Can we sustain the waiting any more; is it possible to wait any longer..? And yet we must. Today is the winter solstice. But it is not yet Christmas. There are still a few days to wait. As I write, many people are discovering the powerlessness of waiting, as the weather insterferes with plans, and means that they must wait until things change, until flights become possible again, or trains are running, or roads are clear. And when plans have been made, and meetings anticipated, and expectations raised - it is hard to be left waiting with no knowing when things will be resolved.
And yet it is the nature of our waiting always - our waiting for the Kingdom, without knowing when it will come. We know and trust the promises, we know that, as we celebrate Christmas - eventually - we are being given the promise that the intentions of God will be fulfilled.
But not yet, not fully.
And as we ask, why not yet, why not fully, there is a question that comes back to us. If this is the promise we live by and claim to trust - will we, dare we live it out. And who might be waiting for us to do so, in order that the goodness, the yes that is the incarnation might invade their life?

And our waiting continues. We are three weeks into Advent, and Christmas feels so near - so near we can almost touch it. Today, we have had Tuesday Christmas lunch, and sung carols. On Sartuday we will sing carols at Trafalgar Square (come and join us 6-7 pm at the Christmas tree) and on Sunday we have our nativity play in the evening - 6.00pm, all welcome.
But we are not there yet. So near we can almost touch it, flashing out into our days, sparkiling in the corner of a glace - but we are not there yet.
We wait and still wait, and there is a discipline in waiting, a discpline it is all too easy to abandon. There was a report recently that some people were looking for a faster way of communicating with people - email is too slow apparently. Waiting to hear, waiting to respond, waiting to consider what is said and to consider how to reply. How much better would some of our communication be if we learned to wait.
And how much might our communication with God increase and deepen, if we learned to wait - to wait in God's presence, to wait for God's response, to recongise that the waiting is part of the process.
This Saturday, we have another in our season of Playing at Prayer - a time to experiment, wait, not achieve anything, - and meet God. A good advent practice. Come and join our waiting if you have time.....

And the waiting continues. It is hard to wait. We are struggling hard not to sing the carols, or reading the readings, or go straight to the story of the angels and shepeherds and the baby in the story.
But Advent makes us wait.
One of the gifts of waiting is the opportunity that it gives us to exercise our imaginations. For much of waiting is made up of fantasy - we wonder what is to come, we imagine what is to come, we construct possibilities and write scripts and project ourselves forward into the future.
It can be a problem. It can allow room for anxiety to gorw ansd take root. We have a deep capacity to imagine the worst, albiet vaguely and in shadowy outline. Much of our resistance to waiting comes from this anxiety.
But it can also be a gift. We can begin to think "what if"? "What should this future be?" "How might I allow what is best in me, in us, shape what is coming?"
And we can allow the Spirit's imagination to be at work in us, alerting us to possibilities. As we listen to the promises of Advent, we hear the divine imagination at work; of a world of wholeness and peace, where lion and lamb live together, where people's work is properly honoured and rewarded.
Waiting through Advent, listening to the promises, not rushing through them, but letting them invade our imaginations, draws us more deeply into God's imagining the world that will be.
And the promise that Advent points to is that God's imagining will be fulfilled and completed - Emmanuel, God with us; Jesus, the yes to all God's promises.

And so we enter Advent; the time of waiting, of delay before the delight and celebration of Christmas. And here at church we are waiting as well - we are in that time of waiting and wondering which in inherent in any change. We know change is coming, but we are not sure what it will lead to, nor yet how long the process will be.
Waiting is one of those things that most of us are not very good at. It is a commonplace amongst ministers to hear comments and struggles to keep Advent as Advent, and not rush ahead to Christmas. And ministers are as much, if not more to blame, as others - because of the need to prepare and orgainse, we are often far ahead of the actual season in order to be ready for the season to come.
And this anticipation of what is to come getting in the way of what is actually here is a pattern all too obvious in much of our lives. Much of it, I believe, is driven by our anxiety. Because we are worried about what is to come, we feel the need to control it, and sort it out, find the answers, or the new shape, or whatever it is, as soon as possible. And this can drive us too fast. And, even more crucially, it can push us to making the world the way we want it, or believe it should be, instead of waiting to see what God will reveal, what God is doing.
Advent is a waiting time. A time when we might, if we dare, let go of our anxiety, and trust that God is working in God's own time. And that the promised future is of God with us.

Today, if you walk into our foyer, on the top of the filing cabinet behind the reception table, you will see a single shoe and a teddy bear wearing a hat! No - I have no idea why either; I think the teddy bear is a reminder of our commitment to St Mungos in Endell St; our competition of photos of teddies wearing hats (if you haven't heard about it, check the magazine!) The shoe was presumably left following an audtion or something like that - somebody has changed, and forgotten to collect all their belongings perhaps.
On passing comment to somebody in the foyer, we agreed "it's very Bloomsbury" And I have come away form the both the foyer and the conversation wondering just what that phrase means. We use it a lot - usually when something is odd - like shoes and teddies in unexpected places, or when things are going very well, but not necessarily according to plan (most Sundays!) or when an interesting group of people has gathered - people who might not otherwise be expected to be together. All lovely moments, and all to be treasured and valued.
But in what ways are they "typically" Bloomsbury - and how do we use the phrase?
It's the kind of phrase I have heard in every church I have ever been part of. Each church will - quite rightly - tell a visitor or a new member "we are not like any other church". And it is true - no two churches are alike, since each is made up of a particular and unique group of people. And celebrating our uniqueness, the particular group of people God has called into this community, to serve in this place at this time, to meet in this way, and worship in this form is a significant way of saying thank you to God for God's desire for each of us to discover and affirm our own uniqueness in God's eye, and our own belovedness in God's heart.
But I think we need to be very careful not to do two things; to believe that our uniqueness makes us more special, more beloved, more deeply in the heart of God than other communities or people, and secondly, to make sure that we do not use our uniqueness to exclude others - a shadow side of such an awareness of being unique is that we can use it as a filter to keep out, or keep on the edge, those who don;t fit our internal model.
I love this church, with its own quirks and complexities. I believe we are a very special community of the people of God. But I am deeply concerned that we do not ever think that we are special in such a way that we miss what God is doing among us and among others.

Last week, in the blog, I was thinking about the importance of meeting together as a discipline to keep us in touch with each other, maintining relationships as a priority, and the significance of that in keeping us alert to the presence of God. But that left me with a question; meeting is important and meeting regularly matters as a practice. But how might we meet? We currently order our lives to meet regularly at 11.00 and 5.30 on a Sunday. In fact, of course, for many of us, the meeting starts muich ealier as we gather to organise things for the day, and to share coffee before the service. And the time we spend in the foyer after the service, and then at lunch is also and important part of our practice. But is this the best time. Is this a useful time for what we need to do. Various congregations in other parts of the country are experimenting with meeting at different times, in different ways - partly in response to the particular demands on people's lives - but also as a way of mission; instead of being "in church" at certain times, they are free to be where others are, to meet and get to know neighbours, to open up possibilities of making the kinds of connections that are needed if there is going to be new possibilities of inviting people to encouter faith.
We keep our building open and invite people in. We are good at it. The folk who give time and energy to keeping the doors open, to offering hospitality, to meeting the need that shows up on our doorstep are at the heart of the mission of the church.
But it is very building and structure centred. I wonder - I just wonder - might we also need to think of new things - of ways not of inviting people in here, at least initially, but of getting ourselves outside, of moving beyond our safety zone?
And what impact might that have on our practice of meeting to worship - what changes, choices and challenges might we have to deal with?
And are we prepared to?

This is the time of year when things start to close in; the light is less as we change the clocks, the weather changes, and our attention turns more inward – getting home in the evening, closing the curtains, being cosy. On just such a kind of evening, we could imagine Jesus and his friends arriving at Martha and Mary’s and looking forward to their hospitality. It is the time for offering and receiving welcome, for enjoying hospitality and making sure we have time to be with friends.
It can be all too easy not to make that time. We get very busy, and we are coming up to one of the busiest times of the year at church, with Christmas approaching and all the events and fun we will have with that. And many of us have responsibilities not just outside church, but away from London – caring for family, work we must do, tasks to sort out. I am struck each year by how easy it is to make good resolutions to stay in touch, and then to forget actually to do it! It seems to me that this is one of the values of meeting regularly for worship – a routine that helps give rhythm. Knowing that we at least have the intention of gathering, even if in actual fact it can prove hard, reminds us that meeting people – physically being together with time to talk, to catch up, and yes, to do things, is an important part of building healthy lives and sustaining friendships. And it can serve too as a model for how we keep in touch with other friends and family – the reminder that we actually need to do it.
It is also important in sustaining our life in God. God dos not let us go. But there are times when just being busy means that noticing God’s presence is crowded out. And making time and space deliberately to pay attention helps us not to go too long without noticing. Of course, that does mean letting God have space in our time when we gather – but perhaps that’s another topic.....

