the end of the holidays

As a child, the holidays lasted forever. Long summer days of playing in the sunshine worked their way into long summer evenings on the road, on my bike, in the dirt, in the grass, with my friends. One August we all found ourselves up above town on the moors swimming in the ponds, running in the hills, knowing those times would never end.

Till school called us back.

For ages after I left school I would awake to the nightmare sound of the bell that ran my life through all those years: teachers, I have no idea how you can do it. I suppose it has, however, had a twin effect upon me: I chose a job with no set hours. And a personality type with a pathological attention to the clock.

Well now the holidays are over again. School is calling me back - or, at least, university. No bell (thank God). But a more set routine than I have known since I began my working life, and a commute for the first time since I was eighteen. Strike that, seventeen - my final exam at grammar school (a forty minute bus-ride from home) was the day before my eighteenth birthday.

The problem with memory (of course) is that it only looks back. I cannot remember forwards at this point in time to the friendships ahead, the joys set before, the trials overcome, the triumphs and simple pleasures that await. I cannot reminisce about quiet evenings three years from now, or wax lyrical about friends I have yet to meet, relationships that have not begun, passtimes and priorities that my life will take on in the days locked up beyond tomorrow.

The holidays are over! The resting is done! A key is placed in the living door of my experience which may turn in this way only this time and only this once - and I got to choose to do this! It's happening! I need to snap my head forwards, to bring my mind from remembering things past to being ready to take on all things new.

For, as angels sang on Easter morning - Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here - He is risen!

My life was on those hills in Accrington, in that school in Blackburn, at university in Oxford, ordained in South Wales, working in Aberystwyth, writing in Cambridge, being vicar of Pontypridd - but my hand is in the hand of Jesus, and he is the God of the living, not of the dead. Not forgetting what lies behind, I strain forwards to gain the prize, to live the life, to seize the day, to rise on wings and to live the life set out for me. Grateful, and being grateful using all that I have gained with love and for glory here and now.

Here and now.

It's the end of the holidays. A new day is beginning. Hallelujah.

idol

Amongst the many treats on YouTube is a clip of me singing with a certain Big Band. No names, no pack drill. The accompanying photo should in no way be taken as a clue or hint as to the band or song to which I am referring.


Anyway, as usual, I have control over the comments that go up. I vet everything. Of course - I'm a control freak. You may say what you like, but only if I like it. As I sang in my opening number at the St Caths Plus Variety Show recently - 


"The ego of the actor / has the subtlety of a tractor
So comments that are audible / Should always be laudable..."  


Singers, if anything, are even more thin-skinned than their thespian fellows. We just need to be loved, dahling. 


Well. Over the past three days I have been receiving notification of comments for the aforementioned video clip. One thoughtful person has been offering me critiques that sound kind of familiar from somewhere (where?); here's the first they sent:  Not very good at all. Very pitchy.Very Flat at 1:56 and 2:34. 

I think 2:34 is sharp, personally, and worse - distorted by bad microphone technique. But I tell you what - somebody hiding behind a pseudonym on a website doesn't get to say that. And I was left huffing about it all day. The cheek! Of course I didn't approve their comment. No bloody chance. So yesterday they tried again. This time they offered (and again the words are strangely familiar): Who told you you could sing?


Oh I was cross. Cross enough to think that I wished I knew who it was so I could reply - who told you you could listen? Who told you you could be rude on somebody else's website? You'll imagine that this comment also failed to get posted. 


But then today this person surpassed themselves. And it was at this point that the penny finally dropped. At last I recognised the play book my web judge has been using all along. Just one word came on the YouTube Service email this evening: Horrible. 


It's Simon Cowell isn't it? 


I'm being cyber-stalked by a Simon Cowell wannabe who thinks that if they keep being nasty, eventually I'm going to publish their brilliantly witty and insightful comments on my singing! The thing is, the Horrible comment actually made me laugh out loud... So I'm thinking of posting it. Except if I do, will I encourage this mad person, or stop them? And if I stop them, what will I miss out on tomorrow? "That's positively the worst audition I've ever heard. Seriously." 


What do you reckon? Come on, I'd like you to send me votes to post now or suggestions for more Cowell put-downs I should be expecting. I'll publish the best ones - & if crazy stalker actually continues I'll award fictional prizes for the most accurate guesses too! 


This is Cyber-Stalker Idol!

settling in

Every time I have moved, I have been the same. The whirlwind of activity, the emptying of boxes, the establishing of a new home. I have seen others move & seemingly camp out in their new houses for months, and something in me screams out - how can you bear to do this? I cannot. Within two days or so all is sorted.

Kind of. Don't ask me to find everything. That will take longer.

Mind you, Matt & I are already finding our way around the neighbourhood. It turns out my trusty SatNav is a bit, well, selective on local roads. So I do need to buy a map, as well as checking out Googlemaps before setting out. There tend to be better alternatives than my onboard computer wants me to believe! Goodness, it's been a while since I've actually remembered directions...

Take the nearest cinema, the Leeds/Bradford Odeon. As the crow flies it's about a mile and a half, two miles. SatNav wants to take me a five mile journey to get there when there is actually a crow-fly road. And I am finding that several Leeds trips are pretty similar - and not helped by the re-numbering of roads in central Leeds following recent bypass arrangements. In weeks these will be absolutely second nature.

In weeks the house will feel like home too. It still feels like a place where all my stuff finds itself. Finds itself squashed... No - I am genuinely glad of the smaller space. Genuinely glad of the cosiness of the house. Time will make this home - time and the visits of friends and the accumulation of memories. You cannot fake "home". It sneaks up on you.

And, as yet, though I am settling in, I am still in the post-leaving/just-arriving fog of emotions that means I don't quite know where I am or what I feel.

It's good that I have lovely neighbours - on one side they will look after Matt when I'm at work, seeing he gets out during the day and isn't alone all that time. That side also keeps the gardens straight and checks on bins and is wonderfully efficient. On the other side, a couple I have yet to get to know but they are Christians and one of them works in the University.

People. Place. Time. Feel. History. Memory. So many things make up "home". And here am I in a rented house - for here I have no abiding city. I have the outwards sorted, but the inners, the interiors of life - these things cannot be put in their place in two days, no matter how hard I try. And so I am slightly displaced. Neither there nor yet here. But here I am in a place where I have been led. With good people all around. And I am looking forwards to going to church on Sunday in the local parish church, which, by all accounts, may well be a good place for me. So this is a strange, settling in period; and I am grateful that after the whirlwind of the last few days I now have another week before I start work, work which I am looking forwards to. I need to take this time to relax and sit back and prepare, and properly take advantage of a little holiday for body and soul.

For, to misquote the hymn, God has brought me safe thus far, and he shall lead me home.

the final day

Matt & I walked through Ponty park as we always did, him sniffing every darned tree, me calling "Head!" to pull his attention away from burying his face too deep in any especially repugnant odours. A gentle rain spotted the ground and midges thronged under the trees.

We called in on Clare at the newsagents on Mill Street. She went red - she'd meant to come to church yesterday, but had overslept. I told her not to be so silly. And we said our goodbyes.

