In some ways, 4th July 2010 seems like yesterday. It was on that day that I was ordained deacon in Worcester Cathedral. There was a moment before the service, in the crypt, where we sat in silence and the bishop then prayed with all the candidates. Part of me wanted him to just do the ordination then, quietly and simply, rather than face the very public ceremony upstairs. It is all remarkably clear in my mind, which is why it sometimes comes as a shock to realise that this happened more than twelve years ago.

2022 has been a year of remembering, both celebratory and poignant. The Platinum Jubilee celebrations of Queen Elizabeth II in June, followed by her death in September, both caused us to cast our minds back across her extraordinarily long seventy-year reign in which the world changed dramatically. One memory in particular surfaced repeatedly, which was the promise Princess Elizabeth made on her twenty-first birthday to dedicate her life to service.

I am writing this letter on September 9th – the day on which I, like so many others, woke for the first time in my life to an England not ruled over by Queen Elizabeth 11. Our late queen gave us all a marvelous example of faithful duty and service. Such was her grace, dedication and charm that even many who have no enthusiasm for the monarchy as an institution, held Elizabeth as a person in high esteem and respect. Her passing marks the end of an era and many people will find it difficult to instantly and fully grasp the reality that this lady – mother, grandmother to a few, loved and admired by so many, head of state and Church, is no longer at the helm. To slightly misquote the future Queen Mary, speaking of the death of that other great queen, Victoria: “The thought of England without Queen Elizabeth is dreadful even to think of. God help us all!”1

In early August, I attended one of the evening sessions of the Commonwealth Games at the Alexander Stadium in Birmingham. The stadium was filled to capacity and the atmosphere was electric. Never mind that most people (including me) had no clue where Nieu or the Norfolk Islands were. We were happily cheering Indian long jumpers, Nigerian discus throwers, sprinters from Turks and Caicos, and Australian decathletes.

As we move into the summer, many of you will be going on journeys of one sort or another.
There will be holidays taken in various parts of this country and further afield; visits to family members and friends, and trips out to places of natural beauty or historical interest. Most of these journeys will have a fixed destination and a set time to spend there before returning to your starting point.

The Christian calendar of saints comes with a definite hierarchy.
At the top is Mary, the mother of Jesus, who receives three separate days celebrating plus her own Sunday of Advent, as well as numerous churches dedicated to her across the world.

Growing up, as I did, in the semi-rural parish of Claines, Rogation Sunday was one on which we concentrated on agriculture, asking God’s blessing on the land as we “beat the bounds.” Most years this beating of the bounds only involved a small number of parishioners but one year an adventurous curate took it to a new level, using various forms of transport for different parts of the journey. A motorbike, tractor and even a canoe were pressed into service. This gave the parishioners some fun and remained a talking point for several years (as you can see by the fact that I still remember and want to write about it!).

Shortly before 10pm on Shrove Tuesday 1945, the air raid sirens sounded in Dresden. They had done so more than a hundred times previously during the war without any serious damage being inflicted, the Saxon capital being one of the few intact German cities remaining. Despite the increasing concentration of armaments and other war industries, the anti-aircraft defences had been moved elsewhere, leaving the city extremely vulnerable.

David, Chad, Adrian, Non, Duthac, Kessog, Patrick and Cuthbert. What do all these have in common?
You may be able to come up with several answers, but the two I’m looking for are that they all have their feast days in March and they all have a Celtic connection.
For a short time, when I was living in Claines, we had a vicar who was married to a lovely Irish lady and during March she led us in a Celtic Service – a beautiful evening, made perfect by her serving home-made shortbread afterwards! Even without the shortbread, the evening made an impact on us as our attention was focused on those Celtic saints of whom, generally speaking, we know very little.

As I write this, I am in my second day of isolation after a positive Covid test. It is a frustrating experience, given that I am not ill and staying still does not agree with me. One can only clean the oven so many times.