To Holyhead with love

It is a truism that you only recognise how brilliant something or someone is as you are about to move on. This is not true for me with Holyhead. It has always been a brilliant town, perched on the edge of Mon overlooking the Celtic Sea. I admit it took me a couple of week when I moved. I seem to remember the wind and rain were of Noahic flood proportions and I could barely see anything during that period.

Caergybi is the UK's second busiest port. It is cosmopolitan by North Wales standards. Its story rich and diverse, and people welcoming. 'Vicar' yelled a car driver narrowly missing running me over 'welcome to Holyhead!' just weeks after I had arrived.

It is Mon's largest town, but in reality is a collection of small villages living together in close proximity. It is a town where small businesses begin and thrive, and people long for the best to happen.

In terms of faith, it is at one and the same time the home of the UK's largest collection of Jedis according to the 2001 Census and a place of deep Celtic Christian heritage. Cybi the saint embedded within Caergbyi gave the town its overarching story and name (Cybi's fort - Caergybi). At one time, pilgrims came from all over the Christian world to see him. Holyhead has by and large forgotten this story... and hopefully the regeneration planned for St Cybi's will help it be told again.

It is a place that has given me a love for Wales, its language, land and people. I will miss it. Yet during this summer, I will enjoy it and remember it fondly as we part.

Pob bendith, Caergybi

There may be no left to come for

It is becoming a truism that voters apparently like the policies of the Labour Party, but apparently not its leader.

How could people not like the policies when they are designed to protect the most vulnerable and expect all to play their part in society?

Perhaps however what we have not quite factored in is that the most vulnerable have been made the other or scapegoat for society's ills. It has happened gradually, sometimes without us knowing. Parties of different political colours have let it happen, and we have, all too often, stood by on the other side.

The problem with making someone other is that perhaps ever so slowly a process of de-humanisation takes place. It is how fundamentally we get to the deserving and undeserving poor.

This is not a call to vote Labour. It is though a call to reflect on whether we want to be a society that embraces the other and puts the vulnerable at the centre as a matter of justice, in spite of the cost to ourselves.

Half a pace behind: Leading a service in Welsh

I have noticed that whenever I lead a service in Welsh, the act of worship takes a little longer. It is not that there are more pauses, but that I say the words more precisely. I might be tasting the words, perhaps savouring them, although practically I am slowing down so as not to make as many mistakes. I am half a pace behind where I would be using English.

One of the delights of coming to Wales has been the chance to get to grips with another language. I am not a linguist, although can read various ancient languages, which is a joy that comes from having been, prior to ordination, a NT research student and tutor.

There is something inevitably vulnerable about suddenly only having the linguistic capabilities of a young child. Initially, in one language, I might make a stab at talking theology, in the other; I could manage ‘lle dach chi’n byw?’ (Where do you live)? In one memorable moment, I realised I could pronounce iachawdwriaeth (salvation) and not ask for a pint. This has now been addressed.

Leading worship is though done from a place of weakness, vulnerability and openness. This is the more true when leading in a second language. I am not referring to the learning of words and correct pronunciation, which although important are perhaps not the most important facets for taking worship in a language other than your mother tongue. Whilst, not the most important; discipline and regular learning is essential. It is an incarnational thing.

Language is a gateway to another culture. Until that is appreciated, you cannot begin to learn another language. Whilst language learning can be simply a case of what does this mean in that language, which is an important building block, learning to speak a different language moves you into a different place. It is impossible to be unaffected by it. This is not a simple reference to the struggle to get to grips with mutations, or in my case the quiet panic of having to speak publicly and clearly at key moments of people’s lives.

 
In the process of learning, everything slows down. This is obvious, perhaps. I need to accept my limitations, for example, I might want to say something, which in English I could do with ease, but in Welsh, simpler ways need to be found in order to accommodate my limitations. Moreover, as time goes by, it is not just my limitations that are exposed, but what I might want to say in my mother tongue cannot be said in Welsh. Direct translation therefore becomes stilted at times. Thus, in the learning, I must make time not just to memorise new words, but begin to hear the spiritual rhythm of the language itself. Perhaps in a sense you do not learn a language without living it.