A Good Friday

The phone rang at 9:15am and usually that means only one thing. Another death call.

So I picked up the handset with an already heavy heart.


But this time it was different. One of my elders with the good news that her daughter had given birth to a baby girl.

This was better news than normal.

Some people you just will to get a break in life.
New mum is one of those.

A few years ago this poor young woman
lost her husband and twin babies in a matter of months.

And still she comes to church.

God bless her. God bless them all.

Life comes, even in the midst of death.

**********************************

After hours slaving away over a hot PC to get things together for tonight's service, I had to laugh when a powercut at 7:15 put paid to another Powerpoint extravaganza.

The sight of Willem Defoe naked on a cross will have to wait for another year.

We decanted to the hall, taking only what we needed,
and had our service by the dim security bulbs,
candle and torchlight.

We sang a-capella, with a little guitar accompaniment,
and with readings and prayers,
one by one
we stripped away the layers of coloured cloth
we'd placed upon the cross.

Gold for heaven.
Silver for Sinai.
Red for the Temple.
White for the swaddling.
Brown for the carpenter.
Bloodstained for the crucified.

God, seeking to be understood,
peeling off layers of mystery
'til finally naked.
Stripped of clothing, friends and life itself.

God, whose face we cannot look upon,
hanging dead in the sky for all to see.

In the soup

A choice phrase leapt out at me from our Social Committee's most recent minutes. These are prepared by someone we really appreciate in St Hackett's - one of the good guys - but my oh my how I laughed when I read it.

There was a bit of dispute about the quality of the food at our Burns Supper (in my view it was fine), especially the cock-a-leekie soup which was a bit stringy.

The phrase in question?

"It was agreed that the leeks could have been cut smaller".

What was it Jesus said about straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel?

Pluscarden Reflections - Part 2

Apart from the sheer magnificence of the building, the crowning glory of the Abbey is its stained glass, much of which was designed and manufactured by the monks themselves.

On the Monday afternoon I set off for a wander as the light was beginning to fade, and as I walked past the end of the Abbey I noticed something odd.

The stained glass window in the North Transept depicts Mary’s visit to her cousin Elizabeth, both women pregnant with unexpected sons. At that time of day the window was almost entirely dark because the chapel wasn’t in use, but there was a solitary light burning inside. The light from that bulb illuminated one small panel with uncanny precision; the one showing the women’s faces close together: loving, contented and united. Their faces stood out in bright colour, against the blackness of the rest of the window.

I stood there for a good ten minutes in the cold, soaking up this lovely image– passers by must have thought I’d lost the plot! - but I knew that God was saying something important to me through it. And what I think he was saying was this – “This is what you were made for. For intimacy, with one another and with me.”

If I could ask one thing for myself and for my church it would be this. To help people draw closer to God and enjoy a deeper and more intimate fellowship with him. For me, this is what the church is for. Everything else we might do, however important or enjoyable, is a distant second to that first priority. Mission, outreach, worship, social action – all these things flow from the ‘spring’ that is our own connection with God.

Realising a Right Christmas

I am going to allow myself to enjoy these moments, and this entry, without worrying about pride. I think we've earned it, in our little congregation.

A few entries back I wrote about our Right Christmas campaign. This all started at Harvest time when I was preaching about the mustard seed, not just how it grew, but how the bush it became turned out to be a safe place for the birds to nest. I planted the central ideas of Right Christmas - choosing to simplify the way we practice it, and re-directing the cash towards people who really need a present at Christmastime - and stood back.

And boy, has the seed grown.

We've had a brilliant few weeks in the church. Lots of people have reassessed their priorities; lots of groups have organised low-key fundraisers to bring in some cash. We've been talking to the community about what we're trying to do, and found many people outside the church willing to lend a hand. There are far too many stories to tell, but for a flavour, here are just a few:

A kid's magic show with a local amateur magician drew in 50 children and parents and raised £200.

Instead of sending Christmas cards to neighbours, one couple sent them invitations to a fundraising coffee morning. There, as well as getting a 'fine piece' (i.e. good stuff to eat!) they got information about the school we're supporting in the slums of Dhaka, and the hundred children we hope to feed for a year. They raised £600.