Barbara came to clean the empty house. Oh, how I have relied upon Barbara. She has cheered me up so many times without knowing it. Made me feel better just by being there, as well as by making my home look and feel and smell nicer week by week. I gave her flowers last week; she brought me wine today. We shared tears.

A trip to the bank saw money into my account - both from my little house sale on Saturday and from the amazing generosity of the church as I left. Wow. And thank you - I know many of you read this. I am overwhelmed, and incredibly grateful.

Then Dan came to help me finish off sorting the house out. I married Dan and Gemma one Christmas a few years back. I'd got to know Gemma's dad through taking funerals for his parents, and when he asked if I'd do his daughter's wedding I was delighted - though if it had been anyone else, I think asking for a Sunday wedding at Christmas might well have got a no from my diary! We have a running joke - I invite them to dinner, and then go to their house to eat. We've been trying to meet up in the run up to my leaving, and it hasn't happened, but they came yesterday & I was delighted to see them & their boys. Dan offered to help me as I finished off the house & did a couple of tip runs. Gemma insisted I then came to lunch. I was thrilled to say yes.

Gill Tuck came to the Vicarage as we were done. She took my keys. Empty, gone, all over. I had feared I would slink out of town without anyone noticing. Gill was aware of this and was making sure that couldn't happen. Dan was there too. The book of these days closed, but friends were all around me as the words on the pages ran out. Indeed, just as I got into the car Kim Howells walked past pushing his granddaughter in the buggy. Many's the day when he has regaled me with stories of meetings with chiefs of staff, spies, wars in foreign parts, chairing the United Nations, facing down the Prime Minister - but now he wears a more relaxed look and his granddaughter gets the attention that previously was demanded by such unimportant matters. A friendly hug, another and fitting final farewell.  

Then the long drive northwards. I crossed the bridge to England. I used to live here. No, I do live here; I used to live in Wales. For seventeen years I stayed in the Principality - almost as long as I lived in Accrington as a kid, before first moving south to University a lifetime ago. And as I drove I thought of my yesteryears, and of my yesterday.

Yesterday was lovely.

The team here had worked hard to make a super occasion. Wardens, staff, musicians, St Catz Kids, St Caths Plus, Stewart as he led the service and the folk who provided the wonderful lunch - though a confession: I spent so much time talking to people over lunch, the only thing I actually ate was a piece of Val's lemon meringue!

Here was a church looking forwards, in good health, celebrating its life. And I enjoyed every minute. Great to see visitors amongst the crowd - including Owen & Liz, Alice, Karsten, Robin, David, a couple who come to the Remembrance events, some of our wider family, and of course lots and lots of us. Just us.

I had great fun preaching - Stewart called it a "tour de force", but he would, showing off his French, (always the class swot!) as I decided to go out on Matthew 22.34ff, the greatest commandment, but got carried away so gave them pretty much all of Matthew 21 & 22, with references to Matthew 4 & Deuteronomy 5-8 thrown in for good measure. Plus quotes from Cecil B deMille and a couple of my favourite little jokes...

The greatest commandment: it is in the way we love one another that the truth of our love for God is revealed. Be the real deal. It isn't easy, it's not supposed to be; it is worth it.

Stewart spoke at the end of the service of our friendship. Of the way I'd come to Cynthia's bedside at 4.30am on the day she died. Of our Bible studies, ranging from exegesis to pole dancing. I assured the congregation we didn't actually do any pole dancing...

I looked out and saw others. Those present like Ashley & Helen with baby James. I remembered visiting them in hospital on Christmas Day when Helen had been confined to bed for months before James' birth. Those absent like John Murphy, who is confined to his bed but who has been to me a true friend. I wouldn't have had these eleven years without him. Or like Dan & Kirsty - and it was lovely to have Matthew Truelove sing a song written by Dan for the occasion. And to sing one of his own, a favourite of mine. Then I saw out there too those gone before, like Gwyneth, whose smile and attention to detail were both very special. And Mac. And Ken. And Gladys, whose final prayer I will remember always.
 

As I missed the buffet I drove to Tesco to grab a sandwich for lunch. And another for supper. And after my final final service, a gentle evening communion (with a few extra in attendance - I should leave more often if it does the numbers so much good) most of us ended up at the Bunch of Grapes.

Actually, right at the end of that evening service, David Carver came forwards & said that he wanted some people to pray with me. I was absolutely thrilled. Just as I had not wanted to leave today by myself (and I guess in part that's a being single thing - a lot of life is by myself you know), I had really wanted somebody at some point before I left to say - "we need to have a good group of people pray for you". And it hadn't happened. Then David did it.

Don't take this the wrong way, please - I have always had great wardens, and the current crop are wonderful & hard working & pulled out all the stops yesterday in making the whole day go off amazingly. I love them to bits. But I will confess to having a very soft spot for David Carver & for Derek Phillips; they were a very special team as wardens. They are very special godly men. David proved it for me again yesterday, and those last few moments of my final service were golden.

So. I got into the car & began to drive. Eleven years, eh? There have been ups & downs, tough times & failures amongst the joys & triumphs. I don't know if I did everything I was supposed to. But as far as I was able I tried to be obedient. And as I sit in the kitchen of what is becoming my new home, I am reminded that for the past few years this blog has had at the top of it something of what I have seen as my job description, a play around Thirteen Words that have always meant a lot to me. Well, I'm going to have to change that soon.

But let me remind you: I have the joy of pastoring a church in South Wales, (and now come the 13 words) my job is to worship Jesus - his job is to grow the church. He is far better at his job that I at mine, but grace is all about how these things come together.  

He is far better at his job than I at mine; but grace means I leave with happy memories, and I can't ask for more than that.

moving day

A very moving day. The dog is all over the place, and frankly so am I. Chris & Carl, my two removal men, have been great. Most of the work has been done now, we'll be off in the morning, and in Leeds for mid-afternoon. (Thanks again to the wonderful efficiency of Clare & David Mac).

One friend was standing by the church gate earlier; a passing elderly gent told her - the vicar is going. Been here Eleven years. They haven't found a replacement yet.

Good to know the grapevine is accurate.

I used to live here. My house is becoming hollow. Clean, warm rooms are looking like tired, musty, damp shells. Echoes of themselves. Memories of laughter sound around them. The kitchen remembers Podcaths & Bible Studies and Alphas and then sighs - and forgets.

The dining room wonders where the piano was.

The study is a repository for unwanted furniture. Not yet wanted furniture. Not yet wanted books. Someone will claim them again. But not me, not here.

I used to live here. I am moved, am moving, am emotional and in motion.

Farewell, vicarage.

And now the end is near...

...but still to come, the final curtain.

Though some fat ladies are singing. The Rejects are done with me. I have feasted with my wonderful quiz team one final time, after one final victory at the Bunch. Steve & I were the only ones who turned up for that quiz - & Steve was nervous. I told him to man up. Winning attitude, that's all it takes.

That's all it took. I shall miss the quizzes, but more the friendships of this group of bearded blokes. Never again do I expect to know so many experts in Sanskrit in so confined a space.

