Advent Concluding

This weekend past marked for me the final step towards Christmas.   The last weekend before Christmas here is always the Nativity service, and that in itself lends challenges to the role of minister.   Yet the day is always a day of contrasts as we move from Nativity to Communion at the close of the morning service, and then spend an hour in the afternoon thoughtfully encountering "Blue Christmas".

So what challenges can a simple Nativity play send the way of a minister?

In recent years it has been good to have a non-Sunday School person in charge of the Nativity.   They have coached the children in their lines; thought about stage direction; cast the whole thing. And for the most part it works well and I need have very little to do with it, except smile sweetly at the end and say how good it was.  

This year involved new challenges though, like the suggestion that perhaps the stage could be put up prior to worship of last week's service - thus allowing the cast to immediately rehearse at the close of worship.   I fell back to the minister's usual stance of "I'll think about it" and walked away to mutter under my breath.   Two days later those who asked suggested themselves that it was unrealistic - once they realised that there was a baptism and three professions of faith that morning.   I think the thought of ministers mountaineering across staging to the various parts of the chancel used during such a service was too much.

Having found a version of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" that spoke of the star's importance in the Nativity, I thought it would be nice for the two ministers to have a little fun at the Nativity service and so we dueted.   I however forgot that my own child would take umbridge at the incorrect words being sung.   The child proceeded to cry and put her fingers in her ears at what I'm told was a rather good rendition of the nursery rhyme.   Said child was duly removed from church once her mother had finished singing while the other minister carried on with worship.   Mrs. Claus has since phoned the house requesting a conversation with the child and the child is now aware they are close to the naughty list and are attempting various versions of "good and kind".   (For those wondering how such a feat may happen, it involved text messaging your home phone, and hoping the BT voice will come good for you.)

Blue Christmas functions as an alternative to the merriment of the earlier service, and several people take advantage of the different atmosphere.   This is our 8th year, and while numbers are never huge, for the few who come it offers an opportunity to reflect on those they miss and the situations they struggle with.   It often functions with where I am with being fed up with the season, as I still struggle with this need to celebrate Christmas before the event.   So yesterday we reflected on being "exiled" from the communities that we seek to be part of, because we cannot share the values of those communities.   (My congregation know all to well that Christmas trees before the 24th is an outrage to me - although they also recognise that to keep my small people happy it goes up 5 days before because they cannot understand why we need to be different.)   There is something precious about waiting, about being creative in how we spend that time, and yet we live in a world where everything has to happen now.

This week heralds a Carol Celebration, and then Christingle, Watchnight and Christmas Day.   Christingle has become one of the favourite services here.    A good number of the community come to share in the expectation and the bathing in twinkling light.   My story for the evening is searched out, and I think the only thing still to do is make sure we have enough candle lighters.   Then in the first verse of "Away in a Manger"   in the twinkling darkness as the children sing, I will have my annual sob.

Watchnight is a work in progress.   Prayers are written, however I need to settle down at some point in the next two days and put down some ideas for a sermon.

And Christmas Day, while I will be in attendence, I will arrive just in time with my family and sit and let my colleague lead the show.   Finally the waiting will have ended, and the gift of God's love will be opened among us again.  

Hopefully the reminder of naughty list will not needed again and we will get to the event in good spirits.

In the meantime I am continuing in the waiting, hoping that creativity might strike.

Gaudete

This year has been full of wonderful moments when I have been so encouraged by where I am and the people I serve.   Today was no less an eperience.

We marked "Gaudete" with an infant baptism and with three professions of faith and admissions to membership.   All of those making promises are people who have become part of the life and worship around our building, and very much welcomed by the people who were already here.

To conclude the celebrations one of those making their profession asked me to mark the back of her birth certificate with her profession of faith date.   How humbling to complete the cycle of promises made over 40 years ago!.

A full service was brought to an end with an opportunity to drink tea and eat mince pies - during which I discovered there are three baptisms to open the new year with, as well as those who are thinking of ways that they can better serve the congregaion by giving a little more of their time.

With still two Sundays of the year to go, I feel very blessed at the good year I have enjoyed here, and look forward to marking God's love amongst within the next fortnight.

Preparing for the Preparation

For a few years now I have taken the first week in December, including the second Sunday of Advent, as a holiday.   I've done so for a number of reasons.   In part it is to give myself a little rest before heading into the last three weeks of relentless parties, mince pies and Christmas carols.   It is also an opportunity to do most of the Christmas shopping, and therefore know it will not have to be hurriedly fitted in around other things.   This also tends to be the week though when my husband is involved in lighting an "am-dram" production, and my being on holiday means that there are no evening meetings and so the children are assured that their other parent will be home for the evening.

Those who know me well know that I am not very good at taking holidays around the manse.    I can't resist peaking at the caller display to see who is phoning.   If there are the odd e-mails that appear, I will respond to them.

This inability to rest completely has been made worse this week by members of the congregation failing to read the intimations.   Mrs. Gerbil was exploring the question of church notices being read out a few weeks ago, and I responded there.   But my experience this week has further reinforced why the intimations should be read even if there is a printed sheet.  

Normally I read all the intimations, or at the very least draw attention to them.   I've done so for most of my ministry, and do so for two good reasons.   One is that people tend to take in what they hear, and are therefore more likely to then read the church notices.   But I aslo do it because we should never assume literacy no matter how middle class a congregation.    It was good to find out though that in terms of disability legislation this was good practice.

