Tonight, I miss her

This was the eulogy, I have at my mum's funeral in February. As 2016 draws to a close and the world erupts in fireworks and parties, I miss her. She was amazing, and she was my mum

Joyce Christine Ellis was the first child of Laurence and Annie Lodge. Her two brothers John Godfrey and Jeffrey Elwyn completed the family group. Life started for Christine in Rotherham and ended in Sheffield. She was a Northern lass with traditional Yorkshire virtues of laughter, loyalty, common sense and steely determination.

She moved to Sheffield to marry her one true love, George, with whom she lived in Parkwood Springs and Shiregreen. George, together with their children, Roz, Simon and Kevin were the centre of her life, creating a home fashioned on love, security, kindness and generosity.

My brother and sister will each have a different perspective on the life of the remarkable lady that we call ‘Mum’ or to be precise ‘My Mum’. It was never ‘our’, always my. I am not sure whether that is an Ellism or whether it is Sheffieldish.

As children, mum was our rock. She was always there, ensuring that we were well turned out, even if some of the photographs from our childhood might cause both Simon and I to furrow our brows a little, dressed as we were in matching outfits from time to time, from cowboy suits to pink shirted page boys. We were kept safe and secure. This was an environment that allowed each of us to flourish. In times when money was tight, there was always more than enough. She encouraged us work hard, both in and outside of school.

Mum was steadfastly loyal to us. That was in her nature. She was thoroughly supportive, even though I suspect she did not always think we were making the best of choices. That is the heart of all mothers. It certainly was our Mum. She was loyal, loving and devoted to Dad. To say that he was the love of her life is at one at the same time thoroughly true and a glorious understatement. Mum was proud to be our Dad’s wife, partner and soulmate.

She also had lots of traditional common sense. I am not sure which of us have inherited that. She knew what she wanted. That might be a way of saying she was a little stubborn, but more than that it means that she was always scrupulously fair

I asked Ros about Mum’s hobbies. She remembered her love of card making: decoupage I believe that it is called. Mum was always good with her hands, knitting jumpers which I think the three of us immediately can see us ourselves in… I think the loss of the use of her hands was the most difficult thing for her. It robbed her of the creativity that she enjoyed.

Now of course Mum’s steely determination has been very evident in the last few years. She coped with my Dad’s death some 20 years ago – more than coped. She delighted in her four grandchildren, Jacob, Ruth, Isaac and Shaun, knowing no partiality between them, enjoying her time with them and always attentive to how they were getting on. She always included and always embraced. But she also had a number of significant health issues that would have debilitated others far more than they did our mum. She had an innate ability to always bounce back, and if her recovery did not bring her back to where she was before, there was no complaint just an embrace of the possible.

Both Simon and I would agree that this was possible because of the love and care showered on Mum by our baby sister who has grown immeasurably in the last few years. She has kept Mum going, and your brothers will not forget it, nor the constancy and consistency to Mum shown by Jeff in honouring a promise made to our Dad shortly before he passed away.

Mum was a loving, kind and generous person. She was also woman of deep faith. She was a Christian woman, encouraging the three of us to explore our place in the world and faith for ourselves. She was deeply committed to the local churches where she lived, serving as steward, council member and warden in Shiregreen. She never forgot this.

In the end her passing was very quick mercifully, although Guillaume Barrie, strokes, Alzeimher’s and cancer had all taken their toll. It was a delight for us to spend her last weekend as a family together. In the end she wanted to go to be with Dad. A light has gone for now. The world will to our family and friends lose some of its colour for a while.

She was an amazing lady. She was our Mum.

May she rest in peace and one day rise in glory.

So tonight, I am praying for those who will want to raise their glasses to absent, and not feel able to do so. I will do it for you.

May 2017 bring comfort and joy

Christmas Blues and Church Attendance

It is still Christmas! Despite the fact that many of my social media and facetoface friends have taken their trees and decorations down, it is still the season to be jolly, as one particular carol puts it. Indeed on Sunday morning (1 January 2017), St Cybi, Holyhead will be filled with strains of Christmas carols. No one will mind, given that the vicar made the congregation 'deeply wail' with Advent songs and hymns in the run-up to the festive season.

The churches of Bro Cybi (www.holyheadparishchurches.co.uk) were well attended over the Christmas period, with a couple of services stretching our health and safety rules to their maximum elasticity.