As I prepare to move away from full time parochial ministry, it was both an odd and a pleasurable experience to be a supporting cleric for Clare Hayns as she was ordained at Christ Church Oxford last week. I was best man at John & Clare's wedding many, many moons ago. I am godfather to their eldest. We have had many phone calls discussing theological essays over the past few years. John & Clare's friendship is one of the fixed points of my life. Seeing her ordained (from rather a good seat, I must say) was a total joy. And John will make an excellent vicar's wife - he can make a sponge cake appear out of nowhere in no time flat. No really. He's a member of the magic circle.

And it gives everyone the chance to see that (just occasionally) I do don the odd item of clerical garb myself. Actually, the cassock & scarf are Rob Graham's. I keep them for special occasions.

I was reminded the night before Clare's service of an event three and a half year's back, when being dressed like this had a particularly helpful effect. And also made for one of the funniest occasions of my time here in Ponty. Thanks Chris for bringing that back to mind: Irish scaffolders downing tools on a particularly gloomy morning with the cry "The Father says stop!" will stay with me for a long time. That it was over the construction of the neighbouring car park is even more pleasing... And I managed to use the story this morning in preaching on John 13, which passage was read at Clare's ordination. My usual illustration is of a man with a pepper grinder. Scaffolders & priests made a good alternative. The point held, and was one I wanted to make again before finishing. It's one of the key things I'd like people to remember here.

To remember. When I am gone. In the morning the removal men come. I will be back next weekend for my final services, but in between I am moving up to Leeds. Going, and coming back. A bit like Jesus, only I'm doing a house sale.

And without the help of the megastars who are David & Clare MacInnes it would be impossible to be ready. David & Clare came to stay for a couple of days last week & transformed the house into a state of readiness for the move. I am eternally grateful. More friends who have been a constant in my life for longer than I can recall. More friendship displayed than I could possibly deserve.

So, the list is almost complete. Farewells are being said. It is happening. The future is arriving, pushing its way into the present, making today fade into yesterday. I am touched by the kindness and good wishes I am receiving from many, and can only hope that I may yet have time to bless my friends here as I am still being blessed.

In God's economy, you must always give away what you want to keep.

Though if you are doing a house sale, I think selling books at 50p for soft backs and £1 for hard backs is also fair. Saturday next, 2pm. There's furniture too...

more goodbyes

The last song I played on my old Bentley piano. And I wrote it today at the Bentley, for this evening's service.

In the morning the removal men will come & take my faithful friend away to a new life with Owen & Liz Smith & their kids, and I am glad to pass it on to such a lovely family, and to people who will take enormous pleasure from my old piano.

I learned to play on this. My old Gran bought it. I learned to hear chords and to play scales, I learned Bach and jazz on these keys. I worked out my first choir arrangements, first orchestral parts, first band parts sitting here.

I've written more songs at this piano than I can (or should) remember. I've poured out my heart, and laughed, and worshipped and simply had fun.

I thought it was going on Friday; I sat and played the songs I played when I was 16. The first songs I wrote. The songs I learned for school CU. The first hymn I played in school assembly (I'd been playing about three months when I volunteered to do that...) and which I learned so well I can still mostly remember it now, a million years later.

But the removal men had made a mistake, so I've had an extra weekend with my piano, and instead of leaving with old songs, I sat and wrote something new. Much more fitting. This was what I did here. I sat and wrote. Imagined. Felt. Sang my heart.

Thank you Jesus for such a gift.

And whilst I'm at the goodbyes - the drama group that has emerged from our work with older people at church put on a Variety Show on Saturday afternoon. I added a little piece of my own to surprise them - a Victoria Wood-esque number about theatre etiquette. And at the end they surprised me, with a bit of communal singing to express their feelings towards me as I prepared to leave. And of all the things I am doing right now (so many for the last time - last wedding, last Cafe Church) this one suddenly, surprisingly caught me and in its simple direct emotion brought a tear to me eye. Goodness. Enjoy.

a constant topic of conversation in 1973

I have started throwing out a bin bag of rubbish every day in preparation for my upcoming move to Leeds.  It is surprisingly easy. Or, it was till today.

Today I opened a cupboard, & to my surprise found a bag of stuff I didn't know I had, a bag of distraction. Old school reports. My Oxford Entrance Exam papers. The programme for the Verdi Requiem my school choir put on in April 1979 - the very first thing I ever sang in a choir.

And, gloriously, a note to parents from my junior school headmaster. I record it in full in the hope that some headmaster out there might take heart and still be writing such pieces today.

Dear Parents,

At the beginning of each school year I send out a letter to all parents of first year children. Included in the letter are two paragraphs relating to Personal Appearance from which I quote:-

'In winter girls may wear trousers when travelling to and from school and at playtimes, but we like them to change into skirts or dresses during school hours. Boys may wear long trousers of a sober colour, although in summer short trousers are much to be preferred. Denim jeans are not allowed.'

These rules are of long standing and are responsible for the reputation the school has always had, i.e., of having clean, tidy, well turned-out children.

A constant topic of conversation in 1973 is of the lowering of standards of every facet of life one cares to think of, and it would be only too easy to let our standard of school dress slip.

Recently I have had brought to my attention several breaches of our rules on dress. I will be pleased if parents will take steps to see that the rules are complied with.

Yours sincerely, J Paris, Headmaster.

Notwithstanding the faultless grammar of the letter, please understand that my junior school was in Accrington, Lancashire. It was a common or garden council school. It was not the private establishment that this note would make you believe. I am rather proud to have begun my educational life there, and really quite delighted to discover this note and to find in J Paris, Headmaster a true hero of the anti-Revolution. I say this after taking evening worship wearing my usual jeans, boots & open-necked shirt.

I love - LOVE - the sentence beginning "A constant topic of conversation in 1973..."!

PS - yes, I am the one in the middle of the three amigos enjoying playtime. I'm thinking 1975 or 76. Close enough. I hope you will agree we were clean, tidy, well turned-out children.

beginning to say goodbye

So I had my final gig with the great Byron Jones Big Band, and it was a blast.

It would be easy simply to say lots of nice things about Byron & his band - and they would all be true. It has been a real joy to know these guys and to get to sing with them has been a genuine privilege. But don't tell them. A big band singer has to be able to walk into the room & show no fear or the game's up... If you can't go in there with the attitude "you guys are lucky to have me here", you can't do this job!



Ah yes, Mack the Knife. Filmed on my iPhone from the back of the hall by Malcolm, who has been impresario for these Newport gigs - and another good friend. Tell you what, I'm in a generous mood - here's another video of me in silhouette in front of Byron's band. Who Can I Turn To.



And then on Saturday it was the turn of the Outdoors Fitness leaving party for me.

Twenty-something guys met at the Bunch for a meal, and then we went on to Clwb y Bont for drinks, and more joined us there.

In all honesty, I just felt a bit overwhelmed.

I have loved being part of this group. Loved it. I've never been this fit in my life! And I've loved being a part of the group. To be so blessed by their generosity and kindness & to have a leaving do like this - it made me rather emotional. I'm just one of the group.  And one or two of them said such nice things to me, things I'd love to record here so I don't forget them, but which actually I am going to keep simply in my rather leaky memory.

