I see from my site meter that at least six people have accessed this blog since I completed my latest entry in the small hours of this morning. Checking it yesterday, by the way, I noticed the rather sinister domain name of army.mil having been here at some point, looking at my comments last year about the sad story of Ken Bigley, the murdered hostage in Iraq. Perhaps this software which the powers that be are rumoured to use which looks for certain "trigger" words spotted something there- though it seems unlikely it would have left a trace if that was the case!
Ken Bigley and his family were devout Catholics, and no doubt their thoughts may have turned back to him as this morning they watch the inaugaral papal mass, as I do now while I watch it on telly and His Holiness Pope Benedict delivers his first homile in St Peter's chair. However, I haven't got much time to stay and watch this or comment on it yet as I have to read another bit of the teaching attributed to "old rocky" as I affectionately call St Peter, at the United Free Church of Feltham; I'm doing a reading this morning.
Before I do anything else though, I must apologise for any error of fact in my "early edition" which I shall correct later. It seems the Eastern Orthodox Easter is actually next Sunday- I think! At least, that's the conclusion I come to as Radio 4 will be celebrating it in Sunday worship then. The first rule of good journalism is check your facts- even if the scandal sheets get away with interpreting that very loosely. I suppose they take the view like pilate "What is Truth". That's no excuse, mind, for the Church Times- sorry, I mean the News of the World, to take seven torrid pages to spill the beans on the Beckhams again today (despite the couple's attempt to get an injunction preventing them doing so).
Nevertheless, getting back to papal matters, it's a touching sign to see the Eastern clergy very much represented at Benedict's "enthronement", and the gospel was read in both latin and greek this morning as a sign of the hope for the visible unity of the church. Amen to all that- and that's a fact!
Sunday, 24 April 2005
Bye George-what a Navy Lark!
Just another twenty minutes or so remaining (as I begin typing) of what some say should be the most patriotic day of the year for all true Englishmen and women- St George's Day! And, for that matter, the birthday and reputed dying day of not just England's, but probably the world's most recognised and gifted dramatist, good old Will Shakespeare (or whichever one of the numerous spellings of the Bard of Avon's surname you choose to use).
Now I've always been a sentimental soul and love all the tradition and pageantry of great occasions and our national heritage. In fact, for a while today, I even thought of affixing one of the remaing red roses for a lovely lost lady, from Mum's floral funeral tribute still in the garden, to my own clothing as I went off to Reading for what turned out to be a very enjoyable radio club meeting followed by a very tasty Indian meal. However, wisely probably I decided against such ostentation in the end and instead settled for reading about some of the exploits of St George and his history in a certain redtop newspaper discarded by a previous traveller on my Reading-bound train.
Now it is rare indeed that I would agree with The Sun- so often an organ of pointless or even baseless scandal and drivel. It's a paper best left for wrapping chips or cleaning windows (yes, really!) However, travelling light with no magazines or books with me today I was surprised to find Wapping's Saturday edition was actually quite interesting. The tone of the paper seems to have become a bit less narrow-minded and flippant and I couldn't agree more with their leader about a case of political correctness gone ga-ga with one of today's stories. Mind you, whether they have their facts right of course is another matter!
It seems that the top brass or whoever determines these things had decreed that several ships of the RN fleet currently engaged in an exercise in Plymouth could not display the flag of St George today. The simple but evocative red cross of England, symbol of sporting dreams more often dashed than realised, also forms the basis of the British senior service's own flag of sovereignty, the White Ensign but today it was a definite no show, at least in the navy's second home.
The reason for this bit of absurd pseduo-diplomatic nonsense? Apparently there were fears it would offend the Turks, who as NATO members were also taking part in the exercise. It might be seen as too nationalistic on what is Turkey's national day. Of course, as "The Sun says", the fact that St George himself was born in what is present day Turkey seems to have been of no report. How do the ignoramuses who decree these things get away with it?
The Sun wasted no time in launching an attack on our homogenised society, and for once I agree with them. The diversity that we are so often being encouraged to embrace actually ends up bringing about a black and white society with no room for celebration of our individual characteristics- like that of "Englishness" or our national differences such as the musical heritage of Wales or Caledonia's culinary creations and wonderful whiskey. While patriotism may often be the last refuge of a scoundrel (who was it that said that?), pride in the land of our birth and our heritage is a wholly honourable and indeed Biblical attribute most of the time provided it does no harm to others, as for instance anyone with sensitivity to the Jewish faith would tell you today on what is their Passover festival weekend.
