The Value of Doing Easter in full

I am not a ridiculously pious man, despite my calling and present ministry. Indeed, some often claim surprise when they discover that do indeed have a spiritual side - a matter for concern perhaps, but not one that I lose sleep about just now. The fact is, I am a fairly normal type - maybe just not your typical rictus God-botherer.

Over the last few years I have been learning about something which, when expressed out loud as in the form of a blog post, seems obvious. Despite the impression of me that you may have formed if you read this thing often enough, I do not come from a heavily liturgical tradition of church. Indeed, my child-hood parish was a fairly straight-forward estate brick wigwam, blessed with a choir that could only sing in unison. I was not born into a bells-and-smells tradition - no: I chose it having tried other things first. 

As I have grown as a Christian, I have discovered the simple truth about Passiontide, Holy Week and Easter: the more I put in the more I get out. In simple terms, for me it is an all-or-nothing thing. 

As the Vicar, one of the things that I am required to do is to lay out the liturgical flow for the year. That I enjoy it and have something of a gift for it is besides the point (I am a crap preacher, so being good at something else is good). I sat in the immediate wake of a happy Christmas and made choices - not for me, but for the good people of Whitton, not least among whom are the worshippers at this here edifice. I pondered last year at the feed-back that I received after the first such sweeps of ceremonial formed by my vicarly hand, and it was good. It observed the very thing that I myself feel when I seek the Lord - that the more you put in the more you get out. This seems to be the plimsoll line for ritualist Christians. 

And so I drafted the list of services between Palm Sunday and Easter. Upon emailing it, I could sense the gasps, but it was my sense that it was my job to take my people on a journey with Christ. Yes, it needed flavour above and beyond the purpose presented in the Story, so we had Healing on one day, Meditation on another and longer prayers on another. It struck me last year that different people come to different things, so Good Friday was an epic Whitton marathon (for me and the three others who did all of it) of more than nine hours of worship. Each was well-attended and often by very distinctive groups of people. However, it was also having an effect on me - this year I have done more than I have been party to or have lead in previous years and in simple terms - the effect of the entire story on me was yet greater than it had previously been. The more I did, personally, the more I felt connected. 

My abiding memory of this year was being sat in the hall next to my wife watching The Passion of the Christ after a day of liturgising. She was weeping as the film ended and others were holding one another in consolation. For me, Easter 2013 will be characterised by people 'getting it', maybe for the first time. As I look back on the last ten days, I think perhaps more is more. How could anyone ever fully appreciate the joy and cost of Easter in just one visit?

Circles and Straight Lines

The lasting effects of the glossolalia 

There are times in my standard Earth week when I find myself hanging with the dudes from the funky charismatic churches. The great joy of our Church of England, apart from the joy and solace to be found in the wording of draft amendments to draft bills for draught excluders is that we are a broad church.

At one end of the spectrum you get the funkies in their open-neck shirts, perma-smiles and and prayers that are two-thirds the word "just". At the other end, you get us old dears, in our black suits and white collars, quaffing gin and stinking of burned resins. And I think that it is a remarkable and wonderful organisation that can house us all. 

In wider society, there is talk of high and low, or else of candles and the upper or lower placings thereon. In other words, one would imagine that my brothers and sisters from the bean-bag edifices of the Holy Stage-Set were the furthest end of the continuum from us from the "if it ain't prehistoric it just ain't cool, man" wholly cluttered-up edifices. Nothing in common, differing emphases on the persons of the Godhead, different outfits, different language and all that. 

I used to think that too. I am the first to say that much of the charismatic wing is a complete mystery to me and I fit into it like my feet do my daughter's fluffy slippers. Equally, I know that my mates from the charismatic wing think me basically papist and a throwback to times before churches had electricity. And that is fine. Actually, it presents a perfect balance - I think. 