This Sunday however was busy with our Uniformed Organisations present in church, and therefore I skipped reading out that I would be on holiday.   So this week I've had phonecalls, people turning up at the door, and plenty emails to keep me busy.   To make it all the more amusing, my phone message is very clear about what you should do and who you should contact.   And yet, many have felt that they should just leave a message anyway.   Of course the message couldn't possibly mean you!

Perhaps they just know me well.   As in this week of rest, I've done a little Advent and Christmas church preparation as well.   For in the evenings when the children have gone to bed I've managed to pick hymns and readings and sort Christmas cards - as well as be mum and sew sequins to a tutu.   This weekend I plan to find some Advent worship somewhere else, and enjoy the invasion of Christ into the hustle and bustle of ordinary people trying to find space for the extraordinary.

Company

For the last few months I've been sharing my ministry with someone from overseas. While they are already ordained, they are required by the church to undergo a familiarisation process. I've been quite enjoying it, although it is harder work than I expected.

The benefits have definitely been in the challenge it has offered to reflect upon by own ministry, style of worship, and practice of care. The last few months have seen my shake of lethargic tendencies, and have meant that I've upped a gear on the preparation for worship.

In some ways that sounds awful, as it suggests I wasn't working before. However that was not the case. Just sometimes when everything else caves in a week, preparation for worship can become the last minute things and on occasion remembering the words of a one-time supervisor - "what's the point of preparing drivel when someone has taken time and imagination" - has been important.

However having a companion has inspired me to be creative. I've rediscovered a thirst for reading, and have found some fascinating things, some of which have translated nicely into recent preaching. It has also made me question again some of our more peculiar practices. Do they speak of God, or are they just a comfort?

I've also rediscovered the congregation. It's good to see them through other peoples' eyes, and to then ask the questions that you ask at the beginning of a relationship again. Who are they? Why are they here? What is important to them?

The disadvantages are also prevalent. Extra work, and spending late evenings catching up on the small things that enable you to get by. Keeping the jealousy in check - might they like the other person more than me? And unfulfilled expectations in the other person.

At this late stage in a very short period of time, the advantages have far outweighed the disadvantages. In the run up to Christmas it is good to have someone to share the load with and hopefully the opportunity to still have a voice in January.

Losing a Friend

I've not been blogging for a few weeks, partly because the many tasks to be accomplished each day have been slightly more than usual, and partly because emotionally there have been some tough times recently. In the midst of those emotions it was important to retreat into the safe place within, so that the caring professional could stand to the front.

There are a number of people with varying kinds of cancers at varying stages, a good number of whom I would count as friends. At the beginning of the year, I thought that by this stage in the year I would have lost a good number of them through death. My thoughts haven't entirely happened, although there has been a loss of three from that group - two within the last month. These three deaths and their respective funerals have been tough. I've been here too long now to not care about the people involved. It is no longer (if it ever was) the loss of the life that matters, but instead the impact onto the close family and into congregational life. As the families have laughed and cried, some of the stories told I now share and know, for my family and the church family are entwined into the framework of who the people were.

The last of the three was particularly difficult (and I would question whether a funeral is ever easy). The lady involved was an elder, part of the group who were involved in calling me. She has cared for one or both of my children, ensured that my house was painted, sorted out my garden so the pram could get in, and become very much part of our family life. For the last three years she has known that death was coming, and particularly this year has been aware that these last few months were her last. And because of that she has set herself goals to live to - enjoying a 70th birthday party and a wedding - and then feeling that every day after these goals was a gift she didn't expect.

Her living so openly with death has allowed many people to tell her of how precious she was to them, and how her living had touched their lives. Unlike some people, she died in full knowledge that she was loved.

She was always immensely organised. She has had a funeral prepared since 1998, and so on her death I was handed a ready prepared order of service - seven hymns over two services with all the readings that were precious to her and spoke of her faith. A good friend of hers prepared a tribute for me to work with and then read. All I had to do really was to prepare prayers, and something meaningful and thoughtful for the family and close friends at the committal.

All funerals are tough, yet this has been particularly tough for I said goodbye to a friend and a confidante. I always knew the longer you stayed somewhere the tougher it became, but this was the first time it has been apparent just how tough.

However while I miss her, I also know she would have been the first person the day after to say "okay, lets get on" - and so we do. Although I'm not sure who is cutting the ribbon and the foil ready for Christingle making, or who will make the cheese scones. Meanwhile she continues to make us laugh as friends left with memories of her - for if there is a physical place called heaven then she has already rearranged the cupboards and organised everything into Tupperware boxes. And in her breaks she's standing at the gates taking in the scene and chatting to Peter, with her fly cigarette in hand.

A Young, Female Thing

It is funny how our parish and presbytery situations colour our view of the church, and those we share the task of ministry with. I've been in ministry for 13 years and ordained for 11 and a half, and in that time I have just assumed that as I have got older I must now be of an equivalent age to a good number of ministers across Scotland. I celebrated my 40th birthday this year, and no longer felt I could claim I was young. My parish situation means that I am colleagues with a number of women who are of a similar age to me. Many of my friends in ministry are of a similar age, if not gender, to me.

