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...

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.

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.