the story of Goldilocks and the 'just right' affirmation of faith

The other week I was having dinner with friends.  They'd been to a church that shall be nameless which had, in its order of service, an affirmation of faith.  As we ate and blethered we recalled times when we'd been confronted with statements of faith - foisted upon us on a sheet within worship - with the expectation that we would, having never seen it before and thus, not had time to consider it, blithely utter it in some meaningful way.
Some affirmations, or statements, over the years have been cringe-worthy.
Some have been sailing close to the orthodox theological wind.
Some written so ambiguously and clumsily that one was not quite sure what one was actually attempting to affirm.
Others written focusing in on the language of power and domination and exclusion.

We generally agreed that the writing of creeds, or statements, or affirmations of faith is a pretty pernickety and difficult business.  I later wondered if writing such things is a little like the story of Goldilocks and the three bears, and how to construct a statement that is 'just right'.  Given the breadth and diversity of the Church, is there a 'just right' affirmation?
That said, the affirmation of faith from church that shall be nameless is something I think I could mostly, happily say.
I particularly responded to the gender stereotype reversal in the line:
'with a father's tenderness and a mother's strength'

What do others think?

AFFIRMATION OF FAITH

We believe in one God:
the creator of all things,
who loves the whole creation
with a father's tenderness and a mother's strength.

We believe in one God:
our Liberator Jesus Christ,
the Word of God made flesh,
true God and truly human;
born among the poor he lived as bringer of God's kingdom;
a teacher and a healer,
a lover of life and a prophet of justice,
forgiver of sins and a friend of sinners,
who welcomed the outcasts and challenged the powerful,
whose death on the cross defeated sin and death,
who rose from the dead
and is alive forever in power and glory.

We believe in one God:
the Holy Spirit, the giver of life,
the Breath of life in all life,
the gift of God to the people of God,
Disturber and Comforter,
the fire and the dove,
who makes us one community in peace and love.

We believe in one God,
a community of love,
a trinity of holiness,
the beginning and end of all life.
Amen.

cross-posted at http://newperspectivesedin.blogspot.com/2010/09/story-of-goldilocks-and-just-right.html

of plate-spinning, beaches and reflective practice

I've always loved an open horizon - even more when it is the sea, a river, or lake.  There's something about swathes of water that soothes my soul, helps me relax, gives me a better perspective on life, the universe and everything.  This pic. is what lies at the end of my street - maybe 50metres away.  Every morning when I leave for university I shut my front door and look at this, before readjusting my rucksack and turning the other way to walk to the bus stop.  Every evening, after leaving the bus and the noise of the main street, I follow the salt tang in the air and head back in the direction of the sea and to my home. On still nights, when the tide is high and the evening is warm enough that I can leave my windows open, I hear the sound of the waves rippling to the shore.


You'd think, given where I live, that I'd spend a lot of time down on the beach... but this last year I have become progressively worse at taking time out to 'be'; so many demands crowding in and taking up so many pieces of me.  Juggling.  Lots of it.  Sometimes not quite knowing which spinning plate to catch and put back on the shelf to rest.

Some have said 'Ha! Get used to it if you're going to be a minister!'  But I think that this is a false analogy.  I know - or understand - that while there's a rhythm of days in ministry, that also one should constantly expect the unexpected; life is crazy-busy.  Yup.  And I will be happy enough for that.  Where I think the analogy comes unstuck is more in light of focus: the fact that as a minister I will not also be doing a full-time degree, nor doing the other requisite bits and pieces that 121 requires of its trainee ministers.  As a minister [should I get through the process and a congregation call me] my focus will be on the rhythm and irrhythm of ministry - that is, in the midst of it all, while gazillions of things will crop up, it will at least be contained within the context of being a minister.  Not sure if I'm articulating this well at all.  Never mind!  And here I put in the caveat that for the most part, I do enjoy the process, although sometimes it feels like being pushed and pulled and squished in a frenzy of activity whilst simultaneously being expected to be a reflective practitioner.  A paradox, a paradox... yet life is about paradox and, often times because of that, more challenging but also more enjoyable.  Nevertheless, how do I build in patterns now that will stand me in good stead later on?  Those practices that will help stave off burn out and drop out?

In an attempt to become a little more accountable to myself about those demands that take pieces of me, and the subsequent lack of peace, and in hope of getting my life and balance back, I'm going to spend this semester not doing pulpit supply, get better at saying the word 'no', and go and spend time sitting on 'my' beach.... Time to think, while I can, and perhaps time to build in some way of remembering to take the time to feel the sand between the toes, listen to the waves, watch the sunsets, and formulate a strategy for doing this when demands come crowding in again.  It's odd: I used to be so good at this - training for ministry has seen some unwelcome 'rat-race rot' creep back in.
Let's see how this mini-sabbatical from churchly duties goes this semester...!

Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!

Today be
International Talk Like a Pirate Day mateys.
So sit ye doon and lookie: here be pirate joke treasurrrre...
oh, and quite a cheery wee cupcake to celebrate with as well ... *ahem*... arrrrrr!!!