During Sunday's morning service, we heard a report on the parliamentary lobby that Christian Aid had organised during the week. The issue that was being addressed was to do with multinationals and tax. We were encouraged to write to our MPs, and to contact some of the companies who have given some indication that they might be willing to be more transparent in their tax declarations.
If you want to know more about it, please follow this link
http://christianaid.org.uk/ActNow//dosomething/october/index.aspx

Last week, I had a special treat; I was able to do a morning on Open Doors - to sit for several hours welcoming people into the church. We are deeply grateful to those who come regularly and do this work, and make it possible for us to keep the building functioning. It can be very quiet, or it can be hectic and full. But that's the joy of it; it is never clear who is about to come in - and what they are going to want. And it is certianly never clear that what somebody wants is what we are going to be able to give.
Sometimes people come in in order to go to something going on elseswhere in the building. Sometimes people want somewhere to sit, to have a rest - maybe to have a cup of coffee. Some folk want to sit and chat, and we get to know them quite well as they come regularly. Some are just passing through. Some want to come in and see the church, to sit quietly in the church or chapel, to have a respite from noise, to pray, to let their souls catch up with their bodies. Then there are the folks who come into ask for directions - to the British Museum, to Covent Garden, to Oxford Street are the most common, and folk who come in looking for a toilet.
And then there are people who come in needing help - needing money, needing food, needing support.
And sometimes we can find a way to help, and sometimes we can't.
And even when we can, it's still not enough sometimes - often, it's not enough.
And sometimes there are those who come in looking for help we cannot give; sometimes practical - longterm accomodation, work, more resources. Sometimes emotional care and support which is beyond our resources and our skills.
These are the hardest encounters. How to say no? What to do when there is nothing we can do. And how to live with ourselves, to accept that there are limits to our giving, our capacity?
It's something we cannot just dismiss. At a church meeting a year or so ago, we had a conversation about what sort of things we should be doing. One of the things that came up from a lot of people was that we need to concentrate on what we can do, and let go of trying to do everything.
It is easy to say.
It is hard to do when the need is not just in principle, but is a face and body and voice and request right in front of us.
It is hard to say no. It is hard to let somebody down. It is hard to admit we are limited - not God.
Perhaps part of our praying as a congregation should be that we learn - learn well and learn deeply - that we are not God, and let God be God. And that means also accepting there times when we need to say no - while trusting God may have other resources to meet the need we can't.
Difficult.
Life-saving.

We have had a variety of special services recently; there has been a wedding, and there is another one coming up this week, on Sunday morning we had a dedication service for a baby, and in a couple of weeks we will be welcoming a new member into membership.
All of these services involve praying for God's blessing on the people concerned, and also words and actions of commitment. There are big promises made in each - to love, to be loyal, to care and to give of ourselves.
We make these promises each time we attend such a service. As congregations, we make them fairly regularly - each time somebody joins, each time somebody brings their child for thanksgiving and blessing.
Promising is one of those actions in which we change the world by what we say. The promise is made, it exists and has power not through any physical thing that we do, but by our speech, our assent and agreement. When we have said "yes" or its equivalent in such a context, the world is a different place, and we are different people.
It is easy for us to think that our words don't matter, that they are ineffective or powerless. But in this, we are the image of God. God asid "let there be light" and there was light. The world was different, and life would not be unaffected. And when we say "I promise" the world is different - and the way we live can no longer be the same.
I have been thrilled at the special services we have had. But they scare me just the same. It's a daunting thought to change the world with a word. Can I live out the reality?

On Sunday we celebratd Harvest Thanksgiving. It's an odd activity in the middle of a city. Food of course is still central to our lives, and looking around our building we are never in any danger of forgetting that. Within the building, much of what we do centres on eating together, and on the preparation and clearing up that enable that. And outside, the number of places where it is possible to buy something to eat and drink seems to increase weekly (and with the new buildings at Central St Giles there are going to be even more possibilities). But harvest time - the recongnition of the turning of the seasons, the hands on awareness of the growth and ripening of the food which is crucial to our survival - for many of us, the immediate connection to that is not an everyday reality.
Perhaps it is precisely for that reason that celebrating harvest is important. Just because we do not see the fields ripening, watch - or even take part - in the cutting and storing of the crops, enter into the worry about the impact of weather or the damage done by parasites. Cut off as we are from the realities of what our food is, where it comes from, its giveness rather than our ability to control it, we need a regular occasion to be reminded to say thank you, to reflect on the complexity of creation, on the interconnectedness of the world, and our dependence on it. This year, Megabytes led us in reflection on the place and the plight of the bee, and helped us to think about, to pray about, and to be open to what we might do about the risks that we all face in an interconnected creation, when what looks like one small part is in danger.
We could take the thinking about this further. Just as we need harvest thanksgiving to keep us in touch with what we all too easily forget in our particular way of life, so we need the regular times of worship and reflection that keep us open to the life of faith, the love of God which we can all too easily forget because it is not the normal context in which we move. Our lives are interconnected with the lives of the bees. Our lives are interconnected with the life of God and so with each other. But we need to take time to know that, and to let what it means settle in us so that we can live it out.
So, we thank God for the provision for living. And we ask God for the responsibility to live well.

This week sees the last of the Bloomsbury summer outings. During the summer instead of the lunch and speaker that form the centre of Tuesdays at Bloom, we have a series of outings to various places. This year these have included going to Walmer to see Seyan, going to Kenwood Park, a tour of St Paul's, and today's visit to Amersham. Different people come on different trips, though there is a core group who come on most of them, drawn from those who are regular at Tuesdays. Some of these destinations are on our schedule each year, others are new. The trips give us the chance to see different parts of the country, to travel in a group when travelling somewhere alone would be less appealing, and to have time together and get to know each other a bit better.
As we come to the end of them, I have been wondering about the whole idea, and how it fits into the life of a church. After all, at the heart of being a church is the intention to come togeher for worship, and to work together in service (at least, that is one definition). Nowhere is the idea of being travel agent included in that kind of description.
But the central identity of church is fellowship. We are none of us church alone. Church is community; all the theology and practice of church, whatever flavour it is involves more than one person. So, something about our trips together connects to this sense of being in relationship with each other, and having the chance to give those relationships more depth.
There is also, in being church, something about destabilising or challenging our set ways of thinking and experiencing the world. The account of the world we give in worship, the practice of turning our commitment away from ourselves and towards the other all, when we open ourselves to their full impact, challenge our presupposition of how things are, and who we are. And to travel - to spend time in a different place, to meet different people, experience a different environment and discover new things - all of these experiences also open us up to a world that is bigger than our normal, and offer us possibilities that we are not all there is, and our immediate experience does not defin the full truth. Many of us are not able to undertake long or demanding journeys to be shaken from our small world view - but short trips with people we do not deliberately choose but who are there because they too have chosen to go, to places others have chosen for us, and on days that may not suit our schedule; these trips may at least offer a glimpse, for those who choose to see, of the deeper possibilities that the life of faith calls us to.
And lest all this seems too "deep and meaningful", such trips ar fun - they are a celebration of being alive in a wonderful world. And that surely is involved in church!
I will miss our Tuesday trips, as we move into autumn. Thank you to all who have organised them, who have hosted us, who have made suggestions, who have come along. If you have not taken part before, perhaps you might join us next year?

One of the gifts that Bloomsbury gives to the wider church is the way in which as a church it sets its ministers free to serve in a wider capacity. It's not an easy gift, and there are times when it takes negotiation, but we can usually make it work.
And so this week, I am going to the European Baptist Federation Executive and Council. We will discuss much of importance to our life together throughout Europe (not just a geographical reality; as the Rector of the EBF seminary, International Baptist Theological Seminary in Prague likes to point out, Baptists are much better at mission than they are geography)
But if my experience of other such gatherings is anything to go by, the real meaning of such an event is as much in the conversations and sharing of news, the making of new friendships and the dicovering of each others' stories. It is hard to make these kind of comments without sounding trite or sweetly pious - but they are nonetheless true.
Yesterday morning, we have a visiting preacher, Rev Dr Maggie Dawn, chaplain at Robertson College in Cambridge and writer-theoligian. She started her sermon by helping us to think about the importance not only of propositional knowledge, but also of story and imagination in shaping who we are and how we live. And it all goes together. To hear stories from other people of their experience, their insights, their encounters - and to offer our own - all of this enriches not just our "knowledge" of how the world is and can be. It also shapes our imaging, our imagination of how the world might be. And thus the Kingdom is coming.

