We drove up from Canterbury to York yesterday... via Norwich. A bit of a diversion, but we did get here eventually.
I saw the funniest thing I ever saw yesterday. A guy was riding his bike up the wrong side of a busy street, no helmet, a fag hanging out of his mouth, shouting "#&$^# it!" into his mobile phone. It struck me as the stupidest, silliest and most hilarious thing I have seen. Had to be there I guess.
English people swear a lot, too, by the way.
There were painted elephants all through Norwich, too. Great big ones.
When we were at the Cathedral in Norwich we bought a CD of choir music based on the "shewings" of Julian of Norwich and we listened to that in the car all the way up here. It was absolutely beautiful.
Now we are in York, we are amusing ourselves with finding out how many things end in "-by". Whitby, Kirkby, Brawby, Helperby, Roxby, Slingsby, Whenby, Newby, Duggleby... they go on and on!
Today we crammed as much into York as we could in one day. This morning we went through the Minster, and I even joined David to climb the 275 steps up to the top of the centre tower. Wow! What a view! What vertigo! The Minster is beautiful, and what is most special is that they have preserved parts of the Roman undercroft so you can see column bases, bits of wall, and even some beautifully painted plaster.
Then we wandered down the tiny medieval shopping precinct in York. There is one street called "The Shambles" where there are lots of boutique stores. We went in the Teddy Bear and Tea Rooms, where there were all sorts of collectible bears, and we had a cream tea upstairs.
After we went back to get the car, we drove out to Howard Castle, a stately home which would have been even more beautiful if the sun had been shining. We've had lots of rain today so we couldn't enjoy the grounds.
We tried after walking a mile through a farm to reach a deserted medieval village but we decided the reason it was deserted was that everyone who lived there got lost on the farm going back after going to the shops and decided they couldn't be bothered, just like us.
Then we drove home and got lost in York, which was rather funny, too.
I have been a misery guts today. Because of the humidity, or the washing powder, or something, I have horrible prickly heat. The only thing that will stop the prickly heat is Benadryl, which also makes me feel a bit sick and sleepy. So this morning I was sick and sleepy (not good when you are climbing up 275 steps to the top of a tall tower) and then this afternoon because we got stuck in the rain and the breeze, my shoulder froze up and I've been grumbling about that too.
Sproggies, I miss you so much. We have bought you some lovely presents (and for others too). We're going to visit Auntie Marie and Uncle Bob tomorrow, before going to Bath.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
It's all over, even the shouting
Today was the concluding Eucharist for Lambeth 2008.
The service itself was reason enough to weep. Intertwined amongst the foreign language parts of the liturgy were the a capella sung responses such as the alleluia which the bishops and their spouses had been doing all through the conference in their corporate worship. In the cavernous, airy, holy space of Canterbury Cathedral, the multilayered unaccompanied harmonies were quite literally spine tingling and you could sense the regret when they had to come to an end.
Rowan preached immensely, beautifully, simply. He talked about telling our stories, but in the way of stories told about the Holy Spirit, in a way which would Make Things Happen. As a writer for the church, it was inspiring. But as a communion, it was wonderful to be sent out with a task that is far less than that which was given to the apostles, and which in their time led to something so immense. What will our story telling bring?
A piece called the Compass Rose had been composed especially for the service. It transcended beautiful. It was music that bypassed your head, even your heart, and went straight through to your soul. The choir sang it, and it sounded like they sang it to their absolute limits, but in that huge space there are no limits. I couldn’t help myself – tears were running down my face and I was not the only one.
The really heart breaking part of the service was when it was all over. This was a special occasion in which the 7 Melanesian Brothers who were murdered in their attempts to secure peace in the Solomon Islands, were having their names received in to the book of martyrs, to be placed in the Martyrs Chapel in the Cathedral.
I had the privilege of interviewing Brother Richard Carter last year, an English Priest who joined the Melanesian Brothers and who stayed for seventeen years, and who worked with them as they tried to get people to disarm in the time of Harold Keke. He was there with his Brothers and Sisters today, even though he is now a priest at St Martin’s in the Fields. After the Archbishop of Canterbury had read out the names of the seven, the Brothers and Sisters sang a litany as the book was taken back to the chapel. Even though it was a litany of grief and their pain was real, it was still a song of joy. We have lot to learn from the Melanesians. (I must write about the conversation I had with Winston Halapua, Bishop of Polynesia, earlier this week!)