And it is beginning to seep in that this time is coming to an end. I am beginning to say goodbye. But goodbye is inadequate; when you are me, most of the time you spend your time being blessed by all kinds of people around you, and so "thank you" is far closer to what I mean than "goodbye".

And realising how much you have to be grateful for is - well, overwhelming.

for the love of the game

Football - or at least FIFA, its ruling body - is in chaos. Sepp Blatter, newly re-elected president, refuses to see the crisis. ("Crisis, what is a crisis?" was his quote. Sepp, this is. When you are the reform candidate, this is a crisis.

World leaders from Kim Jong Il to - well, Kim Jong Il, have been congratulating Sepp on the manner of his re-election. Unopposed. Just the way it should be in a democratic institution. Gordon Brown was green with envy. One man one vote, that's FIFA. Shame the one man is Sepp Blatter.

The English FA tried to put it off... but they are hardly the whiter-than-whites here. Still, it was good of Julio Grondona, FIFA's senior Vice-President from Argentina, to make it clear that there was absolutely nothing wrong or corrupt about the voting procedure for this election, or for the selection of the host country in the 2018 & 2022 World Cup bids.

"With the English World Cup bid I said: 'Let us be brief. If you give back the Falkland Islands, which belong to us, you will get my vote'. They then became sad and left.''

Good to know it was all done on footballing matters. Goodness knows what he would've said if he had admitted they had actually let politics into the process. "Yes, I said we had a price - the Falklands, but it was too expensive. Maybe next time?" No hang on, I think he actually did say that. Proudly.

Still, the reforming Mr Blatter will sort that out.

Not.

The beautiful game. Russian oligarchs & Arab billionaires running clubs obsessed with vain playboy moneygrabbing oiks. Thank God we have Sepp Blatter. It could be worse.

FAQ for the Church in Wales in case of rapture

The Church in Wales bench of bishops has issued a helpful series of questions and answers for worried parishioners in the face of alarmist reports of the impending Rapture this weekend. I re-print them below, without permission.


1. If the rapture happens on Saturday, should I still go to church on Sunday?
Yes. This is the Anglican church. Hitler couldn't stop us, and neither will the Almighty.

2. If the Vicar is taken, who will lead the service?
It is statistically unlikely that your vicar will be amongst the elect. If, however, s/he is taken and you are left behind, your curate will be an adequate replacement. Parishes without a curate will find that lay readers are trained for eventualities such as these. The staff at the Diocesan Offices will be on duty and happy to help; all six Diocesan Bishops expect to be in parishes this Sunday.

3. How long will parishes be expected to continue without a Vicar after the Rapture?
Indefinitely. Replacements will be found where possible; a Ministry Sunday is planned for June 5th just in case, to encourage new vocations. This will take time to come to fruition as new ordinands are trained. But many parishes already exist without sufficient clergy coverage, and have found the experience surprisingly liberating.

3. If the Vicar is not taken, is he still worthy to preach and celebrate the Holy Eucharist?
Absolutely. Article twenty-six of the Thirty Nine Articles has long established the low expectation for Anglican ministers when it comes to holy living or the quality of preaching. Why should anything be different this weekend?

4. Are there appropriate texts that should be substituted for the lectionary readings?
Absolutely not. The Revised Common Lectionary for Easter 5 is to be kept by all parishes. It may, however, be pastorally sensitive for preachers not to emphasise John 14.3, "I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am," or Acts 7.56, "I see heaven open". Particularly after the Lord has not taken your congregation to be with him and heaven has shut again.

5. If most congregations are taken but clergy are left behind, will the services continue as usual?
Inevitably. Many clergy & all Diocesan Offices will only notice the difference when notified of the collection figures. It is just possible that some places will record record sermon lengths this weekend if, against expectations, clergy are left behind but some church wardens are taken leaving any remaining congregations defenceless against excess.  

This is a discussion paper for the Bench of Bishops, not to be circulated to parishes

fleeting thoughts

I've said it before, that holidays tend to be times when all sorts of things seem to find themselves pulled into perspective. Maybe it's the time out we take that allows the louder noises to be hushed and the more important voices to be more clearly heard.

Maybe the Lord simply uses these days to walk with me, to open my heart and my eyes and my ears.

But instead of being pulled along pell-mell by the rushing whims of life, I get the chance to stop. To think. To pray and to (just occasionally) listen to the odd answer or two.

Now this has been an unusual holiday. There were the traditional moments - Chris took Ben & I to Universal for a day, for which I was very, very grateful. We had a blast. Ben made me ride on every vomit-inducing ride known to humankind, and I pretty much made it through in one piece. I even enjoyed moments of the experience.

(And the gift shops are hilarious - of course, people here have Hispanic names, but if you don't remember that for a moment, shot glasses are an unusual gift when they come with the name "Jesus" on them...)

Talking of usual thing I do here on holiday... Shopping. Not so much this year. But here's a picture of Jazz the German Shepherd getting ready to help me. He is adorable. Still a pup, enormous, delighting in playing with every squeaky toy he can find, he snuggles up alongside you on the bed and barks in your ear if you won't join in his games. And he loves swimming in the pool. Though the strict dog owner in me rather recoils at Gill's habit of feeding him jelly beans and ice cream...

Gill. Of course. It's barely a month since she had the operation to remove the breast cancer. When I got here she was had only just had her first chemo. That first week was rough for her. My sister is a strong, feisty lady, and seeing her suffer was not nice. Worse for her. I am glad I have been here to get some groceries, go to the pharmacy, chauffeur her around, take her to the hospital and just feel a little helpful.

And she has been amazing. Sure, she's had a couple of dips. But when you are going at something as full on as she is (she went to work between the op & the chemo; she's back at work again, with hardly a break now) there are going to be dips.

Everyone here is wearing "Team Gill" wristbands. When she had her hair shaved off (she didn't want it just to fall out) around ten of her work colleagues had theirs shaved in solidarity. Even Ben had his beloved locks cut short! (See, they all want to look like me...) And both Gill & Ben look amazing.

She wrote on her Facebook: "If He brings you to it, He brings you through it." She's having the full show. Pretty much the full range of side effects. But the Lord is bringing her through it. One down, seven to go.

I went to church this morning with Scarlette, Chuck, Sydney & Trey. They are a wonderful family, and Scarlette is a good friend to Gill. Church & I had a beer & a chat earlier in the week, and it's his bike I've been riding for those of you who have been following on Facebook. The sermon was excellent - on letting go of people that damage us, moments & relationships that hurt. "Hurt people hurt people" was a good aphorism, not in a way that we should drop such people, but in the way that recognises our own hurts, and takes us from there so that we should seek to become healed people because healed people heal people. The preacher's points were that we should hand to God our grudges, our griefs and our guilt in the relationships that have broken us. I thought he made some very good points along the way, and there was a genuine sense of those present being touched by God through his words.  

