A selection of former articles written by Clifford Owen and printed in The Corfiot, Corfu's only English-Speaking Language Magazine edited by Hilary Paipeti. Scroll down to read all articles or click links below to view each article separately.
CHRISTOS ANESTI - Advantage Corfu by Clifford Owen
The piece of paper in front of me, from the National Tourist Organisation of Greece, says that Easter in Corfu is unique. It has a mixture of East and West, and of ecclesiastical, civic and military pomp: 'At a quarter to midnight all is still except for the subdued conversation of the vast crowd. Then slowly and in silence and in almost complete darkness the Bishop and clergy arrive in slow procession, preceded by soldiers and sailors and followed by all the high civic officials… The clock on the nearby fortress begins to strike twelve. The Bishop intones the words 'Christos Anesti'. At these words the band bursts into an Easter hymn, canons roar from the fortress, fireworks scream into the air, bells in the town start ringing and the place is at once a blaze of light.'
If this is an accurate description then I am mildly excited as I await my first Greek Easter. What a privilege it must be to be part of a community that celebrates the drama of the central claim of Christianity in such a high profile way.
In the English media, Easter reporting is usually limited to sound bites from the Archbishop of Canterbury, a more substantial quote from the Pope on the balcony of St. Peter's, and then a flashback to the happy queues on the M25. The more thoughtful journals ask the question: 'Did Jesus Christ really rise from the dead?' and take a perverse delight in reporting surveys of clergy and bishops (especially the latter) who no longer appear to believe in a literal resurrection.
My mind goes back thirty years to my New Testament theology lectures at University. Professor Moule began his introductory course with the question: 'Where does a study of the New Testament naturally begin? 'It must begin with the Easter claim,’ he said. 'And we must examine as objectively as we can the evidence that that claim might or might not be true. The first piece of evidence, which cannot simply be dismissed, is that the claim that a man, who had been crucified on a Roman gallows and was now alive, was ever entertained at all.'
The lecture course then proceeded to take us through the genesis of the New Testament documents, the growth of the early church, and noted such things as the change in the disciples from fear to courage, and the development of Sunday as the commemoration of the resurrection on the first day of the week from the rest of the Jewish Sabbath.
'But,’ said our professor, 'at the end of the day, the New Testament is an apologetic, it is a testimony, a collection of evidence. It cannot be proof (of the resurrection). What we call 'proof' in a scientific sense much lie in a different dimension'.
I once heard a mathematical professor, who was also a convinced Christian, put forward a statistical argument for the resurrection as follows: 'If you have 24 independent witnesses to an event with a better than evens chance that they are not lying, then the event they are describing has a probability close to certainty. It works something like this: If a witness ran into our morning service and told us that Tony Blair had just landed in a hang glider in front of the Liston, we would probably laugh. If a second witness independently of the first ran in and made the same claim, we might stop and think. If a third independent witness made the same claim our curiosity might be aroused to take a look. If another twenty independent witnesses ran in with the same message, one might almost count the event a certainty.
St.Paul mentions in 1 Corinthians chapter 15 that he had received the tradition that the risen Christ 'appeared to Peter, then to the Twelve. After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep.'
Please draw your own conclusions. The question of proof in matters of religion lies in the dimension of faith and faith brings with it conviction amounting to certainty. How one obtains that faith is another story for another day. In the meantime I suspect that the cry 'Christos Anesti' heard at midnight on Easter Eve, will be uttered in a tone of voice which carries a note of conviction that this is no drama put on for visiting tourists, but is indeed the starting point of it all.
Follow My Leader - Some Thoughts for Easter by Clifford Owen
I don't know how many of you have been watching again recently on Greek Parliament television Simon Schama's A History of Great Britain. I have to record my admiration for his professionalism as a historian as well as 99% for a piece of television. History can never be absolute. All accounts of our past are seen through various-tinted spectacles, and whilst in one scene Schama can move you emotionally to a background of 'Rule Britannia', he moves over immediately to show you the potentially revolutionary character of the sociological forces lurking just below the surface of British life. The version of history which so many of us may have imbibed to explain why we were once great, could so easily have tipped the other way into our disintegration. Be warned: it still could!
What was well documented by Simon Schama was that Britain has been the product over the centuries of moulding and kneeding by a variety of leaders: some good, some bad, some effective, others just historical accidents. Watching it, I found myself asking again: 'What makes a leader? Are they born as leaders, are they made? Can you programme them out of a computer? How can we prove their sincerity and effectiveness?’
I ask the question 'again' because 45 years ago I stood on a naval parade ground being bawled at by Chief Petty Officers. If anyone dared to ask what was the point of it all, something about shaping leaders of men was offered as the answer! What was remarkable in those days was that in casual conversation at the end of the first term's training, current opinion was that X, Y, & Z would become admirals. Guess what? X, Y and Z did become admirals! Could you tell even then that some people had something special?
In recent weeks we have seen Kerry, Dean and Edwards slugging it out in the American Democratic primaries; latterly, Nea Demokratia, PASOK and KKE have present themselves before the Greek electorate. Is it all a performance? Are these men and women really just actors driven by a passion to reach the summit of the human pile at any cost? Is it only a pretty face and a good speech that can bring out the fireworks, joy, and car horns?
One book, which a friend put into my hands in 1963, was Field Marshall Montgomery's Leadership. It was not by accident that his first chapter was entitled 'Credo'. Monty expounded here his belief that a leader must first be a committed believer (in something). For the great man it was Christianity, but he didn't make it compulsory. It was basic belief that gave a man motivation, purpose and identity. Put simply: leaders need first to be followers. Before the craftsman comes the apprentice. The disciple comes before the apostle.
Some years ago I went on a church growth conference. It was one of those interactive participatory exercises that salesmen and business executives are sent on from time to time. You know the sort of thing: brainstorming, flip charts and overhead projector slides. The very relaxed whizz kid who was in charge said something like: ‘So how do we recognize a leader?’ After hearing all about Monty, Churchill and David Beckham his answer was disarming: ‘If you think you are a leader, just peep over your shoulder occasionally to see if anyone is following!’