What is a pirate's favorite prayer?

The ARRRRrrr Father!! 

 

Where does a pirate go to sign up for his college courses in scallywaggery?

The registraRRRRRRRRGH!

 

How do pirates solve their differences?

ARRRRrrrrrrbitration! 

 

How do pirates communicate with dogs?

Pirate: AARRRrrrr!!!!
Dog: AAARRRRrrrff, AAAAARRRRrffff!! 

 

What do Jamaican pirates listen to?

Bob MaRRRRRley!! 

 

What do pirates put on toast?

Marrrrmalade!!! 

 

What do you get when you mix a pirate with a vampire?

DraculARRRR 

 

and to finish with an historical nod:

What did the pirate captain call his collection of ship's logs from plundered vessels?

His ARRRRCHIVES! 

 

 

Do carry on...

and now, on with the thesis... :)

Having submitted my 'stuff' for the Board last week, I set to the task of quizzing myself, memorising footnotes, cosying up to Mr Knox to ask his advice... all the while coming down with what has been the filthiest, nastiest cold I've had the misfortune of experiencing.  Ack.
And so Friday loomed and I arrived at New College.
Free buffet lunch, as a 'welcome' to the start of play of the academic year, saw me juggling a couple of sarnies, a coffee, danish and a plum.  Sat to the side of the room quietly dying.  And watched as illustrious supervisor wandered in also looking like death.  Brief chat ensued, with me wondering aloud about communicating via the medium of interpretive dance should my voice fail.
Wandered back up to the office - the wonderfully shiny newly refurbished gorgeous office of joyfulness with my fabulously fabby gorgeouso workspace - and continued memorising footnotes.
3pm was approaching.
Armed with my sample chapter, extended proposal, and thesis timetable - possibly one of the best pieces of creative writing I've done in a long while! - off I went.
My brain was utter mush.
Thankfully, the chair of the meeting seemed to talk at length about a particular book I might want to read.  Then a couple of fairly light questions.
The fog in my brain began to roll down in earnest, just as the next person on the panel starting asking questions.
Gasping for breath at one point and apologising, amidst the voice beginning to go, supervisor slid throat lozenges across the table silently.
Some minor relief re. voice, but brain was still fogged.
I suspect the examiner could have suggested I include a chapter on Godzilla battling zombie seamonsters and I'd have nodded in agreement. 
Ack.
I burbled incoherently.
Next examiner made a few points but no questions, really.
And that was it.
Out of the room I stepped.
In the midst of the fog, I mused on the less than ideal conditions for this type of thing.
Invited back into room
Smiles all around.
A couple of suggestions.
They seemed to like it.
I passed.
I think I smiled pathetically, thanked them for their time and asked them if it was okay to go home and die.
Was told to finish writing the thesis first.
So, I will.
But not this weekend. I am going to watch back to back episodes of the classic BBC edition of Pride and Prejudice. 
Sorry Mr Knox, it's Mr Darcy time.

and now onwards to the Board...

Yes, it's been a little bit quiet here in pilgrim-whirled... have been editing like mad in a race to a Monday 9am deadline.  Finished chapter and proposal tidying last night at 11pm and submitted them.  And now, best read and reflect on what I've written so I can sound vaguely coherent for the Board on Friday.  So, what is my thesis about??? Answers on a postcard please.  In the meantime... sleeeeeeeep...er, thinking time.

an alphabet of gratitude: loose ends

Way back at the end of August last year, I had decided I'd try to be a little more intentional about practising gratitude and I was doing relatively well until life quietly did its thing and took over.  Which isn't to say I have not been living in a state of ingratitude since Jan. 2010, when the 'alphabet of gratitude' stopped at the letter 'S' and sort of sat in a layby until now [she said, defensively].  But I do like to tie up loose ends, to see thing come to some kind of conclusion wherever possible - although getting better at learning some things can't and won't get 'sorted' this side of heaven.  Anyhoo this one's kinda easy to sort out in a one-er!

'T' is for ...

T-Rex: the scariest dinosaur of 'em all and let's be blunt, dinosaurs are cool, right? This goes in for a small friend whose name also begins with 'T', and who can tell you everything you need to know on the subject of dinosaurs.  Not to be confused with the pop band led by Marc Bolan, but who also get an honourable mention for making music fun.

Theology: to quote Karl Barth 'in the Church of Jesus Christ there can and should be no non-theologians.'

Tigger: "Bouncy trouncy flouncy pouncy fun fun fun fun fun. The most wonderful thing about tiggers is I'm the only one!"
 
Tintern Abbey: chiefly for the grin it causes as I run an old Woganesque conversation in my head 'Tintern Abbey'/ 'tis an abbey'/ 'aye, Tintern Abbey...' etc. :)


'U' is for...

Umbrella: and thinking of that great quote which runs along the lines: 'the rain falls upon the just and also on the unjust fellas, but mostly it falls upon the just 'cause the unjust have the just's umbrellas'

Umbrella tree: lovely memories from childhood of these - especially watching the water dripping from them after tropical rainstorms.