I found it personally touching, not so much because of the particular subject, but because I guess of the stage I am at in preparing to leave Pontypridd and also in being here with Gill, I'd had quite a moving dream last night. I guess I'm going through a grieving process in leaving Ponty, and though all is going well with Gill it has been very emotional for all of us. So without boring you with all the details, there came a point in that dream when I found myself weeping profusely, and I was aware that it was due to the grief at all I was facing. And then in church, it was as if the preacher was taking me on from that place. Grief is good; but there is a time to leave it with God - blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. You can't live for today if you are consumed by the past. And as important as Friday is, we are Sunday people - we could not be who we are without the cross, but we live a resurrection life.

And I too felt the presence of God in the gymnasium in the High School where the church was meeting. Laying down some of the things that bring us sadness is not to forget or to belittle what has gone before; but it is to trust God and to let go of the things that we now cannot change so that we may live more fully today, in the day and amongst the people we still may affect for good. Love is present tense, a risen reality, not to be kept locked away in a tomb and to keep us there with it. We give our griefs to Jesus; he gives us his peace, and his joy. Behold, he does something new.

So it's time to get ready to come home. Time for something new. Time to live again after the restorative interval of a break away. Time out over; time to fly.

voting preference

So are you ready to vote in the most bizarre referendum known to mankind?

For readers outside the UK, I should explain. As a result of last year's general election, the junior coalition partner, the Liberal Democrats, insisted on a referendum on electoral reform as a part of the deal that took them into government. It's been a mainstay of their political mantra for a generation.

However... In all honesty, I would have to say that I am rarely stopped in the street by people desperate to reform the way we elect our MPs. Of all the issues facing us as a nation, this is hardly at the top of most people's agendas - outside the political classes. Even inside the political classes, really. Still, here we are. And rather than facing a referendum on an issue that has vast popular opinion driving it, we are facing a referendum on a politically driven matter.

So what to do? Vote, of course. Yes, but how?

Andrew Goddard has a Fulcrum article on the issue. He argues for a Yes to reform vote - yes to AV, the alternative vote, the change. Andrew & I were at university together - actually, we were on the CU committee at the same time. He's very bright, and often the thinking person's conservative (theologically speaking). I found his piece a little... presumptuous, I am afraid, and took the opportunity to write a few comments on the forum page attached to the article.

Don't take my piece there by itself as meaning I think you should vote No. It means you should think and question and not accept lazy propaganda. This is democracy we are talking about, and democracy is to be protected at all costs. AV as a system is used in Australia (where voting is compulsory), Fiji & Papua New Guinea. Nowhere else. That's not the greatest recommendation for a system that will be used in the Mother of Parliaments. The Australians are looking at changing it.

If I have a serious question about AV, it is this, and so far no-one has answered this for me satisfactorily: under our current system everybody has one vote. Everybody is equal. Everybody, everywhere. With AV, you may vote as many times as you like placing the candidates in order of preference - 1,2,3,4,5 and so on for as many candidates as there are in your constituency. So a constituency has 5 candidates: you have 5 votes. Or it has 12 candidates: you have 12 votes. Or it has 3: you have 3 votes. But you don't have to use all of them - you could just vote 1,2 and leave it there. The politically savvy will work out whether voting on down the list will advantage their candidate; others will not know if this works or not. People will have different numbers of votes, and some will be disadvantaged by this system. We will not all be the same any more. We will no longer be equal at the ballot box.

I am not answered here by references to choice: choice is about taking responsibility, and voting for everyone is not taking responsibility. I have stood in a voting booth and stood and stood as I weighed my choice, a choice I have already weighed for weeks and then have had to seriously make in that moment. That is choice. One vote that counts. The same as the next person's.

Democracy is about everyone having an equal say; until I am convinced a replacement system takes seriously the right of everyone to be treated equally, and does not exist principally for the benefit of the politically adept, I am not sure I can wholeheartedly support it.

BUT - more than that: I do ask that everyone who may vote tomorrow does so. Yes or No; think about it, pray about it, read about it, consider the arguments before you and make up your own minds. It may be an esoteric referendum. but when we have the chance to participate in the democratic process, we should. It's one of the ways we get to change the world.

appropriate response

I was going to write a piece about my trip yesterday to Universal Studios with good friend Chris Berryman and my nephew Ben. We had a ball. For those of you who are Facebook friends with me, there are pictures; I may yet post some here.

But as I was fiddling with those photos, President Obama rather conclusively concluded his current feud with Donald Trump by taking the Celebrity Apprentice off US TV just before The Donald announced which of the losing girls' team he was going to fire - and instead we had the announcement from Mr Obama at the White House that Osama Bin Laden had been killed.

(NBC never did return us to Nene, Star & Hope; one of them has been fired, but it all seems a bit trivial now.)

I thought the President's speech thoughtful and respectful. It is a difficult moment to manage: an enemy has been killed, but it is not the moment for gloating or cheap histrionics. He was dutiful, careful, forceful and walked the tight-rope of diplomacy well. The home audience heard the news they longed for; the world heard a statesman.

The subsequent response from many has been varied, and there is a live question as to what exactly the Christian response ought to be to this news. I wouldn't claim to be able to answer that in full, but I would like to make a couple of observations if I may.

First: Jesus is clear - the Christian individual and community is called to love our enemies and to bless those who persecute us. We are instructed repeatedly to forgive those who wrong us, no matter what the wrong that has been done. People are people are people. God sent his Son to die because he loves all people, and to give all people the opportunity to be a part of those who live in that love.

Christians who crow too much about the death of anyone are forgetting important principles - not least that the God who loves them loves the person who has died too. Yes, even Osama Bin Laden. And parties and flag waving on such occasions look very like the parties and flag waving in other places on other occasions that made Western hearts so angry. Who are we to become those we despised?

Human beings, that's who. And being such, a little humility added to our memory and a little grace to the way we remember might go a long way.

But second: I am no lily-livered-liberal. This is not the calling of Christians. The Bible makes it clear that the State has a role to protect the weak and the disadvantaged and to look after its people. There are times when it will execute justice and that justice will be difficult and yet must be done. Revenge for the sake of revenge is unacceptable - Ghandi and his blind world comes to mind - but the performance of justice in order to preserve order and to protect the innocent and the vulnerable, that is the very nature of the state. Psalm 72 even celebrates it as the nature of God's King and God's kingdom.

However, I raise that last point as a warning, and again as a plea for carefulness. Everyone thinks they are either on God's side or that, God not mattering, they are simply in the right. Joshua, on the eve of destroying Jericho, is confronted by the Captain of the Lord's Army; Joshua asks is he for them or against them? The imposing warrior replies - Neither; the real question is the reverse: is Joshua on his side?

We make sides, take sides, create enemies and dig ourselves in. There will always be another Bin Laden. As long as people are people, it seems, it is how we work - are you for us or against us? "But we are in the right!" cry both sides, simultaneously, in virtually every dispute since the dawn of time. Don't get me wrong - the last thing I am being is an apologist for terrorists, I am simply pointing out the complicated nature of responding to victory.