I have no doubt that I fudged my lines at times. I did not tell people the entirety of the gospel message, and I will reflect deeply about this in coming months. I did tell them about the gift of Jesus and that they were deeply loved and cherished by God. In communities on the edge, this is not trite but essential. The gospel that God is alongside them and that they are in and of themselves quite brilliant is foundational, before we dare say anything else or I would say I have the right to add anything.

I am sure that some folk we will not see in church again until next Christmas, although that does not mean we have not seen many before. Some families who come to Messy Church only feel at home in something as chaotic as a crib service. That service is a time when messy meets inherited.

We also see people when they come to have their children baptised, get married, or we meet them at the point of bereavement. Such come into our space, because they have been before and relationships have begun to be forged.

For me the far bigger question is how we might enable more members of our regular congregations to be present at Christmas and other special events (Easter, Harvest et al) so that the meeting between the wider parish and the church might not be reduced to that of a parish priest and her or his people.

Something old and now revisited

This was written some time ago here: https://lurchersontheedge.wordpress.com/2012/04/20/an-evangelical-apology/

It is time to revisit it a little
 
I wrote this to an individual after an encounter. It is rough and ready; and offered in a spirit of grace.
To a sister on my journey (reflections used with permission)

I am basically an evo (an evangelical). I am though deeply ashamed at some of my evangelical brothers and sisters for the way they have pilloried the gay community, and gay christians in particular. There I have said it.

I treasure deeply the scriptures. I happen to believe that they are divinely inspired. I believe that when interepreted correctly they are authoritative for Christian belief and praxis. I also think it cannot be avoided the the scriptures say some things, often pointed, about sexual ethics. This is not surprising given that sexual relationships and sexuality are at the heart of what it means to be human.

I have, like many millions of others, studied what the scriptures say about same sex relationships. I am not completely sure what each text says and how to apply it. I am sure that the scriptures are completely clear that venom, abuse and nastiness towards another human being are totally out of line.
Therefore when I hear and see those who cherish the scriptures behaving in such an appalling manner; it does seem to me to suggest that the God they worship is not the one revealed constantly in both testaments as a God who welcomes all without question.

I have recently had opportunity to meet with a Gay priest in a similar setting to mine. She is as committed to the scriptures as I am; to forming community, confronting those who oppress; loves the creeds, traditions as much as I do. Is into fresh expressions, inherited church; and as far as I can see, God blesses her ministry.

You cannot base your whole theology on a single case study. But there is no doubt that this would be replicated by other examples. All I am left with is this.

Her lifestyle might well be one that I am not comfortable with. But who am I to judge; for when I measure my own life by the demands of the scriptures, I am found wanting to. But God in grace blesses me.

So to my new friend, I am sorry that some of my colleagues cause you desperate pain at times. I trust that I will never ever again be caught up with such a cacophony of brutal rage. And that whilst I still have questions, confront those who do damage to the body of Christ and the reputation of his holy church.
(ends)

Holy Innocents: popping the Christmas bubble

The end of the first verse of Silent Night, Holy Night ‘sleep in heavenly peace’ or in Welsh ‘cwsg mewn gwynfyd a hedd’ does not sit easily with the story of the death of the Holy Innocents, detailing as it does the cold blooded murder of the infants by the despot Herod the Great. I am afraid I use this deliberately to challenge us, waking us from the slumber of figgy pudding with brandy butter.  I happen to take this as a historical event rather than Matthean midrash. Sometimes it is dismissed because our Evangelist is the only one to have recorded it. We know enough about tyranny not to allow this to happen.

This story brings certain images of Christmas crashing down. We are each one of us captivated by the depictions of the baby in the manger surrounded by doting parents, poor shepherds and wandering magi. This is not unusual given that within our experience, babies often entrance and entrap us offering us a new world of wonder. For a moment, the sleepless nights, anxiety and the impotence every parent feels from time to time are forgotten as we are held spell bound by an image that does not match up to reality.

The danger for us is that we create an image of Christmas that does not stand up to the rigours of reality, and is rendered meaningless or neutered by the manic actions of a despotic monarch or the grind of daily life.

Grief Rekindled at Christmas

Mum died nearly a year ago. I miss her. I did not visit very often. I let the perceived demands of ministry get in the way. I regret that. It stinks a little. It is a failing of mine to want to be needed, and thus not make time for the things that are important.

In August, I wrote these words. They are apt still today.