Yet today I was at a consultation day for an area of work that I'm presently involved in, and I felt like a child. There were only two women there, and I was the youngest in the room by at least 10 years.

I had to have a word with myself before eating lunch, as when I had arrived in the room earlier in the day I had resorted to my introvert state of looking at all these grey haired men, and seeing myself as someone with nothing to contribute and knowing that they would have all the answers. When I returned to the room to eat, I enjoyed the chat I had with two of my colleagues and finding out more about them and their situations.

However just as I hoped I might grow up one day, I find I am still a young thing. So maybe I still have plenty opportunity to be outrageous and put some of my more subversive thoughts into action. Although I'm sure the church will continue to make them mainstream, as it accommodates outrageous reformation.

Writing weddings

For only the second time in 11 years, I'm sharing a wedding in November. It takes place in my church, and tomorrow I am meeting with the other minister to agree who does what. While I enjoy the sharing practice when we eventually get there, I'm always slightly concerned about the who gets the ball rolling preparation. I'm not very good at meetings where there is not a a small piece of pre-prep for haggling over. However I'm also conscious that sometimes one person's pre-prep often stops the other person being creative.

These are trivial things to worry about, but helpful diversions from other things at the moment.

A death

Last night the second of our two cats had to be put to sleep. The first had a serious heart condition that led to her eventual death (by injection) in early June. The wee thing hadn't eaten for several days and was looking scrawny and unable to get to food bowl or litter tray. Chicken hearted I sent my husband to the vet with her, and she already has a bush covered plot within the garden.

When I arrived home last night to find the heating on in an already hot house, the second cat appeared to be lounging in the hall. However when I passed her a second time I noticed that she hadn't moved and that her back legs looked wrong. On investigation it became apparent that she could no longer move her back legs. Again my husband took her to the vet, and we knew she would not come home alive. She had the same heart condition, but unfortunately had a blood clot which had stopped the blood going to her legs. It was only a matter of time before she would have been in a huge amount of pain.

The children have taken the loss of our family pets well, and tonight we will say another farewell in the garden, and this time plant some apple trees to mark their place of rest.

However this morning I don't feel very brave.

The cats came to live with us long before the arrival of children and in the months following my first escapade with a DVT and pulmonary embolisms. In the midst of the depression that followed my brush with immortality they were companions in the house when others had to be at work, and over the years have been faithful companions around the house when preparing for worship or funerals.

They were not overly demanding companions, but good company and listening ears that didn't make unnecessary response when you needed a rant.

I know that part of my bereftness is not just the missing of the companionship, but also the acknowledgement that I've survived 15 years that in the midst of one August week it looked like I might never have. I am truly thankful for the journey that two feline friends have walked with me.

"The Shack"

The Reading Group at the church have asked that I read a book and attend their November meeting. In the early days of the reading group I attended regularly and more often than not lead the group. The selection of books has been quite diverse over the 2 years it has been running for. They started with "Friday and Robinson", then moved to "The Testament of Gideon Mack", "The Memory Keeper's Daughter", "The Island", Barack Obama's books - really quite a diverse selection. However the more recent meetings have quite happily happened without me, allowing me to head off to meetings.

However November sees them discuss "The Shack" by William Young. For some reason they feel they need my opinion on it. I'm not sure why as this is a group that contains some very theological literate folk.

I've done as I was told and read the book, and now am leaving it a couple of weeks before re-reading it for the right night.

To be honest I'm not sure what to think of it. I quite like some of the imagery. I like the notion of the character of the Holy Spirit as someone that you can't quite catch sight of when you look head on. I like the relational nature between the three parts of the Trinity.

The multi-racial depiction of the separate parts of God was a great idea, however it didn't disturb me. So while the lead character of the book "Mack" is to be disturbed from his preconceived notions of God, I felt I had mine confirmed.

I didn't like the schmalzy, sentimentality. I found the story to easily resolved.

Perhaps another read through will offer more food for thought, and maybe I'll use a pencil to mark the more poignant or frustrating passages.

Thankfully this evening this sermon was finished early, thus allowing a more restful afternoon and thoughts of a quiet Sunday afternoon and what we could do as a family. Makes a change from the normal flypast of a weekend.

Getting the juices going

It's a struggle this week to think of where to start with the sermon.

I've an idea to start with couthy, Fife phrases - thanks to Nik in August. I too have a "Little Book of Calvin", which while I find them amusing, for me carry too much resonance of familiarity. With Fife parentage, and a one-time charge in the area, I recognise these phrases as something people genuinely say.

Phrases like:
"If ye dinnae stop yir greetin, Eh'll gie ye something tae greet aboot"
"Dinnae complain. It's better than a skelp ower the fais wi a wet kipper."
"If it didnae hurt it wiznae worth doing"

Folk have said these things to me. Maybe not just my parents, but grandparents and congregation members.

These phrases all came flurrying to mind along with others as I read the Lectionary texts this week. In thinking about why, it is the sheer honesty of what the Scriptures offer the reader this week.

In Proverbs, these three sets of words are combined because they share the thought of valuing others and generosity above the love of wealth. While in the Gospel we are challenged with the honesty of women in her encounter with Jesus. As part of God's wonderful creation, how can their not be a place for her. Then finally in James, there is the reminder that Christian faith is inclusive and honest.

