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!

Discovering that theology is true!

I have been learning a lot about the Body of Christ over the last few weeks. We have had some conflicts and issues going on recently that I have found hard to handle. But, my delight has been to find that others have not had the same difficulties - and more than that, they have been willing and able to do that which I have found myself unable to do.
It was hard to accept at first. That sense of needing to be able to do everything, that somehow it is inappropriate to depend on others, that other people are busy and shouldn't be asked to do more - even that my level of distress was daft, since other people were not so upset...all of that rather got in the way. But we are nothing if not a determined congregation, and people have just taken over and done what needs to be done.
And gradually, painfully, I have come to realise that this is part of what the Body of Christ means - that no one of us is able, or needs to be able, to do it all. And that different gifts is precisely what it says - there are things I can do that others can't and things others can do that I can't, and that is as it should be. To accept that may be a blow to the pride that holds on to a sense of omnicompetence and indispensability. But it is also a great relief, and a source of profound joy.
So, here, I want to say thank you to those with whom I share being this church - and to thank God for the gift of each other.

We had lots of young children at church on Sunday, and some there for special events. We had the chance to welcome the grandson of one of our familes, who was visiting this country for the first time. Much delight for people in seeing him, and there were lots of people making a fuss of him and affirming his place as part of our family, even if normally living at a distance.
And we also had the dedication service for two sisters, part of a family who have been worshipping with us for about 18 months now. This was a particular delight in its own way because, though both girls here well, both parents are deaf. They have committed themselves to being part of our fellowship, and work hard at interacting with the congregation, though lip-reading, reading prints of sermons, and concentrating very hard.
But we needed to do something different this week, and so we had a sign interpreter, not just for the dedication itself, but for the whole service. It was a fascinating experience. I have worked with those who have been translating my words into another spoken language, which is always a challenge. But this was a whole new thing. Partly because our interpreter didn't need to wait for me to finish a phrase or sentence before translating, but worked concurrently with me (though she did comment that I spoke rather fast!!).
But what struck me most was the beauty of the language that was used. I have always been very aware of the beauty of words; language has the power to move me at a very deep level (any of you who heard me read Caedmon's hymn in the service a couple of weeks ago would have seen that). But it was wonderful to discover a new aspect of beauty in movement, grace and particularly watching all three (the translator and the parents) signing the hymns in unison.
Dedications are always wonderful occasions - but the added grace and involvement on Sunday morning means that this is one that will hold a special place in my mind.
And it leaves a question. How can we develop our inclusiveness, and take further our capacity to communicate across the various barriers that are among us? An ongoing project, but one I hope we continue to adventure in.

Visiting and fidning life

When I was about 15 I started to visit an ancient man from our church who as it turned out, was a major formative influence in my life. But you never know these things when they are happening. You only discover that they’ve happened much much later (sometimes too late). They were no pastoral visits at that time. I only went because he was very interesting and his stories kept me listening for hours. He was a friend of my grandparents and that’s how I learned many stories from my grandparents’ lives and how things used to be when they were children and teenagers. He died some years ago but I can hardly forget him. I think I found him such a good friend in spite of the age gap mainly for 3 reasons. Again – these were hardly formulated in my head then. They are only emerging years later as I remember our chats. So – 1) he wasn’t complaining about his ailments all the time; 2) he wasn’t criticising the ‘young generation’ or all that’s wrong with the world today for that matter; 3) and he had no excessive need to give unsolicited advice. Somehow this lead me to the opinion that age does not matter when people reach a certain level of mutual understanding.
Now I’m finding myself in a different century/millennium, a different country, almost a different lifetime and visiting older people is part of the pastoral role I’m involved in. Yet, at times I find that these images from the past come back to me through other people. For instance, a few days ago I went to see an old man from our church. And I could immediately tell, that this man was from the category of the above mentioned guy from years ago. He is old and there are plenty of things to make his life miserable. There are plenty of reasons to make such visit a complaining session with a good opportunity of service for me to listen and offer empathy. Yet – none of this actually happened. On the contrary – it was a great lesson for me on how to perceive what life is and how to interpret what is happening to us. Instead of counting all that is wrong with his health, he gave account of how much he can still physically manage. Instead of complaining about loneliness, he showed me letters and emails that keep him in touch with various friends from all across the globe. Instead of listing what others have failed to do for him, he recounted how he helps others as much as he is able to. And all this was not just some kind of ‘positive philosophy of life’. There was a practical demonstration. In his kitchen there is a brand new washing machine, a dryer and a dishwasher. These are the things he got himself at the age of well over 80, and learned how to use them so that he can manage without carers. To me there is hardly a more solid proof of the will to live and cope with life as it comes. I’m not sure if I can even compare with it. We went out to lunch together and it was a great celebration. As he said – he hardly needs more to be able to celebrate than a new morning and a new day, and another person to talk to and another meal to enjoy. The fact that he wakes up is a bonus on top of God’s other blessings. Every new day is an extra on top of a rich tapestry of life. And when I see this kind of attitude enacted live before my eyes I really feel put to shame. All the stress we create for ourselves when we so easily slip into living our days without perspective. I think it’s best not to be saving this attitude for the ‘old age’, because that’s simply uncertain. The safest thing to do is to adopt it for today.
Posted by Ruth on behalf of Andrea Kvackova