On that basis Jesus Christ should be encouraged. As He looks over His shoulder, His followers have numbered millions over twenty centuries. No doubt a high proportion have been of a lightweight or convenient commitment, but even the devotee minority must be numbered in multiples of seven figures. One of the most challenging and frightening words in the gospels is: 'When the Son of Man returns, will he find faith on earth?' The Lord drops the alarming hint that despite all the evidence and faith of the centuries that there is around to support his claims, it is still theoretically possible that no-one will vote for him.
So when Easter Eve comes to Corfu and the vast throng gathers with candles in hands, as the minutes tick away in the darkness, pregnant with expectation for the cry: 'Christos Anesti' will you also hear the whispered thought: 'Follow my leader'?
The primary school I attended from 1947-1954 had no organised sport or sportgrounds. All I can remember was playing a game of rounders in a far from level playing field every few weeks. The chances of my hitting the ball seemed about one in five! Consequently games were never my strong point and I had no real interest in them.
When I went to my local Grammar School we were introduced to Rugby Football in the winter and cricket in the summer. It was compulsory and there seemed little or no instruction. My chief memory of those days was standing in freezing conditions running generally the way everyone else did until occasionally this dark brown squashed greasy thing came your way and you were expected to pick it up and run with it. I learnt that if you weren't quick enough to pass the ball to another person with the same coloured shirt on you got trampled underfoot by at least five others! It was of course meant to be fun!
Cross country running was also compulsory and it was nothing short of Purgatory—-same freezing cold starting conditions, but you did get warm pretty quickly, although being an asthma sufferer I would soon be wheezing badly. It never occurred to me to complain so I suffered in silence every time running was on the agenda. I would stand and watch the annual school sports day with amazement at how far other boys could run, jump or throw. Thus sport equaled pain for me in the 1950's. I was no good at it and had no desire to be.
Then one day in 1957 something strange happened. I went into the tuckshop at morning break for my bun and drink and there was a notice on the noticeboard asking for volunteers to run for a school cross country team against a neighbouring school. As I read it I had a strange inexplicable feeling that I should put my name down! It seemed a crazy idea as I had absolutely no ability and I knew others would laugh. Still the feeling persisted that I should put my name up but I simply hadn't the courage.
Later that week it our PE class, the games teacher said: 'As no-one has volunteered for school cross country team, you are all off on a run and the first eight back will run in the team'. There were 15 in my class and this included most of the top rugger players, athletes and other fit boys. 'This will be another experience of purgatory' I thought to myself. But as we set off a contagious chorus of moaning set in among the ring-leader rugger players who collectively went on strike after about half a mile and sat down in the park for a cigarette. There must have been at least eight of them. As I had no interest in cigarettes, I carried on, came in fifth, and was placed on the team! I couldn't believe it.
When the day of the real race came, I discovered that it was against several schools, and, to my amazement, I found myself finishing about half way in the pack and the better miracle was that I didn't get asthma. A few weeks later another race was arranged and I finished even nearer to the front. Within six months I became known as a runner and was accepted by Coventry Godiva Harriers as a club member. From that miraculous start I never looked back. Two years later I achieved a dream of many schoolboys: winning the school mile in under five minutes.
By the time I joined the Royal Navy in 1960, running was part of my life and it took me to many races all over Devon and the West Country, but running for the Naval College against RAF Cranwell was the great thrill for me that first year. Then in 1962 came an event that was to change my running even more.
I was a Midshipman in HMS Berwick in the Mediterranean and several of us were overcome with a desire to run the original Marathon course from Marathon to Athens. I had never run that far in my life before. So we trained. I remember running from the Acropolis to Piraeus, and on other Greek islands, and then came the great day when nine of us lined up at the Warriors' Burial mound and a naval officer signaled us off. Four hours later I arrived at the (old) Olympic stadium in Athens--a day I shall never forget.
Running continued to occupy a big place in my life for several years until at the age of 27 I considered myself a veteran, and as my times slowed and I put on weight I let it slip away. By now I was a committed Christian, married to Avis and thinking of ordination. I thought running was part of the past.
Then one Sunday afternoon in 1980 I sat down to read the sports page of a newspaper. It said: 'Woman to run her first marathon at age 43.' Later, I didn't have my mind much on the evening service that night as I thought of a woman five years older than me about to run a marathon! It was also at that time that I felt ominous pains near my chest. I thought: 'Oh no, here we go with the old ticker' and Avis ordered me to report to the doctor for a check up. As I waited in the queue at my surgery, I began to think of what the pain might be and then just before I went in the receptionist said: ‘I am so sorry Reverend Owen, but Doctor X has just been called out on an emergency. Would you like to leave or book another appointment?' A voice within seemed to say 'Leave it'.
I did leave and started to run again at the age of 38. It was to be another 11 years before my next dream came true: to run my first London Marathon in exactly the same time that I had run to Athens all those years before.
But long before then a penny dropped which ought to have dropped years before. (I am slow on the spiritual uptake!) As I pondered the several mini-miracles that had turned me from a sportless schoolboy into a seasoned runner, I realised that it was the LORD who had watched over me over the years and given me this very special part of my life. It was He who had opened the doors, given me the ability and arranged my races. I have come to realise His love in doing this for me and realized again the truth of that verse: ‘No Good thing shall he withold from them that live a Godly life’
I cannot thank Him enough for the 45 years I have had on the road. It has been his special present to me (there have been other presents too!) but to Him be the Glory.
I'd Love to get Married in Corfu! by Clifford Owen
I believe that for some time a number of travel companies have offered 'wedding packages' and so have one or two entrepreneurs. (Do we call it 'matrimonial tourism'?) The packages on offer seem to cover a range of options, including everything from the civil legal preliminaries to arranging a florist and fixing a priest! So I write from the Anglican priest's point of view with the entrepreneurs and couples equally in mind.