One of my frustrations about my present congregation is the lack of honesty - not that they are deceitful. But it is difficult to know what they are thinking, where they feel God is leading them, how they want to live out their Christian faith in our community. These are tough questions to answer I know. However sometimes I long for some good Fife honesty - a slap in the face with a wet kipper - that gets straight to the point, lets you know where you are, and then you get on with the task that the people of God have set for you.

Big fearty that I am, there's probably not a chance I'm going to say tomorrow morning "Stop hiding behind you mask of societal norms for this area", but I can dream. Hmmm... where to start...

Amazing Women

From time to time my former session clerk likes to encourage me in my reading and offers helpful suggestions and passes books for me to read. Before the summer holidays he handed me a copy of "Sisters of Sinai: How Two Lady Adventurers found the Hidden Gospels" by Janet Soskice.

Now I'm not a big fan of books written by academics. They often seem dry, lacking in humour, and the extra details that bring things to life. Because of that I save them for morning reading in a chair in broad daylight, that I might better take in the gist of what I am being told.

However "Sisters of Sinai" has been a fabulous read. As well as offering an opportunity to find out about the history of the Codex Sinaiticus, I've been enthralled by the lives of two sisters in the late 19th century.

Truly amazing women, they adventured across the Middle East at a time when travel was more difficult and fairly unusual for women to undertake on their own. Each journey carefully prepared for with knowledge of languages that might be helpful, and ensuring they understood the cultural contexts into which they were travelling. There were humourous moments when Janet Soskice spoke of their exercise regimes and cast verbal pictures if parallel bars in gardens and ropes hung from ceilings in the home. All of the work that these women did underscored by their faith in God, and their desire to engage more in the understanding of the Bible and Ancient texts.

This moved from day-time reading to night time relaxation as I wondered what they would do next.

Amazing women have filled church congregations for years. Women who encouraged people to play their part in the faiths they led. Women who seemed to sit on the sidelines, but really their careful work in the Gospel name often went unnoticed.

In my last charge, there was a formidable woman who didn't really approve of women ministers but was determined that she would try to work with me. For my first nine months she often seemed awkward, organising me, telling me where I was going wrong, worrying that I might want to run the Guild, borrowing me to give her a lift to Edinburgh (I was going anyway). Sadly Jenny died suddenly. She was found sitting in a chair in her home by a neighbour. She had just celebrated a successful income from the Guild Sale of Work. It was only after Jenny's death that the congregation realised what an amazing woman she had been. There were lots of little things that suddenly stopped happening because Jenny was no longer there to do them. It took a while to gather all the threads and organise others to take on these role.

But thank God for amazing people in congregations, who often want no credit for what they do, but carefully work away that the faith they have in Jesus Christ might be passed on to others.

Frustration

For several months now there have been complaints about the provisions for young people around the church. A number of families have hit a stage where there are other activities that are more exciting than coming to church. Of course I'm more than aware that sitting listening to an adult talking about God is not always very exciting.

Over the last year I've made various attempts to change the situation with requests made of the Sunday School Superintendent to try new things. There is a desire to hang on to the old ways of two teachers-one class for continuity. But I'm not so convinced of this if you don't get the same children each week anyway. Most of these requests for trying change have been ignored or fallen on deaf ears, and finally in June there was a mass voice of parents who made a clear statement that things were not good.

Trying not to hurt the Sunday School Superintendent I thought we would try a new tack. We are in the process of moving to a new committee structure that encourages more of the congregation to be part of the organisational life of the church. We have a fairly successful education team which includes the Sunday School Superintendent. The thought had been to invite some of these parents onto that group that they might have a voice and an opportunity to change things. To date all of those parents who have been asked to be involved have said no.

I find myself caught in the middle - a Sunday School Superintendent who thinks I'm making it up because nobody complains to her and yet less and less children come - and a set of parents who want a place for their children but don't want to say what they think to the people who could change things or be part of a potential solution.

Of course my frustration is heightened by the fact that it is Friday evening and I'm no closer to the sermon. I have an idea though but not sure how to start.

The whole notion of "Shekinah" seems a good place to start. The motion of the in-dwelling of God, and the temple in which he expands beyond to touch lives. I'm also feeling drawn to the inclusivity that is found in both the OT and the Gospel, as they suggest that God is for more than those who claim faith.

So I have thoughts, ribs upon which to build. I just need to find the doorway in.

Have a Word

For the first time in a long time I have some help with the work I do. Compared to my first charge I often think I have less to do, but in reality it is just that many of the things I now do are very different from the past. In a past life, much of what I did happened in daylight hours. In this life, there are very few free evenings, as there are more younger people who work and meetings take place when they are available.

It's only been a few weeks of this new situation, however today I have had to take myself aside and and have words about letting go of some of the things I am used to just getting on with. The other person is more than capable of many of the things I do.

This morning my thoughts were to share one of the things I have been doing alone for much of the summer, but on reflection there will be a phone call tomorrow morning to readjust what was said, and an opportunity for the other to have the opportunity to lead the more informal service.

I'm not sure why I wanted to hang on to the experience and share (other than that underlying they are my people and I need to do this) as in the holidays I happily walk away and leave another completely in charge.

But I've had a word with myself. It probably won't be the last time this year.

Breaking Windows

I'm not preaching this week, although I'm still doing the prayers at the second service. This means that I will get out of looking at bread again - hooray! The person who is preaching appears to be looking at wisdom, so I look forward to hearing someone new.