Unconventionality: because normal is sooo over-rated; and because I believe in a God who is utterly unconventional and in his son, who defied convention.  I love what Frederick Buechner says on this: 'If the world is sane, then Jesus is mad as a hatter and the Last Supper is the Mad Tea Party. The world says, Mind your own business, and Jesus says, There is no such thing as your own business. The world says, Follow the wisest course and be a success, and Jesus says, Follow me and be crucified. The world says, Drive carefully — the life you save may be your own — and Jesus says, Whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. The world says, Law and order, and Jesus says, Love. The world says, Get and Jesus says, Give. In terms of the world's sanity, Jesus is crazy as a coot, and anybody who thinks he can follow him without being a little crazy too is laboring less under a cross than under a delusion.'
[From: Listening to Your Life: Daily Meditations with Frederick Buechner]

Upbeat: well, joy is the simplest form of gratitude [Barth again!]

'V' is for ...

Voyages: of discovery, both inner and outer

Voice: for chatting, singing, for preaching and prayer

Violin: especially when playing Vivaldi!!

'W' is for...

Wilderness: and wildness and living, breathing, growing woods for wandering and wondering.

Worship: and those moments looked-for and unlooked-for when God comes close and takes your breath away

Wonder: and awe and surprise.

'X' is for...
xtraspecially interesting letter - without which other words could not be, but by itself struggles a little  [yes, well, c'mon, it's a bit of a tricky one!]

'Y' is for...

Yachts and yachting, the salt tang in the air, the fresh breeze, the slap of water hitting your face occasionally, the flap of the unfurled sails

Yaks: just because they are cool 

Yellow: sunshine colour that cheers the soul - from daffodils to my happy yellow flat

'Z' is for...

Zebras: predestined to ever follow the fortunes of Newcastle United

Zest: for life and zest that enlivens cooking - both tangy and making life that little bit tastier.

Zinnias: gorgeous, glorious riotous colour.

And that about wraps up the alphabet of gratitude this time around... hurrah.  Task complete :)
Off to muse on farms and fishing for a couple of days....

a robe by any other name...

is still a robe.  

The subject of clerical 'fashion' was one of the many tailends of conversations I wandered into over the course of the recent candidates' conference in St Andrews [apparently, according to Dad, you can play golf there, too, although not necessarily in clerical garb].  As it has cropped up occasionally in my thoughts as well as in other conversations, I thought it was time to have a stab at ... oh dearie me, no: poor phrasing with connotations of 'who will rid me of this troublesome priest?!' ...

[starts again on the 'once more with feeling' principle]

Er, so, thought I'd do that which is required of student ministers these days and 'reflect' on the apparently thorny question of 'to robe, or not to robe?'  

Plus, it gives me an opportunity to highlight a most fabby blog featuring a wondrous collection of pretty piccies which illustrate just how weird, wild and downright wacky some robes can be when good intentions or ample egos make the business of conducting worship decently and in good order that much harder...

eco-congregation?

'go-faster stripes'?

'fresh expressions' of church took on a whole new meaning, as Rev Lil Surfergirl suddenly emerged through the improvised communion table, dramatically clutching the body of Christ

So, some thoughts -

First/ 

Context. is. important.  

Robing and worship:

No point when on placement being all robed up when your supervisor is not.  And when doing pulpit supply, as a visitor, aim to fit in as much as possible with the practice of the minister there - a combination of continuity of practice but also courtesy.

On having become a parish minister... over a period of time, you can quietly change the practice if you have a particular theological veiwpoint re. the robes in/ not in worship debate but sensitivity towards the congregation is probably a helpful and kind thing too.  But also, church architecture can play a part in what you might or might not wear.  What is right or appropriate?

Given that there are times when we conduct worship within the civic context, such as Remembrance Sunday, out of sensitivity to those folk who expect you to look like a minister at such an event... yup, bite yer tongue and just do it, I think.

Robes for sacraments - communion and baptisms - well, I would, but that's just me.  There's an aspect of the robing debate that sometimes gets overlooked: putting on 'the uniform' is, I think, a very visual way of noting sacred time and space.  So pre-service wandering about chatting to folks in 'civvies'... and then going off and robing and coming back to conduct worship - useful visual clues/ symbolism that say more than words 'come, now is the time to worship'.

And a reminder to me, at least, that when I put on the 'uniform' this is not about me, it's about 'us':  

1/ God at the relational centre and the reason why 'we' are all here

2/ministry as a relational part of that: as a partnership and whatever is done is done [hopefully] in His name, through the power of His Spirit

3/ relational as a way of going this is indeed the body of Christ here represented in this neck of the woods...us as the community of God's people.

Robes on 'ordinary' Sundays - well, again, my own thought is at least clericals/collar - visitors at church can work out who the minister is more quickly!!!! ;)

Outwith worship contexts - sometimes it's useful to have a uniform:

because there are times when, again, it's just sheer respect/ courtesy to wear it.