Just after 9/11 I was in Italy on holiday. The only English language church service I could find in the small village where I was staying was (inevitably) a Catholic mass. I went (of course) and worshipped with everyone else - mostly Americans. I listened to them speak of the recent atrocity in New York, of how terrorism had suddenly begun and taken hold in the West, and I had the strongest and strangest reaction. I began to be very, very angry - with the Americans. And I knew I had to deal with it - the peace was coming up in the service, where I would have to shake hands with these people for whom I was genuinely feeling deep, deep loathing.

Why the reaction?

Because terrorism wasn't just beginning. It hadn't just taken hold in the West. Ask anyone in my country. These self-same American Catholics - and yes, for all I knew these very same people - had been funding terrorism in my country for years through their NorAid benefits. My home city of Manchester had had its heart ripped out not five years previously by an IRA bomb funded by American Catholic money. And now they were crying about terrorism arriving in the West? They were its sponsors!

And though it still sometimes takes me time to forgive these people, yet I know this is what we are called to do. Forgiveness is godly. Anger is not. We are followers of Jesus. To be a worshipper is to love what Jesus loves and to live it out. There in that Italian church I had to make that decision to be a worshipper - to love the people he loved and to live it out by exchanging the peace with them. It was damned hard. It almost broke me. It was gloriously life-giving. They had no idea what I was going through.

Osama Bin Laden had family and friends. Whatever he felt about them and did to them, whatever they feel about him, we as Christians are not to rejoice in his death or the manner of it, but to respect those who mourn on all sides. So much hurt. So much suffering. His death is a profound moment. A truly historical moment.

And I understand especially why members of our armed forces, serving and retired, and those who belong to the forces of our allies, have been so emotional about this moment: this man has been the focal point of their military combat for a decade.

But though as a Christian it is not my role to be a bleeding heart Liberal, it is my role to remind gently that we have a conscience, a better heart, a belief system that must not be overlooked at the moment when seminal battles are fought in the wars of this life. Our enemies are not flesh and blood but the ideologies of hate and disrespect and oppression that came from and within groups of people. We fight these. We oppose these. We fight to release those held captive by these and to ensure that we may live unencumbered by the miseries of slavery they bring, be they mental, physical, psychological or otherwise. In our victories we do not dance on graves, for other people yet mourn and we must remember what that feels like and feel for them - by doing this we proclaim who we are and why we do what we do: we are human beings, believing in the freedom and equality under God of all our fellow human beings.

To love our enemies means that Christians remember people are people. Today, this matters.

To love our neighbour means that we remember why we struggle on, and the love that carries us will not die.

royal service will be resumed as soon as possible

I may be on another, more colonial continent, but thanks to BBC America (or actually any broadcaster - it was ubiquitous) I was able to follow the wedding of the year. (Second only to @6Eight's wedding, obviously.)

It was a good wedding for Parry. Seldom has his music been so celebrated outside a festival of Parry. I Was Glad is glorious - Blest Pair of Sirens less so, and some of the other bits really forgettable. Jerusalem scored a big hit: lovely arrangement with sublime violin writing.

It was also a good wedding for Twitter & FaceBook. Thanks to all those who made the experience so enjoyable by joining in the fun. I will refer to many of you...

I have to say - if any of you are about to get married at St Catherine's, don't get any ideas. No, you may not have I Was Glad (our aisle is far too small), no you may not plant trees inside the church, no you may not invite the Queen, no you may not have fanfares of trumpets, no you may not use the 1928 rite, no, the Chancellor of the Exchequer will not be available to sing in your choir. Yes, you may have Bread of Heaven - you usually do; yes, you may have a mini-me as your chief bridesmaid, but at your own expense (don't come crying to me if your sister in fact looks as much like you as William's best man looked like him); yes, please invite lots of men in uniforms - I always think it adds something (James Stewart behave yourself now). (I include a photo of two random blokes in uniform.) Richard helpfully pointed out that the bridal party formed a 2-2-3-2 formation; Stuart commented that when Fabio doesn't sing the national anthem he gets pilloried, but somehow the Queen just gets away with it.

 There were other unanswered questions. Why was there a nun sitting next to William? (No - not the pretty girl in white, the rather plain one in grey.) Joyce suggested she was his friend. What, his only friend? Mark added a definition: Nun, adj., The number of boys who wanted to date her at school. Maybe so, but she got to sit next to the future King at his wedding.

During the signing of the register we had the aforementioned Blest Pair. If you will choose Parry, you will only get one song during the signing, and I don't care how long you take. Should have gone for Love Changes Everything. Elaine wanted Michael Ball singing that. James preferred a little-known (but much loved) version, Fish Changes Everything. Now that would have been a signing of the register piece to remember.

During the balcony scene, there was a surreal moment as Prince Charles seemed to announce his come-back tour and single with a Michael Jackson moment as he threatened to throw one of the flower girls over the edge in front of millions. The Queen evidently had already heard the song and hurried inside. Gemma was worried about what happened to the child. But the kid was only 32nd in line to the throne, so it didn't really matter.
This information came from (or should have come from) Sir Malcolm Toffee-Knowes (OK - it was Ross, but, come on, did you hear him?), former Comptroller of the Royal Household.

Former Comptoller. Just the title makes you proud to be British.

As did so much of the non-Parry music. Yes - some was allowed to creep in. A beautiful Ubi Caritas by Mealor, and a new piece by Rutter which seemed to be a medley of everything he's ever written. The Rutter divided people. James: "It's gone all Disney. Ugh." Nicky: "Love the new Rutter anthem". Gill & I were with James. I think it was for the American market. Watch for it in the next cartoon. And then there was Crown Imperial as the exit march. Fantastic. (Yes, St Catherine's couples, you may request this.) Actually, that made it quite a lot of Coronation music at this wedding, didn't it?

The first line of the sermon was excellent - "Be what you are meant to be & you will set the world on fire" - but then it went off a bit. Thanks to Mark for his compliment about my preaching at this point. Actually, I can never hear anything about Catherine of Sienna without mentally seeing her church in Sienna & picturing her shrunken head which is on display there. To quote James: Ugh.

I do like the Royal Family. I am not an ardent Royalist. I was not fired up to gawp at the events of the day - but I did enjoy everything. I do like a good wedding - I do get to take a lot of them. This was a good wedding, and I enjoyed it with friends all over the place. Thanks for your company, and thanks to the BBC for having cameras everywhere. I mean, everywhere...

Marriage is a wonderful thing. Because love is a gift from God, and to celebrate that gift in the life of a nation and a world is to celebrate something godly. People deserve to find someone they may love and by whom they may be loved. I wish William and Kate every happiness. I wish them more than they may hope for. I wish them God's love in all its fulness, surrounding and filling and overflowing their lives. Which blessing I pray for every couple beginning their marriage. And I pray for them friends and family who will have as much fun with such an occasion as my friends and I had today too.

easter

The thing about this stage of the moving on process is that inevitably it is filled with looking backwards. Inevitably and rightly. I have been a part of a community I have loved for eleven years, and there are so many people, so many relationships involved that the cherishing of what we have and have had is indeed rich in these days.