Then the service ended and I had to leave. There were a few bishops to say goodbye to, particularly Suheil Dawani and his beautiful wife Shafeeqa (Jerusalem) and some of my local bishops and some of the bishops I’d met and said hello to.
But then I had to say goodbye to the people who have been my friends and colleagues over the last three weeks. It was so hard. I had to swallow the lump in my throat and just give them all a quick cuddle, warn Chris (the Justin Timberlake lookalike with whom I danced all night on Thursday) to stay away from my daughters when he comes to visit me one day, and then thank the marvellous people of the C of E and Lambeth Palace who have made me so welcome as a communications person at the conference. Even though Darin from the Primate’s office is only in Brisbane, saying goodbye to him was hard too – we’ll be a long way apart but I suspect we would have a wonderful time working together.
I feel like a different person. I don’t feel up to explaining it all now, but I love my church. I really, really love it. I have so much fear and hope for it. I’m very sad to be leaving Canterbury and this amazing chapter of my life behind. I feel quite transformed
The service itself was reason enough to weep. Intertwined amongst the foreign language parts of the liturgy were the a capella sung responses such as the alleluia which the bishops and their spouses had been doing all through the conference in their corporate worship. In the cavernous, airy, holy space of Canterbury Cathedral, the multilayered unaccompanied harmonies were quite literally spine tingling and you could sense the regret when they had to come to an end.
Rowan preached immensely, beautifully, simply. He talked about telling our stories, but in the way of stories told about the Holy Spirit, in a way which would Make Things Happen. As a writer for the church, it was inspiring. But as a communion, it was wonderful to be sent out with a task that is far less than that which was given to the apostles, and which in their time led to something so immense. What will our story telling bring?
A piece called the Compass Rose had been composed especially for the service. It transcended beautiful. It was music that bypassed your head, even your heart, and went straight through to your soul. The choir sang it, and it sounded like they sang it to their absolute limits, but in that huge space there are no limits. I couldn’t help myself – tears were running down my face and I was not the only one.
The really heart breaking part of the service was when it was all over. This was a special occasion in which the 7 Melanesian Brothers who were murdered in their attempts to secure peace in the Solomon Islands, were having their names received in to the book of martyrs, to be placed in the Martyrs Chapel in the Cathedral.
I had the privilege of interviewing Brother Richard Carter last year, an English Priest who joined the Melanesian Brothers and who stayed for seventeen years, and who worked with them as they tried to get people to disarm in the time of Harold Keke. He was there with his Brothers and Sisters today, even though he is now a priest at St Martin’s in the Fields. After the Archbishop of Canterbury had read out the names of the seven, the Brothers and Sisters sang a litany as the book was taken back to the chapel. Even though it was a litany of grief and their pain was real, it was still a song of joy. We have lot to learn from the Melanesians. (I must write about the conversation I had with Winston Halapua, Bishop of Polynesia, earlier this week!)
Then the service ended and I had to leave. There were a few bishops to say goodbye to, particularly Suheil Dawani and his beautiful wife Shafeeqa (Jerusalem) and some of my local bishops and some of the bishops I’d met and said hello to.
But then I had to say goodbye to the people who have been my friends and colleagues over the last three weeks. It was so hard. I had to swallow the lump in my throat and just give them all a quick cuddle, warn Chris (the Justin Timberlake lookalike with whom I danced all night on Thursday) to stay away from my daughters when he comes to visit me one day, and then thank the marvellous people of the C of E and Lambeth Palace who have made me so welcome as a communications person at the conference. Even though Darin from the Primate’s office is only in Brisbane, saying goodbye to him was hard too – we’ll be a long way apart but I suspect we would have a wonderful time working together.
I feel like a different person. I don’t feel up to explaining it all now, but I love my church. I really, really love it. I have so much fear and hope for it. I’m very sad to be leaving Canterbury and this amazing chapter of my life behind. I feel quite transformed
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