Blessings only: the first thing to note is that all wedding services at Holy Trinity Corfu have the status of a Blessing not a legal marriage; even if I am using the full English wedding service. So legally speaking you can't get married at our church! The Church of England is empowered to marry legally (i.e. issue a wedding certificate) as well as solemnize (bless) the marriage, but only in England. In another country that generally cannot happen; and certainly not in Greece. Here in Corfu there must be a prior civil legal ceremony before the church service. (The Blessing service should be as close in time as possible to the civil ceremony)
The Civil ceremony can take place in Corfu but a certain minimum amount of notice is required and in all cases I refer couples to the British Vice-Consulate to initiate the procedure. So if you are on holiday and one day on the beach you are overcome with desire to get married before going home, unless you are here for three weeks I would forget it!
I met an English wedding couple the other week getting out of their wedding car at the Park Hotel. The bride and groom were resplendent in their kit. When I enquired where they had come from they replied that they had just married at the Palaeocastritsa registry office and were going home to Grantham to have a Blessing Service in their local church. The couple hadn't realized that I was the local Anglican minister so they asked if I could give them a blessing on the spot! I suggested it would be better to say a few prayers with them around the swimming pool the next day! But the important point is that they had fixed their date well in advance from England and so there were no hitches.
My advice is that unless the Corfu Civil Ceremony is fixed well in advance from England (or another country) it is better to have the civil ceremony conducted in the home country first. This has worked well so far. Martijn and Stella were married in a civil registry in Amsterdam in April this year a few days before their Dutch /Greek wedding blessing at HTC, and reception at the Corfu Palace Hotel. Two other couples had civil ceremonies in England and one in Wales. The Welsh couple then had a blessing service in a private Orthodox church in Lefkimi, which I had the pleasure of conducting.
Which Service? Although the service only has blessing status, the actual service rules of the Church of England still apply, and couples will normally have the full English wedding service offered. This means that although they walk in as 'Mr.and Mrs.' They may still come in separately, be given away, take the full vows, have the usual range of music etc. There is an exception: if either party has a former partner still living then the service of Blessing after civil marriage must be used. This brings me to say that one of the weaknesses of the system as I experience it here is that there is so little time in advance to meet with the couple, get to know them and prepare them pastorally. Entrepreneurs please note: this is such an important part of the job, that it is so easily pushed into the background in the face of the urgency to make all the preparations. At very least one party must be baptized, and in England we normally required couples to try and worship once a month in the church where they are going to be married. This isn't possible here, but strongly encouraged both before and after coming out for the service.
Holy Trinity Corfu can cater for about 85 guests seated. The courtyard garden is a most attractive place for after service gathering for the photographs on the steps. If the numbers greatly exceed this I have to approach other churches. Last year the Roman Catholic Cathedral kindly allowed us its use for a service with 250 guests.
Can I have a blessing on the beach? No you can't! I am only allowed to conduct a blessing in a consecrated Christian place of worship. As there is only one Anglican church on the island, that normally means Holy Trinity. However I could use other churches, including the Orthodox (though their own rules do not allow other churches to use theirs) Neither can I bless marriages in tavernas! In exceptional circumstances other places can be used but the Archdeacon's permission is needed. For example: I was granted permission to conduct a wedding blessing on Paxos in a private house, but the couple later cancelled. I cannot do that in Corfu.
The fee for a wedding blessing is 240 Euros for 2006 + 60 (SIXTY) Euros for the Organist (reduced to 30 (THIRTY) euros if we use the CD for entance and exit music) A 40 (FORTY) euro deposit is paid at the time of booking.
Renewal of Vows: A number of people have enquired about renewal of vows some years after their weddings. This can be appropriate at a particular chronological point, silver, ruby, gold etc. but some just want to do it in Corfu. This can be arranged at quite short notice; and may be just a solemn private moment for two + the minister or can include friends and family. (There is no fee but a donation is invited)
It is a joy and privilege to get to know couples as they prepare for a
lifetime together. All of them have their hopes and dreams, and to support them we have always tried to make sure that their wedding days are days to remember.
Clifford (far right, #31329)
running at the 1998 Flora London Marathon
click picture to enlarge
Chaplain's Chat - In Praise of Manual Labour by Clifford Owen
... for The Corfiot, October 2005
I have just finished reading Jilly Cooper’s Class* ; a good read ,slightly dated now, but still largely on track in the matter of English social divisions. In the chapter on the Armed Forces she has:
‘An officer’ wrote Lord Stanley, in the nineteenth century, ‘shall be the son of a gentleman : a gentleman is understood to mean a man who has plenty of money, and does not exercise any retail trade or any mechanical profession’.
Those words clanged a big bell for me who was once an engineering officer in the Royal Navy. My 1960 entry was one of the first years when the Navy abolished the coloured stripes from between the gold braid on the sleeves of the uniform. For example: if you were electrical branch you wore a green stripe, and hence were known as a ‘greeny’ . Engineers wore purple stripes and were known as ‘steamies’ or more likely ‘plumbers’. It was a subtle way of distinguishing officers who had officer status but were not quite the true blue model of the seaman branch who were the ‘real thing’. Thus when the colours were abolished, you couldn’t tell an officer’s branch and the seaman didn’t know whether to look down on you or across at you! However all became clear when at ‘stand-easy’ (elevensies) the engineers in white overalls were not allowed inside the wardroom They had to drink their coffee standing in the passageway in case any of that nasty substance called oil fell on the carpets.
Why has manual labour always been ‘infra-dig’? Manus was the Latin for ‘hand’ ,hence manual labour. Labour was for skivvies, slaves and those who couldn’t do anything else. But there is an awful amount of hypocrisy around in this matter. Why is it that school children and campers who pick up litter are considered environmentally good citizens, but those who do it for a living are walked past in the street? Why am I so disinclined towards the hoover? Why is it that we are prepared to honour physical prowess at the Olympics or Twickenham but we fail to honour the navvies who built the railways? If you think for a moment there is almost no human activity which requires the hand, which does not also require the brain? May I mention sailing, which requires great physical skill, knowledge of wind and sea, navigation , courage i.e. a demanding package. Then there is gardening (are you listening anthemis!) gardening is very physical but needs large quantities of artistic sense and design ,knowledge of biology, horticulture etc. Similarly despite automatic pilots and avionics ,I hope my airline pilots have their manual skills intact allied to a highly skilled training. May I also mention the farmers, who even in these days of stereo air-conditioned tractor cabs, need much physical prowess. Then there are the cooks and waiters and those who slave in hot taverna kitchens!