Rather than a straight-line with ends - us on one, them on t'other - I have now come to the point of view that despite previous best-efforts to deny this thrice until my cock crowed, we are actually a lot closer. I think the whole thing is a circle, not a line. What charismatic Anglicans and Anglo-catholics have in common is a deep sense of engaging physically with the worship in which we are part. The truth be told, we all wave our arms around and I could no more not cross myself at a Blessing than they elevate arms in praise songs. It isn't contrived - it is just who we are. You look at a picture of a large act of worship at the cathedral church of the Holy Trinity in the Archdiocese of Brompton, and you would see as much smoke, light and effect accompanying the music as in the spikiest of High Church shrines. Perhaps the music is different and we use different linguistic styles, but in the end, we tune ourselves into the bit of God we understand most of all in a physical and specifically tactile way. I sort of get it, truth be told. 

In the end, I think we are all a lot more similar than any of us would have courage to admit. There is always the danger that particularism will prevail and "mine" becomes better than "yours" which does nothing but stifle this wonderful breadth of ours. The more that "we" can be "us" and "you" can do the same, I think that the balance achieved is the best in the world. However, for now I will leave it that in the great circle of church existence, only the accidentals stop us from being rather alike. 

The Question of Consecration

I have, this week, welcomed some local school children into church for their "Service". There will be three such services and all the children will attend. It is a Church School, but home to many (if not most) kids of other faiths and none - with a few practicing Christians in there for completeness. The accepted mode for the "Service" is Holy Communion - which for a priest of my own specific interest and experience shouldn't pose a problem. Wanna Mass? Can do a Mass!

Except is not that simple, and fraught with pitfalls that perhaps don't cross the minds of all hospitable priests when kids show up. 

For most catholic Christians (in both senses of 'catholic') or indeed any with a sacramental awareness, the Eucharist and its Sacraments are profoundly important and life-changingly significant. To partake of the Sacrament of the Eucharist, it is normal and indeed expected that someone would pass through the Rite of Confirmation or, if younger, have celebrated First Communion in some communities. The line that divides those who can or may receive the Body and Blood of Christ is clear, fixed and to many, very important. 

There is a danger, therefore, of welcoming sixty children into the church and giving the very large majority of them their First Communion quite inadvertently. Most wouldn't care or even notice, their parents/carers either - but some would notice that I would had acted very poorly as a priest.

The question is, then, how to celebrate a Eucharist without consecrating anything all the while maintaining the Sacramental dignity of the act of worship and not turning the event into a facade or a 'show and tell' exercise. I gave them an informal Eucharist service with singing, prayers of intercession, scripture a homily and a fair amount of descriptive narrative. The service had a theme and to me at least, it was real and meaningful. I will hope and pray that it was for them too. 

The core question for me, and one that I have never fully resolved, is simply (and yet not simply) at what point or by what means do I as priest consecrate ordinary wine and standard wafers? There is the epliclesis (the invocation of the Holy Spirit). There are the Words of Institution. There is a little arm waving and hand flinging. There is a corporal upon which the elements stand and within whose edges some regard the 'act' to take place. Then there is plain old intention. What consecrates? Can I exclude the Holy Spirit from anything? Do I avoid a corporal so as not to create boundaries? What if I keep my arms by my side? What if I avoid the words that Jesus is said to have uttered? These seem flimsy, but yet I do not wholly know the answer and rather fear that I should. I want to involve these children in something significant and meaningful yet must (and you must forgive the term) protect them from having the Sacraments being imposed upon them without them fully knowing what and why they are.

In the end, and in line with some specific wisdom I received in the past, I left the matter in the court of intention. Simply put, I didn't intend to consecrate but instead to illustrate. Intention, it seems, is key to all that I do as an anointed and ordained priest. I have no 'super powers' at one level yet believe that my Charism is to be able to bless, consecrate and forgive on God's behalf. I leave this post unsure of the answer, but write this to show you that things are often not as simple as they seem. 

The Thing That Excites Clergy

I grant you that it is the only day in the week that we work, and I grant you that in normal circumstances the work that we do fills only some of the day. It is properly hard being a cleric - such arduous lives. 