I think funerals, especially parish ones in which any link with church may be rather tenuous, is where it helps to put on the 'uniform' -

a/ because folk expect you to 'look like a minister' and for easy identification... as in 'who is this stranger chapping on the door, ahh, the minister'. 

b/ I wonder if by dint of wearing the uniform, there is something about conveying of authority [yes, of course, it is God who has the authority] that gives permission to say the tough things, or even gives people a reassurance that you know what you're doing and Great Aunty Ermintrude is in safe hands, as are they?

c/ You are representing the Church as well, I think, as the great communion of saints [and granted, this might not quite be the language folks you're visiting might use] and it is just respectful to oblige when people are in grief contexts

And then there are hospital visits - if needing to be done outside of visiting hours, then it's like a badge that allows access... [just don't go too early - during rounds, during meals - when you'll just get in the way of hospital staff.]

 

Visiting - being mindful of who we are visiting: for those who are in various stages of dementia, a collar at least will serve to show what you are/ who you represent, and maybe remind some folks of who you are as well.  They may not get your name, but they might at least be provided with a clue by what you're wearing.  It also helps to make folks a little less anxious - so pastorally perhaps reassuring?

Second/ 

Some non-phrases re. non- robing:

'but I don't feel comfortable', 

or 'I don't feel like it', 

or 'it's not me' ... 

nope, not good enough.  It's a little too 'all about me', I'm afraid.  Find some theological arguments.  There are good ones either side of the discussion; think about why you're going to use/ not use robes and how this might express your particular theology of ministry - not whether it just feels icky.  Hmmm, that sounded a wee bit stern, but it's less about us and more about the folks we're called to serve, innit?  And that certainly crosses both sides of the debate.   

Third/ 

That priestly role 'thang': 

robes can serve to be a reminder of being set apart as well as being a part, perhaps... we have been called as a part of the body of Christ, to be set apart to minister to that body...?

There is the issue of pride - but that argument cuts both ways I think:

it can help stop the pride thang - you cover yourself/ are trying to be less a distraction with those marvellous 'funny ties' or lovely blouses - and are hopefully more a pointer to God.  Yeah, conversely I'm sure some folk love wearing their stuff - robes or ties to say 'look at me'!!!

But I do wonder about the 'reluctance' I sometimes see with regard to wearing the uniform: it makes me wonder if this may occasionally portray an inner wrestling about what it is to take up the call and be a minister and thus,the physical wearing of the uniform is, in that manner, uncomfortable? Not always, but that, too, makes me curious - I just like the way we all tick, really!!

Last/

In the end, whichever side of the discussion you are on a couple of useful rules of thumb:
i/It ain't a doctrinal issue - I suspect getting to heaven is not dependant upon the wearing or non-wearing of clerical outfits.

ii/If your clergy get-up gets in the way of ministry, ditch it.  If your non-clergy get-up impedes... get on those clericals. 

And just as a post-script, if you haven't checked her out, go see the wonderful Peacebang's blog over at Beauty tips for Ministers - she is the epitome of style and taste :D

 Okay, maybe just a little too 'tacky'?

Tea shops and stools of repentance

Repentance seat, Holy Trinity Church, St Andrews

Candidates' Conference, St Andrews... last of 5.

Having arrived here at morning tea time on Friday to meet the new folks, I was able to wander aboot the toon on Saturday morning while they were in a safeguarding session.
This was a wee wander with a purpose: wanted to revisit Holy Trinity Kirk in St Andrews to take a few more pic's.  Quality a little better than last time, but suspect a higher level camera is needed really, and should have taken the tripod.  Anyway, was a nice Knoxian/ discipline jaunt and the beadle was soooo incredibly lovely and enthusiastic about the treasures housed around the kirk.  Not only did he obligingly allow me to take the bits and pieces off the repentance seat [left] for a clearer pic, he allowed me into the locked room where I knew smaller stools of repentance were tucked away [right] to take pic's as well.

Stool of repentance, Holy Trinity, St Andrews.

Some very nice, tho modern, carvings in there, and then he opened up a door in which a swag of beautifully polished communion silver was stored.
He was lovely and I was a happy amateur historian :)

I do like my supervisor's way of describing how quickly Reformation was accepted in St Andrews;
the sense that change was so rapid that the good folk of St Andrews woke up Catholic and went to bed Protestant.  And the notion of iconoclasm as Protestants having a 'smashing time'.  St Andrews is a wonderful place for just wandering around and going 'ooh' as you walk past various buildings with various bits of history [yup, the technical term!] but it's also rather excellent for the sheer amount of tea shops.  Two were sampled yesterday....