Passover or Pesach is one of the most beautiful and special feasts in Jewish society, beloved of children and putting the family at its heart. Like George saving the damsel from the dragon, even if that tale is more likely to be myth than fact, it is a time for Jews everywhere to remember being saved from some ghastly evil and instead offered friendship with God and a new life, known theologically as "Salvation"
EASTERY-BOURNE AGAIN
Talking of salvation, earlier in the week I went down to Eastbourne to do a bit more sorting out of my bits and pieces in my "second" home there, as well as pick up my post, but principally to attend the bible study group held there every fortnight at The Ranworth Hotel, the home of two good friends of mine in Eastbourne's Ceylon Place Baptist Church. The folk of that congregation are a bit like wandering Israelites themselves at the moment, with no permanent home after selling their own building in a bit of a leap of faith some fifteen months ago. As a result, they now meet on Sundays in the local Methodist Church hall, which as someone who comes from that tradition I welcome warmly.
Nevertheless, there is a very real human longing to have a place to call our own home. It's a nebulous concept which cannot be limited by the people we see there or see no more, but it's dear to most folk I know. A hymn writer of an earlier era put it well I think in "I Vow to Thee My Country"- yet one figure of faith has banned this as too jingoistic for the 21st century.
I guess for the Jews who celebrate Passover, the longing to go home is also the sentiment most poignantly expressed in their heartfelt plea at some of their festivals (Passover or New Year? I can't recall): "Next year in Jerusalem".
Thursday night's theme at the Ranworth house group though was based around the 1st chapter of the book of Colossians in the New Testament. Even for someone with a background in Biblical studies like myself ( I have a degree in Religious Studies and History), it's a hard passage to grasp as it attempts to unpack the idea of "Salvation" and what it really means for Christian believers and indeed for all of humanity.
As one who has experienced many instances of what I believe to be God's touch in my own life, I long to share this with others not out of any misplaced loyalty to God and his "country", but because like so many billions of others, I believe that in the story of the life, death and resurection of Jesus Christ is the whole kernel of truth about the meaning of mankind and the wonderful hope that we can actually know God and find his love in an often hopeless world. I gather that next Sunday will be the Eastern Orthodox Easter; a pity it could not quite coincide with the inaugaration of Pope Benedict today, but there are certainly encouraging signs of unity and friendship between the two great streams of Christendom which parted company around a thousand years ago.
St Peter's courtyard in the eternal city, Rome, is a riot of colour tonight, as apparently it has been decked out with flowers. An appropriate reminder maybe of the garden tomb which we remembered a month ago while our Eastern brothers and sisters in the faith will celebrate in a week's time. What a joyful mystery we celebrate this and every Sunday! May today in Rome be a time when the old emnities, the pointless differences between us so often, are put aside again for a little while and Christians around the world remember those words of scripture; "How good it is when Brothers and sisters dwell together in unity"!
ORGANIC RADIO
I had plenty of time for inner reflection today as I supped my fair trade cappucino and my tasty, wholesome Tobermory shortbread in the Reading International Solidarity Centre cafe. Back in January, when I was in the midst of the trauma of my dear Mum's terminal diagnosis and not knowing how long she would be with us, I gave a brief mention in this blog to the Reading International Radio Group meetings.
After several years in the cemtra; library, these ever-popular gatherings have now moved to a new venue in that town famous in times past for Biscuits, Bricks and Beer. At the first meeting in the new venue, I must admit I was barely able to concentrate on the speakers and the hobby as my mind was so tied up with worry for my loved one.
Now, four weeks exactly after we lost Mum, of course the sadness is still there and has touched my soul several times this week. There's no point in pretending I don't miss my mother, and it is a very strange and empty feeling to return home here to Feltham knowing she is no longer seen by our eyes. But just because someone or something is no longer seen in the flesh does not mean that the remembrance cannot be very real and comforting. How true it is that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Many of my older confreres at Reading today, I feel, must have been feeling this as we thought about an interesting and historic chapter in UK broadcasting.
One of the hype sites for digital radio is called "lovemyradio.com" (you do the work- I won't paste it in!) and for everyone of those who have been attending these meetings, some for three decades now, that is a very true sentiment indeed. We love our radio, but some miss the way it used to be. But is it just the medium itself we love? Can you really feel the deepest affection for the diverse assemblage of valves, semi-conductors, integrated circuits, capacitors, coils, aerials and wires that make up a typical radio transmission and reception chain, or is it something else that inspires the peculiar passion of the DXer, the "ham" and the listener?
