Ed and I had our first farewell service yesterday morning. With six churches, we now have three weeks of farewells, prior to the the big farewell on August 23rd.
The church was satisfyingly full (although it has to be admitted that with a medieval church the size of an aircraft hangar, ‘satisfyingly full’ refers only to about ten rows of the middle section) so I did find myself wondering why so many could come to see me off when they seldom managed to come week by week…
It was a good service and I enjoyed it. At the end, when I was about to escape, they presented me with a gorgeous bouquet of roses and a handsome voucher to buy roses for our new garden. Apparently words had been had with Ed, who had suggested a standard rose, but they have left us to choose our own. There was also a card signed by everyone and coffee and cakes to follow the service.
But it’s so emotional saying goodbye to all these friends. Not sure how I shall survive the next few weeks.
In the evening we had a Deanery service at which the Bishop preached. Our deanery (the UK is divided into dioceses, each diocese is divided into deaneries, each deanery is divided into benefices, each benefice is divided into parishes. Our deanery has seven benefices with thirty one parishes. My benefice has six parishes. You get the picture?) has been running a ‘sunflower’ initiative since Easter. We delivered a glossy brochure with a packet of sunflower seeds attached to it to every house in the deanery. The brochure talked about sunflowers, how to grow them, how their seeds can be used etc. and related all this to God’s gifts to us – turning towards the source of being as the sunflower turns to the sun, and so on.
Many parishes held imaginative competitions to do with sunflowers and one of our parishes had a Sunflower Day, with a free BBQ, fun and games.
So last night was a service for the whole deanery to celebrate the sunflower initiative. It was fun and the Bishop spoke well, wringing just about every last word possible out of sunflowers and the Bible. Actually, he was hard put to find sunflowers mentioned in the Bible, so settled for gardens and lilies of the field instead.
So that’s Sunday over for another week. Just now I’m sitting here blogging, waiting for a Broadband man to show up and fix my excruciatingly slow speed, which is beyond the pale even for rural Norfolk. I think.
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All the clergy have had a letter from the Bishop about Swine Flu. The Archbishops of Canterbury and York have suggested that worshippers should only receive bread, not wine, for the duration of the pandemic, in case sharing the chalice transmits infection.
The last I heard, about a fortnight ago, the Bishop of Chelmsford had issued guidelines for his clergy, telling them to wash the chalice after use! What does he think usually happens? Anyway, clearly fear is escalating if the Archbishops are now saying ‘no chalice at all’.
Our Bishop doesn’t seem to agree with that. Well, he’s hedging his bets. He says we should tell people that it’s OK to take Communion in one kind (i.e. just the bread), but they can still receive the chalice if they choose. He also says that’s it’s very unlikely people will pick up any infection from sharing the chalice, as the alcohol reacts with the silver to make a disinfectant.
Who is he kidding?
He also says quite strongly that the practice of people holding onto their wafer and then dipping it in the wine should be discouraged as it’s not good practice. Oops! First I heard of this. Apparently what should happen is that the priest drinks all the wine (hiccup) on behalf of the people.
Me? I think it’s a waste of time. Nothing much now is going to stop the spread of the flu, so I expect we’ll all get it, be ill for a couple of days, then recover. As we usually do.
What I’m sick of, is hearing about Swine Flu to such an extent that everyone is terrified, then being told there’s nothing to worry about.
It’s part of the good and ill pattern of life. Why can’t we just get on with it?
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Took Home Communion to 97-year-old Em. She couldn’t hear a word I said as her hearing aid was out of action.
“Could you look at it?” she asked hopefully. “I can’t get the battery in.”
No wonder. She’d somehow managed to jam the battery into the top of the hearing aid rather than into the battery compartment. With technical expertise (a hair grip) I managed to unjam it, put a new battery in the right place and off we went. Well, at least she put the aid bit into her ear. The bit that goes round the ear was dangling from her hair, but that, she said, was how she liked it. Hmm.