Our first service is a church family service, and it tends not to follow the patterns of traditional worship. This summer we have played ball games during the service; we've investigated bags and guessed what was inside them and we've done the hokey cokey (I'm now considering writing a hymn to the tune because the congregation sang it better than they sing any hymn.)

This week my theme is broken windows, and I'm trying to work through that image as a play out for worship. I'm thinking about having windows with images of things that are "broken" in our world and community, and then having stained glass colours with pictures of ways we can help on them to be stuck around the windows as symbols of how we might help as a church.

However my worry is I do not want the "how faith might play a part in the various situations" to be viewed as a sticking plaster solution.

I'm also wondering if I'm heading in the wrong direction with the broken window image. Perhaps instead I should be suggesting that we need to break a few windows that we might get out in the community and play our part.

Fortunately it is only Tuesday, so I can have a few more thoughts yet before the practical work of putting it together happens. Although hymns to pick...

Bread

While I'm returning to a theme of an earlier blog, in preaching this summer it will be the first time I've looked at the "Bread of Life" motif that runs through the Gospel of John over a number of weeks of lectionary readings. I've carefully been trying to avoid it, given that it arises most summers and I'm sure in the x number of years I've been here I've probably bored them to tears on more than one occasion.

However this week, I'm taking the issue head on and am thinking that I want to talk about how the bread we use in communion says something about what we have as an understanding of Jesus and then picking up on the Ephesians reading want to talk about being "imitators" of that bread. I know it will make more sense once I get going.

But just for starters, what kind of bread do you like in communion?
- A stiff little wafer - sometimes sticks to the roof of your mouth and is difficult to swallow.
- a stale cubed piece of bread - in a plate where every one's fingers have shuffled to grab the hopefully little piece that doesn't taste so bad.
- or a freshly torn piece, of freshly baked doughy, seedy bread - something that tempts the palate, and speaks of the abundance of God.

Of course I'm highlighting my preference, but has our choice of communion bread hastened what we think and understand of God? In choosing the smaller, easier to prepare and find options, we are perhaps missing the significance of what Jesus means when he says "I am the bread of life". I imagine that bread to be chunky, freshly made, and filling. Sometimes the seeds can be tough to chew, but they give you food for thought, and don't allow you to hurry on to the next piece. Instead you discover how filling the bread is, and how much you need to share it with others.

Tattoos and Emotions

This morning I finally persuaded the small people in the house that it would be good to head to Redford Barracks in Edinburgh to see if we could see the rehearsal for the Edinburgh Military Tattoo 2009. Last year we had attempted to do the same thing, but had arrived in the afternoon - only to discover we had missed it by a couple of hours. So this morning we headed along mid- morning.

We were a little later than I had planned, so the show was half way through when we got there, and there was a good crowd gathered to watch. Those in the know had obviously turned up early enough either to get a good seat, or vantage point. Not only were the audience on the surround of the parade ground, but on the grassy banks around the ground. Some had brought chairs and picnics. There were people of all ages. It had a very familiar Biblical image to it - without the water, bread and fish perhaps.

Going to the rehearsal seemed a good thing to do. It's free - although a donation is welcome at the end- and an opportunity for small people to encounter some of the differing people from around the world. We watched the Secret Army of Basel perform, and there were an Asian dance group sitting near by waiting to return to the parade ground for the finale. It also offers the opportunity to have a good and tuneful encounter with the Pipes and Drums of Scotland. There was some interesting singing - some tuneful, some not so, and some powerfully emotive words and imagery.

I'm very aware of how much more emotional I am becoming as I age. The National Anthem still doesn't stir me: the Billy Connolly jokes are too well integrated into my imagination and my republican sentiments too deeply held. Yet as we are asked to think of those serving in foreign lands, and the words and music of "Abide with me" brought the parade ground to a comforting gentle hum of noise, the tears stung in my eyes. There will be mulling over why. Then another wave of pride and tears rose again with the skirl of the pipes and "Scotland the Brave".

Examining the emotions of this morning, I know that I do feel a pride in Scottish Heritage. Perhaps sometimes blindly so. But I am proud that this small nation has in the past, and maybe even today, responded to many of the difficulties of the world in which it has found itself - not just in armed forces, but in medical science and presence, in missionaries and teachers, in convicts and pilgrims.

Thoughts on Sundays

A member of my congregation lent me a book a few months ago, and while it has taken me a while to get to it I am greatly enjoying it. Entitled "Sisters of Sinai" by Janet Soskice, it tells of the true story of two Scottish women who in the 19th century discovered hidden gospels in a monastery in the Sinai desert.

I'm only half way through, but already amazed at the courage these women had in stepping out of the norms of society to set of on their adventure. Their scholarship and grasp of languages is much to be admired, and their willingness to experience other cultures something that others should thirst after.

In the early chapters we are introduced to one the sister's husbands, who was a scholar and a Church of Scotland minister. There was a section about his preparation for worship that captured my thoughts as I read it, and I marked it to return to, so that I might re-read it.

In the 1850s the heavy stress still fell upon the minister's sacred eloquence, which must at least appear to issue from spontaneous inspiration. Indeed, as Agnes pointed out in a memoir of her brother-in-law, this duty ought to have been a joyous privilege, but Gibson was a perfectionist. Preaching quickly became an ordeal, since it required two bursts of inspiration every Sunday, which his nature required him to prepare down to the last syllable, and which his congregation expected to be delivered without notes.