Meanwhile, back at the conference, I suspect I am probably a nerdy geek-girl but I quite enjoy these things.  I think it's the people-factor thing.  I've worked out there are two ways to approach conference:
1/ pick the thing to pieces and be very critical and set up a circle of negativity...and probably in the process hate every minute, or/
2/ just hunker down and find the good stuff - and there is good stuff and good craic as well.  It's very cool that folk are so willing to give of their time and experience and it is also excellent to see all the folk you're training with - and to meet the new folks.  There's a sense of support and solidarity about it all that I like.  But I am 'miss silver lining girl' as a former spiritual director once noted!
The only down-side, really, is that I am indescribably tired and my brain feels like mush, and there's so much work to do before handing this in on the morning of the 12th for the Board on the 17th - but the work is coming along much more happily now and a happier supervisor makes for a happier supervisee.

still waiting, still writing, still breathing

Looks like miracles still happen: my Board date was shifted.  Actually, it's been shifted 3 times since my last post due to combinations of clashing schedules, holiday, zombie apocalypse and even the Papal visit... okay, so I was fibbing with regard to the zombies, the rest, including the Pope, is true. 
Pity.
Would be rather entertaining to see zombies and Knoxy battle it out in the quad.  I suspect if they were Protestant zombies, they'd probably be okay... ;)
The lastest state of play is a date for the 17th Sept.  Three weeks to have all my writing done and then submit.  One week of reading it all again and anticipating questions having spotted fatal flaws.  And this is just 1st year.  Crumbs.  If I survive and get to 3rd year I'm not sure I'll live through the viva.  Handily, I have just sorted out my will.....

National Library of Scotland: home sweet home?

In the meantime, I really do feel like I've taken up residence in the NLS...
It's a nice 'office away from office' while our postgrad space is being refurbed, and not having to shove through buskers and tourists up the Royal Mile is a plus.
And I also have a friend who works there, so the occasional conspiratorial grin is exchanged amidst the hushed and scholarly atmosphere.  The downside is not having my own books about me to work from.

This is the 3rd attempt at this wretched chapter... as in mostly all new, as opposed to just editing and footering about.  I truly hope that I've got the focus right this time around.  It's an odd business - reams of data and working out how to analyse and order it.  Which is why it was probably very gratifying indeed on Sunday afternoon to do physical battle with the evil ivy of doom infesting the back wall. 
Bwah hahahahahaha.
Although the gazillions of baby spiders crawling about after was a tad disturbing... empirical evidence suggests that there is one huge very cheesed off mama spider plotting murder.
Perhaps I might just take the sleeping bag with me tomorrow when I head back into the library.

So, I'm guessing we don't get the extension then?

Aaaargh!
The deadline of doom fast approacheth and sooooo much work yet to do.
Preparing for my 1st year PhD board - interrogation by a panel of 4-5 academics who will have read my sample chapter, and also my extended proposal outlining the research, methodology, why there's a thesis-shaped hole in the field of research, and chapter headings and a brief precis of what will appear in each chapter, as well as an extended bibliography.  Proposal's mostly fine and dandy, just needs tidied.
Chapter, however, is in its 3rd attempt; at least this time around I think I may have found the focus.  Hmmm.  Added to which I have been boxing up the books I keep on my desk in the office because our office is being refitted - fabulous timing.  I shall be living in the National Library for the next several weeks.  All this by way of saying I may not be around as much as I might normally be.  3 weeks and counting.  I'm feeling the need for chocolate - or cupcakes.
*twitch, twitch*
Aaaaargh!

Apocalypse Bakery

My lovely friend Clare is a theologian and a cook... and has decided to jump into the blogosphere. She describes her blog Apocalypse Bakery thus:

'Every night, I dream vividly about one of two things. The first is cake, making beautiful delicious cakes of every flavour. The second is the apocalypse and the survival of the human race in the face of nuclear explosions, technological uprisings, epidemics and even zombie trees waging an environmental war against the Capitalists. Hence, whilst awake, I have an insufferable need to bake cakes and an overwhelming desire to save the world from devastation. My life’s work is finding a way of combining the two.'

An uber-scrumptious cookie recipe kicks off the blog. You'll find her over here.  She is probably one of the best cooks and theologians I know and falls into that rare category of one of life's very inspiring and gracious people. :)

that's a rap, folks...

exploring different approaches to the sermon, session #1: the one-minute sermon...
Tamara Lowe rapping a sermon - oddly we were not taught this in our homiletics classes.

a Sunday song

From the lectionary for today -

Colossians 2: 9-10
For in him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and you have come to fullness in him, who is the head of every ruler and authority. 

The song is 'Chi Rho', by Iona.
The picture to the right is 'Christ Enthroned from the Book of Kells, the subject of the song.





Colour of green

Green for the vine

For the leaves and the branches

The tree of life

Colour of red

Red for the wounds

That are deeper than I can know

How deep the flow

By Him all things, were created

By Him all things, were created

And the fullness, of the Godhead

Is in Him

Chi-Rho

Colour of gold

Gold for a throne

For the light that is blazing

From His face

Colourless white

For purity

White as snow, the colours flow

The mystery of Chi-Rho

By Him all things, were created

By Him all things, were created

And the fullness, of the Godhead

Is in Him

Chi-Rho

By Him all things, were created

By Him all things, were created

And the fullness, of the Godhead

Is in Him, Chi-Rho

In Him, Chi-Rho

In Him, Chi-Rho

In Him, Chi-Rho

the other guy in my life...