Anyway, then she told me that Edna, her next-door-neighbour had been dead for ten days and nobody knew. My eyes bulged. Visions of a decomposing body lying on the couch next door, in this quiet Norfolk village. Followed by headlines in the Press screaming, “Why didn’t the Church do something?”
But it wasn’t like that at all. Apparently Edna used to pop in to Em quite frequently, bringing shopping and just making sure she was alright. Then it suddenly stopped. Em never saw Edna again. It seems Edna’s husband beat her up to such an extent that he hospitalised her and after that she went into a residential home, where she recently died.
Edna had developed Alzheimer’s and the husband couldn’t cope. Got so frustrated at the same questions and comments over and over again, and Edna not being able to remember where she’d put things and so on, that he lashed out. They’d been married for 63 years.
The even sadder part is that the family now refuse to speak to father and won’t go near him. Nigel the Curate is taking the funeral, but the family have told him that father won’t be there.
So father is still living next door to Em, but increasingly a recluse. Never goes out, never sees anyone. And he must be well into his eighties. Nigel asked the family if he could go round, but they said, “He’ll only slam the door in your face.”
Aren’t there tragic things going on, under cover of idyllic village life?
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It’s not just me retiring. Our local (suffragen) bishop is retiring too and had his final service at the Cathedral yesterday afternoon. The Cathedral was packed, so either everyone was glad or extremely sorry to see him go. I think it was the latter. He’s a quiet, self-effacing person with a brain cell or two (unusual for bishops, you understand) so has been popular. He was a research chemist in a previous incarnation. He’s migrating back to the big city – well, the outskirts at any rate. Came from London, returning to London. Although how anyone can leave the peace and slow pace of life of Norfolk to retire to the city, beats me.
Prior to that service, had a parish lunch to celebrate the Patronal Festival of St Mary Magdalene. One of our churches is dedicated to her, so we celebrate her festival each year on the nearest Sunday. Quite one of my favourite female saints. Well, let’s face it. The Bible is a tad short on female saints and the other one – Mary the Virgin – is just too good to be true. Every religious man’s ideal – a mother and a virgin. Can be a mite hard for the rest of us females to live up to that.
Actually is was a really busy weekend, with two fêtes on Saturday, one during the day and one in the evening. But hopefully that’s the fêtes done for the year. Now it’s down to a few more weddings, a baptism or two and the odd funeral. Then I’m done.
Although, what am I going to do when it’s all over…..?
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I can’t stand it any longer – being cut off from the outside world without any internet access, that it. So we’ve kind of moved up to the bungalow and are sleeping here. It means commuting daily but I suppose a half hour’s journey on relatively traffic-free roads isn’t too bad. Not too high a price for for being back in contact, anyway. The internet-deprivation cold turkey is not to be recommended.
Mind you, even though we’re considerably nearer Norwich here, the internet access is much worse. The maximum speed I can get is half a meg, which is OK for email but not so hot for BBC iPlayer. A little message comes up saying, ‘You have insufficient band-width for streaming. Try downloading instead.’ So I try, but for half an hour’s programme it’s well over an hour’s download. Oh well. It’s worth it for my fix of comedy (Jo Brand’s new programme on life in an NHS hospital.)
The weekend was good and crosses a few more days off before I eventually go. The Primary School gave me a lovely scented rose and a delightful card, made by the children. Boy, aren’t these ‘goodbyes’ hard? Had another PCC last night – four down and two to go – but was quite emotional saying goodbye to them all. And I don’t even like PCC meetings!
Tomorrow Ed and I are off to the Bishop’s. He too (our Area Bishop, not the Diocesan Bishop) is retiring, so it’s a farewell lunch. Then his farewell service is on Sunday afternoon at the Cathedral, so we’ll be along to that too.
Back to the Rectory tomorrow morning for a bit more clearing out prior to taking a Communion service at one of the churches, then up to the Bishop’s for lunch and onto the bungalow ready for Friday, my day off. Can’t come soon enough. Then it’s two more fetes on Saturday…and on we go. Another week bites the dust.
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