Whispers and memories intertwine
Breathing colour into the monochrome
alas though only fleetingly
Shadows sit in unfamiliar places
Laughter is caught on the wind
and does not yet return
Even the cat treads gingerly still
For what was hallowed by departure
becomes gloriously ordinary now
Monotony broken by the promise of
fuller living to come

Today is different

The colour takes focus now, and the shadow of death fades a little
Although at certain times it is intense
The hard edge of grief is softer,
yet more painful as its jaggedness on occasion pierces the light
Laughter has returned, but there is an empty space in the room
and it sits on pause momentarily
The smiles return, yet the sadness is deeper
As the resurrection blues hum their now familiar tune

Christmas is a time when the absence of someone through death is particularly poignant. I knew this of course through my ministry as a priest. I know it now because I am a human being, which I realise for some will be an observation that surprises.

On 23 December, which would have been Mum's birthday, my brother and I scattered her in ashes somewhere near Bradfield. In the midst of Storm Barbara, another goodbye was said. 


 
 

Carrie Fisher: A New Hope

If Watership Down formed one narrative of my childhood, then Star Wars released when I was 10 formed another. I remember queuing to see the film in Sheffield or Rotherham with at least my brother. Luke, Leia, Han, Obi-Wan and Chewie became household names and pin-ups in lots of teenage homes throughout the land.

Carrie Fisher's death has been announced today (27 December 2016). This day is the Feast of John the Divine (prophet and poet amongst many other things). Fisher played Leia in all three original films, as well as in The Force Awakens. She also made a fleeting appearance at the end of Rogue One, the Star Wars spin off with I think only one line: 'they have brought us hope'.

Carrie Fisher had bi-polar. Her honesty and vulnerability in talking about her life with the illness brought hope to many and the strength to continue with their battle.

May she rest in peace and rise in glory. The force was strong with her.

In search of a home: Watership Down

Written by Richard Adams, who died today (27 December 2016), Watership Down formed a narrative for my childhood. It was read to me at school. I remember being captivated by it. This adventure of a group of rabbits looking for a home led by Hazel, Fiver, Bigwig (Thayli), Dandelion and Blackberry, and assisted by the seagull, Kehaar. It also introduced us to the General, and it was not just rabbit mums who said to their wayward children that the General was going to get you. It was published in 1970, and turned into an animated film in 1978, which was accompanied by the haunting melodies of Art Garfunkel.

The rabbits were in search of a warren because their home had been destroyed. The story resonated with me because my home in Sheffield had similarly been destroyed. Parkwood Springs had been pulled down to build a ski slope, which in reality was never a financial success. As a family we were decanted to Shiregreen, and as a family we had to establish a new home. That is the place where parents died and my sister still lives.

Watership Down was written by a master story teller. The rabbits told each other stories to create a canopy of meaning in which to leave as they journeyed to their new home. Their stories revolved around the prince of rabbits, El-Ahrairah... and the tales of his mischief, adventures and narrow escapes. Their stories also taught them that life without risks is quite empty.

That is what I found exciting... and I began my own quest for meaning... and a home.

Nothing to do with being naughty and nice really

I spent a wonderful morning at the Port in Holyhead. Being alongside Santa as he handed out chocolates and met staff of Stena was truly delightful.

Rather quickly people wondered whether I was there to hear confession so that people could get on to Santa's good list. After taking this in the main in a good humoured way, the cogs of my mind began to whir. Santa gives presents not rewards: where does the naughty and nice come from, other than from the song, I think by Slade. Most Christmas music of my youth seemed to have been performed by them.


I am not sure my parents ever gave presents more generously on my performance throughout the year. They gave out of their unconditional love and often out of what they had gone without.

Christmas is about giving. The recipient in someways in secondary.... Discuss

We have hope. Rebellions are built on hope

I have seen it. It is quite brilliant: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story that is. I did a little triple somersault at the fleeting glimpses of Leia, CP-30 and R2-D2 - and the voice of Vader fantastic, like wine, it matures well.

I loved the line, 'We have hope. Rebellions are built on hope'. It sits for me with ease within the current political climate, as it does in the re-telling of the Christmas story. It is not for me to make connections between ancient gospel narratives and the canon of a galaxy far far away. But it does seem to me that we have forgotten that at the heart of the incarnation is a seditious truth: 'God makes all things new'. Of course, there are other components, just like the film was more than one quote.

But as I minister in Holyhead, as I have done elsewhere, hope is liberative and the possibility of new beginnings quite brilliant.

