Bob Warwicker's blog

It’s the first morning properly in our house. We handed back the manse keys yesterday, and all our possessions are here now (and don’t we know it) … although the Bambi is at the garage and we are waiting for news.

It’s a new beginning, and maybe all new beginnings have to start with repentance, turning around and thinking again. Junk the clutter in order to move forward. And we have done this literally over the last month, although there’s a lot more dumping to go, more at our leisure this time.

Repentance should set us free, not bind us to an endless cycle of saying ‘sorry’, like what the sound engineers did to Nick Clegg.

Living God,
set us free.

Today we went to the Oakley Arms for lunch. Very nice. I can’t remember going there to eat in the days when I sometimes used to come to work at the nuclear power station. The long gone Abbey Arms and the station canteen – that was about it I think. Although I think I did have some chips in Blaenau Ffestiniog, and I went into a pub in Trawsfynydd village, though I can’t remember why: all I remember is that the conversation switched from English to Welsh as soon as I went in the door.

I used to stay at the Abbey Arms. One time, I thought I’d arranged to get back in in the small hours of the morning. It turned out I hadn’t and I was locked out. I don’t know why, maybe it was the onerous security demands of Wynford Vaughan-Thomas’s bodyguard.

So, with the light of a May dawn just creeping into the sky, I decided to go for a walk. I walked up the road which overlooks Manod Mawr and watched as it changed from a sketchy silhouette to a solid form.

On the way down the road I met a stray sheep. I didn’t want to force it down the road away from its field – that would have been good neither for the farmer, nor for the gardeners of Llan Ffestiniog. So there were a few minutes of a cat and mouse game, with me trying to hide in hedges in the hope the sheep would walk past me back into its field.

This didn’t work. The sheep kept going down the hill.

I thought the sheep was trying to get away from me, so I decided that if I could get past it, it would then run away in the correct direction, back up to its field.

So I ran as hard as I could down this hill at about five or six in the morning, and with a supreme effort managed to get past the sheep. I ran on and turned round. The sheep was still running towards me. Only with a lot of jumping around and waving my arms did I eventually persuade the sheep to head for home.

My point is that the sheep persevered in running down the hill, even when it shouldn’t have done, because of the changed circumstances. If you think this makes sheep stupid, then so am I, because I have done the same thing.

Some time back, I used to live round the corner from an elderly gentleman. One time, he rang, telling me of symptoms I thought might be a stroke. I rushed round the corner, and when I got there it soon became apparent that this was just a bit of an aggravation of a long standing medical condition. But I rang the ambulance anyway, because I couldn’t change my mindset.

And I want you to consider it possible that churches are like that too. We keep on trying to do the same thing, even when it isn’t working. Don’t give up on the gospel. But if it isn’t working, just try doing it differently for a change.

Today we walked, under gathering cloud, and buffeted by a rising wind, up the Roman Steps. Not all the way though – you’re allowed to be careful at our age. Another 500m and we’d’ve got to the top of this mountain pass, to be treated to the view that the mediaeval traders would have had*, of the lush plain of Trawsfynydd. ‘Across the mountain’ lies a better land. Maybe. At any rate, the power station which used to operate there kept me and hundreds of others in bread for a few years.

We returned to Cwm Bychan the way we came, lingered in the mossy wood, and watched how eddies of wind moved across Llyn Cwm Bychan, kicking up clouds of spray.

* Not exactly the same view – the remains of the power station are still there, as well as the lake, which continues to feed the hydroelectric power station in Maentwrog. OTOH, looking at the map I see that the power station and lake would be invisible around the corner from the top of the pass.

We praise you God
for the dark hills,
the gathering storm, 
for the power of nature. 
We thank you God
because you have created us able
to harness the power of water, 
to use the energy of nuclear fission. 
We pray for your help, your justice, 
your wisdom, your love, 
that we may use our power for good
and not for ill. 
We are in awe, great God, 
because there still is, 
there always is, 
something in nature
that cannot be tamed. 