Some of you who are reading this and are ordained, or indeed any of you might know what I am referring to. It is that sense of excitement as Sunday approaches. Whether we are leading worship, partaking in it or just observing (itself a useful pastime) - Sundays approach withe a sense of happy anticipation for many of us. 

Perhaps it is just me!

It is often that time when our whole (or a larger part of) community gathers together. Yes, it is a time for gossip and that can often permeate the first verse of the first hymn, but it is a time when we gather as the faithful children of Christ to worship and adore. Some of us, if we are of that tradition, may find renewed sustenance in the Holy Matter of the Eucharist, or simply the release of happy chemicals in the blood when we sing for all we are worth. Compelling times, mostly always happy, with friends and those of a like mind - so why wouldn't we look forward to it. 

Enjoy your Saturday wherever you are reading this - tomorrow is our day once more. 

When Family is not Family but is Still Family

A Typical English Family

It might be a British thing, or it might just be a Christian thing. It might even just be a British Christian thing, and possibly even a Christian British thing, but a thing it is and I intend fully to speak about it now. 

Liturgies, Services, Acts of Worship, Praise Sessions - or whatever label you may wish to apply, have different stylings and those stylings tell the trained observer a great deal about what to expect. 

They are also a euphemism.

A High Mass will be one of sacrament, music, vestments and choreographed ceremonial. Mattins is a non-sacramental service of hymns, readings and prayers, as distinct from Morning Prayer that is more rooted in reading and prayer (with the odd spoken song [canticle] interspersed). Evensong is likely to be in language older than your grandmother, a little singing and hymn-based mirth. Compline is not a slimming product but one of the Hours (that array of liturgies that those in the religious life did or still do throughout the day and night), typically observed in the late evening - a short and gentle act of worship rooted in Psalmody and Responsory. Get the idea? If you know the name, you know what to expect. 

Then you get the Family Service. We who provide such things want them to be regarded as accessible, family friendly (read 'not boring to kids') that is perhaps a little shorter than the normal offering. We would want you be know that the music might be a little less 'specialist' (which is to say short, punchy and not according to the four-part harmony structure so loved by church choirs). With any luck, that is the message received bu the passer-by, the seeker, the enquirer. It is a liturgical styling not without its issues, however.

If the Family Service is for the young, the un-initiated perhaps, then the Sung Eucharist must surely deserve the title 'The Grown Up Child-free Specialist Not for Beginners Service for those Who Pay Their Subs and Are on The Electoral Roll Service'. No, of course not. To my mind, every act of worship in the church's life deserves the title 'Family Service'. We are, after all, family in Christ. This is partly the reason why in many churches (though not where I have worked or worshipped, gladly), on the other Sundays when there isn't a Family Service, children are little higher that vermin - a noise curse to be chased out of the building. No dear, you belong at the Family Service. This is partly the reason why in many churches (though not where I have worked or worshipped, gladly) the "main service" is a specialist affair where strangers fear to tread, or if they do they are gathered up, hidden in a darkened room and converted to within an inch of their lives (before they get a chance to escape). 'Family Services' have become Eucharist-Lite, theologically and  qualitatively, or they have become Praise Service Dumbed Down, musically and spiritually. They are shorter in duration, because only true proper Christians can cope with a full-length service, surely. 

The thing is, children are pure theologians. As early-speaking toddlers they are wrestling with the deepest truths of life and existence. As young school-age kids they are working out what life is in the context of death. They grasp the facts and the meaning of Good Friday all the while us adults euphemise and fret. They, like us all, want to be enlivened, not patronized and condescended to. Half of me wants to ban Family Services as a curse to all liturgy. The other half wants to ban all other liturgy and work on getting Family Services right for all people. 

Brave or Hospitable?

It was my joy to be asked to officiate at the Royal Airforce Association Battle of Britain Day service here in Whitton yesterday. In the early days of my engagement with the parish, just after my appointment, the kind and generous people who had a care for my mortal being expressed concern that such a service might be too much of an ask on what would be my first Sunday in post. Fortunately, services for the Armed Services, their veterans and cadets featured a great deal in my last role, so no worries! 