This week, life at Bloomsbury is dominated by Simon's news on Sunday that he will be leaving us at Easter. He doesn't know where he will be going yet, but it has become clear that for the sake of the family, and for the good of ministry, it is time to look for work closer to where the family is based.
A change in a ministry is always a testing time for a church. It raises all sorts of questions, some absolutely obvious, others much harder to put into words. We wonder about what life will be like without the person who is leaving, we wonder what plans we need to out into place to take things forward, we wonder what changes we will need - and will have to - make?
And below it, we wonder about why somebody is leaving, what is "better" on the other side of the fence perhaps - or we wonder how we might feel relief without feeing disloyalty, we wonder how to make the choices that will need to be made, and we wonder who we are as a community, and who we might be in the face of such great changes.
There's a lot of wondering. We are fortunate that Simon has been able to give us a long time to adjust and to make plans. And we are also fortunate that we know, even within our wondering, that the life of the church congregation is not ours alone to sustain, but is part of the life that God is expressing in the world. The stories in the gospels, the stories of the church through time is the reminder that in our wondering as well as in our knowing, in our getting it right and in our getting wrong in making decisions, God works, and we look for the coming of the Kingdom. We have responsibilities, we need to take our roles seriously - and we can trust that God works in and through who we are, and that is our hope and our future.

One of the delightful things about being a minister is that you get to make many of your mistakes in public. And I managed a whole series in worship on Sunday morning. I think the most obvious one was the muddle of the Lord's prayer. Having invited people to pray in the language with which they were most familiar, I then found myself caught between the two versions I am most familiar with - the Scots and the English (shades of my recent visit to Edinburgh) In case you don't know, in Scotland, we debt for ever, in England we trespass for ever and ever. And the paralysis that hit me as I tried to remember where I was led to me missing the line out altogether! Well, if you're sitting in the congregation, and get in a muddle like that, it's survivable. But when you're up front, and yours is the voice leading through the PA system - not a good moment. So, thank you to all of you who had the graciousness not to point it out to me.
But it does raise an interesting question about prayer and how we pray. What does it mean to get it "right"? And what happens if we - according to some sort of judgement - get it "wrong"? So often, we find it hard to pray because we don't know "how" to do it. And, more fundamentally, who makes those judgements - or what is right and wrong, what is "good" and "bad" prayer? I am convinced more and more that, as children of God, all our prayer, coherent or muddled as we judge it, is the babbling of infants; and we know how a loving parent adores the babbling of the infant. And how much the infant enjoys babbling - and is totally unselfconscious, totally un-self-judgemental (is there such a word and if there isn't why not!)about it, for it is the experience of communicating, and having fun in it that matters.
And what freedom might that bring in prayer.
I fully intend to get the Lord's prayer right next week. But - does it matter if I make a muddle?

And - carrying on with public mistakes - sorry, still haven't got the comments sorted; I can comment, but nobody else yet. Not quite the result I was aiming at. But work in progress....

the saga continues - and apologies

Well, I still haven't managed to sort out the great comments mystery. But in the process of doing it, I discover how many people have tried to comment, and have discovered that their comments were ignored! Of course, I can now assure them that the comments weren't ignored; I haven't mastered the setting well enough, and I didn't know that there were comments. So - if you have ever tried to comment, and wondered why I was ignoring you, please accept my apology. I got this one wrong, and I haven't got it right yet... I am working on it, but don't hold your breath! And don't try to comment....
But saying sorry about this does prompt me to blog on something I have been pretending not to pay attention to for a few months now; apologising, and its impact. I apologised in church for something some time ago. I had made a bad mistake, and it was appropriate to acknowledge that, and say sorry. And so I did.
And I was surprised by the reaction. It was well received -indeed, received as if I had done something very huge and significant.
This is where it gets difficult, and why I have put off blogging about it. You see, it wasn't that huge - but as soon as I say that, it sounds as if I was not taking the issue and my mistake seriously. I did; indeed, I do. But I also believe that among the people of God, where I know myself to be safe, and trust myself to be accepted, surely it is not some sort of huge ordeal to admit that I got it wrong, and ask, trustingly, for forgiveness. After all, we do it every time we gather in public worship. We share in prayers of confession, and acceptance of forgiveness. For me, that is a central and serious part of our gathering.
And if I do it there, why should it be more significant, or more major to ask my fellow believers to know me as God knows me - a sinner, and to forgive me? Of course they did, as I trusted they would. But I remain disturbed that we have created a context in which it somehow seems to be some heroic act to admit a failure and apologise. Surely, it should be the most natural thing among believers; is that not a central part of who we believe we are - those who can risk being honest about who we are, with ourselves and with each other, because we believe that in the love of God, we are known, loved and healed?
So - sorry about the comments muddle. And yes I mean it. And no - I don't feel threatened and/or heroic in apologising. Because even more than in my failing, I believe in God's love and forgiveness. And so I dare to trust myself to yours too.

and an extra bonus post!

Well - I am learnign so much! Many thanks to the person who has pointed out that I have switched off the comments facility; now I think it is set to moderated comments. If I've got it right, you can now send comments, and then I can allow them to be posted. This is what has been recommended, so that I can avoid spam on the site.
But we'll see.

Thanks - and apologies to those who have tried to comment, and failed. And it just makes me wonder; when I am complaining that nobody is listening - is it because I have switched off my capacity to hear?

Now, rumour has it that my last blog post provoked a comment - but the comment has not turned up, at least on my computer. But I wait with baited breath! It would be so exciting - a real comment, a real response, a real sense that somebody out there is listening.
It's an odd thing about blogging. I know there are people who read this, because sometimes you tell me. But there is very little in the way of direct feedback. And I know that this is common to many many blogs. I read quite a few, and I very rarely leave comments, so I am certainly not going to complain if others act the same.
But the sense of speaking into empty air remains. And is, I guess, not an uncommon experience for preachers - and for all who pray. After all, as I said to the wonderful young man who preached for us on Sunday evening, people are listening, and you will know that at the end because they will speak helpfully and interestedly to you about it afterwards (at least, they do to me, and I value it greatly) but during the sermon, there can be a sense of "is there anybody out there"? And even more in prayer - is it empty air, heavens of brass, or is there a Person listening, waiting, wanting to hear from us?
And so I keep blogging, trusting and hoping that somebody is reading - and more to the point, wanting to read, finding something interesting in my explorations. And I keep preaching, and depending on the encouragement and challenges that people offer me aftwewards. And I keep praying.....

On Saturday morning, a group of us met to "Play at Prayer". We spent some time building theme boxes around our chosen theme, and then together, we made a piece which reflected the themes we had brought together. If you are in church in the next couple of weeks, look into the chapel, and you'll see what we made.
It was a good morning. We used all sorts of bits and pieces, had all sorts of thoughts and imaginings and created something very striking. Lots of playing.
But was it prayer?
Yes - I believe it was. At the heart of prayer is living "awarely" in our relationship with God. And a crucial aspect of our our relationship with God is being children of God. And what do children do? Well, among other things, they play! And so, playing is part of praying. We often forget how to play as we grow up. We quite realistically get fixed on doing things, getting life organised and being grown ups. But that can cover up our capacity for doing things just for the fun of it, doing things where the only aim is the doing, not the result.
And, in "playing at prayer" we were rediscovering this capacity - doing something only for the sake of doing it, with no "productive" aim, no intention of achieving a result.
It is not the whole of prayers, certainly. But it is a form of prayer that can set us free from some of our uncertainty about what prayer is, and how we do it. And it can liberate us to have fun and enjoy God as much as God enjoys us. We are hoping to do some other similar events; keep an eye out for them, and come and join us.