One of the happiest post-Christmas breaks I ever spent was five days locked in a garage with my son, taking out the engine and gearbox from a mini-metro and under his direction stripping out and rebuilding the entire gearbox. In the weeks that followed I really appreciated his manual and engineering skill as the previous clunks and screetches had disappeared from the box.
In a previous church in Hampshire we needed a fresh water main laid which was going to cost a lot of money. A member of the congregation who was a plumber said he would do the job as a piece of Christian stewardship provided the congregation was the manual labour! One Saturday morning all the men and some of the beefier girls became the navvies, dug the trench, and the main was laid at very low cost. There were no leaks and the church’s accounts balanced. But the main effect was a new respect for manual labour. The plumber later re-trained as a teacher ; taught for eight years and then reverted to being a plumber. He said he could take no more of the stress of teaching in a modern comprehensive! (my most admired profession)
Maybe manual labour is not the issue it used to be, now that JCBs and vehicles which lift wheely-bins have been invented ,but we ought to respect those whose main skill lies in their physical energies and stamina. Even in church there is much physical work to be done. There is one advantage of the manual labourer: he (or she) sleeps at night! The book of Ecclesiastes says: ‘The sleep of the labourer is sweet , whether he eats little or much’.
St. Paul summed it up in I Corinthians 12 v 21: ‘The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I do not need you’; nor the head to the feet, ‘I do not need you’. Quite the contrary: those organs of the body which seem to be more frail than others are indispensable.’ In other words we need each other. So enjoy doing what you do.
It depends where you look, of course, and what you are trying to prove. If it's the impact of Islamic fundamentalism in the last twenty years, then that religion is certainly having to be seriously analysed to begin to understand why it is affecting so many countries. Take the effect of the evangelicals on politics in the United States, not least the President. Here again one sees a branch of Christianity that has raised its profile in recent years.
If it's the slow decline of Christianity in England then it is hard to see what the facts are until one gets below the surface. For many years now the media, both popular and serious, has been trying to talk the church out of existence. England vies with Sweden as one of the lowest church attendance percentages in Europe. The graphs point downwards and if the trend continues Christianity should disappear from view by about 2048.
I write this month to follow up the article in the September Corfiot when I mentioned the phenomenon of 'folk religion'. The subject came up whilst walking through Mandouki recently in an Orthodox procession. As we walked along the candle lined streets, Archbishop Jean Spiteris raised the question of popular (or 'folk') religion. The phrase is used as a collective term for the raft of religious attitudes, values and 'isms' that can co-exist in people long after they appear to have been abandoned as a serious matter by the population at large. So you can have professing atheists, who talk to St. Anthony when they have lost their wallet, believe in a universe created by chance, but are happy to sing sacred works with the local choral society. There is still a significant proportion of people who don't profess to be religious but prefer their children to baptised, and want to be married in church. In short there is still a great deal of religious baggage around which simply won't go away. The funeral of Princess Diana demonstrated on a vast canvas the latent groundswell of religious sentiment that still exists.
I grew up in rural England under the shadow of the church tower, in the days when everybody was 'CofE'. I wasn't sure about God but secretly hoped he was there. I loved the church choir ,enjoyed church services and secretly thought how nice it must be to be a vicar! As a teenager at school science intrigued and excited me. God no longer seemed necessary to the equation and I suppose I became a humanist and a materialist. I believed in progress. Mankind through his genius would eventually solve everything. Through medecine life expectancy would go on increasing to unbelievable limits. Everyone would be happy. It wasn't until university that my very naieve assumptions began to be challenged and I slowly had to admit my own inner disatisfaction. Academic success (very moderate) had not brought the contented glow I hoped for. Although I had a naval salary when others were on grants, I couldn't silence the inner questions that restarted my religious search. My 'folk religion' was still in place. It was to lead me back to Christianity as a serious revelation of truth. I 've mentioned me because I suppose I was typical of thousands of youngsters who in recent decades have passed through doubt and agnosticism to a fresh discovery of Christianity. The official religious statistics don't reflect it yet but there is a quiet comeback happening on the church scene. In the last ten years the evidence of the Alpha Course has been a significant 'straw in the wind.'.
The Alpha Course is not remarkable in itself. If you analyse its fifteen session course book you will find nothing more than the basic components of a basic christianity syllabus: bible, faith , who was Jesus? what is sin? Can I believe in healing? It is little different from any Church of England confirmation course that has been around for the last fifty years. Yet there are some key factors which make it significant. It invites the participant to step forward in faith at each stage. It is very strong on christian faith not merely being an intellectual matter, but needs to be tested out (cf 'walking across the bridge' in a previous Corfiot article) It emphasises the person and work of the Holy Spirit as the guider and revealer of truth. It therefore invites people to experience for themselves the reality that is described externally in words. It is also presented on video/DVD by a gifted communicator from Holy Trinity Church, Brompton, Nicky Gumbell, ex-barrister. The messenger is still important!
For me also, as an ecumenist, it is significant that the Alpha course has been used across several Christian denominations. A quarter of all Roman Catholic Churches in Paris claim to have used it successfully. It is raved about equally by Baptists , Free Churches, Independent Charismatic churches, and of course ourselves, the Anglicans. Any course which has that breadth of relevance is worth taking note of. *
What I have discovered over thirty years as a clergyman is that generally speaking people are still interested in Christianity if they can see it seems to work. They tend to judge things as consumers. If a religion delivers peace, love, healing, longevity, wealth(?) then they are interested. I actually believe Christianity does deliver some of these things , but sooner or later the deeper questions need to be asked: not so much : what's in it for me? As :'Is this faith part of a greater reality which I cannot yet see or understand fully and yet remains as real as the stars, or the tarmacadam on the road. I notice also that the most unlikely people are capable of being converted. This is because human beings are basically all religious animals. There are too many internal signposts which point in that direction to be ignored. But it does remain a matter of choice.