Yesterday was St David’s day. I think my first encounter with the Welsh language was seeing ‘Aberystwyth’ on the destination boards on the carriages of trains that went past our house in West Middlesex. I just couldn’t then work out how it made a word you could say. Fortunately I didn’t miss out on encountering more of a language with the same dark beauty as shining wet slate. Maybe this’ll be a retirement project: learn Welsh.

Yesterday, Aberystwyth, nice place, sea relatively benign so far.

Lectionary… Psalm 99… When God doesn’t seem to be in charge so much, is just saying “the Lord is king” enough?

Today more of a normal mild, damp February day. The air is soft and comforting. Paths are wet underfoot.

Yesterday, Bala and near Dolgellau. An ancient Abbey and a fun little train. A car ride with the huge bulk of Cadair Idris in view much of the way. It’s a lot more impressive than this picture suggests.

Today, Port Meirion and then Porthmadog for shop and chips. Port Meirion is quirky, exuberant. It was started between the wars and finished in the fifties. The bright colours and fun were probably just what was needed as the country emerged from wartime austerity.

Creator God, we thank you
For they greyness and the rain.
We thank you for
 the all-enveloping comfort
Of the damp that nourishes the crops, 
Feeds the reservoirs, 
Forces people to come close 
Together for shelter. 
We thank you for the relief
From the emptiness of dry weather. 

We pray for people in dry places
Struggling with drought
or climate change. 
Christ, who knew thirst, 
Who knew suffering, be with them. 
Christ who taught forgiveness, 
Reconcile us all 
With one another
And with our planet. 

Spirit of God, 
Move in us all, 
And grow in us
The hope of change. 

One God, help us to live right
In this your world. 

This is a winter version of the picture that used to occupy the end wall of the canteen of the place I used to work forty years ago. We strolled to Llyn Mair and Tan y Bwlch Station in the unnatural heat. When we were sorting stuff I discovered a photo of my family sitting on a wall in 1962. That was somewhere on the road walk from the bus stop to Tan y Bwlch station, and Janet and I may well have passed that site too.

I’ve thrown away a lot of the past (not that picture) over the last few weeks – but the past is still there in my head (until nothing is). I’d sooner throw away the past than throw away the future. That sounds almost meaningless until you realise that’s exactly what we just voted to do.

Time off in wolves wood in Wales. Strange and lovely sunny warm February weather, heat in the bare trees. Beautiful journey here yesterday over the Crimea Pass just after sunset, silhouettes of mountains in the thick hazy air. Today, wandering and chilling.

Going back to the transfiguration thing – the Son of God who is holy yet also gets stuck in – reminds me of a Brian Wren hymn. Part of it goes… “Not throned above, remotely high, untouched, unmoved by human pains, but daily in the midst of life, our Saviour, in the Godhead, reigns.”… going from memory there -may not be exact quote.

Almost all done now. We are now in our own house, having left the manse for the cleaners. There are a couple of small deposits of stuff, to be picked up when we return to hand the keys over next week.

We are still tired, sore, aching – but my gut stopped churning when we got to our house last night and my appetite returned.

Thank you very much to everyone who helped! And thank you to the people of the churches for your / their support and kindness … although I realise hardly anyone is reading this. Today we’re heading off for a week in Wales.

Next Sunday’s readings about the Transfiguration of Jesus… If you read the extra bit of the Luke reading, you get another insight into the nature of Jesus. Holy person, in the tradition of Moses and Elijah, Son of God, awesome … then someone who got stuck in to help a person who had epileptic seizures.

Knackered, but we can see the finishing line.

220kg of filing cabinets now down the stairs, into the van and in the scrapyard*: thank you Richard for all your help. The same van will now be loaded up with boxes we left behind on Tuesday and driven to our house. Thank you too to Diccon for another tip run in the pick up, and a great deal more carrying.

Every little thing feels like an achievement.

Now having a cuppa in our house, having unloaded the van. The work list for the manse now seems a long way away. Just four more items for Kirklees, and quite a few tip runs with general waste. It’s beginning to feel doable.

If you think all this moving stuff is boring, I’m inclined to agree. It’s quite boring to do as well. Only God in that parental kind of way would take an interest.

• This is the first time we’ve taken something to a scrapyard. Driving onto a weighbridge, all that stuff, is exciting.