Dear Dad,
yes, I know, if nothing I am not consistent with regard to forgetting your birthday.  The note to self I leave in my mental in-tray is tattered and worn, and the writing is quite faded now.  But...
I do remember eventually.
Us academic types can get a bit preoccupied down in dusty corridors filled with obscure and sometimes bizarre pieces of information.
Opening a book, or working on a manuscript is a dangerous thing: you take a big breath and then plunge headlong down a deep well, not knowing when you'll emerge dazed and blinking back in the present.  To use the line from L.P. Hartley's book, The Go-between, 'the past is a different country, they do things differently there.'
In the past, due to all sorts of different circumstances, there have been long periods of geographical separation; that's just the way of things and certainly the way we've managed our relationship has been done quite differently - and I say that with fondness.
In the present, while the geographical separation continues, even in spite of being forgetful about such things as birthdays [not sure why my friends still persevere; it is not just you, I'm afraid!] I'm aware that there is hardly a day in which you don't cross my thoughts.
Perhaps it's that odd way of thinking that we both share - someone will make a comment and I will automatically have a song lyric to hand as a response.
Or particular turns of phrase.
Or particular ways of 'seeing' a situation.
And I suspect that if you were here now and we were chatting, we would be finishing each other's sentences, or weird each other out just ever so slightly because whatever one of us would have said, the other would have just been thinking it.  I love that very odd connection with you and it helps me remember that no, I was not found in a cabbage patch - I belong.
Truly, I am my father's daughter.

In each of our own ways, we've muddled along, trying to figure out how to overcome the gaps.  I think that one of the greatest gifts that you gave me was handing me some of those missing pieces to the jigsaw of my early life, via conversation, but also through all those photographs you had copied and sent.

So, on this 'not your birthday' day, I think I want to say to you, even despite my seeming slackness as well as a tendency not to emote that much in public, that you are a gift in my life and I love you Dad.
Hope there are many more birthdays!!
from your head-in-dusty-history-books-distracted-and-often-forgetful...
Nik x

the plus-side to idolatry...

Knox, accustomed to preaching against idolatry, looked down at the objects of veneration left by his devotees and quietly reconsidered his theological position...

New College, 

now a 

Bollywood 

film set

[with thanks to Crystal for the pic!]

Martha and Mary, the chocolatey version

This is a story about M and M,
as well as M & M's...

I'm remembering an all-age chat by my friend D in her previous charge - I was having a day off from my regular Sunday space.
And the gospel reading of the day was the same as this coming Sunday's reading, namely, Luke 10: 38-42 which contains a story of Mary and Martha.
In this particular story, Jesus has popped in to visit his pals and is sitting talking with them.

Mary sits at his feet in rapt attention...
but meanwhile a hot cauldron of bubbling resentment is brewing in the kitchen.
Martha is cheesed off -
seriously cheesed off at slacker Mary, sitting about, doing nothing, not helping provide the required hospitality.
Tsk.
And so the reading has often been commented on by way of pitting the M and M's against each other:
the pious Mary, seemingly so heavenly-minded that she's of no earthly use
and the practical Martha, so busy doing that she forgets to actually hang out with Jesus.
And the point from the pulpit, when pitting the M and M's against each other, has often been to denigrate all those faithful hard-working Marthas without whom stuff just wouldn't get done.
Well that just seems a tad unfair...
so let us now turn to chocolate to tease out this passage a wee bit more.

And back to my friend D who, when doing her all-age address, handed around a few large bowls filled with M&M's... and as she did told the M and M story.
In the end, what she concluded was that you need both Mary and Martha:
it's not a case of either/ or here...
So, as we ate the M&M's, and thought of M and M, we were reminded that while M&M's are the same inside, they are different on the outside ...
leading to the rather torturous but amusing conclusion that while M and M both loved their pal Jesus, they just displayed that love in different ways.

Well the chocolate in church was good at least  *grins*

Sacred space...

... at Linne Bheag.  

My friend Dorothy has just put up her Autumn programme of quiet days/ evenings.  She and Peter are fab.   The prog. looks excellent.  Check their web-site out here

signs of the times...?

Given the ongoing CofE saga with Jeffrey John south of the border, as well as 'that which shall not be named' in the CofS, the following billboard perhaps puts things into a wee bit of perspective... we might want to add 'women' to that as well!

and where are we in this picture...?

Luke 10: 30-36
“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. ³¹Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. ³²So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. ³³But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. ³⁴He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. ³⁵The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ ³⁶Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”


Thinking towards Sunday:
let's imagine we're in this story...

Ruts.
Rocks.
Heat.
Although your pace is steady
you already feel exhausted.
Wiping sweat away,
you keep walking.