So is religion making a comeback? It's inevitable sooner or later. In fact, it's never really gone away........Clifford
On Jokes (not blokes!) and Joy by Clifford Owen
At least we can relax because the Corfiot doesn't need to carry a health warning! A scan through the February issue has a contributor called 'humour' writing about a mad (x3) world. And it is preceded by an article on world history compiled from students' howlers. Humour is a sure test of sanity. So always include us a joke or two Hilary, and I am sure your readers can cope with all the rest! Actually I try to read most of every copy because there is always (as well as Allways) plenty to discover about the ex-pats of Corfu ; but I confess that I skip the menus as I'm no cook.
But back to humour: as a small child I was told I always looked frail and worried (I was) but the one thing that brightened up my life, apart from the hope that God might exist, were the periodic visits with the Womens' Institute to the Coventry Theatre. I adored the pantomimes and wished at times that the world on the stage would just swallow me up and take me away. When the curtain fell and we climbed back onto a cold coach in the dark, it was so depressing. Occasionally it was a variety show. I wasn't so much interested in the fat lady singing as the comedians. They had a special power to transport me onto cloud ten. I loved hearing the jokes and getting caught up in the audience reaction. In the late 1940s the talk was of this Welshman called Harry Secombe with a marvellous voice. Nobody told me he was a comic too, so I was enthralled. Likewise a young man called Norman Wisdom had me laughing like I never thought I would stop. So whilst my wife was reared on a love of Jane Austen and Thomas Hardy, I grew fat on a diet of Tommy Cooper, Benny Hill, Kenneth Horne, Tony Hancock and the Two Ronnies! I wondered for years what it must be like to be a stand up comic. So when I was a curate in Suffolk I took the chance to have a go. Curate's can get away with anything! I put together four jokes, and told them to a bunch of clergymen. They laughed. A couple of years later I tried it again and added in an impression of Prince Charles and another audience laughed. By now I had learned that you keep your best joke until the end, and your second best joke first.. So we built up in the church a small entertainment group in which we mixed comedy and singing; a bit of audience participation and we were free apart from a donation to the church. Then came the day we had been waiting for: an invitation to entertain the AGM of a local Parent Teacher Association. I knew a lot of the audience, about 60 of them. We had the meeting, had the half -time eats, but half of them went home before we got up to entertain! So we were faced with trying to make twenty seven people laugh...believe it or not we did! I went on doing impressions, but found that when I started including locals as well as national figures, I started to lose friends and influence people!
What is it about humour? I've reflected on this one for a long time and I think God created humour to take our masks off. Being able to laugh at ourselves is a priceless gift. It keeps us humble and builds relationships. It opens up human channels. Humour can be clever, punny, occasionally unclean, cynical, though it doesn't need to be. There are fifty seven varieties, but humour is a great reality check. When we react to the joke we show ourselves as we are. But I also note that despite their acting comic skills comedians can also be depressive and morose. Tony Hancock's death raised a lot of questions about what lay behind the public face. I wonder if Jesus and the disciples shared funny situations together. I am sure they must have, though the gospels don't record anything in detail. There is just the odd clue in the saying: we piped and you would not dance, we wailed and you did not mourn (Matthew 11v 17)
Laughter lightens our lot but we still have to get on and bear the lesser desirable parts of living. Joy is something else. It is in New Testament Greek a translation of XARA , which still means 'joy' in Modern Greek. Joy is something which lies deep in the human soul and is a fruit of the Holy Spirit. If anyone asks what is the personal plus side of Christianity, it has to be in this area of joy. C.S.Lewis entitled his story of the discovery of God: Surprised by Joy. It is a difficult word to capture the full meaning of: perfect contentment, peace, a sense that it is all going to work out in the end. It is a product of faith, and it leaves the soul in a state of confident surety. It is a world away from another modern word 'fun'. If humour touches reality, fun can be irrational deception. You can have fun and it may be innocent enough, but it still leaves the depressive with his problems. Joy is knowing that you have touched base. It enabled Mother Julian of Norwich to say: 'all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.' The shepherds at Bethlehem were filled with joy; the Kings rejoiced when they saw the star ..and the good Lord said that His joy no man man could steal from his disciples. They may steal your BMW but they cannot take away the soul's joy. It is, repeat, a fruit of the Spirit. The Holy Spirit is a tree with many kinds of fruit on it. Joy is one of the tastiest.............but I still enjoy the odd joke along the way.
......Clifford Owen.
(PS I must tell you this one: After a Royal Variety Performance the Queen went backstage to meet the cast. She said to Tommy Cooper: 'You were so funny tonight Tommy.' Tommy replied:' Thank you Ma'm. ...ma'm may I ask you a personal question?' 'What is it Tommy?' 'Ma'am do you really like football?' 'Well, to be honest Tommy not really'...'Well. In that case ma'am can I have your cup final ticket'!)
Do You Do Healing? by Clifford Owen
During August I took part in two Orthodox processions in Corfu. There was Spiridon on August 11th and the 'Theotokos' icon at Mandouki on August 14th. The thing I noticed in both processions was that periodically people would come out from the crowd and lie in the road whilst the earthly remains of Spiridon in his casket, or the revered icon in its splendid container, passed over them. Obviously there was the thought that somehow these sacred things could bring healing to those who lay down in the road. As I began to reflect on this, I remembered that in the gospels a woman in the crowd who had an issue of blood for twelve years, touched the hem of Jesus garment in the hope of healing. Jesus, in the midst of the crowd, sensed someone had touched him because he felt power go out from himself.(Matthew 9v21) In the Acts of the Apostles people would bring the sick out into the street on their mats that even the shadow of St. Peter might fall on them and healing might happen. (See Acts 5 v 15) In these latter two cases it was reported that healing actually happened.