...When Gibson mounted the pulpit, there was no evidence of anything but the most complete preparation and perfect vigour. (Janet Soskice [2009], Sisters of Sinai, pp57-58)

No matter what age of humanity, it would appear the preacher's lot remains the same. We seek to be spontaneous and intelligent, and yet on reading this book there is the insight that still congregations have criticised for the seeming failure to grasp their imagination.

I've still much more of the book to discover and enjoy, and other passages I'm sure will stick in my mind or spark my imagination.

Clerical Collars

This will seem a strange post, and yet something that I have for some reason given a lot of thought to over the last few weeks, following my visit to York Minster. As I said in an earlier post, because of the Synod meeting that weekend, at worship I found it virtually impossible to find a seat where there were not clergy folk sitting around me. How did I know they were clergy? Because of the wide variety of people who had their piece of plastic strapped to their neck in their beautifully crafted J & M shirt.

I should say that I am a wearer of a clerical shirt myself. I tend not to wear it while visiting, or daily tasks. But a freshly ironed and pressed shirt appears on a Sunday and for funerals. In the 13 years of performing the tasks of ministry, it has on occasion proved helpful, getting me through doors of houses where people didn't believe I was old enough to be a minister, or the right gender. It has given me some hilarious moments at petrol stations, as those who obviously didn't believe I was old enough or the right gender have stopped and stared, to be jabbed in the ribs by whoever was with them. (I thought that was what they were staring at - perhaps I was wrong and missed the strange alien object spattered across my face or clothes.)

However it has always struck me that the place not to wear it is when you are attending another church for worship. These are sacred moments when we as clergy get the opportunity to return to the congregation and be ministered to. An opportunity to encounter God's grace in the inspiring words of another.

Of course I realise that the Synod meeting is like the General Assembly, and the very best clerical collars are dragged out as people make a public declaration of a church at work - seeking God's Spirit in discussion and encounter with the world.

Swine Flu and Sacraments

It's interesting to note that the Archbishops of York and Canterbury have written a letter to offer advice on the administration of sacraments during the swine flu pandemic. Having read the letter I'm wondering if the Church of Scotland will be offering advice at a national level, or perhaps there not worrying at the moment as we're mid holiday seasons and many churches won't now be celebrating communion until late September.

My mother suggested that it was because they diluted the wine and we used fortified wine. I've queried her on this, as we still have to touch the bread and not every church uses fortified wine.

Of course I'm interested in a tongue in cheek way. The reality is that every time we celebrate the sacraments, someone out there somewhere has some bug that anyone of us could catch. The sacraments are about the breaking down of barriers and I can't help think that in our panic over this flu we will put in barriers that terrify people from accepting God's grace.

Thinking ahead

Although I'm not officially back from holiday until tomorrow, I've taken the opportunity to get started on preparations for the weekend and beyond.

Spotting that the Funeral Director had attempted to phone yesterday afternoon and knowing that the person who is covering for me heads off on holiday tomorrow, I rang first thing to see if there had been a decision about when a funeral might take place and who was doing it. It turns out to be a slightly more distressing parish funeral, with the deceased having died on holiday abroad, so much of the planning is still in the early stages and won't be confirmed until the beginning of next week. However the day and time are provisionally set, and in the middle of B&Q this afternoon I set things in motion for something over a week away. In the meantime though I suspect that an early visit to the family over the weekend may be in order.

Having phoned the Funeral Director and set about my troublesome computer (it's only a year old), I looked at files of past baby blessings and finished putting together the order for this Saturday's. It's not something I do particularly often and have only ever been asked to do since coming to this charge. My first was for the family I revisit this weekend. They played a big part in the original wording and thoughts, and that order has changed as I've reflected upon the practice and purpose of such a ceremony. Fortunately my Kirk Session are supportive of this development, seeing it as an opportunity to touch lives of those more reluctant to commit fully to Christian faith. One or two of them usually accompany me to offer a church presence, and always find they are well received and invited to visit again. I await the parents' comments on the order as it has changed from their last child, and am hoping for a positive response as our two understandings of faith collide.

The hymns for both the services on Sunday are picked, and I'm relatively happy with how the orders of service have shaped up. Our early all-age service has a game and some making activity that I'm hoping that even if my children are the only children present others might feel they would like to participate in. The second service is the more comfortable traditional format. In between the two I'm hoping to encourage people through to a hall for some tea or coffee and maybe a freshly made scone. We'll see how I feel at 8am on Sunday morning.

So the thoughts for the second service. Lectionary based, I've discovered I've got the fabulous choice of David and Bathsheba or the feeding of the 5000, or the power of prayer. I've picked my theme - "Something out of nothing" - and suspect I'm going with the two New Testament readings. For a number of reasons I'll give adultery a bye on this occasion. I would kind of like to do that with the feeding of 5000 as well. Comes up every summer - not surprising when it is in every Gospel - and there are only so many times you can steal the congregations sweeties. Instead I'm thinking about looking at the family motifs that are undercurrents within the Gospel and the Epistle.

Perhaps more tomorrow when I take a closer look at the texts.

York Minister

Although I'm officially still on holiday, we are back from York, the Highlands and the East Lothian Riviera. It has been a good relaxing time, enjoying each other's company, even if one of us can't get to sleep because there are three other people in the room - not me I hasten to add.