That this part of the process has been coupled over the weekend with Easter has made it, for me, especially poignant. For this is a time of new hope, new beginnings, new life. An end to the old, a fresh start. A death, a resurrection. And resurrection is glorious.

Mind you, I have allowed myself the odd comedy moment. Before Friday's Walk of Witness through Pontypridd, a lady from another church congratulated me on my move. "It's good to have an evangelical going to a university," she said; "People get taught all sorts of things & you'll be able to put them right." Such confidence in me! And after all, the evangelical perspective on fundraising is underemphasised... Forgive me, I didn't take the opportunity to correct her understanding of what I will be doing. I simply thanked her.

The Walk was lovely - two Indian students led the way, carrying the cross slowly so that we all kept together, and I spoke in the Market Square on the God who understands, who knows what suffering is and stays with us through it to show that pain, fear, death (even) are not the final truths of this world - but his love, his life, these things are stronger, truer, deeper.

I ran up from the Square to begin our afternoon service (made it with five minutes to spare) and then led everyone through thoughts around the cross. I love the way Jesus says to the chief priests and co in the first trial scene that all of them will see him at the right hand of the Mighty One. Is this a promise of salvation or judgement? Or a mix? I like to think he is offering the former, and that these guys baying for his blood will receive the blessing of the same. Jesus speaks a blessing to those who curse. They aren't bad people - they go to Temple every day, and it's really hard to be really bad and go to temple every day. They are just people. And he loves people; so much he dies for them; for us.

On Saturday I joined my Outdoor Fitness mates for an hour in the park (in baking sunshine) before joining the Coffee Morning & Kid's Craft Day at church. Both of those events combined for a puppet show... and the Easter Bunny's theological grasp of the season was so impressive, I booked him to start our main Easter Celebration Service the day after.

There have been two Easter Eves when I have failed to read St Mark's Gospel to an assembled crowd since arriving in Pontypridd. One year I had a terrible throat and could hardly speak (please refrain from commenting), and last year I simply wasn't well. So it was good to keep the tradition on my last Easter Eve. And to enjoy it so much. It only takes an hour and a half, and it's great story telling (once you forget to do it in a 'religious' voice). You can make some fantastic links by getting it all in one go.

And then there was Sunday.

After Friday, I felt emotional. My last Good Friday here. My last preaching through this story on this day in this place. By Sunday I was slightly exhausted. I started the day with a tear and an old sermon. The tear came from a lovely person who hadn't been in church the previous week to hear I was leaving; a person who genuinely surprised me with the extent of their emotional response. Surprised, and deeply touched me. The old sermon was something I preached at Easter may be three years ago. As I preached it, I disliked it. So I went off piste towards the end, which improved it no end. But I then had two more morning services to go, so I threw away my notes & decided to busk it.

If I can't preach Easter by now, I really never will be able to.

The 9.30 service was a vast improvement, though I wasn't entirely happy. The 11am had it fine. A stroll through the resurrection as the tipping of the ages, with John 20.1-18 as the point at which everything changes. We find ourselves in a garden, where once everything had gone wrong, and now everything is well, where once a woman had been deceived and caused to break relationship with God, but now is restored and worships anew the present Lord, walking in the early cool of the day. Obedience follows. Second chances are the order of the day. Mistakes, sin, pain, death - these thing no longer rule and have the final say. Forgiveness, love, joy and life are God's ultimate truths. All we have to do is take the outstretched hand before us -

Funny. As I preached I was reminded of a situation where mistakes and sin and pain have taken their toll. During the day I had the chance to speak to the people involved in that particular, well, mess. And on the day where we find hope reborn and Jesus walking amongst us with the power to change the world, we were able to share a little peace and I hope find something new in the air. The best sermons are the ones which change lives, by process or by crisis, and even if the life changed turns out to be your own.

I handed out the eggs afterwards, as I always do. Another of my traditions. Over a hundred given away this Easter. And then drove away, packed and ready for sunnier climes. Next year will be different. But so was last year. Isn't that the point? If we are following Jesus, holding his hand, living the life he gives us, then there should be from time to time an end to the old, a fresh start. A death, a resurrection. And resurrection is glorious.

emotional

I'd love to write an emotional piece about my feelings on preparing to leave St Catherine's and moving away from being a full time vicar.

I'd love to do this, but you know - I'm just not the most emotionally demonstrative bloke on the block. I did write a piece, but then deleted it. It kind of said stuff that was kind of true, but it wasn't true to who I am in that - I just wouldn't really say that sort of stuff.

Suffice it to say: being part of a Christian community is about loving & being loved. We do this in our own idiosyncratic ways, and that's part of the joy of it. Please don't go around hugging me, I won't terribly enjoy the experience, and please forgive me for not being effusive with the physical contact I proffer - but that doesn't mean my love isn't real and that I don't value the love I have received.

Words spoken over these days have touched me deeply. But more so has just seeing everyone. I know your stories. Yours & mine; they got locked together somehow, didn't they?

In the photo the then Bishop of Monmouth playfully resists handing over his license to the newly ordained priest (ah, for the days when I had hair); there are hearts and lives and futures written on that license, and mine intertwined with them all. It is a heart-breaking and life-giving slip of paper. It is a privilege, not a right. In retrospect, it was not merely the bishop's hands that presented it to me. And so I find that it is now who I am, regardless of what my job title is or where I might live.

Hmm. So I spent a Sunday suddenly looking backwards and feeling the pinch. But life throws you forwards, and as I turn my gaze that way a whole different range of anticipations come right at me...

proud

So it's been a bit of a time in our family. In addition to my decision, my sister has been fighting breast cancer. I am so proud of her and the way she is doing this.

Yesterday she began posting on FaceBook about her experiences. If you are a "friend" of hers on FB, go look there. But for those who are not, I simply copy her first post here today. With love & prayers along the way.

About 3 weeks ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer, those of you who know me well know what an inconvenience this has been to me as I am truly way too busy! 10 days ago I had a bilateral mastectomy performed by an awesome surgeon with a first class team. Many of my closest friends have been towers of strength and support (my brother Marcus, Scarlette, Sandy, Ronda, Laura and Donna especially) and the amount of well wishes, prayers, gifts, food and flowers has been overwhelming, 'Thank you' doesn't seem enough to say to you all, I am more than blessed to have you all in my life. The second part of my journey starts on Thursday with the 'chemo', whoo hoo can hardly wait! Apparently I'll be rocking the Sinead O'Conner look for a few months (my younger friends are now totally lost lol).

Although posting my journey on Facebook seems a little OTT it's just easier than calling everyone on 3 continents. Love to all my family and friends, remember only positive people on Team Gill!

 Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference. ~Winston Churchill

all good things

I have been gifted with eleven wonderful years here at St Catherine's, and it is with a mixture of sadness and excitement that I come to the end of this time.

Sadness - because this is my home. This church, my family. This past decade has been wonderful, and I have loved being vicar here beyond the power of words to convey. It has been the most enormous privilege to lead this congregation through all kinds of adventures of faith: renewals of buildings and people and worship and hope. We have seen the Lord's great kindness, felt his love, and been able to share these precious, precious things throughout our community as we have built up our life together.