A couple of folk have asked me in recent months if I 'do healing'. The short answer is 'yes'. But the longer answer is probably more useful: the Christian church has always been involved in healing right back to the days of the Apostles and Jesus. It has always understood healing to be part of the ministry of the Lord, mediated through the agency of the Holy Spirit. So the church never sees 'healing' as exclusively given to, or operated by 'healers' in and of themselves. Whilst some christians seem to have a 'gift' or 'ministry of healing', they always ought to be willing to operate in a team with others. (see I Corinthians 12 for those who like chapter and verse)
A very rough history of healing is this: in the Catholic centuries before the sixteenth century Reformation, healing was very much focused on the sacraments, particularly upon Holy Communion. It also included things like pilgrimages to special places. (eg St. David's in West Wales to pray near the saint's relics..or Lourdes) Still to this day, Holy Communion is seen as a principal source of healing and strength..and that service is often the occasion for healing prayer. Immediately after the Reformation, if you look carefully at the 1662 Prayer Book one can find this emphasis upon the sacrament, but also it includes prayer for the sick: there is particular emphasis on those approaching death, and penitence is greatly stressed. (What has come to be called the 'last rites' is centred on this) From the late nineteenth century onwards the Church of England began to recover the specific act of prayer for the sick in the hope that someone would get better! (whether the end was near or not) There was an organisation called the Guild of St. Raphael who focused on the healing ministry before it came back into the mainstream. Consequently, the 1928 Prayer Book actually included prayers by the priest with the laying on of hands for the recovery of the sick.
The big leap forward came with the Charismatic Movement from 1960 onwards with what has virtually become a return to the New Testament practice of prayer for the sick (and dare I mention deliverance from spirits!), not only by ministers but many other teams of lay christians too. The Charismatic Movement brought back into church services a heightened awareness and expectation of supernatural things where nothing much had been expected before. I have been caught up in this new expectation from 'above' as well as from 'the customers' and I have now lost count of the number of times I have had to pray individually for people in homes, in hospitals, in churches , and even on ships & in cars etc.! Most of this ministry has been private. Nearly always it is linked to discussion and counselling. Sometimes it takes place imperceptibly at communion services; and of course it takes place visibly in conferences and the headline grabbing 'healing rallies'.
Nine times out of ten it is others who first approach me for healing prayer. I hardly ever refuse but stress that it is not 'healing with a guarantee' but prayer for healing. I always believe that sincere prayer is heard and answered in God's best way for the individual, which brings me to the matter of faith. If someone asks: 'Do you need faith to be healed?' Generally I say 'yes' but 'as a grain of mustard seed'. The fact that someone asks in the first place shows faith. I start where the person is and try to build on the faith they have. Faith is a little analogous to fitness. Those of us who train for running know what it is to be fit, half-fit, or unfit. Faith is a capacity to believe which accesses the spiritual realm...'spiritual fitness' if you like. You don't need too much to get started. In the gospel account (above) Jesus said to the woman; ' Take heart : your faith has healed you.' Strictly speaking it wasn't her faith. It was Jesus who did the healing, but faith did the accessing.
As far as the modern healing ministry is concerned we do live in exciting times and I have had to learn prayer for the sick, very much 'flying by the seat of my pants' as I have gone along. As I have done so my own faith has increased and I would be so bold as to suggest that something happens every time we pray for the sick. But it need not only be sickness that makes a call on prayer. It can be general problems; difficult circumstances or that very modern word 'relationships'. One thing is sure, sickness is often (not always) related to circumstances that have gone wrong. ..and if I can mention the 's' word, sin may have a hand in it too. So yes, I do 'do healing'; and frequently others join me in this ministry.
Incidentally, if your problem is wanting to lose weight, I can recommend, before you come for prayer, just put on a black cassock and walk in a procession in the middle of August in Corfu...stand on the bathroom scales when you get home and you may have an encouraging surprise!...............................Clifford Owen.
PEDALLING GREECE IN JANUARY
A report on Clifford Owens Sponsored Cycle ride from Corfu to Athens 21-25th January 2008
This report is written for two main purposes: a. to report back to, and thank my sponsors who so generously raised money for various causes, and b. to serve as a basis for reports in The Comfit . European Anglican and our church bulletins.
I have usually done a long distance cycle ride or run for many years now as a fundraiser, and wondered what I might do for Holy Trinity Church Corfu. After much thought I decided to do a ride which would attract some interest and be a bit of a challenge. Ideally I would have liked a more participatory cycle event on the island, but many factors work against that: few folk have bikes of their own, havnt ridden for years, the roads in Corfu are not the safest in the world and in the summer everyones busy in tourism. So I decided on a loner event : Corfu to Athens over four days at approximately 70-80 miles a day; the distance we normally aimed for on our John OGroats to Lands End runs of a few years ago.
Not having my own touring bike on the island I spent a bit of cash getting my landlords bike ready for the journey. I had offers of back-up vehicles, but due to unforeseen circumstances these couldnt happen , so I planned the journey with one bag on the back rack, plus bum-bag and camel(a drink supply which enables one to sip all day without stopping-supplied by the congregation in Lefkada) Because of church diary requirements I decided on the third week of January with allowance for a potential weeks slippage because of the weather. At this time of the year one can get snow in Greece! Having checked websites for five day predictions I decided to go for it.
DAY I Monday 21st January IGOUMENITSA to LEFKAS
As I set off on the 0830 from Corfu on Pantocrator, the ferry to Igoumenitsa, there was a sea-mist which enshrouded the ship within two hundred metres of leaving the keyside. This cleared within a couple of miles and the mountains of Epirus came into view. Soon the sunshine appeared, which was to herald clear warm weather for the remainder of the day. I started the ride off proper at IGOUMENITSA with the sign saying ATHINA 479k Immediately on leaving IGOUMENITSA there is a three mile climb up around the headland before the road turns south-east. I had the advantage on Day 1 of knowing the road, so I knew mentally where all the hills were. The road is the main trunk road to the south and has been considerably upgraded in recent years. The main Corfu-Athens bus follows it. For long sections there is a cycle lane at the side and although there is fast traffic, virtually all vehicles signalled and pulled out in good time around me. I had a rear view mirror and a fluorescent cycle jacket, kindly provided by Allways Travel.