A stony road,
a scorching day,
a long but necessary journey.
White sunlight splitting the rocks by the roadside;
Heat shimmers and dances in the distance
under a hard, blue sky.
All is quiet,
yet not a peaceful quiet.
The air crackles with expectation.
An almost imperceptible sound as a pebble falls onto sand.
Your hair prickles at the back of your neck
as you feel eyes watch your every move.
Picking up the pace
you curse yourself for travelling alone.
It had seemed important at the time:
to make this trip...
but now you wonder if it was such a good idea.
The road twists and turns and the journey feels unforgiving.
Around a bend people stand,
watching, waiting.
You hold down your fear and keep moving.
No use.
Mocking laughter as they block your way.
Four of them -
and you lick your lips nervously
waiting for what you know instinctively 
will be a bad outcome.

It begins.
Harsh words.
Pushing, shoving.
Fists and feet connecting with flesh;
pain raining down upon your fallen body
until you just can't move.
Blood and agony.
Stripped, robbed.
Left for dead.

Time drifts.
In the distance, footsteps.
you groan,
waiting for them to finish off the job.
But these footsteps quicken and are gone.
The shadows stretch.
Someone else passes
and is gone.
Later - much later -
cool water pressed to your lips.
Wounds being washed and dressed amidst kind words.
You feel the hot tears falling down your face.
And then, just as everything swims out of focus and into blackness, you see a donkey....

Waking up several days later on a comfortable bed,
the innkeeper's wife tells you the story
of the one who didn't pass by.
Surprised,
your world-view is challenged
as you realise that 'those' kinds of people are...
human.

'I just want some peace!' A sermon for Sunday 4th July, 2010 Yr C

Readings:

Isaiah 66: 10-14

Galatians 6:1-10

Luke 10: 1-11, 16-20

Let us pray:

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight o Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen

A friend of mine was telling me a story about her older sister.

She’d had a hard day at work:

everybody wanting her attention,

all their needs terribly urgent and needing sorted immediately.

Her own work had suffered as a result.

So, she was very grumpy and frustrated by the end of the day.

She got back home and immediately had to get dinner organised for the family,

put a load of washing on,

feed the cat,

make sure the kids weren’t strangling each other.

And after dinner, sitting down:

more questions, more tasks,

no space to breathe or be...

Finally she snapped and yelled

‘I just want some peace!’

Utter silence filled the house.

A minute or so later, her 2 year old came up, looked at her with his big blue eyes full of care and love,

and in his desire to help his mummy,

he handed her a bag of frozen peas...

And in his doing it, she both got her peas, her perspective, and her peace back.

Ever since my friend told me that story, I’ve just loved it:

Loved it for its sweetness

Loved it for the misunderstanding gesture kindly meant:

Getting it wrong and yet, in the end,

through that risk-taking gesture,

actually getting it very right.

Peace.

What does it mean to be a bringer of peace to a world full of restless disquiet?

Peace.

It is a small word that carries an enormous weight of meanings on its back.

It’s a word packed with yearning and longing –

a yearning and longing that has echoed down through all the centuries of human existence...

In our Old Testament reading this morning,

that yearning is expressed by the prophet in terms of a new heaven and a new earth.

We heard about the city of Jerusalem portrayed as a mother in labour... with God as midwife...

And then a child is born:

a child that grows and flourishes,

is nourished and nurtured and comforted by God...

there is prosperity and national peace.

And yet...

It is an odd peace,

a tenuous peace –

The writer talks of God’s indignation against his enemies...

Peace is dearly bought

and in order to preserve it

there is the possibility that it may only be

done through struggle...

and, sadly, we are all only too well aware that the struggle for peace in and around Jerusalem continues even now.

Peace...

In our New Testament reading in Galatians, peace is also being sought:

Paul calls upon the Galatians to live peacefully amongst one another:

When people have transgressed –

when they’ve ‘crossed the line’,

Paul urges the Galatians to use gentleness in the way they go about restoring the relationships that have been damaged;

They are to bear one another’s burdens;

To ask tough questions of themselves not just each other...

To work for the good of all

and to never weary in doing what is right.

It’s a blueprint for harmonious living –

a way to demonstrate the peaceable,

the peaceful kindom of God.

Peace...

And what of our gospel reading?

Jesus sends out the 70/ 72 on a mission and they are given detailed instructions...

and the one instruction that really has stuck with me this week concerns words –

the words Jesus tells his followers to use:

the message of the Prince of Peace is that his disciples use words of peace.

The 70 are told that whenever they come to a house, the very first thing they’re to say is:

‘peace be to this house’...

The mission is to go into unchartered territories,

carrying little else than a staff,

and to clothe themselves in words of peace.

To be peace-speakers,

Peace bringers to the places they go.

And to accept the hospitality they find when they go to these places, armed only with their peaceful words.

Now apparently, the root word from which hospitality comes from, takes in both host and hostile:

So in ancient near eastern cultures –

where hospitality was a sacred duty –

it was also a risky business:

Was the host entertaining someone who was hostile... or friendly?

So in that context, it seems to have made enormous sense that Jesus instructed his followers to state their peaceful intentions immediately upon arrival – to allay the fears of their hosts.

Because I strongly suspect that it’s not war which is the opposite of peace, but fear.