Love can blossom for inanimate components if you have a particular bent for the technical, which is why a throng of enthusiastic hams and hunters will be racing down to Kempton later today (Sunday 24th) for a radio and electronics rally at Sunbury's race course. I may even join them myself, once I have got the priority of praise and worship done for the morning at church. High time I brush up my technical knowledge and take advantage of the newly-liberalised use of the bands open to those of us who have earned the right to a callsign, so hi to all from G7UPT (currently lapsed but planning to renew my "ticket").
However, for far more of us the beauty and the joy of radio are found in its people,programmes and voices. Mere music alone doth not a radio station make, though it clearly plays a very important part for many. This St George's Day Reading meeting celebrated a time in English (and indeed British!) broadcasting history which now basks in a glow of nostalgia as warm as the valves which once powered names like Radio Caroline and Radio London "Big L", and tears flow like the salt water which nearly drowned them.
The era of the offshore pirates was our main subject today, as with anoraks actually taken off for the moment we enjoyed various videos and recordings about the heyday of the seaborne celebrities between 1964 and 1967, and their latter rising from Davy Jones' locker as legal temporary stations or "RSLs". Now safely out of the hands of Tony Benn, the late Harold Wilson et al, big names like Keith "Cardboard Shoes" Skues, Ed "Stewpot" Stewart (my personal favourite), Pete Brady, Dave Cash and many others have once again shown why these pioneers paved the way for a form of personality radio those of us too young to remember its heyday have much reason to be grateful for. Without the influence of the pirates, so a somewhat ironic BBC TV report claims, there would have been no pop radio and none of the hundreds of local radio stations which now populate the airwaves.
MORE OR LESS?
But are these two a penny ILR stations pumping out anything actually worth listening to and are they worthy successors to their marine forerunners? Can the millions made by covetous shareholders really be justified by the anodyne, homogenous diet pumped out by so many of the independent stations in the noughties, or do we need a return to the sound and the sentiment of the sixties wonders or even earlier eras of sound broadcasting?
One person who certainly seems to think a change is needed is Mr Millionaire himself, Chris Tarrant, who with his interests in a major radio production company is now aiming to bring a better breed of station to the South Coast in a new licence bid. Whether this will really be the case however, or the mere empty promises that so many ILR franchise bids seem to contain, remains to be seen (or do I mean heard?).
Maybe radio needs a patron saint (though I expect someone will point out it already has one somewhere!); can we travellers across the ether dare to hope the final answer for our prayers for better broadcasting can be answered by St Christopher of Celador?
Belief in a resurrection of radio listening -which among some age groups seems to be dying a death- is what we seek. But have faith: Jesus saves souls and - in places like the tsunami disaster zone of the Andaman Islands- radio even saves lives. Alleluia!
Now I've always been a sentimental soul and love all the tradition and pageantry of great occasions and our national heritage. In fact, for a while today, I even thought of affixing one of the remaing red roses for a lovely lost lady, from Mum's floral funeral tribute still in the garden, to my own clothing as I went off to Reading for what turned out to be a very enjoyable radio club meeting followed by a very tasty Indian meal. However, wisely probably I decided against such ostentation in the end and instead settled for reading about some of the exploits of St George and his history in a certain redtop newspaper discarded by a previous traveller on my Reading-bound train.
Now it is rare indeed that I would agree with The Sun- so often an organ of pointless or even baseless scandal and drivel. It's a paper best left for wrapping chips or cleaning windows (yes, really!) However, travelling light with no magazines or books with me today I was surprised to find Wapping's Saturday edition was actually quite interesting. The tone of the paper seems to have become a bit less narrow-minded and flippant and I couldn't agree more with their leader about a case of political correctness gone ga-ga with one of today's stories. Mind you, whether they have their facts right of course is another matter!
It seems that the top brass or whoever determines these things had decreed that several ships of the RN fleet currently engaged in an exercise in Plymouth could not display the flag of St George today. The simple but evocative red cross of England, symbol of sporting dreams more often dashed than realised, also forms the basis of the British senior service's own flag of sovereignty, the White Ensign but today it was a definite no show, at least in the navy's second home.