The church was full, and although the RAFA is largely a membership by association (only a very small handful are Airforce veterans), we were able to welcome well over a hundred air cadets who gave up time to show their commitment to the uniform and organisation of which they are members. They did themselves proud, as did the band, as did the talented young bugler who played the Last Post and Reveille in front of us all (including the Mayor of Richmond). 

What was distinct this time from others that I have had a part in is that the cadets numbered those conspicuously from other faiths. There were Sikh, Jewish and Muslim cadets (and Veterans), all together in the church. I didn't want to ignore their presence and so made a very quick decision about how to proceed. 

First, the welcome. I made a point of welcoming my brothers and sisters of other faiths along with the dignitaries, veterans, members etc. I wanted to acknowledge them formally. Secondly, at the point when we reached the time for prayer, I further acknowledged that I would be (obviously) using Christian prayers [the Lord's Prayer, for example], and that those who followed a different guiding light (the use of the word 'god' excludes some) may take the opportunity to pray in their own way. To be honest, it seemed like the only polite thing to do.

Afterwards, a veteran approached me and said how grateful he was for that 'permission'. He is an observant Jew and appreciated that a time for prayer was made available for him as a member of a sibling faith. He also commented that he thought it a very brave thing for me to have done!

I have thought about this over and over. Why 'brave'? I am comfortable in my faith sufficiently that I am happy to acknowledge that of others. They were there to celebrate an affiliation to an ideal that is human and not purely Christian, and that is the ideal of defending the poor and weak and their freedom. He was a former pilot who knew what that ideal looked like in practice, so rather than 'brave', it now seems to me that it was the only truly right thing to do!

Why I Have Stopped Going to Church

It is a funny thing, being ordained. Well, it isn't funny at all; it's a serious business, but it is a funny old thing. The process of being called by God to ordained ministry (the only ministry that I can speak of - other ministries are available) goes a little like this:

 - Born

 - Go to church with the family

 - Grow a little 

 - Grow a lot 

 - Be born again (if that is your thing)

 - Feel the gentle constancy of God's call

 - Say "yes"

 - Jump through many hundreds of discernment hoops

 - Train

 - Put on the collar after a jolly old time with the Bishop and the Holy Spirit

 - Stop going to church

Simple. 

But you see up there in the list - the whole going to church thing, well that halts at about the same moment that the professional church provision begins. Providing and facilitating 'church' is not about 'going'. I accept that this probably sound ridiculous, but it is a fact. The Eucharist, for me and others with whom I have discussed this, is about managing little arrangements to enable the prayer and praise of God's People to go as it should. As a priest, I either preside or I worship - the two rarely overlap.

I know that some of you still are not convinced. Some of you may be mildly irritated by my words given that we have the perfect excuse to be doing the whole church thing all the time. Part of the calling to priesthood is to approach God with the 'people on our hearts' (Michael Ramsay's idea from "The Christian Priest Today") and to approach the people with God on our hearts. This connects with Bill Countryman's idea that priests exist on the "border of the Holy" - all of which is short hand that tells us that our church, our nourishment and spiritual edification, is to be found away from the community to which we are called to minister. Sometimes, this is a hard thing for new priests to grasp - as there are times, believe me, when we don't feel like we have had a moment with God for weeks or months - a moment with God for ourselves, that is. We are called to have that space elsewhere. If anyone feels called to priesthood to be closer to God, then I would suggest that their wires are crossed. 

God in a Box

This is not a post about Aumbries, before you ask!

It is a matter of some mirth in our community that our friends from Zimbabwe always arrive for services late. Once, I was asked to bless the marriage of a wonderful couple, and to perform that ceremony at Noon on a given Saturday. At 12.05pm, I was to be found in the church kitchen making myself a coffee, which I then savoured for the next half an hour in an empty church before even husband and wife arrived, let alone the supporting cast!