We are in the middle of a process of thinking about the back of the building. As the new development behind us moves from being a building site into being a place where people live, work and shop, so we have become increasingly aware that the face we present to the world outside on that aspect is not all it might be. There is a pretty forbidding brick wall, with a small and easily missed door, and a rather ugly chimney.
And it is fascinating to see the kind of ideas that people are coming up with to make things better; murals, colourful images, even turning the chimney into the down sweep of a Cross. To say nothing of opening things up, making our building on the outside reflect the welcome that we look to offer on the inside. I am eagerly anticipating the decisions that will be taken over the next few months as we move through the decision making process.
Historically, Baptists, and other nonconformist churches have not laid a lot of stress on visual symbols. We don’t have statues, we don’t have much in the way of stained glass on the whole, we have even at some points, resisted having a cross on the wall of our churches. We have placed more emphasis on listening than on looking, and on responding with our minds rather than our senses. We have held on to the unavoidably sense-based practice of eating and drinking at Communion – and in our practice of baptism, Baptists can’t help but get wet, a very sense-based experience. But on the whole, we have rather avoided, even mistrusted that part of being human.
But yet it sneaks in. We are preparing various updated and new leaflets to introduce the church to people, and one we have written is a small guide around the church inside, reflecting on what different pieces of furniture mean, and inviting people to take time to reflect and pray in the presence of these symbols; to see in our pews the practice of being together, and to take a moment to pray for the people with whom their share their lives, for example. The leaflet is not yet ready, but look out for it when it appears. And I wonder if you will be as surprised as I was to realise just how many symbols and meaningful “things” there are to see and interact with in our building. The Cross above the platform, the shape of the reading desk, the communion table, the organ, the windows, the pews – and in the chapel, the prayer board, the violinist and so on. Look around, and see. I wonder if, especially when we are very familiar with the surroundings, we miss some of the invitations open to us to respond to God’s presence and call; we don’t see, hear, smell, sense what is there – because we are familiar, and because we are not familiar, - because we do not expect to respond to God, to discover God meeting us and inviting us through our senses. Next time you are in the church, have a look around, have a walk arou8nd, perhaps even touch some of what is there. And just wait and wonder how God might be meeting you.

For a quiet month, July is a very busy month for us. We have had our annual picnic in Regent's Park - always a delight! - and our AGM, and yesterday was our Church Anniversary. We welcomed Graham Sparkes, the head of the Faith and Unity Dept of the Baptist Union, as our preacher in the morning. He spoke with us about the importance of roots, and of not being held back by them, but of always being willing to travel on to wherever it is that God is leading us next. During his sermon, he quote a poem of RS Thomas, including a description of God as the one who is always just ahead of us, who has always just left where we are arriving.
It's an image I have come across on various occasions, and it never fails to tease and attract me. For, among other things, it is the reminder that we cannot limit God, or decide where we are going and inform God of it, or even necessarily have a clear notion of where we are going to be next.
As a traveller, I am very anxious! I like to know where I am going and how I am going to get there - or better yet, I don't want to go at all. I want to stay at home, where I know what is going on, and what I am doing. The idea of following the lead of God without knowing, except in the most general terms, where that will take me, is deeply disturbing and unnerving.
And yet, I am deeply moved and encouraged by this vision of God as the one is not only always ahead of us, but just a flicker of an eye out of sight. For it does allow the possibility that God is greater then my ideas and plans, and probably knows a good deal better than I can what is life and life-giving.
Anniversary is a time when we look back in thankfulness and repentance - and ahead with expectation. What are we hoping for, indeed, planning for. There are changes coming, ones we haven't planned and can't control, as the buildings around us change, and we acquire new neighbours and new possibilities. And there will be changes and challenges that we do not know about yet. And in the face of them all, we do have a choice; will we meet what comes, and work in and through it open to what God is doing, and where God is leading us without putting limits on it, or pre-determining what it will be. Or will we be shaped my our (my?) anxiety, and keep everything safe?

One of the delights of ministry is the variety of activities we get invited to share in. In three days over this weekend I attended two (very different) weddings and the church AGM (as well as regular services). All of the events had their own flavour and impact, but what has remained with me in the days since is what there was in common; the determination to build a life together. For both the couples marrying, this is clearly at the heart of the whole event. But it is also central to the AGM of the church - and indeed to the gatherings for worship. For in these events too there is a commitment to being "with" the people around us, and developing some kind of common life. In our gatherings for worship, we listen together to Scripture, we offer our prayers, we share in singing and in silence. And we do it together - and with the intention/expectation that what we do in our gathering will shape how we live in the other parts of our lives - whether we share these or not.
And in our AGM, we meet, intentionally in the name of Jesus, in the expectation that, listening to each other we will discern the mind of Christ for our community's life and direction. These conversations can be slow and gentle, heated and energetic, life-giving and stimulating - but all of them take place in the context - and commitment - to being together. Even in the moments when we disagree - or even frustrate each other - we know that we belong together.
It is one of the significant things about being church, that we not only talk about being together, but we work out what it means through action, conversation and struggle. Being part of the church is not just about joining in when we fell like it, like each other or agree. Just like marriage, it involves living through good and bad times, easy agreement and disagreement, and finding the fun, joy and respect in it all.
Thank God for the grace that shapes it all.

I have just had a few days holiday, last week, which explains the lack of blog (anybody notice?) It was a fun time, enjoying a few days with family and being a tourist in London. Part of what we did invovled being around school trips, and what with that and spending time with youngsters enjoying the freedom of school holidays (they start earlier in Scotland) I was remembering those first few days of school holidays and the way the break always started. We always ended each term with a service in the local parish church, and from all the services I went to in that context, the overwhelming memory is of the minister telling us to remember that God never took a holiday. I think his intention was to reassure us that God did not forget us when we were not going to regular weekly assembly, but there was also the message that God did not take holidays and so we should not forget God.
I got hold of that one well enough; taking holidays has never come easily to me. God does not take holidays, told to me with a good intention, has become translated into - if you are not busy you are not pleasing God.
I am writing this on a Monday - yesterday was a good Sunday, and, as usual, a very busy one. Sundays at Bloomsbury are never anything but busy - for all sorts of us. There are meals to get ready, music to prepare, the sound system to get working, people to marshal in and out, tickets to manage, visitors to welcome, youngsters to care for - and that doesn't take into account all the things we didn't plan for, but still need to be done. A surprising number of them on any given Sunday, in case you are wondering.
And I am deeply, deeply grateful for all of the people around this place who do all this stuff, and make it work, and smile and show grace while they do.
And I just wonder if there is any time to breathe, to rest, to take a holiday, even for a few moments.
Because I have come to believe that those who told me that God never takes a holiday were wrong. Look at Genesis 2;2-3. That's a holiday (God looked at all that he had made and saw that it was good - and on the seventh day he reasted from his work)
Yes - there's a lot to be done. Yes - it never actually comes to an end, and there is always more. But might there be a space, just occasionally, to join God in God's own holiday, and enjoy the goodness of the world without having to spend all our time and all our energy in making it work?
And yes - I know I shouldn't preach it if I won't live it.

I will if you will...

We were off-line for a short while this morning! Most disconcerting - suddenly I realised all the things I do that depend on being in connection with the wider world.
On Sunday, among other things, I was preaching at the United Welsh Chapel, at their united service with the Korean congregation who meet in their building. This entailed the sermon being translated sentence by sentence. To facilitate this, I had sent the script to the assistant pastor, who had trnaslated the whole thing and had it in front of him on the screen of a lap-top. Which ran out of battery power half way through. And so he had to find the cable and get things plugged in and get restarted. While he was doing that, I made some inane comment about there being a sermon illustration in the middle of it all.
Both things together do suggest an illustration. One of those really corny ones, abou needing to be connected into power to function, and something in that about prayer and faith and so on.
And that is true. But it has also got me thinking a bit further about it all. For the connection to the web is going to be effective, it is only because others have already put material out there for me to access. And - and I feel on more secure ground here - to plug into the electricity supply is to be in touch with a whole community. After all, electricity always "existed", but it was only as people learned how to harness and control it, that we can have the access and the use that we have. And nowadays it is only as people support and organise the supply - to say nothing of creating appliances that exploit the electricity, and so on - that the electricity is of any "use" to us; the power is available.
And I guess that's more helpful in thinking about prayer, faith and the life of a follower of Jesus. We do need to "power" of the Spirit's presence in our living. But this is no individualistic perception. Just as the electric power that allows our lives to function is a product of community, so we do not pray alone. We pray in the footsteps of those who have gone before, and leave us hints and teaching about how to approach God, we pray together with those who live in the Spirit, and we pray in the faith that we are part of the whole people of God for all eternity.
And the call remains; prayer, whatever form it takes, and however badly we do it - it matters!

