Here we are again

Yes, yes, I know. I have been a very bad blogger indeed. And I'm afraid I'm not all that likely to make a particularly rapid - or permanent - recovery either. Sloth is an incurable condition, I'm afraid. But I hope the same is not true of a certain degree of bewilderment which has also contributed to my reluctance to commit my thoughts (such as they are) to the ether.

Retirement for a parish priest can be really quite bewildering, certainly to start with. Along with the relief at never having to find another sidesman (or woman) for the Solemn Eucharist ever again, and the pure pleasure of living in a delightful house in which dawn never comes before 10am, there is the little problem of what to do on Sundays. In my case, I grateful to say, Tuesdays are OK. On Tuesday mornings I celebrate the Holy Eucharist (and preach, what's more) in the beautiful chapel of an Anglican retirement home not far from where I live. Futhermore, as well as the excellent sermon there is also the excellent liturgy (1928 - more or less!) and I even get to face the east wall during the Prayer of Consecration. What more could you ask?

But there is still the little problem of Sundays. On the first Sunday after my retirement I decided to snoop around a bit. In the church notices in the Saturday edition of the Otago Daily Times I looked for a service which didn't start too early the following morning, and lo and behold! there was a mass at St Patrick's Basilica in South Dunedin which was due to commence at 11am. Perfect! So along I went, rather apprehensively, I must admit. What if they had all been reading this blog, and come across my somewhat less than charitable effusions about the office of the Roman Pontiff? Would they understand that I am really Mr Valiant-for-Truth, or would they publicly rebuke me as an incorrigible heretic?

Surprisingly, however, they did neither. The parish priest (Gerard Ainsley) whom I have known and liked for years (we were police chaplains together) greeted me warmly as I entered, and when I found a place in the back pews I discovered an old family friend sitting next to me, who also welcomed me most kindly, and even seemed pleased to see me.

St Patrick's is most certainly not a small church, but it was fairly full in what was liturgically speaking a fairly unremarkable Sunday. And the congregation included not just young people but what seemed to be a fair number of young families as well, something of an endangered species in many Anglican parishes.

The mass itself closely resembled an Anglican celebration of the Eucharist, as I had found was also the case even in St Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna when I was on holiday in Austria last year. And the sermon, delivered without notes by Fr Gerard was simply excellent, so much so indeed, that I was moved to tell him afterwards that he was very likely the second-best preacher in Otago and Southland - high praise indeed, as I'm sure you will agree.

In my next posting (should there be another one before the parousia) I will have something to say about the thoughts and ideas which my attendance at St Patrick's stimulated and provoked.