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.