I had averaged about 12 mph in training and that is what I produced on the first day.When I reached the summit of the road before POSEIDON BEACH I had a long run down to the PREVEZA TUNNEL (89k) where I was met by Laurie Campbell of Nidri, Lefkada. Laurie had only just returned from the London Boat Show before he drove to link up with me and take me and my steed throught the tunnel at Preveza as bicyles are banned! If you look at the map of Greece you will see a large inland sea, which is accessed through the narrow straight at Preveza. Laurie left me at the toll booths at the south of the tunnel , and I completed the last 17 miles on to LEFKAS, bringing the days total to 74 miles. I want to thank the folk in LEFKADA for the wonderful welcome they gave me as I approached the metal swing bridge which technically makes LEFKADA an island. I am not used to welcomes like that! After a hot shower in the pre-arranged hotel, I was collected and taken to the new room west of Lefkas town where the congregation meet for their monthly service. I was able to take a communion service, with Jackie Dallos doing a prepared talk (she is now starting to train as a Reader). After dinner, I was driven down to the hotel and didnt require much rocking.
DAY 2 Tuesday 22nd January. LEFKAS to PATRAS
I knew from studying maps that today would be the big one mileage wise. Greece is far from flat and I decided to go for the main road to Athens rather thank second class coastal roads. In the case of the latter, one can face uncertain road surfaces, unknown gradients, and what might look straight on the map, may not be. Neither had I travelled that way before. So it looked as though 90 miles lay ahead of me. As it happened it was nearer 105, and that only to the north end of PATRAS bridge. An early start at 0903 meant that I should arrive in PATRAS if nothing went wrong by about 1900. The road to VONITSA was flat, but soon afterwards some steep gradients appeared around the coastal headlands. I was making for AMPHILOCHIA (55k from Lefkas) and hoping to make it by 1130. I made it by 1215. The main trunk road rejoins at Amphilochia, and I soon had the company of artics, coaches and fast cars. There was a longish climb out of A, just as the students were walking down the hill from the Lykeio(secondary school) A number cheered as they saw me grinding uphill. (The yellow jersey made it look serious!) but then the road levelled out and the next three hours saw me making a good 13-14 mph to AGRINION, a large Greek town which looked at least 20,000 population. After Agrinion it was obvious that I was headed for a range of mountains. The climb up was manageable in bottom gear and it passed through the most scenic gorge I had travelled through in my life. After twenty minutes of ascent, there was a fast sweeping downhill during which 5kilometres just disappeared! I had to be careful about not letting the bike speed get up too high because, potholes (and animals) can be extremely dangerous, even wearing a crash helmet (I had one!) The road was then flat and fast to MESSOLONGION, and I was feeling fairly pleased with progress and stopped at a filling station for a coffee. It was as well I did, because the next few miles saw the main road climbing back up into another lot of mountains, and fatigue with saddle soreness and pulling hamstrings was setting in. The clocked ticked towards 1800 and it was lighting up time. My new bike lights seemed effective, but as it grew darker, the other vehicles illuminated the road. By now the Gulf of Corinth had come into view and it looked quite beautiful with the sun setting below the western horizon. Twenty minutes later, I saw the lights of the city of PATRAS on the south side of the Gulfand still we were high in the mountains. There was one last lonely and cold stretch in the dark, before we began the descent. I say we because I found myself facing a fast descent in the company of three artics, a van, and numerous cars on a narrow winding stretch. There was no room to pass, crash barrier to the rightand a mountain on the left. There seemed no alternative but to let the bike roll down at traffic speed (25-30mph) with me in the convoy! It was probably the safest option, until the artics. braked and their air-brakes were much more efficient than my rubbers on rims! Soon I saw the lights of ANDIRION approaching, and just beyond it the magnificent new PATRAS BRIDGE over the Gulf of Corinth, which marked the end of the days journey. After buying a quick Amstel at a peripterio (kiosk) , which I swigged going along in the dark. I headed towards the magnificent structure. Patras Bridge, opened in 2004, is about the same length as the Forth or Severn suspension bridges in England. It it built on a triple catenary system, and is beautifully illuminated at night in orange and blue.I had only seen it previously on tv or from aircraft. I had arranged to meet Mrs. Morphy, Vice-Consul and Churchwarden at the south end around 1900. It was 1850 as I ascended the 1.5 mile first half of the bridge up a steep gradient to the centrepoint. It was 1906 as I rolled down to the end of the bridge, when out of a car with its hazards flashing in the darkness a figure stepped and said hello, Clifford Owen? Mrs. Morphy directed my bike to a house nearby for overnight stabling, and then drove me on another 8 miles to her house, where after a hot bath (aagghh) various members of St. Andrews Patras congregation arrived for a meet the mad chaplain meal! Once again I didnt need much rocking.
DAY 3 Wednesday 23rd January PATRAS to CORINTH
Cycling is a bit akin to sailing. However confident one feels, there is always the unknown. After the 105 miles of yesterday, 75-80 miles to Corinth looked a doddle. Prayers for safety had been answered. There had been no rain so far, and I was all set to pass down the old road to Corinth which is now by-passed by the new toll road highway. People had warned me not to attempt the fast road as it has the worst reputation in Greece for fatalities. I didnt. However I hadnt bargained for the wind. It became obvious after a few kilometres that there was a stiff easterly breeze blowing off the Gulf of Corinth. It wasnt too bad at first, but as the day wore on the sea turned from ripples to white horses, and by 1500, I was facing the opposition of a Force 6 blowing in my face. Where I would normally be gliding along at 14 mph, I was now down to single figure speeds, sometimes little more than walking pace. I couldnt enjoy the scenery as all my efforts were concentrated in making progress. On top of that some of the road surfaces were bad. A rough road with a sore backside, and a wind to cool you is not a good combination! I prayed that the Lord would calm the wind, like He once did on Lake Galilee. It got worse! I think my prayer was not answered because the Lord was preparing me for Day 4!
I had no pre-booked accomodation on Day 3, but assumed I could find a hotel in Corinth. Normally on a long cycle run in England we have not pre-booked accomodation, but looked for B&B around 1700 onwards. In Greece that kind of B&B doesnt exist in January, so I wondered when I reached KIATO if I should hole up for the night in the one hotel I saw (It was called Pappas Hotel and I wondered if it was a sign) However as it was only 1630 I decided to press on with the last 17 miles to Corinth. The wind had backed a little around to the north east, and as the road moved inland there was much more shelter. The speed got back up again to 15 mph and I arrived in Corinth at 1750. Hotels? Not one in sight! I went to a pharmacy and asked if there were any hotels in a tourist city like Corinth open in January. I was directed to one around the corner, but on the way there I spotted another hotel shrouded in scaffolding, but its lights were on. I went to it, pushed open the door and asked eisai anoikto? (Are you open) Within three minutes, my passport was over the check-in desk, my bike was wheeled over the hotel carpets into the back garden and I had a room for the night. To God be the Glory.
