Making much of my Sundays

My church, a community

My church, the cathedral in my city, serves as a community where I find fellowship and friendship. While I have been a steward, I have not resumed that function since I went for treatment, my energy levels are much better now, not at the stage where I could be an effective steward.

The more public activity is when one does one of the readings, the last time I was scheduled to do the reading, in December, I had to give up my place as I was going to be away in Cape Town.

The first version of the rota published a few weeks ago had me scheduled to read the only reading for Palm Sunday, I carried that in my bosom until I reviewed the updated rota, a more prominent person had supplanted me.

At church with improvements

Whether I had my natural voice back or not, I was determined that I would attend whatever readings I was scheduled for with electronic amplification for my frail voice. Each service I attend shows some improvements, such as not needing to use the conveniences until after the service or being able to fully participate in the standing parts of the sung eucharist.

The more obvious one is that I can walk the distance from home to church and back, whereas before I travelled, I needed assistance because I lacked the strength to do so.

The other Sunday, I arrived as the processional hymn was being sung, it is quite unusual for me to arrive late to church so I sat in a different place close to the children’s corner. What I racket they made; it was impossible to concentrate. Then last week, the Racial Justice Sunday had York visiting, I sat in the same row as his wife and the dean’s spouse. As in the Archbishop of York.

How things are developing

The row behind us as a child and his parents, they chuntered through the whole service, my backward glances did nothing to moderate the disturbance. The same garrulous troupe was there today, I do not know what informed them to move towards the more adequate children’s section before the service commenced.

One of the hymns had quite a discordant tune. I could not follow it until the fourth verse, and it was still a struggle. I sing all alright, but I do lag in the recitations and singing, too. In the end, I plumped for the decaffeinated coffee. Since decaffeinated tea is rarely available, I had to get on a bus for a 30-minute ride to a big supermarket to replenish my stock of decaffeinated Earl Grey tea.

The last Village Church service I met in the middle of the homily, my nap ended a few minutes before the start, and just as I thought of taking a rain check, I got a message from a friend asking if I was attending. I dressed up and rushed out; it was just around the corner from my place.

The Lord’s Prayer in Yoruba, I wrote that out this morning with all the essential diacritical marks, it is what I recite when it comes to the time for prayer. I might be doing that on a recording of it for a week of the recitations of the Lord’s Prayer in other languages at a church event in May.

Church is a community I enjoy.

Àdúrà Olúwa

Baba wa tí ńbẹ ní ọ̀run,
Kí á bọ̀wọ̀ fún orúkọ rẹ,
Kí ìjọba ìrẹ dé,
Ìfẹ̀ẹ tìrẹ ni kí á ṣe ní aiyé,
Bí wọ́n ti ńṣe ní ọ̀run,
Fún wa l'óúnjẹ òjọ́ wa l'óòní,
Dárí ẹ̀ṣẹ̀ wa jì wá,
Bí a tí ń dárí ẹ̀ṣẹ̀ ji àwọn tí ó ṣẹ̀ wá,
Má fà wá sínú ìdánwò,
Ṣùgbón gbà wá lọ́wọ́ bìlísì,
Nítorí ìjọba ni tìrẹ, agbára ni tìrẹ, ògo ni tìrẹ,
Láí Láí,
Àmín.