There is more to come... and in the meantime.... here I am practising my Jedi techniques, which bodes well given that Holyhead is a higher number of people claiming to follow the force that anywhere else in the UK

Simply having a Messy Christmastime

I know... I know.... I know.... I give the impression of being a real bah humbug, but I am not really, in the deepest corner of my heart. I do though confess to loving the lyrics of some of our fine advent hymns as they dance around the antiphons of the season.

I am a bah humbug to commercialism, although you might be forgiven for thinking otherwise given the amount of time I am spending looking for the right present for my 14 year old.

I am also averse to nice neat Christmases, which somehow we have managed to manufacture, and the church has had a good go at colluding with.

I think the first Christmas was Messy... not in a Messy Church sort of way, if Lucy Moore, Martin Payne, Jane Leadbetter and a cast of thousands will forgive me; messy in a way that life is messy and jagged, even when cloaked in a veneer of order. At Christmas, God steps into our messiness with, and how that is done is peppered throughout our Gospel readings. Of course, the act of writing them down as tidied them up just a little.

I wish you and yours a very messy Christmas.... 

Jesse Tree at the Christmas Tree Festival in Holyhead

The Christmas Tree Festival in St Cybi, Holyhead is in full swing.... It is open from 10:30am-3:30pm each day up to and including Christmas Eve.

Each year, I put in a very small Jesse Tree which is dwarfed by the wonderful contribution of other trees and quite rightly so. The Jesse Tree is, in some ways, symbolic of the family tree of Jesus.

This is why each carving symbolises a story. There is an arc for example and a coat of the technicoloured variety. The tablets of the decalogue are there too.

There are others of course, some well known and some not. A bit like our own family tree

It is well worth a look, and a wonder and wander around one of the most ancient, and perhaps holiest buildings in the port town of Holyhead.

Talk for Carol Service for Welsh Learners

The Welsh of this talk is probably littered with errors, both large and small. Nevertheless learning Welsh is something that keeps me going and centred. I love the learning community which is something more of an ekklesia than the church. It is what it is. And I am profoundly grateful to those who have helped along the way. Dal a ti :-)

 

Kevin dw i

Ficer dw i

Cofiwch y dechrau Cwrs Wlpan

Dw i’n byw ym Mae Trearddur ar Sir Fon.

Mi wnes i symud yn Bae Trearddur yn mis Chwefror 2014, wela dw i’n dysgu Cymraeg i dwy flwyydyn

Heno, mi fydda siarad Cymraeg trwy’r y bregeth. Ond, dw i’n meddwyl yn fy laith cyntaf.

Dw i’n dysgu Cymraeg.

Dw i'n hoffi Nadolig. Ond mae'n well gen i Adfent

Mae Adfent yn aros amser

Mae'n rhan o stori Nadolig

Dan ni'n yn paratoi ar gyfer llawer o bethau yn ystod yr Adfent.

Dan ni'n ymweld a theulu

Dan ni'n prynu anrhegion

Pan on i’n plenty, ron I’n byw yn Sheffield. Mae fy Modryb ac Wncl weithiau'n gynorthwywyr Siôn Corn. Byddent yn dod â'n anrhegion a byddai fy mam yn eu cuddio. Maent yn prynu pethau gwych: a petrol tanwydd roced

Un Nadolig, yr wyf yn dod o hyd lle yr anrhegion yn cael eu cuddio. Cymerais brig. Well gen bresennol fy mrawd. Yr wyf yn cyfnewid labeli. Yr wyf yn edrych ymlaen at hynny Dydd Nadolig Dychmygwch. Pan wnes i ddarganfod fy mrawd wedi gwneud yn union yr un peth

Dan ni'n prynu bywd hefyd - lotto bwyd

Dan ni'n rhedeg o gwmpas yr archfarchnadoedd fel pe baent yn cau am degawd yn hytrach na diwrnod

Dan ni'n canu carolau am Mair, Joseff, angylion, breninhoedd a'r bugeiliad.

Dan i'n cofio canu i'r baban Iesu hefyd

Mae'r teulu sanctaidd  yn paratoi hefyd

- at fynd i Bethlehem
- i roi genedigaeth

Dan ni yn cofio hyn

Mae'r Nadolig cyntaf yn ddiddorol

Angylion

Breninhoedd

Bugeiliad

Mae'r teulu santaidd  yn  dianc i Egypt

Heddiw, dan ni'n cofio am y teulion dianc hefyd