I played a gig in our local cafe - Tarts and Crafts. It was an ideal venue - intimate with 30 or so folk there - and cosy on a cold winter's night. I had a ball playing. I used to play a bit on the folk scene in Glasgow, but this was my first 'solo' set. I told them they were very generous pitching up for two hours of Kum-By-Ya...! We raised well over £200 and forged better links with the community, and I even got a bit of street cred with the lads on the fringes of the church!

One group of women organised a Body Shop party and donated the profits - £100

One family are going without a starter for their Christmas meal, and another aren't having crackers. Small savings, but added up, they make a difference.

One elderly couple wrote to their family and asked them not to give them presents, but donate the money to Right Christmas instead. They raised £370.

Another family are organising an informal concert in our Hall for anyone who wants to come and do a 'turn'.

The kids in our teenage groups baked cakes for Sunday after church, and agreed to spend less on their Christmas party so funds could be re-directed to the campaign. Together, the young people of our church have raised about £200.

Our Christingle Service picked up on the theme of Right Christmas, and having gone through the usual patter about what it signifies, I suggested it could also represent our lives - our world of relationships (orange), the love (red ribbon) and protection that surrounds us, the good things (fruit/sweets) that we enjoy, and the hopes (light) we have for our futures. Then I reminded folks that many people in our world don't have these things. I showed them a series of slides where the Christingle is stripped of its adornments, one by one, until all that's left is the empty skin of the orange. Then I spoke into the Right Christmas theme. We raised £650 that evening.

I could go on.

We'd set ourselves the target of providing milk for 100 students at the school in Gulshan for a year, plus meals for the poorest kids. To do that we needed to raise £2300. Each Sunday, in Blue Peter fashion, I've put up a graphic of the 100 kids as little paper dollies, and depending on how much money has been raised that week, I've been able to colour them in. Last week I had to revise the graphic to include 200 kids. This week I've had to expand to 300 (the school takes 350 kids).

All told, we've raised more than double what we were hoping to raise and are sitting at £5000 with a considerable amount still to come, and Gift Aid to claim. It's not inconceivable that we might be able to feed the whole school for a year. I have such a warm glow telling you about this. I am proud of my people and what we've been able to do.

I am always my own worst critic, though. I have thoughts like "Ok - this isn't sustainable; it's charity not justice; what happens next year?" but whatever's lacking in what we've done, the simple fact is we've done something tangible to help these kids. And I feel good about it. So much of what we do in ministry is intangible, it's great to do something which has clear, measurable results.

This year Christmas feels right, and not just because we've raised the cash. It's because the cash is a side product of a congregation-wide re-think about the whole season which has seen many of us less frantic and stressed than in previous years. This is good. And we've had such a good time doing these things, with very little stress associated.

I know that charity isn't the gospel. But in the Christingle service I quoted not just John 3:16, but 1 John 3:16-18. We speak of love coming down at Christmas. But what is love?

"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth."

It's only a start. A drop in a pond. But it's done in the name of Christ and it's sent ripples round our little world, and the little world of Gulshan Literacy Project in Bangladesh.

God, I'm grateful for what you've done through this.

St Hackett's - I'm proud of you.

Dreaming of a RIGHT Christmas

It's been a better week. No less busy - just better. Thanks to all of you who dropped by with kind thoughts and words of encouragement. We've got a holiday coming up and I'm looking forward to getting away from the parish for a while and 'getting my head showered' as we say in Ireland (ie. getting some p and q).

Part of what's turned things around is the excitement I feel at a project we've just embarked on at St Hackett's. We've called it Dreaming of a Right Christmas, and it's based on an idea that's been rattling round in my mind for a few years now. Last week I preached on the Parable of the Mustard seed, and it seemed like the God-given time to pursue this seed of an idea with my congregation.

How is it we've managed to turn Christmas so completely on it's head? We tell the story each year - the story of God giving those who were spiritually poor the most precious gift of his Son - and we turn it around so we can give more stuff to people who already have more than they'll ever need. We rehearse the Santa myth with the kids, forgetting that St Nicholas was all about blessing the poor in his community. Other than going to church a little more often, is the way we celebrate Christmas as Christians any different from what everyone else does? Don't we end up as overdrawn and overfed and overstressed as the next person?