On most Sundays, at the point when I have completed my little round of pre-Mass chores and preparations and toddle off to robe, the church looks empty. That would be four minutes before we process in. By the the time the first note of the first hymn thunders forth, the church is half full. By the end of the Collect, it is normally well packed. For us that is normal. 

My Boss and I are invited to a celebration in September, which starts at 2pm I think. He has been invited to given Opening Prayer at 4pm. You get the idea. 

We are all quite open about it. Leg pulling happens on both sides, but I thought I would consider this more fully in preparation for the aforementioned Mass last week. 

I am one for promptness. To be honest, I get the proper hump when someone is late, and I get an ever great cob on if I am the one who is late. On time-keeping, I have a minor OCD (though my Training Incumbent may at times be forgiven for thinking that I perhaps cope rather well with 'cutting it fine' - something I am guilty of all too often). It is another Western thing, added to by the likes of Gina Ford as modern parents are guided to raise their children by absolute meticulous routine (finally, I can blame that woman for something). Same for our faith and its expression.

8am Holy Communion

9.15 Morning Prayer

10am Sung Eucharist

6pm Evensong

We have made our faith a matter of appointment. We give God an hour here and an hour there - though we make sure that we are on time, of course. There is a danger, thereby, of placing God back in his box for the rest of time as we toddle off to the next appointment for which we must of course be on time. It is a Western thing. 

But not an African thing. As I said last week, if we give God time by appointment only, then they give him the time between waking and  ... waking. They are never late for a service, simply because they started their worship and praise many hours before we did. 

A New Perspective on Christianity

This weekend has caused a profound shift in my perspective of my own faith and the organisation to which I claim a long membership. It is a tectonic shift caused by the best of things and the worst of things - the latter being the stuff of global headlines even now. 

I have slowly come to realise that there are very different kinds of Christians: the ones for whom faith is life, and the ones for who whom faith is a soap-box. There are those who let their faith shine through them and their lives, and others who use faith as a Tyndall Beam in order to project their needs upon the world. The latter disposition, at best, yields a few wonky outbursts (perhaps this is one of them). At worst, it results in the death of the innocents. 

In my last post, I shared a moment of Shona praise. In other posts I have talked about the deaf community. Both communities, the deaf and the Zimbabwean, have taught me considerable lessons about my own faith. The deaf community has taught me so much about communication, the Zimbabwean about unbridled and unfettered trust in love. Both cause, I am sorry to say, standard Western Christianity in many of its forms to seem petty, self interested, self-important and as relevant as a Beta Max Video player. 

Some have spoken of Christian persecution, as it is found in Britain. As far as I can see, that amounts to strictures surrounding work-apparel and directives about using faith to impose a theology upon others in their lives. Real persecution is to be found in the lives of Christian men and women from Zimbabwe who, because of their faith, have had to leave homes and family behind, often never seeing those loved ones again. Because of their faith. Where funds were limited, the Christian men of Zimbabwe sent their women and children oversees to safety, and in more than one case that I know of, have died before the reunion. Because of their faith. Only in that context do I see true persecution, not in the affronts to middle-class choice that we bewail in the West. The astonishing thing, though, is that a drop of their worship expresses more joy and gratitude than a bucket of our own worship (in any of the brands it is available in). Some of the British Christians who attended the Shona Mass on Saturday commented upon how "poe-faced" it made us all seem. I couldn't disagree. Exilic Zimbabweans regard their removal and separation from their homes as a new calling from God, and embrace it in those terms. Perhaps this is why I can't get super-heated about pieces of paper, I just don't know.

And then of course we have this man, Anders Behring Breivik, the man responsible for the murder of 85 young people in Norway in a kind of 'social conservation' exercise. He did this, it seems, because of a wildly mis-guided set of views informed, among other things, by ... his faith. His brand of faith is labelled as 'fundamentalist', 'right wing' and 'conservative' - none which is reason enough to end the lives of others. To the best of my knowledge, this is the first such terrorist act in the name of Christ in my lifetime at least in the West. 