York was the perfect place to take a holiday. Once we were there, there was no need to use the car. Instead we spent three days walking round the city, perhaps on occasion a little too far and too often for the smallest member of our family. We've taken a bus tour, a boat trip and a ghost tour. Two of us climbed to the top of the Minster, while two of us headed to the crypt. We travelled back in time to Norman York at the Jorvik centre. We weren't particularly thrilled by the Railway Museum, but wouldn't rule it out if it were raining or you really liked looking at trains. There was lots of food eaten and drinks consumed. The hotel pool was well used, and some of us found the staff at the bar very helpful while others enjoyed being in the lounge playing on the Wii in the evening.

On Sunday morning I headed to the Minster for worship, having noted from our visit earlier in the weekend that John Sentamu was preaching. While my other half would have liked to have come along as well, we weren't sure about children in a different Sunday school or potentially managing a full Church of England Service. They instead worshipped the god of swimming and agreed to meet me outside the Minster at lunchtime.

Heading into the Minster by the main door, you were watched as you wandered through the door by students. I found no word of greeting. The place was absolutely packed, and it was very difficult to find a seat where you were not surrounded by groups of people wearing clerical collars. Picking up the order of service I realised that the reason the Archbishop was preaching was because the local synod were meeting. That also explained the large number of people wearing clerical collars.

The service was a strange combination of formal hymns, music and wording interspersed with a couple of lighter, more informal musical items. It was fabulous to note the tangible joy in the music leading into communion as we sang "Alle, alle, alleluia" (John Sentamu's arrangement of the Jamaican hymn we in Scotland know through John Bell's arrangement.) After the formal, uptight responses it felt that a spring had been let go and people around about swayed with the music - some near the front I think were even daring enough to clap.

What of John Sentamu's preaching? I went because I had heard good things, and what I heard confirmed that. I left feeling uplifted and included in what had been said. But I am aware that I also left a little disappointed as I didn't feel he said anything I wouldn't have dared to say myself. My favourite preacher is Gilleasbuig Macmillan. From teenage years, I have journeyed through his ups and downs of faith and wandered mystical paths. In my role in my own charge I have been criticised for not being academic enough in preaching (by one or two), and I have found myself wondering what they would have said about the Archbishop's preaching, as there was nothing in particular of academic weight just Christian truth. Perhaps what he said would have been considered academic by them, as it came from a middle-aged senior cleric.

As someone who was confirmed within the Anglican tradition, I quite like to return to the formal liturgy of communion and the wandering to receive the elements. It's so easy to slip back into old patterns and to be reassured by the comfort of them.

I will however continue to mull over my Minster experience as I think there are a few things that impact into what we do as a parish church: how important a welcome is; offering release points for emotion in worship; ensuring that all understand what is happening during the service; and ensuring that visitors don't get lost in the big events of congregational life.

Holidays and Ironing

At last the holidays have arrived. The last few weeks have been about trying to fit in as much as possible. Like many I find myself trying to fit in the things I haven't had time for before, believing that in two weeks I might manage to fit them in. This year the efforts to get the hoped for visits done has been further complicated by a number of my folk dealing with various forms of cancer. One particular case changing from an easily managed form to a form that has far graver consequences, and much more devastating an impact to be had on both the family and the wider circle of friends.

All of these things made last week's readings of healing and generosity all the more poignant as we journeyed towards a celebration of communion. Tears were shed by some, including the minister, as readings were heard and hymns sung.

As a family we need our holiday now. We are all tired. It's been a struggle to get people out of bed in the morning, and small worries have become sparks for arguments. So all of us have been counting down the days, and despairing that the best of the weather seemed to be happening while we were working.

This morning saw most of us on holiday, and while normally we would have long since gone on a motor trip to catch a ferry late tonight, today we were out in the garden - playing, pulling weeds, tasting strawberries, planting vegetables, and spraying the garden and each other with water.

This afternoon I've taken time for my least favourite occupation - ironing. And have made it to the bottom of the pile!

Looking in the washing baskets I've another three loads to wash and iron before we can head of to our own house for our holiday this year.

Perhaps the ironing basket is one of the metaphors for ministry. The pile builds and sometimes we manage to make it to the bottom of that pile - although rarely. Just as we take pleasure in our achievement we are urged on to recognise that another pile beckons us on, and who knows what treats we will find there, or rumpled shirts in need of care and repair.

So I leave behind some unfinished situations this summer again, and hope that those I love will find the strength for the next few weeks. The family and I head off to restore our own strength - not abroad this year as we are saving for a big trip next year - but in North England and North Scotland, as well as a peaceful space of our own along the coast that will allow us to play on the beach and decorate a ceiling.

Promotion and Prize-giving

Along with many other churches across Scotland this Sunday, my congregation will celebrate in worship the attendance of children at Sunday School with prizes and promote those of appropriate age to the next group. It is always an interesting Sunday, as it would appear that only the diehards will be in attendance for this welcoming of young people into the church.

It is a Sunday I find difficult to understand, as I have come from a background where children were encouraged to be part of the main diet of worship, and only the very young were offered an alternative. Yet my own children fit into the pattern of what happens here, and often based on behaviour I thank God for that.

