S Modwen’s in the background

Today I blessed Burton’s Statutes Fair. A 600-year history I gather. The Mayor spoke, I blessed, children from Holy Trinity School prayed and cut the ribbon, and I splashed a lot of Holy Water about. There was no need of this actually, for plenty of the natural stuff was dropping as the unstrained quality of mercy.

On my way to the ‘green room’ beforehand I bumped into the President of the Showmen’s Association of Great Britain who pointed to the showmen’s prayer on the back of his card. I was wondering what I would say at the grand opening, having left my preparation in the hands of the Holy Ghost, and so this was a gift from heaven. ‘Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous’ Albert Einstein is reputed to have said, so this happenstance must prove that there is a God and that she was listening to my concerns.

The quote about coincidence is also attributed to Lauren Pederson, of whom I had not heard. Is it another name for Einstein? or vice versa? I wonder if Lauren and Albert were ever in the same room at the same time. Would that have been coincidence?

Anyhoo, back to the plot. The circus owner, who had himself been President of the Showmen’s Association, told me the story of how that prayer came to be. At an Association meeting in Rome, members were told gather in a certain place at a certain time. They were taken in a bus with police escort to the Vatican and in due course issued into the Presence. Lengthy and enthusiastic conversations ensued, and the chain of office much admired by His Holiness. That is where the prayer comes from, a product of Pope John Paul II.

Chatting to civic dignitaries after the Fair blessing, I was sounding them out about increasing the profile of S Modwen’s in the town, and how best to make it known that the church was at the service of the town and everyone in it. After all, the building is in the Market Square, and it’s a real shame that it’s locked most of the time. The dignitary was sympathetic and helpful, but agreed that we are up against the widely held perception that the church as a whole was standoffish and stuck up. The same thing was said to me in similar circumstances in Portlaoise about the Church of Ireland.

I remember the first time that it really dawned on me that perceptions were often more important than facts, because it’s perceptions that we have to deal with. It was at the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland when a colleague and I were discussing some issue that was causing great student unrest. My colleague was holding to facts, while I said  facts didn’t much matter because what we had to counter were widely held perceptions.

 We have work to do.

From Church News Ireland

The Bishop has been to Swaziland. He said ‘the poignant thing was I was such an old man there … because of HIV and other factors most men are dead before they are 50.’

He’s right. If he’d gone to Malawi he’d feel even older. Despite that, I expect he was in the midst of laughter, welcomes, smiles, and liturgies where people want to be involved. There would be few if any shoulds and oughts. People just get on with the job and are glad to be alive. They are not bothered about ‘the way we do things here’ – because all the people who know how we do things are dead.

Digression alert. I did a session on ‘ethics of decision making’ for the diocesan certificate course and asked how many of the middle-aged people were on diocesan synods. All but one put their hands up. I said, ‘it’s time you came off to make room for younger people’. I keep saying that the church is run by people without a future, A self-limiting problem.

Back to the plot. My visit to 6 am Mass in English at St Paul’s, Blantyre, was notable for all those things I mention, but most of all for the uninhibited enthusiasm emanating from the hall next door where the choir was rehearsing for the 9 am Mass in Chichewa.

African Anglicans come to church in Portlaoise. I wonder what they make of it. What can we offer them? All I have is the liturgy, myself, and, since I have some inkling of what it is like to ‘mourn in lonely exile here’, my friendship.

The Bishop has imagination and a fine intellect. How will he survive back here having seen the delight and agony of Africa?