The reason for this bit of absurd pseduo-diplomatic nonsense? Apparently there were fears it would offend the Turks, who as NATO members were also taking part in the exercise. It might be seen as too nationalistic on what is Turkey's national day. Of course, as "The Sun says", the fact that St George himself was born in what is present day Turkey seems to have been of no report. How do the ignoramuses who decree these things get away with it?
The Sun wasted no time in launching an attack on our homogenised society, and for once I agree with them. The diversity that we are so often being encouraged to embrace actually ends up bringing about a black and white society with no room for celebration of our individual characteristics- like that of "Englishness" or our national differences such as the musical heritage of Wales or Caledonia's culinary creations and wonderful whiskey. While patriotism may often be the last refuge of a scoundrel (who was it that said that?), pride in the land of our birth and our heritage is a wholly honourable and indeed Biblical attribute most of the time provided it does no harm to others, as for instance anyone with sensitivity to the Jewish faith would tell you today on what is their Passover festival weekend.
Passover or Pesach is one of the most beautiful and special feasts in Jewish society, beloved of children and putting the family at its heart. Like George saving the damsel from the dragon, even if that tale is more likely to be myth than fact, it is a time for Jews everywhere to remember being saved from some ghastly evil and instead offered friendship with God and a new life, known theologically as "Salvation"
EASTERY-BOURNE AGAIN
Talking of salvation, earlier in the week I went down to Eastbourne to do a bit more sorting out of my bits and pieces in my "second" home there, as well as pick up my post, but principally to attend the bible study group held there every fortnight at The Ranworth Hotel, the home of two good friends of mine in Eastbourne's Ceylon Place Baptist Church. The folk of that congregation are a bit like wandering Israelites themselves at the moment, with no permanent home after selling their own building in a bit of a leap of faith some fifteen months ago. As a result, they now meet on Sundays in the local Methodist Church hall, which as someone who comes from that tradition I welcome warmly.
Nevertheless, there is a very real human longing to have a place to call our own home. It's a nebulous concept which cannot be limited by the people we see there or see no more, but it's dear to most folk I know. A hymn writer of an earlier era put it well I think in "I Vow to Thee My Country"- yet one figure of faith has banned this as too jingoistic for the 21st century.
I guess for the Jews who celebrate Passover, the longing to go home is also the sentiment most poignantly expressed in their heartfelt plea at some of their festivals (Passover or New Year? I can't recall): "Next year in Jerusalem".
Thursday night's theme at the Ranworth house group though was based around the 1st chapter of the book of Colossians in the New Testament. Even for someone with a background in Biblical studies like myself ( I have a degree in Religious Studies and History), it's a hard passage to grasp as it attempts to unpack the idea of "Salvation" and what it really means for Christian believers and indeed for all of humanity.
As one who has experienced many instances of what I believe to be God's touch in my own life, I long to share this with others not out of any misplaced loyalty to God and his "country", but because like so many billions of others, I believe that in the story of the life, death and resurection of Jesus Christ is the whole kernel of truth about the meaning of mankind and the wonderful hope that we can actually know God and find his love in an often hopeless world. I gather that next Sunday will be the Eastern Orthodox Easter; a pity it could not quite coincide with the inaugaration of Pope Benedict today, but there are certainly encouraging signs of unity and friendship between the two great streams of Christendom which parted company around a thousand years ago.
St Peter's courtyard in the eternal city, Rome, is a riot of colour tonight, as apparently it has been decked out with flowers. An appropriate reminder maybe of the garden tomb which we remembered a month ago while our Eastern brothers and sisters in the faith will celebrate in a week's time. What a joyful mystery we celebrate this and every Sunday! May today in Rome be a time when the old emnities, the pointless differences between us so often, are put aside again for a little while and Christians around the world remember those words of scripture; "How good it is when Brothers and sisters dwell together in unity"!
ORGANIC RADIO
I had plenty of time for inner reflection today as I supped my fair trade cappucino and my tasty, wholesome Tobermory shortbread in the Reading International Solidarity Centre cafe. Back in January, when I was in the midst of the trauma of my dear Mum's terminal diagnosis and not knowing how long she would be with us, I gave a brief mention in this blog to the Reading International Radio Group meetings.
After several years in the cemtra; library, these ever-popular gatherings have now moved to a new venue in that town famous in times past for Biscuits, Bricks and Beer. At the first meeting in the new venue, I must admit I was barely able to concentrate on the speakers and the hobby as my mind was so tied up with worry for my loved one.