I had an interesting conversation last week. I was visited by the "Seionr Policy Officer (Social Cohesion) for Camden Council. He is relatively new to the post, and is visiting folk in the faith communities around the borough. We had a fascinating conversation, and made some interesting plans. We will hear more in the next few weeks about plans to get people interested in caring for our community together to meet each other and learn together - and perhaps even get ourselves organised. I enjoyed the discussion, and I am looking forward to seeing what happens next.
But it has also started me wondering. What is "social cohesion" and is it something we have anything to contribute to the seeking for it?
I understand the need for finding ways to live together, especially in a complex and large city like ours. I know that we need to get to know each other, so that we can understand and "interpret" our differences and own our similarities. I know that - as members of the majority community - we have the responsibility to lower our drawbridges so that others are welcome.
All of that seems to me to be self-evident and Kingdom based.
But what else is going on in the idea of social cohesion.
The Home Office definition is this;
A community in which

• there is a common vision and a sense of belonging for all communities;
• the diversity of people’s different backgrounds and circumstances are appreciated
  and positively valued;
• those from different backgrounds have similar life opportunities;
• strong and positive relationships are being developed between people from
  different backgrounds in the workplace, in schools and within neighbourhoods

I wonder what, in our life together, will help to strengthen this - and what, in the ways we normally live, might undermine this? And I wonder how we might sustain a distinctive Christian voice, with due humility and integrity? I don't have any answers yet - but I hope, as the meetings develop and as we begin to explore things we can do together, I might begin to find my way towards some.

This weekend we hosted the London Baptist Association AGM and seminars on Saturday. On Sunday, there was also a celebration service, involving the commissioning of new district ministers, and thanksgiving for our regional minister, Pat Took, who retires from that role in the autumn.
I was able to go to the AGM, and it was a good experience. Things are hard in the LBA, as in so many organisations at the moment. The work is growing, and the resources do not always keep up. And so there needs to be a significant change in the way things are organised. The full pattern is not yet clear, but one of the changes that will affect us most is the reorganisation of the subdivisions of the LBA. At the moment, the LBA is divided into districts which work on a sort of spoke pattern. This means we are part of the Northwestern district - a very friendly and welcoming community reaching from the centre out to Harrow. But there is now a change coming. There is going to be a "central" district - a kind of hub for the spokes, I guess (is that metaphor working?) And, we are as central as they come.
So, in due course, we will be trasnferring our immediate relationships with other Baptists from the northwestern district to the new central district.
And for most of us, to be honest, this will make little or no practical difference.
And I believe that that is pity. Because the other thing that became clear at the AGM, and the attendant seminars is just how exciting and creative Baptist life is in various parts of London , and how much we miss out on by not being involved and being connected to what is going on.
There are churches of all sizes, shapes and types; churches caring for refugees, churches opening up their buildings to welcome children before and after school, churches in which congregations show an even richer mix of home nations than our own, churches meeting in all sorts of venues, and meeting all sorts of needs, churches with the energy to go out late at night and offer friendship and protection to people struggling to get home after a late night, and churches offering on-going and deep support to people in all sorts of crises and long-term difficulty. Churches, in other words, just like us. And getting to know them, sharing stories, resources and encouragement could only be blessing for us all.

The intention of this blog is, among other things, to take events that happen through the week, and ask what sort of theological, pastoral or perhaps just amusing (sometimes) insights, might be gleaned. If I am to reflect on what dominates the life here this week - it is the drills!!! Just outside my study window, two very large drills are breaking up the concrete that has formed the foundations of the portacabins that have been there for the last nearly four years.
And they are noisy.
And they make the floor shake.
And despite well-meaning suggestions that I might work somewhere else - preferably in another building! - it's not that easy. I have all my books here, and various other resources I need for bits of work (not least the computer!), and not knowing that this onslaught was going to last so long (three weeks so far, and counting...) I have made various appointments that will be complex to change. So, I am making the best of it, and trying to live with it rather than against it.
And - being a pious sort of thinker - it occurred to me as I battled with it this morning, that the effect of the drills on my mind, heart and sense of well-being is close to the effect that we sometimes experience in relationships. There are those on whom I know that I have the same effect as these drills - I irritate, and annoy, and get in the way. (And it may even be that there are some people who have that affect on me!)
But the drills outside my windows are there for a purpose, and are to make the street better. They are breaking up the hard concrete, and opening up a space that has been closed and shut off for too long. Once they finish, there will be space and beauty and a place for people to live and move and have their being.
Could it be that in being a "drill" for some people, I am offering the same possibility? Could it be that those people who "drill" at me are actually breaking up the hard dead places in my life and heart, and opening up my capacity to love and live and respond? Might it be that one of the reasons Jesus calls his followers into community, without, apparently paying attention to whether we like one another, is that we all have these concreted over paths, and we need not just the gentle brushing of a broom, or the affirmation and comfort of people we agree with and who like us - but also the drill, the breaking up, the discomfort - and even the overwhelming domination of our thinking and feeling - of the "drills" to open our lives to grace and hope.
I hope so!
In the meantime, I am investing in a large pair of earplugs..... and if I look a little harrassed in the next few days, it's all this noise!

I was just glad there was somebody else who thought it was funny. As part of the new construction at the back of our building, there is a great deal of drilling going on at the moment. Noisy drilling. Indeed, very noisy drilling! And there I was, sitting reading one of the great doctors of the church on the importance of silence in the nourishment of our life of faith, and relaitonship with God. Sitting there, trying to read, rather, since the noise of the drills actually made it impossible. (Especially, in order to enhance our concert on the coming Saturday, a skilled technician was in tuning the organ) Silence was definitely not my experience that day - nor, if I am honest, most days sitting the in study here in the church.
I found the argument of the early theologian compelling however; St Ambrose wrote
For there is but one true teacher, the only one who never learned what he taught everyone. But people have first to learn what they are to teach, and receive from him what they are to give to others. Now what ought we to learn before everuything else, but to be silent that we may be able to speak?....it is seldom that anyone is silent, even when speaking does him no good....This is why Scripture is right to say "A wise man will keep silence until the right moment."
There is an important place for silence in being with God; taking time, as we say in the introduction to Waiting Prayer each Tuesday afternoon, to pay attention to God paying attention to us. It is all too easy to lose sight of this need, or to reduce it to a luxury to be laid aside in the face of more pressing need of things that must be done. But in silence - our silence from speech, but also the silence of at least not seeking noise - radios, music, all the toher possibilties of filling the silence - in silence, there is the possibility of hearing from deep within us that still small voice of love and transformation.
But of course, if our life in God can only survive in silence, separated from the demands of interaction with people, undertaking life in the midst of other lives - and even alongside the drills, traffic and all the other sounds of the city, then it is no life in God but simply fantasy. However, it is also true that a life in God that has no hidden place, no stillness and quietness that allows hidden things to grow can also become a fantasy. Finding that balance is never easy - and surrounded by drills it is particularly hard. But as a congregation, one of the things we can offer each other is the encouragement to look both for quiet places, and for those places of engagement - all of which are God's appointed meeting moment.

Pentecost last Sunday, and at both services we invited people to put coloured stickers on a map to show where they come from. It makes a very colourful display. We have also put a map up in the foyer with strings showing various projects and areas around the world where we have interest and are involved. It is great to have such a visible representation of the breadth of our homelands and involvements. It is one of the glories about having a building in the centre of London - we all come to it from such different places. And so, as a congregation, we are varied and bring all sorts of backgrounds, contexts and insights. We enjoy - and we look for ways to celebrate - our international life and the richness it brings us.
But it also raises a question for us about the locality within which our building is placed, and the people among whom those of us based in London actually live. When Will, the latest of our wonderful American interns left, we asked him to write some reflections on what he had heard and seem among us. I want to quote one paragrpah from his helpful paper;
The second group [he has spent some time reflecting on our work with the various people who come in during the week] I regularly heard mentioned, but may not be as overtly catered to was that of local British or London folks. I realize I got my fair share of Bristish-is-best and Americans-caint-talk-righ jokes because I was from America, but over time, and not just from one person, I heard the musings over where the Bristish people were, especially (but not exclusively!) in the younger demographic. Maybe I misread this desire to serve your own in addition to those who are not from Britain, but if I did not, then I do not think this is an awful thing to hope for. As long as you continue to willingly welcome American interns, female Slovakian ministers, African refugees and Australian nomads, then I think it would be completely appropriate to acknowledge a desire to intentionally seek out the local unchurched Brits and welcome them into your family. I am certain they are there; it is a matter of whether or not you want to actively look for them.
And so we have a challenge, I believe. Do we go on depending on people seeking us out - finding us in all sorts of ways, and thank God people do. Or do we wonder together about how to reach the people who are around, and who don't even see the building. Somebody who came in for an audition last week said "I have walked down this road for years, and I never knew this was here". And that is not an uncommon comment. It's not just about posters - we are good at those. It's not only about the website, though that is great. As was pointed out at the last church meeting, the way people come to church - especially if being in church is not something that they have taken for granted in the past - is because somebody brings them.
Do we?
Can we?
What might happpen?