But also I am excited. Excited for St Catherine's. I came here because I felt called to be a part of what the Lord is doing, and although my part is done, what God is doing is far from over. What lies ahead is tremendous - and I am excited to see whom the Lord will bring to lead the church on into the next phase of its life.

And I am excited for myself. Trish reminded us at the start of the year that following Jesus is a gift, and right now I feel that keenly. I am not going to another parish but to something totally different. I will be working at Leeds University as part of a team working on a campaign there, and I will have a part to play in co-ordinating some of that work. This will be very different for me, and stepping out into new things is always a risk, but sometimes that's at the heart of faith. Being prepared for the unexpected. I will live on the other side of the pew - being a member of a church, becoming an NSM in that diocese, but my work will be focussed in a whole other place for the next period, and I am excited about this new stage in my life.

I have been aware for some months that it is time for me to finish here, and for someone else to come and lead St Catherine's onwards; a very few people have shared this with me, and I am grateful for their kind support. It has taken a while to work out what exactly should be next for me, and I am delighted to be joining the team at Leeds.

This won't happen overnight. I am looking to finish here in mid-July before moving north and beginning at the University at the start of August. So there's plenty of time to do many things yet; and may I say to everyone who has been a part of my life at St Catherine's - thank you for allowing me these eleven years. I would not have swapped them for anything. The Lord bless you mightily as you walk forwards with him in the days & years ahead - I may be going, but I shall continue to pray & to watch with wonder at all he will do in your midst.  

a little driving music

I've been on an iTunes drive. My PC has died, and now my laptop is ill, so a new computer is in the offing - and in the meantime, I've been letting my iPhone take the strain. As it won't actually sync with this laptop, I've had to buy some new music. Hence, iTunes... 

OK. I'll start with the worship stuff. Then some jazz. And finally a classical blitz. 
A couple of years back I bought (and genuinely loved) Chris Tomlin's Hello Love. I still listen to this a lot, and it's now available here with JD Walt's My Beloved as a bonus track - a song we use a lot. Beautiful. The whole album is just great. So I bought the follow-up, And If Our God Is For Us with high hopes. Always a mistake. Some of it sounds good, but pretty much all of it sounds bland. I mean, the title track is monumental in a monumental kind of way - but can I remember a single tune? When I listen to it, do I think, "We must sing this at church?" No and no. With the previous album, I not only thought "Yes!" but we actually do sing the songs. 

Still full of hope, I followed up this purchase with Here For You from the Passion movement in the States - think Soul Survivor with accents - as I'd seen that early sales had sent it to no.11 in the Billboard charts, so it must be good, right? Chris Tomlin headlines, but there are lots of other guys in the mix. 
Well, it's more varied than AIOGIFU, (not a tough ask), but again I was disappointed. I remember buying the Passion album with How Great is Our God on it & thinking, "Wow! So 'live' worship albums can sound really good!" This sounds really...the same. I guess I will listen when I need background worshippy type stuff. Maybe you had to be there. Maybe I'm just too old. 
And then along comes a contemporary worship album that tells me I'm not too old for something if it's good. Lovely lovely Tim Hughes. Love Shine Through is not consistant. It isn't brilliant from start to finish. But it's title track does show Chris Tomlin just how to sound monumental and memorable all at the same time. And it's opener Counting on Your Name (you get it several times on the Deluxe version) has a typically strong hook on an album that is all about the hook (and I'm tempted simply to list nearly every chorus). Though for me it's the softer tracks that catch me - often the way with Tim's writing. Keep the Faith is a gem. The gentler version of At Your Name is beautiful - though both versions raise a pet peeve of mine. Please, Yahweh is not God's name and there's no reason to spoil a wonderful song with such awful cod-theology. Yahweh is an anglicisation of an unpronouncable word too holy to say or sing. If you want a name for God, try Jesus - there is no other name given to us. Yahweh is theological balderdash. And though I will use this song, sorry Tim - it will need a re-write just here.  

Apologies. I'll get off my high horse. Because this is a great worship album, and you should have a copy. Now.

Another record on my iPod comes from 1953. I had bought a brand new big band recording, The Syd Lawrence Orchestra's Night at the Movies. Hmm. It sounds great on some equipment and OK on others, which happens, and at times I want to turn the vibrato on the trumpets off and then add a little to the trombones, and just occasionally I wish they'd splashed out on a real male singer... I love these guys. They are a great touring band. and the best of this album (for me Marcel McTattie LeCoq) swings magnificently - and yet I kind of come away wanting, you know, a bit more? 
Which is what I got from my 1953 album. A 'live' recording of Ted Heath & His Music At the London Palladium in the days when Decca knew how to record a big band. Who cares it's in mono? It is amazingly recorded. The band is phenomenal. Each soloist superb. Ronnie Verrell on drums a powerhouse. A mix of swing, be-bop, ballads and all-round big band jazz pleasure, this is how to do it. The Champ & The Hawk Talks stand out for me - but then so does every track. At around £4 as an introduction to British Big Band music - buy it. It's not the easiest listen, but it's great. I actually own the 1953 LP for this, as my dad bought it back in the day, and I snaffled it off him. The download misses out all the crackles but none of the the fizz!

Talking ancient history, the very first classical LP I ever bought was Mozart Symphonies 40 & 41. The very first classical LP I ever bought & enjoyed was Beethoven Piano Concerto no 5. That version, by Robert Casadesus with George Szell & the Cleveland Orchestra is only available on download as part of a huge set - I have it on CD and wasn't about to get all of that for my iPhone. But I read a review in the Telegraph of a new recording by Yevgeny Sudbin with the Minnesota Orchestra, and so acquired that instead. Coupled with the 4th Concerto, it is lively, refreshing, occasionally surprising & though it will never replace Casadesus in my heart, it's a very good version.

Finally (for now - you always think of something else with iTunes - it's a blessing & a curse) I've just bought tickets to go see my favourite opera at Welsh National come the end of May. Turandot. There are many, many recordings of this available, but one stands head and shoulders above the rest. It's forty years old and will probably remain the standard for some time. Shamefully, I bought the highlights not the whole opera, but the highlights disc has the concert ending to Nessun Dorma, which feels great in the car! Joan Sutherland, singing Turandot, a role she never sang on stage, is glorious - powerful, beautiful, glorious. Montserrat Caballe as Liu occasionally sounds a little too like Sutherland, but this is power casting. And then there is the youthful Pavarotti at his very, very best, turning in a sensational Calaf. Zubin Mehta conducts - I saw him once run the pit at Florence, and despite an all-star cast there, it was the orchestra I remember. Occasionally that happens here. The London Philharmonic turn in an astoundingly ravishing performance, again brilliantly recorded by Decca (not just good at big bands).

Hmm. You know, I think I worshipped a lot more to the Puccini than the Tomlin? Sorry. My heart leapt and soared and my face beamed with joy as I drove along. Not that I thought much of Giacomo's stuff would do for the congregation... And maybe I need to put a lock on my iTunes account before I think of something else - oh, hang on...