Fear of the unknown,

Fear of the different:

Fear of attack which drives people to make a pre-emptive strike...

and hurtle down the path to counter-strike and escalating conflict.

Peace.

Peace be to this house...

Two thousand years on -

here and now

as followers of Jesus in a post 9/11 time which seems to be so fear-filled, so fearful...

What does it mean for us, to be bringers of peace to a world full of restless disquiet?

If we listen to, and watch, the news from around the world

it can feel like the mission of peace is hopeless in the face of such overwhelming conflict and human tragedy.

The media visually bombards us with the

sights and sounds and effects of war

on a daily basis.

In order to cope with the horror of it all

we can become... numb to what seems almost the inevitability and normality of it.

We can find ourselves asking:

What’s the point?

How can I, one little person, possibly make a difference in the face of all of that?

There’s a fear that we can’t do anything at all

and that fear can paralyse us from even entertaining thoughts of trying to do something, anything that might make a difference.

On the other hand....

I believe it was Anita Roddick who once said:

If you think you're too small to have an impact, try going to bed with a mosquito in the room!

We are followers of the Prince of Peace,

who bids us, as he did the 70 so long ago

to be peace bringers...

it is our prophetic task:

to speak the words of peace in a world crying out

‘I just want some peace!’

And fumbling and falteringly,

armed with nothing more than peace words,

somehow we must take the risk and bring peace into the world.

And I wonder how we even begin to get our heads around this task -

this overwhelming, awesome task that Jesus entrusts us with.

And my own sense is, that we can only start from where we are and who we are.

There’s an old song that goes:

‘Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.’

Peace.

Peace be to this house... 

The process of peace starts with ourselves: 

Paul asks the Galatians to examine themselves, before pointing fingers or expecting too much of their neighbours,

or puffing themselves up with thoughts about how utterly excellent they are....

The process of peace starts with ourselves as we ask hard questions about what it is that causes the disquiet that we might have within us...

can we be people of peace if we are not at peace with ourselves?

I wonder if peace is like ripples in a pond:

Jesus at the centre as Prince of Peace

saying to each one of us:

Peace be with you...

And as we find the peace of the Prince of Peace,

the ripples spreading out, touching our households as peaceful and harmonious ways of living together are found

and spreading further to ...

our street –

our neighbours, our local area,

our church community gathered here...

eventually spreading until the words of peace touch the very edges of the world.

Or perhaps the process of peace is a little like a domino effect:

as each one of us determines to never grow weary of doing right, and follows the path of the Prince of Peace...

and speaks words of peace...

perhaps it causes all the little dominoes of fear to begin to topple?

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that each one of us, whether we like it or not,

is not utterly independent:

as John Donne put it:

‘No man is an island... ‘

We are each of us part of the whole of humanity:

connected.

Whatever we do

whatever choices we make affects others.

How each one of us chooses to deal with the fears that attack our own peace,

impacts upon not just ourselves but others.

So, do we set up a spiral of violence when we choose to lash out and attack - when our fears get the better of us?

Do we snap at someone and take offence where there is none,

because underneath our own fear of our inadequacy has been getting to us?

Do we condemn others for not doing something in a way that we think is the ‘right’ way,

because underneath,

we are fearful that our own way is being challenged?

Do we dehumanise people who are ‘different’ to us by giving them labels such as

‘asylum seeker’, ‘druggie’, ‘ned’, ‘feminist’ or ‘homo’,

because underneath, we are afraid of that which we cannot understand

and afraid that in some indefinable way these people threaten our very way of life?...

What are the fears that lurk deep within which bring us disquiet and disturb our peace...

Do our own undealt with fears set up a storehouse of potential conflict?

Or, do we choose instead, to test our fears, grounded in the peace that is given to us by the Prince of Peace?

And having tested ourselves do we choose instead to be counter-cultural –

to reverse the spiral of violence with words of peace?

Peace.

Peace be to this house...

On that first Easter day, words of peace were uttered in the garden by the angel of the Lord to the women: ‘Do not be afraid’...

Later, in an upper room, appearing to his disciples, Jesus’ first words were: ‘peace be with you’

The Prince of Peace speaks words of peace to us,

and to our ‘houses’ –

both internal and external.

And as we accept those words of peace into our own lives we begin a life-long task of speaking peace,

bringing hope and bringing peace into our world full of restless disquiet.

Of this lifelong task, Brazilian theologian and poet, Ruben Alves says:

‘Let us plant dates even though those who plant them will never eat them.

We must live by the love of what we will never see.

It is a ...stubborn commitment to the future of our grandchildren.

Such disciplined love is what has given prophets, revolutionaries, and saints the courage to die for the future they envisaged. They make their own bodies the seed of their highest hope.’

Peace.

Peace be to each one of us

And peace be to this house...

Let us pray:

Peace-giving God

Take away the fears that hold us paralysed,

Unable to be about the mission of peace that you have given to us.

Teach us to be your people of peace –

In our homes, in our neighbourhoods,

in our town... in your world

We ask this in the name of the Prince of Peace

Amen.