We've decided to commit to doing things differently this year, and Right Christmas will help us in two ways. Firstly, we're going to encourage people to simplify and de-stress; to make better choices about how they use their time and money at Christmas. We're going to direct them to ideas and resources that are more in keeping with the true meaning of the season.

And secondly, we're going to undertake a wide range of simple, easily organised fundraisers to generate revenue for a particular project so we can give a Christmas gift to those who really need one. At the moment we're still discussing our options, but it seems likely that we'll be supporting a children's school in Gulshan, a poor suburb of Dhaka in Bangladesh.

I've challenged the congregation to take up the gauntlet, both as individuals and groups that meet under our auspices, and find ways that they can raise some finance towards this goal. It's exciting to see what people are already coming up with - a sponsored slim (!), initiatives where we cut down on Christmas cards (something we're trying to involve the local Primary school in), running a fundraising puppet show, carol singing. Who knows where this is going to end...? I'm not sure, but I hope and pray that our efforts can become a sign of a Right Christmas in our parish and beyond. I'll keep you posted!

FBL

The Nearly Man

I saw him sitting there on the church steps as I drove past on my way home. A young man, I think, but all I saw clearly was the garish pink polo top he was wearing. Cresting the hill I swung the car left, passing his stationary Audi, and slowed to a halt in our driveway, just a hundred yards from where he was sitting, head bowed, outside my church. People only come to our churchyard for one thing during the day time; to lay flowers and remember the dead.

I cut the engine and sank back into the seat, realising I'd a choice to make. I sat there deep in thought for a good few moments, well aware that this would probably look weird to Rosie if she'd happened to look out the kitchen window.

Part of me - the efficient, jobsworth part - tried to play it down. It was none of my business... he probably wanted to be left alone to grieve... there was work I needed to be getting on with. Yadda yadda yadda. The coward inside me nodded and reminded me that I could be walking into a difficult situation here. Maybe he was on something; maybe it was my case he'd be on, because I was a minister and God - this God who's building he was sitting outside - had stolen someone precious from him. What if I ended up in the firing line?

But despite whatever reason those arguments contained, I knew, viscerally, what I had to do. I had to get out of the car and walk round to see that stranger. I don't wear the cheesy wristband, but I know that's exactly WJWD. So screwing up my courage I trudged round to the front of the church, without answers or anodyne; but by the time I'd got there the steps were empty and the car was gone.

Who the man in the pink polo shirt was I'll probably never know, and maybe the conversation we never had wouldn't have been life changing for either of us. But as I think about it, maybe the encounter was all about that choice I made in the car; the choice to risk vulnerability in the thin hope that somehow I could be an angel, a messenger of God to him.

Maybe next time I won't be so slow to spread my wings.

TODAY'S TRANSLUCENT PEARL OF WISDOM: Life consists in what you do, not what happens to you. Things happen to a stone.

*SPLASH*


There we go. I'm in. And the water's not nearly as cold as I thought it'd be.....


I've entered blogging the way Roo, my son, goes swimming. Eyes screwed up and holding his nose with one hand, he jumps off the side because he knows he has to (and deep down, wants to) but he hates those first few seconds of heart-racing, mind-throbbing bodyshock. In that sense, he's just like me.


Roo wants to swim. I want to live, and not lose my life in the torrent of 'things that must be done' which threatens to sweep away even the least ambitious of ministers. Despite being a rural Scottish charge, life at St Hacket's in the East brings to mind Dutch boys with fingers in dams, rather than chin-scratching strolls beside still waters. So this is my attempt to slow down for a while and drag to the bank some of the ordinary treasures of life which could all too easily go floating by.

If I find some, you're welcome to share them with me. Better still, you could stop by and lend a hand hauling them out of the water. I promise to share my sandwiches with you when we're through. (I'll explain the Blog title next time).

TODAY'S WORDS OF PROFOUND WISDOM: God often visits us. It's just that most of the time we're not in.