She had just come in to drop off a poster, and we got into conversation. She was asking about the services, and commented (although I had not asked about it) that she didn't go to church, but that that didn't mean she didn't believe. We didn't get much further with the reflection of just what it was she believed in - she was more interested in commenting that she was fascinated by the numbers that come to our morning service. But as I thought about it later, I found myself wondering whether I would "believe" as I do without being part of church - and then realised that what I was actually thinking was that I believe in church. That I believe church is a worthwhile project, something it matters to be part of, and something that God is involved with. It might sound obvious, but I don't believe it is; there are many who "believe" as followers of Jesus, who don't "believe" in church; who have been hurt, frustrated, bored, or otherwise disengaged from the visible church, and no longer "believe" in it, no longer see the point of being part of it and undertaking any part in the institution.
And I knows those feelings. And I am certainly not convinced that we are none of the things that people reject; we can be boring, irrelevant, hurtful, cliquey, judgemental and holier than thou. I think we can also be welcoming, grace-full, connected, open and offering goodness. And it matters that we are aware of who we are, and the impact we have on people; do we make it easy for people to come in and feel at home with us; are we still making connections for people - scratching where it itches; are we so caught up with what we think matters that we miss what others care about?
But I believe church is more than being "relevant" or "engaged" - it is that, but it is more than that. It is also to the place where we learn to live together. The place where we develop relationships, sometimes over many years, with people who annoy us, who frustrate us, whose words and outlook leave us gasping - and those on whom we have that effect. It is the place, the community, the context in which we are constantly faced with - and challenged by - the sheer otherness of each other. If churches were all places of harmony and delight - where indeed, evernybody thought as I did and acted as I want them to - then so much of what I "believe" and attempt to practice as a follower of Jesus would have no context for growth or discovery. And so, I believe in the church - not as something perfect, nor as a prerequisite for salvation, and not even primarily as an instrument for mission, in whatever form. I "believe" in church as athe place and context in which the words I speak of following, and the commitments I make to it take on flesh and blood - where I actually have to work it out. And at its best, it is the training ground for how to do it elswhere and elsehow in the whole world.
So, thank you God, for calling me to be part of the church - especially when it is a hard place to be.

Ihave been drawn back to my childhood recently - somebody was singing a song my Grandpa used to sing me; "I'm a Purple People Eater". It has reappeared on Youtube because of the wearing of purple as a sign of identifying with the campaign for electoral reform. Purple is the chosen colour based on what the suffragettes used 100 years ago.
The wearing of a certain colour to identify with a certain cause has been around for a long time, and is gaining in popularity recently. At the Baptist Assembly at the beginning of the month, support was given for the campaigmn Thursdays in Black; wearing black - and an explanatory badge - in solidarity with those suffering from rape and violence, and in particular, taking a stand agains the exploitation of people trafficking. If you would like to know more about the campaign, see the latest edition of Just Living, available at church (and soon on the website).
Of course, wearing a purple tie or hair ribbon, or even wearing a black suit with a badge won't change the world. Not on their own. But they are symbols, signs of commitment and identify us as being involved in wanting to change things.
Symbols are strange thigns. They are not ineffective as we tend to assume in our rationalist, "sensible" world. They have a power of their own. But their effectiveness works itself out in lives, actions and attitudes that emerge from accepting the meaning of the symbol and letting it shape us. Much of what we do together as Christians in worship is "symbolic" - with water, with bread and wine. They are powerful symbols and can move us very deeply. But they also call us, almost require us to become a way of life, if their effectiveness is to be effective.... baptism is just splashing water and indulging in private vainglory if it is not allowed to take shape in our living as discipleship and obedience. Communion is just a momentary tickle on the taste buds if it doesn't work itself out in our exploration of living together, living generously, living with open hands.
When we let our symbols take on their own life within us, they can transform who we are, and can be part of the coming of the Kingdom.
Though what wardrobe choices I need to make it I want to campaign for electoral reform on a Thursday remains as yet a mystery.....

This last weekend so about 1500 baptist gather in Plymouth for our annual assembly of the Baptist Union of Great Britain. And, as I have been privileged to do for many years now, I was able to go. Highlights of this event for me are always the chances to meet with friends I see nowhere else - planned and unplanned meetings, rushed and leisurely ones, glad and sad ones as we exchange news.
There is a perception, I know, here at Bloomsbury, that Assembly is something to be endured, something where, coing from our kind of context, we will not feel at home, something where we have much to give that is not received, and little to learn.
All I know is that it doesn't feel like that to me. I enjoy the opportunities to hear about what is going on in all sorts of situations at home and overseas - to discover the creativity, faithfulness and original thinking that is going on; to hear stories about people's service, the challenges faced in such a wide variety of contexts, the pains and joys of being part of those who work at what it means to follow Jesus in integrity and devotion.
No - of course I don't agree with all that everybody says to me. But then, not everybody agrees with me - and it is just possible that perhpas I am wrong, and it is helpful to be confronted with other ways of thinking.
No - of course I don't feel at home with all the worship style - though, since this year, the majority of worship I attended was shaped by the traditions of Taize, of the Northumbria Community and traditional hymns sung to accompainment of a beautiful piano, I think I was more at home in worship than some others.
No - not all the main speakers speak to me. But it's very boring, not to say arrogant, to assmue that only my way of loking at things, my understanding of Scripture, my perception of the call of God is authentic.
I have come away with several reflections.
That being together, and finding common ground matters - and one of the important aspects of that is being able to disagree and still be together.
That God and the people of God are doing amazing things - that people serve in all sorts of joyful and painful situations, and it is significant to be able to celebrate them.
That I am glad I have so many friends and the opportunity to meet them.
That Bloomsbury is a very special church - and that we are not as special as we think we are. Much of what we value - rightly - about ourselves, is not possessed by us only; others do what we do, and sometimes, do it even more, even better, even more Christlikely - and so meeting others, hearing their stories, discovering what is going on, and being challenged by it matters. We are not alone and isolated, we are not the only ones who are doing what we do, we are not the only faithful people in the world. And knowing the rest of our family can only help us know ourselves and our calling better. So, maybe next year, somebody else will come with me?

This week we are having new carpet laid in the foyer, thanks to the Central St Giles people; part of their ethos is to undertake community projects. Last year, the school Seyan was governor of was repainted; this year, our foyer is getting redecorated. And it will look good. The walls are already repainted, and look fresh and clean. And by the middle of this week, there will be a new carpet as well. Joy!
Carpet is one of the things that makes Baptist churches different from some others. Forget baptism, music and appraoches to preaching. carpet - and particularly carpet in the church itself is one of our distinctives.
This is partly because many of our buildings are newer than parish churches - both Anglican and Roman Catholic - and newer buildings in those traditions will also sometimes have carpet. And of course by no means all Baptist churches have carpet. But look around. You'll see that we do often, and that it is one of our particular features.
Why do we do this? My theory is that we have the deep-seated intention that our church is a home, not a place visited for short periods, or a place of function and business, nor a museum. It is a place where we come in, take of our coats, and settle down with our family to share some of the things that are deepest for us.
We had a service recently in which we reflected on the various symbols around our building; the bread and wine, the baptistry, the peace candle, the weapons man, the flowers and so on. I forgot about the carpet. But it is there, and it does say something important about who we think we are, and what we intend to do when we meet together in worship. We are at home. We are the people of God, the family of God. We can be comfortable, we can relax because we are accepted and welcomed. We don't need to put on special airs or hide parts of ourselves. That old definition; home is the place where they know you thoroughly and still love you - not always true for all of us. But please God, it is a truth we try to live out as a church in our building. And as we enjoy our carpet!