Now, four weeks exactly after we lost Mum, of course the sadness is still there and has touched my soul several times this week. There's no point in pretending I don't miss my mother, and it is a very strange and empty feeling to return home here to Feltham knowing she is no longer seen by our eyes. But just because someone or something is no longer seen in the flesh does not mean that the remembrance cannot be very real and comforting. How true it is that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Many of my older confreres at Reading today, I feel, must have been feeling this as we thought about an interesting and historic chapter in UK broadcasting.
One of the hype sites for digital radio is called "lovemyradio.com" (you do the work- I won't paste it in!) and for everyone of those who have been attending these meetings, some for three decades now, that is a very true sentiment indeed. We love our radio, but some miss the way it used to be. But is it just the medium itself we love? Can you really feel the deepest affection for the diverse assemblage of valves, semi-conductors, integrated circuits, capacitors, coils, aerials and wires that make up a typical radio transmission and reception chain, or is it something else that inspires the peculiar passion of the DXer, the "ham" and the listener?
Love can blossom for inanimate components if you have a particular bent for the technical, which is why a throng of enthusiastic hams and hunters will be racing down to Kempton later today (Sunday 24th) for a radio and electronics rally at Sunbury's race course. I may even join them myself, once I have got the priority of praise and worship done for the morning at church. High time I brush up my technical knowledge and take advantage of the newly-liberalised use of the bands open to those of us who have earned the right to a callsign, so hi to all from G7UPT (currently lapsed but planning to renew my "ticket").
However, for far more of us the beauty and the joy of radio are found in its people,programmes and voices. Mere music alone doth not a radio station make, though it clearly plays a very important part for many. This St George's Day Reading meeting celebrated a time in English (and indeed British!) broadcasting history which now basks in a glow of nostalgia as warm as the valves which once powered names like Radio Caroline and Radio London "Big L", and tears flow like the salt water which nearly drowned them.
The era of the offshore pirates was our main subject today, as with anoraks actually taken off for the moment we enjoyed various videos and recordings about the heyday of the seaborne celebrities between 1964 and 1967, and their latter rising from Davy Jones' locker as legal temporary stations or "RSLs". Now safely out of the hands of Tony Benn, the late Harold Wilson et al, big names like Keith "Cardboard Shoes" Skues, Ed "Stewpot" Stewart (my personal favourite), Pete Brady, Dave Cash and many others have once again shown why these pioneers paved the way for a form of personality radio those of us too young to remember its heyday have much reason to be grateful for. Without the influence of the pirates, so a somewhat ironic BBC TV report claims, there would have been no pop radio and none of the hundreds of local radio stations which now populate the airwaves.
MORE OR LESS?
But are these two a penny ILR stations pumping out anything actually worth listening to and are they worthy successors to their marine forerunners? Can the millions made by covetous shareholders really be justified by the anodyne, homogenous diet pumped out by so many of the independent stations in the noughties, or do we need a return to the sound and the sentiment of the sixties wonders or even earlier eras of sound broadcasting?
One person who certainly seems to think a change is needed is Mr Millionaire himself, Chris Tarrant, who with his interests in a major radio production company is now aiming to bring a better breed of station to the South Coast in a new licence bid. Whether this will really be the case however, or the mere empty promises that so many ILR franchise bids seem to contain, remains to be seen (or do I mean heard?).
Maybe radio needs a patron saint (though I expect someone will point out it already has one somewhere!); can we travellers across the ether dare to hope the final answer for our prayers for better broadcasting can be answered by St Christopher of Celador?
Belief in a resurrection of radio listening -which among some age groups seems to be dying a death- is what we seek. But have faith: Jesus saves souls and - in places like the tsunami disaster zone of the Andaman Islands- radio even saves lives. Alleluia!
Wednesday, 20 April 2005
Holy Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
Batman? No, Vatman actually, or Vatican Man at any rate! The world's one billion catholics have a new pope today, in the shape of Cardinal Josef Ratzinger, or Pope Benedict the Sixteenth as we should now refer to His Holiness. I would have brought you my perspective on this appointment late last night, but like the emissions from the crude chimney which announced a "result" to the waiting faithful, a glitch in the system meant my nocturnal nattering was lost just as I was about to go to print.