In the middle of all of this, I have a a renewed sense of being a bystander. I have also written elsewhere about being a bystander, and the responsibility that we share (the Holocaust is one such arena where the place of the bystander is important). I watch Norway and the events there; I find joy when I am taken from Western 'nice' to the untainted praise of exiles. I put these things together and I gain a new perspective on my faith. On one hand we can abuse and insult our spiritual leaders with impunity. On another, a man is killing on behalf of the Head of our Body. One community would give up everything for the church ... everything. Another community light their bonfires and dance around the glowing embers of a church that they claim to love. There is an impossible imbalance in all of this that I struggle with. 

Today, the Body of Christ is different. We cannot be the same as we were before the Norwegian killings. What we have is a treasure in clay jars - jars that we beat with rods in our own hands, or else we stand by and watch others doing the same. Christians must now stand together and remind the world once again that we are a people of love, tolerance, embracing people of all races, whatever their differences to us - and a people of joy and praise, of song and worship - in all circumstances. If we do not, the consequences are on our heads. 

God is love, and those who live in love live in God, and God lives in them. 

Cornflakes, Taizé and 'Back To Church'

Not so many years ago, Kelloggs, the makers of the true proper Cornflakes, had the wisdom, humility and insight to build an advertising campaign around our behaviour as consumers. It is this behaviour that, for me, unites Cornflakes and all things Taizé. 

I know you are wondering, and wonder you may - but do not forget that I am the only cleric in the history of the world to bring the Blessed Virgin Mary and the iPad 2 together on a single blog post. 

Well, the thing is, that when I once heard that a service is of the Taizé variety, my innards slumped and part of my brain powered down. In other words, I went into liturgical hibernation. For years I have gently mocked Taizé stuff as being the sandwich filler if you want to neither offend Carflicks or Jellies - a service of the Middle-Ground. "If in doubt, get Taizé out". 

And so it was with Cornflakes. No - don't be silly, not in a liturgical way. What I mean is, there were years when the look, smell, prospect or fact of a bowl of Cornflakes caused my synapses to calcify and eyes to cross in a rather comical "I'd sooner chew toenails that this stuff" kind of way. On no, missus, pass me the Shreddies and that bag of sugar over here; Cloakey has an appetite to satisfy! 

The Kelloggs campaign addressed that very behaviour - that is, that we had all convinced ourselves that Cornflakes were as much fun as un-anaesthetised  eyeball surgery and had moved to other brands of breakfast cereal. I was one such oik, and was guilty as a guilty person's guilty bits. So I bought me a box of Cornflakes and promptly enjoyed every single golden crunchy flake of sunshine. No, really, I have never looked back and regard the humble Cornflakes as the cereal of choice for the elitist of elite people like me. and it is the same with all things Taizé. When I actually sit down and actually engage with a Taizé act of worship, it is stunning. I love singing the repetitive meditative lines, and find the whole experience to be nothing short of heavenly. I had just got out of the habit, and had wrapped that in a bunch of undeserved prejudices that it didn't earn or warrant. 

There must be something of this in what stops people going to church. I know many people who would far sooner grate their own nose than enter a church - people who once were faithful and devoted practicing Christians. Perhaps it was a fall-out over the flower rota, a distaste for that hymn the organist always plays too fast, someone sat in their seat - or myriad other reasons, but those people drifted away and are now a little like ex-smokers on the subject of smoking. 'Back To Church' Sunday is a funny old thing. I am not sure how far this concept has gone beyond Britain or the Church of England even, but it is now an annual fixture. I rarely hear of it done well, if I am honest - but there has to be something to the idea that people just need to be encouraged to re-try an old habit. I am not sure that sending cards to people to invite them into the main Sunday service is the way, but a personal invite to someone for a coffee in the building is surely a good start. 

So, the message of this post, is this: if I can eat Cornflakes then the Church stands a chance. you heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen. 

International Day of Persons with Disabilities

Today (December 3rd) is, as the title suggests, the International Day of Persons with Disabilities. Like so many such days, it is quite likely to miss the radar of many, so I thought I would do my little bit for the cause!