Well now, it's been an interesting couple of days. Off I go on Wednesday, all innocent like, to a Board meeting at IBTS (if you don't know this wonderful institution, see here http://www.ibts.eu/ ), and within hours of arriving the airports were closed, and life began to look a little more demanding that I had planned for! Only one of our Board could not get to the meeting, coming, as he did, from Norway, but it became increasingly clear that my flight home on Sunday was just not going to happen. Like so many many people around the world, I was miles from home with no idea what to do next. However, unlike so many, I was fortunate to be in a place where there were all sorts of folk with skill and determination to get me home. I was booked on one of the emergency buses - got the last seat - and, although it's not a journey I would like to do too often, I was home only 24 hours after I had originally planned.
While it was deeply comforting that there were people there to do what needed to be done, and who knew how the systems worked, what was more comforting was that I was among friends and those who feel like family; I was in another part of our Baptist world, and so, even away fom home, at home.
One of my friends once commented that she regretted the decision of the second Vatican Council, when the Roman Catholic Church decided to conduct the mass in the language of the country, rather than Latin. Until then, she told me, she had been able to go to church in any country and feel at home, because it was the same. Well, this experience has been rather different from that, but that sense of being among my own people even far away has been deeply reassuring, and made it possible to keep on with what I was there to do, instead of getting paralysed by anxiety.
I have heard people talk about how important our capacity to welcome is, at Bloomsbury; the importance we place on welcoming people in, especially those who come from overseas. We put effort into it, and we take it seriously. Helping people feel at home, giving them a sense of belonging when they feel dislocated, enjoying people's company. Let's never forget just how much fun that can be, as well as how helpful it can be.
The language about the Christian family can sometimes feel over-used and a little ciched. But I have been grateful this week to have discovered it in a new way - and to have been able to come home as a result. I pray that we as a congregation will go on discovering more and more of how to make these phrases real - to bless those who come to visit our city, and to dicover the blessing of new friends.

We have a new webgroup - a wonderful and enthusiastic group of people who are going to be taking responsibility not only keeping the website details up to date, but also developing the site itself further, and exploring more of what we can do with it. If you are a regular visitor to our site, keep an eye out for their creativity and new ideas. When we launched the site in its present form - about 3 years ago, - it was state of the art, new and fizzy and all the things a website is supposed to be.
But things change very fast in cyberspace, and without our changing, we have become rather staid and dull, because everything around us has changed very fast. We are fortunate to have people among us who can help us rethink and keep up.
But it is a little disconcerting. Just at what point did we move from being bright and new to being dull, staid and old-fashioned. Did it just happen overnight - or was there a Monday when we were fine, and the following Monday we were out of date?
And does it matter?
Well, yes, of course it does! It is important that we stay in touch and find all the ways we can to communicate - and if we are going to use a medium such as the web, then we need to use it in the best way that we can. Doing the best we can is an important part of our presence - our witness - in the world. Churches have long had a reputation for doing things in an amateurish way, sometimes even in a cheap way. And in a world where appearance matters - and where "professional" appearance is relatively easy to achieve - that does us, and more to the point, the news of the gospel, no good at all. Why should people pay attention to what we believe we have to say about how life is and could be, about what it is to be human in a world created by a God who loves us and identifies with us as far as the Cross - and calls us into a new world marked by Resurrection, about justice and peace and all the other richness of life that we believe we can speak about, if our way of speaking is slap-dash, or out of date, or apparently something we have not taken seriously.
So, it is right that we do the best we can, be as "professional" as we can, in order to be as effective as we can.
And yet......
The temptation to be captured by a culture that judges us entirely by appearance, that assesses worth only on the basis of achievement, that gives value only to that which fits the dominant scheme is surely one we should be aware of, and resist. Here is the challenge of being in the world but not of it; how do we communicate, live in and function in a world where the values that dominate are not all ones that accord with our gospel story, without getting lost in those values and assumptions, and letting them shape and distort us. Answers on a postcard please - or perhaps, using the new media, leave a comment!

Easter

Christ is risen! Alleluia

It is our life, our word, our hope, our faith.

The Lord is risen; he is risen indeed.

Yesterday, Palm Sunday, we joined with folks from St George's Bloomsbury and St Anselm's and St Cecilia's in Lincoln's Inn Fields to walk between the churches. In each church we read part of the Plam Sunday story, offered prayer together and sang a hymn. As we walked between the churches, we carried a variety of palms - some real, and several created out of painted card and bamboo (Thanks to folk who made them for our morning service. I know they were not meant for outside, but they just about survived!), and some of us carried Palm crosses. we got pretty well spread out, as we wandered through the crowds on the streets, talking to people we knew from our own or from the other congregations - and, in the case of those of us who were supposedly responsible for organising the whole thing, trying to ensure that nobody got lost. We came to the conclusion that while not as noisy as the original parade, it was probably just about as well organised, and coherent; or as disorganised and incoherent. And that was just fine! We mingled with people. Some of them looked very oddly at us carrying our rather strange assortment of palms. One person even asked for one of the palm crosses, saying he had not managed to get to church that morning. Gladly, the cross was handed over. Some folk joined us and some folk left us. And through it all we told a story, and met with one another and with God in our worship and our prayer. It was a good afternoon, significant in building links between our congregations, and hepful in reiterating the conviction that the story of Jesus has its place within and among the life of a busy city.
And it leaves me with some questions.
Perhaps we should have done our reading and prayers on the steps of our various churches - each of our buildings has a significant area where we could stand. Perhaps we might have made our identity clearer - a more coherent parade, leaflets to hand out, or placards to carry. Perhaps we might have sung our hymns as we walked, not only within our buildings. All of these are important questions to ask ourselves, not just on Palm Sunday, but at any point in the year. Our commitment to living the gospel is well focussed in what we do - but perhaps we need to redicover the words and the symbols that will allow us also to speak of what our good news is. We are rightly wary of anything that looks triumphalistic, or hectoring. We do not want to "thrust our faith down anybody's throat". But we do have a story of God's activity to tell, to offer. How might we find the words and symbols through which we can communicate it?

On last Sunday afternoon, a group of us met to plan the worship for Easter Sunday evening. Although we were a smaller group than has sometimes met in the past to plan services, it was as a creative as ever. There is a particular energy about a group of people thinking about how a group of people might be enabled to worship together. All sorts of creative ideas come up, and things that, individually, one of us might think are too hard to work through, or too unconventional to be effectively practised, turn out, when we think about them together, to have all sorts of possibilities.
We have been fortunate over the last months to have had all sorts of people leading worship and preaching - and, over the last few weeks, to have had groups plan and lead the services. It has been so good for us that even as we return to a more normal pattern of ministerial presence, we are intending to try and keep up the pattern. At least once a month, we hope that various groups will be able to lead the evening service - and perhaps even the occasional morning service.
It is not just about the energy of a group leading a group; it is important for how we think about the church. One of our defining features as a Baptist church is that we do not have a clerical "caste"; that ministry belongs to all of us, and each of us has a role to play in the coming together of the congregation with Christ in the midst. It is helpful, and effective that people with recognised gifts and given space and time by the church to do the planning, take seriously those responsibilities. But to leave it all to those folk is both to impoverish the worship of the congregation and to deny the gifts of all of us.
So - it is not just that I want to do less. It is a delight to experience the leading of others, and to hear new voices, and discover new insights. Thank you to all who share in the work - and come and join us if you haven't shared before.

