process as the re-development of a third of the city’s heart as a new cathedral of commerce was ‘planned’.

The night time economy has just emerged, and is a reflection of contemporary consumer culture and its degree of prosperity. It’s a bubble which any prolonged period of recession would burst. Meanwhile, coping with the fall-out of success is a formidable challenge for public services and policing. And, it has been met so superbly, that other cities grappling with the problems of the night time economy are regarding Cardiff’s operation as a best practice role model. In the midst of all this Sister Wendy’s little band is a quiet voice of conscience and compassion on behalf of visitors who aren’t as aware as they should how to be street-wise.

Cities around the world are moving towards a 24 hour seven day a week level of economic activity in this time of unprecedented rapid change, dominated by the opportunities of global communications technology. Is it universally sustainable? Is there a potential for serious damage to personal and social health, let alone economic health, as a result of this relentless pace and lack of rhythm that permits activity and passivity, regard for times and seasons, so much part and parcel of our evolution so far?

Cities are unsafe at night because their essential functioning has not yet begun to be planned for on a twenty four hour, seven days a week basis. We are still far from running society in a way that makes no difference between night and day, although night-time is now commercially exploitable. It we did this it would have to be done differently from what is presently done - which is a concerted effort to try and minimise the impact and the risk to people who are active when the majority of society is at rest. Will this present development continue indefinitely, through boom and bust? We don’t know. We don’t yet have any answers, perhaps because we’re no longer sure that we are asking the right questions about what it means to be human in the electronic age.

Food matters

With Clare, my wife being away for the weekend, I was charged with shopping for our weekly consignment of organic vegetables from the (BBC Food program award winning) Riverside Sunday market, on the bank of the Taff opposite the Millennium Stadium. This week, I didn’t have three straight services to do on Sunday morning, so when I’d finished over at St John’s, I rode over on my bike, and joined the other browsers in the dank drizzly air, queuing sociably to be served with muddy carrots and parsnips, and Brussels sprouts still on the stalk. It’s no frills shopping, but the quality is just great. There’s also a fascinating range of local indigenous cheeses, sausages, preserved meats, different kinds of home made bread, and I couldn’t help noticing there was packaged venison, and wild boar meat products also on sale. The kind of things you really have to hunt for in Tesco’s. It’s pleasing to think that such markets make it worthwhile for farmers to continue producing high quality food products.

One problem of having so much manufactured food produced and distributed by the big supermarket chains on a large industrial scale is that it drives prices down, not only making it harder for primary producers to earn a living, but making it easier for people to buy more, and eat more than they need. Then they have weight control problems and obesity is denounced as a major public health crisis. Learning to eat less, and making sure what’s eaten is of better quality is quite a challenge. It means learning to limit our habitual choice of food, and not being bamboozled into trying everything promoted with enthusiasm and fancy packaging in the endless aisles of the superstores. It also means restoring the old notion of having a treat to those rare occasional moments of enjoying something new or different, rather than a treat being, as it often appears, an alibi for repeated self-indulgence.