White smoke or black smoke? The signals were unclear to many for a while over the two days the conclave took to appoint the new pontiff, leading to many premature cheers. At least the tension was not kept up for long though, as this was one of the shortest conclaves in the history of the Catholic church. Writing from my Protestant perspective though, I think somehow it was obvious the 78-year old Bavarian was the most credible successor to John Paul II. He had impressed many with his eulogy at the late Pope's funeral mass, and in the mass which preceeded the symbolic locking of the doors of the Sistine Chapel while the ancient process of election under the guidance of the Holy Spirit took place.
White smoke or black smoke? The signals were unclear to many for a while over the two days the conclave took to appoint the new pontiff, leading to many premature cheers. At least the tension was not kept up for long though, as this was one of the shortest conclaves in the history of the Catholic church. Writing from my Protestant perspective though, I think somehow it was obvious the 78-year old Bavarian was the most credible successor to John Paul II. He had impressed many with his eulogy at the late Pope's funeral mass, and in the mass which preceeded the symbolic locking of the doors of the Sistine Chapel while the ancient process of election under the guidance of the Holy Spirit took place.
Sunday, 10 April 2005
Of Popes and Polls, Piety and Pals
A new week has begun with another Sunday: this is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it! As I write this at coming up to 3.00 BST on a sunny Springtime Sunday afternoon in Feltham, there is good reason to be glad indeed, even though the week that has just passed has been one where on both a personal and international level there was more cause for solemnity and sadness- though it climaxed with the joy for at least one middle-aged couple of their long-delayed and often controversial marriage yesterday. Need I mention names...?
It has been a momentous and historic week indeed, one in which somehow I feel humanity is made a little humbler, and a little more aware of its maker. Pontiffs and princes, powers and dominions have been laid low, quite literally in the late John Paul II's case, and an heir apparent got down on his knees at the altar to confess his sins. But the hyperbole with which the press jumped upon one feature of Charles and Camillas's wedding service yesterday- or should I say their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall- was just a little over the top in my view. ALL have sinned, and fall short of the glory of God- but the good news is we are forgiven and God gives us innumerable second chances.
DON'T QUIT
We never know what the next moment will bring, let alone the next day. My dear, late Mum once gave me a poster of a poem called "Don't Quit"- easily found on the web with a quick Google if you are not familiar with it. Recalling the day on Friday on which a far smaller but no less loving group -family and friends of Rose Irene Savage, widow of this parish- said their final farewells to a dearly loved lady just hours after a great pope was buried with pomp and ceremony in front of millions worldwide, it seems appropriate to quote one of my favourite lines from this inspirational if rather secular poem:
"Life is queer with its twists and turns, as everyone of us sometimes learns"
Well, a Prime Minister, a Prince and a sometime preacher in Middlesex certainly found that to be true this week! A Requiem mass and due respect for His Holiness mean the postponement of the formal election announcement at the beginning of the week, and the Vicar of Christ's funeral on Friday meant even the Prince of Wales had to postpone his wedding. For my own part, I had to adjust my sermon last Sunday to take in the sad impact of the papal death, as did our dear friend Julia Spencer who preached at Christ Church this morning. And how could I do a eulogy to my own mother on the same day as the papal funeral. Somehow, though, with God's help, I did.
In the age of the global village, we have all been reminded that we are here for but a brief span, and yet each of us has the capacity in that brief appearance to do things which can change the world for the better and leave our personal contribution to history. Actually, every life matters! I suppose it is a kind of proof, if it were needed, of chaos theory. And a reminder that high or low, God has no favourites. His love endures forever, and nothing can separate us from it- neither death nor life! This was one of the themes of Julia's lovely service this morning at Christ Church here in Feltham, where we also held Mum's funeral thanksgiving on Friday.
What a comforting and enduring truth this is, which carries me now through a time of change and challenge as Matthew and I adjust to life without our Mum but also the opportunities and singular joys that mid life can bring. Unlike Tony Blair, just a few years older than me, who does not intend to see out the whole of the next parliament as leader (IF of course he is re-elected in 3 1/2 weeks time!) I'm certainly not ready to quit just yet, though I've enjoyed my rest! It's time to find a new purpose, and like cleaning my glasses to refresh the vision- for where there is no vision, the people perish, or so says scripture.
STARTING OVER
New beginnings are on many people's minds right now: for the newly wed royals as they start their new life, for the Catholic church as the daunting task of finding a successor to John Paul II begins later this month- and for the people of the United Kingdom as Tony Blair finally revealed the worst kept secret in politics with the calling of a General Election for 5th May.