One of our members came into the room I was sitting in yesterday morning, and let out a great sigh. I laughed - the sigh seemed to express just what I was feeling at that moment, rather harrassed, not at all sure what was going on, finding it hard to feel relaxed, and a bit frustrated.
Then he said to me "why did you laugh" - and I realised that this was not a sigh of sympathy, but of pain and struggle on his part. And I had missed it! I had been so wrapped up in what I was feeling and wanting, that I didn't notice that he was in pain and that the sigh was very real.
He is a gracious man, and accepted my apology for my clumsy behaviour. And we spoke about his pain, and my frustration, and it was fine.
But it stays with me.
It is not easy to be in the church, it is not easy to be the church. We come together from all sorts of circumstances, both immediate and reaching far back into our lives. We come for all sorts of reasons, and bring all sorts of expectations. When we actually meet - and in the reality of the context of Bloomsbury that meeting may be infrequent, hurried or erratic - we are not immediately in tune with one another, we often have different agendas and plans.
It is not difficult for misunderstandings to arise. It is not infrequent for me to be so caught up in what is going on in my immediate experience that I miss what is happening in others' - or indeed, ignore the fact that their immediacy is different. The wonder, the grace is, that, on the whole, it's OK. We do in fact hear each other, meet each other and share in the fun and the frustration of being alive, and following Jesus.
But sometimes we miss. And then we need to re-engage, to listen more carefully and to to pay attention.
It takes an effort of will, but it is also one of the ways of God among us; this mystery that God works in our working, and transforms us through what we choose to let happen. I have been rereading The Go-Between God, John Taylor's wonderful exploration of how we can talk about the Spirit of God - and his powerful vision of the Spirit as the One who makes links, who connects us to creation, to each other, to the Mystery of God. We are not, on the whole, a church who speaks often of the work of the Spirit. And in that, I believe we follow the witness of the Spirit. The Spirit works not by drawing attention, but by pointing to God present in Jesus, and the life of the Kingdom. But here is, I suggest, one of the actions of the Spirit among us - that often enough, creatively enough, with hope and joy, we do connect with each other, we do build relationships, we do hear each other, we do share - despite all that might stop it happening.
For this grace, thanks be to God.

on prayer, rhythm and (not getting around to) blogging

With apologies to those of you (are there any?) who read this blog regularly, I confess there has been a longer than there was supposed to be hiatus in writing. I had had a regular point in the week at which I sat down and dragged up words of wisdom, insight, wit and creativity - or at least found something to say that I thought might be interesting.
In recent weeks, my routine has changed -all for good reason, and I am glad about it. I don't like routine, and it usually falls apart on me sooner or later. But it has meant that the regular sitting down to write the blog somehow got lost. It wasn't that I didn't think about the blog - and even come up with some ideas of topics I wanted to reflect on. It was just that - somehow - I never quite got round to actually doing it.
When I was a little girl I was pretty resistant to too much routine and ordering, and particularly to beign told what I had to do when. We grew up using Bible reading notes that were dated - and I always had trouble with them. I was always behind hand (except on the days when the reading was so short, and I ended up reading ahead, and got myself completely confused), and behind hand was enough, in the end, often to provoke me to give up. I was greatly liberated as I got older and discovered that it was permissible to encounter God at any time - to pray at all times and in all places, and prayer became not something I did at one set point in the day, but part of my whole living.
But then I began to realise that doing this anytime could all too often lead to never quite getting round to it. And so finding regular times for prayer - together with others or on my own - became important again; not the only time of prayer of course, but a (relatively) regular rhythm which forms a helpful discipline - and enriches the rest of prayer and life.
I guess I forgot it with the blog. Doing it any time turned into doing it never. Irritating with the blog (and apologies to those I have irritated). With prayer however, a much more profound and damaging effect. That is why I remain committed to finding ways we can pray together - even when routine seems less spiritual and authentic than spontaneity. And (and I did manage to do this even with the changes in rhythm) keeping the prayer pages of the website updated. I am grateful to those who have a much more ordered outlook on life and are able to encourage me in and sustain me through a good rhythm of life in God. The interweaving of rhythm and spontaneity is the in and out breathing of life. I will try not to get breathless or hold my breath too long again!

On how to deal with St Valentine

It was one of those teaser moments in a news programme; "in a few moments, we will be telling you about why the combination of Sunday and Valentine's day is a disaster for florists." I didn't hear the rest of the item, having to dash somewhere else, but it remained with me as a comment to ponder. I'm not sure why it should matter so much to florists (perhaps somebody can enlighten me) - but it is not always easy for those of us leading worship. And it is my proud boast that this year we didn't mention St Valentine at all on Sunday. The emphasis on romantic love, on coupledom, on spending money, on overpriced flowers and fancy cards has little to do with St Valentine - now no longer named as an "official" saint. But there is a memory of St Valentine - or rather of two Valentines who, in different places, were faithful believers, served as bishops and who were martyred for their faith.
Now there is a story to tell and retell when we meet to worship; the memories of those who have preceded us in faith, who have passed on the faith, who were determined enough to live in integrity even at the cost of their lives. It is not easy being a follower of Jesus - but in some places it is harder than others, and remembering, retelling that story matters.
And it matters because it is not a story only in past. It is still happening today.
Here is just one example, communicated by Forum 18, an organisation concerned with tracking issues of religious freedom around the world.

"Kazakhstan has fined Zhanna-Tereza Raudovich 100 times the minimum monthly wage for hosting a Sunday morning worship service in her home, attended by local Baptist women and their children, Forum 18 News Service has learned.
Police who raided Raudovich's home drew up an official record that "they had discovered an illegally functioning religious community", local Baptists complained to Forum 18. An appeal is due to be heard on 11 February. It remains unclear how Raudovich could pay the fine, as she has six children and does not have paid work. She has been warned that she will face criminal charges if she does not pay the fine. Meanwhile, Kazakh police have told Forum 18 that Kazakh-born Baptist Dmitry Leven will be deported for "illegal missionary activity" unless an appeal to Kazakhstan's Supreme Court against his conviction is successful. As the Supreme Court has refused to even consider an appeal, it is unclear what will happen to Leven. "I just want to be able to remain here," Leven told Forum 18. "I don't want to go anywhere else."
If you want to follow up, or learn more about what Forum 18 does and says, follow this link

http://www.forum18.org/

I am glad that we didn't mention Valentine's Day on Sunday. But I think we needed to - and need to go on - talking about the martyrs, then and now. We are all part of the Body of Christ, and we owe each other our care.

Crossing places

Two glimpses yesterday
- the monthly ministers' breakfast; one of the Jesuits who regularly attends turned to our resident Calvinist (theologically and denominationally) and asked "Is there anything our congregation can do to support the rebuilding of your new church - perhpas take up an offering? Quickly followed by our Anglican member commenting "Things have moved a bit in 400 years" (since the Reformation)

- a call to the minister's office from the front desk; a parcel has arrived to be signed for, but we don't recognise the name on the address lable. Over-anxious minister responds immediately with the thought that a strange parcel in the centre of London is not to be taken lightly, and dashes to the door - to discover that the name on the label is of one of our members from overseas, the spelling of whose name does not appear to match the way that we attempt to say it, and the receptionist, also first language is also not English, quite understandably did not recognise it. And the parcel was part of our Kingdom identity.

As part of a wider Baptist theme this year, we are taking Crossing Places as a theme for Tuesday lunches in Lent. And the glimpses are why. We find crossing places all the time; crossing of theologies and church traditions, crossing of cultures and languages, crossing - at least in the minister's mind - of fear and faith, crossing of Kingdom and injustice.
And at the centre of it all, the Cross; God's word of love, forgiveness, hope and life, crossing out the sin, violence and death that mars our world.
Thank God that the Cross works out in so many ways, so many contexts, so many unexpected places.

Well, that was Christmas, that was! Today, we have taken down - well, nearly - the decorations (some remain, waiting for a ladder, up which I will not go!) Next Sunday we will not be singing carols, and then it's all over.
It was a good celebration. Our carol concert was relaxed, happy and welcoming, with some wonderful music. Our nativity scene at the morning service which involved shepherds, angels and a butterfly was wonderful, and the young people's nativity presentation in the evening was, as always, a triumph of faith over planning, and demonstrated the ongoing reality of the miracle of meeting to worship. Then carols on the doorstep on Christmas eve - cold, but fun and well received. A midnight service with several visitors, and a Christmas morning service with several other visitors. And the Sunday after Christmas, when with the Sunday Club, we followed the magis' journey, complete with stars, gifts, cradle and leaving by a different route.
As always, all sorts of mixed feelings, wonderful music, old friends and new friends, and an overwhelming number of cards.
And this week we go back to "normal" - whatever that is.
And that is the point. If all that we have been celebrating and enjoying, the whole story we have been telling and the songs we have been singing - if it is true, then normal is stranger than we realised. And so our living in it, and our living with it, making sense of it will always be provisional, uncertain, exciting and open to change.
One of the songs we sang several times (I lost track of my carol choosing I am afraid; I usually try to avoid repetition) included the lines "Who would think that what was needed to redeem and save the earth might not be a plan or army, proud in purpose, proved in worth". The more often I sang it, the more often that middle section stood out - who would think that what was needed...might not be a plan?
I am not noted for my capacity to plan, but this line has haunted me over the last weeks. Perhaps part of the call this year is not only not to get tied to a rigid plan - but not to worry about that. Instead, to enjoy it, to know that God is at work in the places we haven't thought of, and certainly wouldn't have planned, and what we are invited to do is join in.
I am setting this phrase as my screen saver this year. Perhaps it will free me from the feeling that I ought at least to try and plan!