However I know before I prepare prayers that attendance will be down this Sunday and not just amongst the adults who seem to struggle with an annual award ceremony, but also amongst children who by this stage in late June want to be outdoors making the best of the weather. So who or what is this Sunday for?

A more popular combining of adults and children happens at a service later in the year, where the whole church family shares in a worship service that also includes Sunday School type activities. The group gathers for a uniting act of worship and then, in what would be the sermon slot, the congregation splits to take part in art, music, dance, prayer and for those who can't live without a sermon there is a corner of the church dedicated to a sermon. It has only happened on a few occasions but I've been surprised by those who have been willing to embrace an alternative way of worship that includes children as equal participants in the story of God.

There are of course good reasons for some of our folk to be missing this year. A good number will be taking part in a variety of sponsored events this weekend, and I know that as a congregation we offer them all our encouragement in taking part.

However, the storms of the waters felt by the disciples will be lived out for me as once again:

• I feel the frustration that we as God's people claim to welcome children and yet do not support them being there;
• I recognise that what we do as Sunday School is not communicating the thrill and vigour of what it means to be a follower of Christ;
• we turn love of God into a sit down lesson rather than an active movement;
• those calling out the children refuse to use microphones because of course everyone will hear their whisper.

In the midst of all that happens there is the assurance of Jesus's voice calling "Peace, be still!" In that stillness may we be challenged to trust that God will steer the course in seeking new ways of communicating His message with all people.

Seeds

It's 1am on a Saturday morning and really I should be asleep, or at least reading my book. However I'm also conscious that I'm only at the very early stages of sermon preparation for Sunday. It's been like this a lot recently. Life has overtaken me, or the manse has just been too noisy to study. This week I've taken the opportunity to catch up on some visits.

So here I am thinking about how I'm going to get anything down on paper by Sunday. Tomorrow I have a coffee morning and then lunch with some friends - so hopefully by mid-afternoon/early evening I might return to my desk to put together something. Although it might be nice to spend some time with the family as well.

The Lectionary suggests horticultural themes, and at the very least the planting of seeds and ignoring them.

I'm always relieved in reality what a great gardener the Creator is, because I'm useless. I have no ideas about where things should really be planted in the garden - whether in light or shade. I can't quite get the spacing right, and at the moment various areas of our garden look like a rambling mix of greenery and flowers, rather than the lush oasis of calm I was hoping for. Yet magically throughout the year fruit appears on various, plants, bushes and trees and we eat our fill and marvel at the fresh tasting delight. Flowers appear, and when we visit friends small posies of garden flowers are welcome gifts from children. The grass grows, and an area for play and rest appears below our feet to offer comfort.

Every so often I pretend to make an effort of genuine care for the garden. Weeds get pulled. Bushes pruned. Someone else cuts the grass. I wander about with a hose looking purposeful. Our kitchen waste is carefully recycled to produce bins full of compost. But I know in my heart of hearts that I do very little for the wonders that appear for ear, eye, hand and tongue.

Is that the simplicity of what the parable tells us this week? (Mark 4: 26 - 34) Don't worry about how the seeds of faith are scattered. Don't panic if you don't spend every minute tending those seeds until they come to fruit. All these things are in the hands of the Gardener. We're just the hired hands - the passing birds - the seed cases. We scatter widely. But God tends, waters, prunes, and brings to being the full blown plant.

Mmmm...perhaps a little too simple?

But some notes to get me thinking before the task of writing tomorrow.

The Amazing Opt Out

I'm not very good at confrontation, and quite often when I feel that people have over stepped the mark I just let things go. Unfortunately this is not always a good tactic, as those that I fail to speak to think that they can continue to follow the patterns they have followed from before. On the occasions that I do speak to people, I end up apologising for saying anything at all. Then having spoken, I face the inner turmoil of maybe having upset someone - no matter that they perhaps upset me.

So I opt out of confrontation.

My opt out personality has even arisen for preaching this week. We face the mystery of the Trinity, and instead my folk will be having a Summer Sing. This is something the worship team asked if we could return to, and this Sunday seemed as good an opportunity as any. Some of the folk have picked their favourite hymn and will come out during worship to explain why they like it. From my perspective it is an easy Sunday.

And yet given that this was a request from them, I still feel I have opted out. However perhaps the understanding of the relation of the Trinity will be found in the singing of diverse hymns. Each hymn very different, speaks of something new about God and perhaps we will be encouraged to grasp the breadth of purpose to be found in God's love. A love that speaks to all who hear, and is expressed in a multitude of words and songs, that others might meet it.

Quiet conversations

It's the small conversations that happen in a week that often have the most impact on my preaching, or my journeying through an issue. Over the last few weeks, I've been thankful for small, quick, gentle conversations that have marked my day and reminded me of the strength of call within to serve as a parish minister. Given the numerous words that can be found elsewhere about recent events in the Church of Scotland, it is wonderful to find people who can say so much in so little. So I am thankful for the man who caught me in the corridor after coffee one Sunday and reminded me that all people matter no matter race, gender, age or sexuality. And I'm thankful for the sometime grumpy elder who stunned me by reminding me that we are all afraid of the things we are uncertain of.

Tonight at a meeting I opened with Luke 13: 18 - 21, encountering the little pictures of what God's kingdom is like. And in the small conversations I find that those little pictures are added to, that my (our) understanding of the kingdom might grow.