We never know what the next moment will bring, let alone the next day. Therefore, let's enjoy and live life in all its fulness, as both a pope and a mother showed themselves to have done this week. But let us remember our creator, and give him thanks for each breath we take.
It has been a momentous and historic week indeed, one in which somehow I feel humanity is made a little humbler, and a little more aware of its maker. Pontiffs and princes, powers and dominions have been laid low, quite literally in the late John Paul II's case, and an heir apparent got down on his knees at the altar to confess his sins. But the hyperbole with which the press jumped upon one feature of Charles and Camillas's wedding service yesterday- or should I say their Royal Highnesses the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall- was just a little over the top in my view. ALL have sinned, and fall short of the glory of God- but the good news is we are forgiven and God gives us innumerable second chances.
DON'T QUIT
We never know what the next moment will bring, let alone the next day. My dear, late Mum once gave me a poster of a poem called "Don't Quit"- easily found on the web with a quick Google if you are not familiar with it. Recalling the day on Friday on which a far smaller but no less loving group -family and friends of Rose Irene Savage, widow of this parish- said their final farewells to a dearly loved lady just hours after a great pope was buried with pomp and ceremony in front of millions worldwide, it seems appropriate to quote one of my favourite lines from this inspirational if rather secular poem:
"Life is queer with its twists and turns, as everyone of us sometimes learns"
Well, a Prime Minister, a Prince and a sometime preacher in Middlesex certainly found that to be true this week! A Requiem mass and due respect for His Holiness mean the postponement of the formal election announcement at the beginning of the week, and the Vicar of Christ's funeral on Friday meant even the Prince of Wales had to postpone his wedding. For my own part, I had to adjust my sermon last Sunday to take in the sad impact of the papal death, as did our dear friend Julia Spencer who preached at Christ Church this morning. And how could I do a eulogy to my own mother on the same day as the papal funeral. Somehow, though, with God's help, I did.
In the age of the global village, we have all been reminded that we are here for but a brief span, and yet each of us has the capacity in that brief appearance to do things which can change the world for the better and leave our personal contribution to history. Actually, every life matters! I suppose it is a kind of proof, if it were needed, of chaos theory. And a reminder that high or low, God has no favourites. His love endures forever, and nothing can separate us from it- neither death nor life! This was one of the themes of Julia's lovely service this morning at Christ Church here in Feltham, where we also held Mum's funeral thanksgiving on Friday.
What a comforting and enduring truth this is, which carries me now through a time of change and challenge as Matthew and I adjust to life without our Mum but also the opportunities and singular joys that mid life can bring. Unlike Tony Blair, just a few years older than me, who does not intend to see out the whole of the next parliament as leader (IF of course he is re-elected in 3 1/2 weeks time!) I'm certainly not ready to quit just yet, though I've enjoyed my rest! It's time to find a new purpose, and like cleaning my glasses to refresh the vision- for where there is no vision, the people perish, or so says scripture.
STARTING OVER
New beginnings are on many people's minds right now: for the newly wed royals as they start their new life, for the Catholic church as the daunting task of finding a successor to John Paul II begins later this month- and for the people of the United Kingdom as Tony Blair finally revealed the worst kept secret in politics with the calling of a General Election for 5th May.
We never know what the next moment will bring, let alone the next day. Therefore, let's enjoy and live life in all its fulness, as both a pope and a mother showed themselves to have done this week. But let us remember our creator, and give him thanks for each breath we take.
Sunday, 3 April 2005
See you in the mourning: the end of an era
A week after my own dear Mum passed away, tonight brought the news from the Vatican which to me had seemed imminent for the past month or so. Pope John Paul II, who was the third longest serving occupant of St Peter's throne, died around 20.40 BST yesterday.
Karol Woytyla - excuse my spelling but Polish is such a difficult language!- was without question one of the great popes, and yet a very approachable and human man who changed history-even down to his influence on the fall of Communism in Europe. Even to Protestants like me, who do not feel obligated to the authority structure of the Catholic church, he was a giant of a Christian who was faithful to his Lord to the end. He died as he had lived, with humility and love; ready to meet the saviour, but caring to the end on this earth for the flock of millions entrusted to him in the great tradition of St Peter which we remember around this time of the year.
John Paul II will be a "hard act to follow". His papacy spanned two centuries and 26 years. The world he walked in as a sheep among wolves in 1978 is a very different one in the 21st Century, but the wolves remain albeit in different guises. If ever there was a man to embody the central Christian tenet of forgiveness and love for enemies, this was he. John Paul's meeting with his would-be assassin in the early eighties, recalled in news coverage tonight, spoke more of the message of the gospels than a thousand homilies ever could.