Let me start with an absolute statement: we are all 'persons with disabilities'. However, those of us (and I am often guilty of this) who regard ourselves as 'able-bodied' feel distinct from 'those people' with perhaps more apparent ability issues. Inner finger-pointing is, I think, something that we have all been guilty of at least once.

I am involved, as you may know, with the Diocesan Council who serves the deaf, deafened and hard of hearing communities. I have a fair level of British Sign Language, and an awareness of life for those communities. I think that, in the main, they do ok existing in the 'hearing world', and would likely kick me from drawing the distinction between 'them and us' (there, I did it again). It seems that for the deaf community, church life is among the greater factors of exclusion [there are 2000 deaf, deafened and HoH Christians in this diocese alone, most of whom do not and cannot go to church - and why would they?].

I know of no churches who offer interpretation for their services, even to the level of subtitling. Yes, most have Loop systems, and that is great - but not a world of use for the profoundly deaf. Looking beyond the deaf community, I think that it would be difficult to attend most of our churches without sight, without the use of limbs, let alone some of the other factors that limit ability such as behavioural conditions, and so on. 

Churches are rather lovely for the reasonably able-bodied; tickety-boo if you can see, hear and walk. Often, our old and most beautiful temples are the culprit - but that doesn't make it alright. Christians will fight tooth and nail to ensure that a Patagonian yak farmer gets a fair price for his yak-juice, but seem to miss the point when, for example, my mate Rob, a deaf man, finds it impossible to worship his God with others in the county where he lives. Perhaps a  designated day that could in fact apply to every one of us could encourage us to look with honesty and candour at the 'service' our churches offer.

...then do something about it, perhaps?

What a Weekend

My last post described my immersion into the West Indian culture. That was Friday! On Saturday, I was immersed in Zimbabwean culture, presiding over the Blessing of the marriage of two members of their community, taking them into on to the great celebration of the Eucharist.

It went a little like this: a service scheduled to start at noon saw me sipping coffee at five-past as I waited for the congregation and couple to arrive. Worshippers started to arrive by quarter-past and promptly burst in hymns sung Shona-style.

I started the service at half-past twelve (not everyone had arrived even then). I opted to use the 'said' version of the service, but giving the Zimbabwean community the chances to embellish the Rite in their own way. My lot from Zimbabwe know how to be the beating heart of worship. As I said to them, their worship and praise go to my heart! We had two english hymns and two Shona hymns, but whenever there was a hiatus in proceedings, more choruses burst forth! 

I have no idea what they were singing about - but I was all the same connected. I knew  not what the words were, but I knew well what they meant. Amongst maracas, whooping, shreaks and screams, the harmony-perfect music was (and always is, in my opinion) the music made in heaven. Unaccompanied save for the Spirit, it is worship that entrances and intoxicates and adds to my view that in so many cultures there are such wonderful ways to make music to our Lord. The whole thing defied the lines and edges of english liturgy, but actually - in a way that made 'some old said Eucharist' quite the most spectacular act of praise you could witness.

It is of profound importance to me that what I offer as the adminstrator of any Sacrament is that the context of that Sacrament is seemly, fit for use and meaningful. That means (to me at least) that a West-Indian act of worship, a Zimbabwean act of worship or even a kid's act of worship be of them and for them. I know what is important to me in liturgy, but that is only for me - but to deliver Fr David's standard service to all - well, that is just unacceptable. So, as I said at the end of the service yesterday:

Mwari, Mweya Unoyera, ngaakusimbisei muchitendero nerudo, akudzivirirei kumativi ose, akutungamirirei muchokwadi nerunyararo, uye Chikomborero ChaMwari Baba, noMwanakomana, noMweya Mutswene zvigare nemi kubvira zvino dakara narini. Amen

...and apparently I got it right and didn't inadvertantly insult anyone.

In a world where we are all different, only in a world like that can we stand a chance of really knowing God. 


*This image was from my First Mass, a service also greatly enhanced by my friends from Zimbabwe