After a shower ,it started to rain! I donned mack and went for a walk in search of food , I found a chicken bar where they did delicious bacon and chicken souvlaki (kebab) I had two dishes and an Amstel, and went for a walk down to the seafront. I found three other hotels open, but the cyclists rule is : take the first one! Once again I didnt require rocking, but I spent some minutes thinking about St. Paul and his Epistles to the Corinthians. I read some of the second epistle where he is dealing with some of the problems of the church there. I felt a bit selfish as I reflected on his hardships, and all I wanted was a kebab and a bed for the night.
DAY 4 Thursday 24th January CORINTH to ATHENS.
I was awakened around 0700 by the sound of a strong wind. It wasnt Pentecost! The bedroom curtains were waving, and there was a noise of gusts on the scaffolding at the front of the hotel. Oh no, I thought, not again. The Gulf of Corinth looked as though a full Force 8 was blowing across it, but the wind had backed still further round to the north. However the road map showed that the Corinth to Athens road is roughly 080, which meant that I would now have the wind on my beam, with occasionally gusts ahead and behind of me. That is exactly what happened.
I asked the route out of town to ATHENS as at that point the main highway by-passing Corinth has become a full-blown motorway, and I needed to find the old main road to Athens for the bike. It was very clearly marked: Athina me diodia or Athina choris diodia (Athens with tolls or Athens without tolls) I pushed the bike over the footbridge at the Corinth Canal, and there were plenty of tourists looking even at 0930 on a January morning. Soon I was making my way along the Gulf of Saronikos with the sea now over to the right. I passed through a large oil refinery, with appropriate smells, and many tankers waiting out at anchor, for their turn to come in and load up. From here into Athens the motorway, old road, new suburban railway, and old narrow gauge railway keep each other company. There were still pleasant towns to pass through, and several nice beaches, but as this was the shortest leg of 55miles I decided I had time for a full lunch break. Behold near MEGARA the motorway services could be accessed from the old road, and each side of the motorway had a Goodys Diner on offer. The wind was still gusting but it was both behind and adverse in equal amounts. However I had one of two major scares: one great gust stopped me dead at the brow of a hill, a second strong gust a couple of seconds later swung me around to face the direction from which I was coming. Mercifully no vehicle was coming behind me. It frightened me. Consequently I kept well away from the crash barrier by the cliff edges as I could see myself being blown off the road.
One sight of great interest was the large shipyard at Elefsina. There I saw two ferries on which I had recently travelled to Venice and Corfu, from ANEK Lines and Minoan Lines, both exposing their bottoms on the huge floating dry docks. The scale of these structures has to be seen to be believed.
By now Athens was just 15 miles away and I soon encountered a stretch of road that I had been warned about. Elefsina by-pass funnels traffic at motorway speeds onto a three lane urban dual carriageway, with a rough cycle track, which was badly broken up. For about 4 miles there was almost no room to fit a bike onto the road with the hurtling traffic. If Avis had been with me, she would have declared it suicidal! However with a combination of prayer, yellow jersey, and sheer foolhardiness, I managed to stay on the road until it neared Athens and traffic lights slowly brought the traffic to a crawl. I recognised the road to the suburb of Agia Varvara (St. Barbara) and decided that this approach to Athens was more sensible. I checked the route with a police patrol car. I asked the way several more times to the centre of Athens. My Greek is still poor but I received estimates from 5 to 20 minutes. However I soon saw the Acropolis in the distance and knew where I was. I arrived at 1600 and had given St. Pauls Church an eta of 1700. So I pushed my bike on a walk around the narrow streets near the Agora, and through the main shopping centre near Syntagma Square. I pushed open the churchyard gate of St. Pauls at 1645 where, Virginia the Verger(!) was awaiting me. Soon we were joined by Canon Malcolm Bradshaw, who opened up the crypt and a bottle of sparkling wine. Then Chris Saccali came along. My bike was put in church for the night and after downing most of the wine, we made our way down the Athens Metro for the 20 mile journey out to Chriss house north of Athens. I cannot thank these good folk enough for their welcome and hospitality.
I estimated the journey at 290 miles with another 10 added on for the Lefkada diversion , making around 300 altogether and it didnt rain the whole way.
FRIDAY 25th January. THE JOURNEY BACK.
I had made enquiries in November 2007 about getting my bicycle back from Athens to Corfu (without riding it again!) I received mixed information from the Greek Railways OSE, but wheeled it onto the 1508 Suburban train from Athens Larissa station to Kiato (see Day 3) At Kiato you change onto the old narrow gauge train to Patras, and my bike travelled in the guards van. All went well and I arrived back in Patras at 1840, was met by another member of the congregation, Peta. She put my bike in St. Andrews church, which occupies a prime site near the port and station. I had chance to see this unique Anglican building, which the Nazis occupied during the war, and took out all of the pews. I was then driven up to Petas house near the castle, shown the Roman Aqueduct and a view of Patras by night. Following a barbeque meal I went down to join the ANEK Ferry , KRITI II, which left at 2359 for Igoumenitsa (and on to Venice) I fell asleep in my airline seat before the ship left to speed me back up the Epirean coast at 24 knots. The ferry did in 7 hours what took two days on my bike! I arrived at Igoumenitsa to a cold dockside at 0630, in time to catch the 0730 for Corfu.
So many people contributed to make this ride successful. I became conscious of how the Anglican Churches in Greece need each other. The hospitality was just great, I caught a whiff of how St. Paul must have felt trekking all those miles, even without a bike. I take my hat off to him! But above all Thanks be to God for His protection on some quite dangerous roads. Greece is a beautiful country to tour in, and I suppose we must thank the Almighty for that too.