It has indeed been a strange Eastertide this year. The manner of John Paul's passing has in many ways echoed that of my Mum, whose funeral will take place on Friday April 8th, while the papparazzi and the pompous, the royalists and the regal, gather down the road from here in historic Windsor to witness the marriage of our heir apparent to his lifelong love. I dread the former, of course, the final parting, but hope that I will have the courage and strength of character to pay the due tribute to the acts of love and service Rose Savage brought to all those who knew her, just as the funeral of John Paul II around the same time will be one of gratitude and thanksgiving for the life of a great servant of God.
What an irony, and what a tall order for me this week as I have to wear the mantle of mourning as bravely as I can along with my brother- and yet in 10 hours time present a morning service here at Christ Church! I was not planned for today, but the scheduled preacher has himself been in hospital so I have been asked to take his place at short notice. A privilege, but also a challenge, to speak of the continuing message of Easter on this "low Sunday", also known as Quasimodo Sunday, while the bells toll for the loss of a great man of God.
Time now though to get some sleep, but also prayer and prepare as we reflect on the mysteries of God and his timings. We are all in this world for but a little while, but we can all make a difference and leave it a better place. Would that my life could have something of the great about it when I too have to answer that homecoming call, which will come sooner than expected, judging from the swift passage of time. Would that we could ALL hear, as Karol Woytyla will tonight when the Lord calls him by name: "Well done, my good and faithful servant". A fallen world needs the risen Christ now more than ever. May John Paul II's successor, whoever he is, be able to present this Good News in such a faithful and relevant way to the people of today, that soon the Earth shall be filled with the glory of God, as the waters cover the sea.
Karol Woytyla - excuse my spelling but Polish is such a difficult language!- was without question one of the great popes, and yet a very approachable and human man who changed history-even down to his influence on the fall of Communism in Europe. Even to Protestants like me, who do not feel obligated to the authority structure of the Catholic church, he was a giant of a Christian who was faithful to his Lord to the end. He died as he had lived, with humility and love; ready to meet the saviour, but caring to the end on this earth for the flock of millions entrusted to him in the great tradition of St Peter which we remember around this time of the year.
John Paul II will be a "hard act to follow". His papacy spanned two centuries and 26 years. The world he walked in as a sheep among wolves in 1978 is a very different one in the 21st Century, but the wolves remain albeit in different guises. If ever there was a man to embody the central Christian tenet of forgiveness and love for enemies, this was he. John Paul's meeting with his would-be assassin in the early eighties, recalled in news coverage tonight, spoke more of the message of the gospels than a thousand homilies ever could.
It has indeed been a strange Eastertide this year. The manner of John Paul's passing has in many ways echoed that of my Mum, whose funeral will take place on Friday April 8th, while the papparazzi and the pompous, the royalists and the regal, gather down the road from here in historic Windsor to witness the marriage of our heir apparent to his lifelong love. I dread the former, of course, the final parting, but hope that I will have the courage and strength of character to pay the due tribute to the acts of love and service Rose Savage brought to all those who knew her, just as the funeral of John Paul II around the same time will be one of gratitude and thanksgiving for the life of a great servant of God.
What an irony, and what a tall order for me this week as I have to wear the mantle of mourning as bravely as I can along with my brother- and yet in 10 hours time present a morning service here at Christ Church! I was not planned for today, but the scheduled preacher has himself been in hospital so I have been asked to take his place at short notice. A privilege, but also a challenge, to speak of the continuing message of Easter on this "low Sunday", also known as Quasimodo Sunday, while the bells toll for the loss of a great man of God.
Time now though to get some sleep, but also prayer and prepare as we reflect on the mysteries of God and his timings. We are all in this world for but a little while, but we can all make a difference and leave it a better place. Would that my life could have something of the great about it when I too have to answer that homecoming call, which will come sooner than expected, judging from the swift passage of time. Would that we could ALL hear, as Karol Woytyla will tonight when the Lord calls him by name: "Well done, my good and faithful servant". A fallen world needs the risen Christ now more than ever. May John Paul II's successor, whoever he is, be able to present this Good News in such a faithful and relevant way to the people of today, that soon the Earth shall be filled with the glory of God, as the waters cover the sea.
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