On being right and wrong

One of the aspects of being a church and being part of a church is that there are always those who think that what is going on is wrong, and should be done differently, done more, done less - or not done at all. Such judgements come from both within and outside the church, and can be expressed with more or less courtesy and more or less directly.
It was one of the experiences of attending the WCC Faith and Order Plenary Commission, in which we were discussing things that matter very deeply to all of us about how we are churches, and what the nature of truth and true relating to God is. And I come home and discover that, as always, we are going through one of those periods within the church as well. And it raises an interesting set of reflections about how we recognise and trust the divine presence.
One of the things that I sometimes experience when people are telling me how things should be is the assumption - usually unspoken, but occasionally explicitly expressed - that God is on one side or the other (usually on the other, that is, not mine!) It's the kind of attitude expressed in the joke about the people who were arguing about styles of worship, and the argument ends with the comment
"Well, it's fine - you continue worshipping God in your way, and I will worship him in His"
What has begun to disturb me about the whole process is how easy it is to get sucked in to the attitude; to react to the suggestion that God is on the side of the person challenging me with the conviction that actually, God is on my side.
There was a time when I expressed this conviction in conversation with a (wise) friend. She came back at me very quickly. "God loves you utterly and completely, Ruth - and God loves XXXX as well - in the same way!"
That was several years ago, and I try to hold on to that. I try to remember that, if I dare to stand up and preach, if I dare to believe and encourage others to believe that the love of God is utter and limitless, and is not dependent on being good enough, then that is true for everybody. Even the people who say I am wrong.
And the hurt side of me rears up, and argues that surely God must be on my side, for I am right - and so I am right back into the conviction and practice that the love of God depends on me (or somebody else) being acceptable. That has got to be a dangerous place to stand.
There is another spin-off as well. If God is on my side because I am right, then it takes no time to get to the conviction that I am right because God is on my side - or, in other words, - I have the capacity and right to know and define what God wants, does and, in the end, who God is.
An even more dangerous place.
So, I find myself driven back again and again to prayer, and in particular to the prayer; Lord, you Kingdom come - and Lord, keep me humble.

Knowing what day it is

Well now, here I am on Thursday doing what I normally do on Tuesday, and writing the blog. That's because Tuesday felt like Monday, and Monday was bit like a Wednesday - and now I don't really know where I am, because the rhythms have got a bit muddleed this week. And so, apologies to those of you who read this regularly (if there are any of you!)
It has been an odd feeling, this muddled week; it's caused by all sorts of things, none of them really important, but it has highlighted the importance of the rhythm and the calendar, in giving a sense of place in the world, and structure to life.
Baptists have not always been very keen on regular rhythms, and the calendar of the church. Dorothy Hazzard, one of the founder members of one of our earliest churches, Broadmead in Bristol, was known for keeping the shop she ran open on Christmas day, because she insisted, all days are the same, and the keeping of "holy days" was a theological practice she rejected.
In her time, there may have been something important in that witness. Now, I am not so sure.
The Christian calendar, moving us from Advent through Christmas, through Lent and Easter, Ascension, Pentecost, contemplation of Jesus' ministry and the life of the Christian church and culminating in remembering the communion of Saints (All Souls day is this Sunday), before leading us back into Advent, is an important way of keeping us in touch with the whole of our Christian story, and the presence of God in every part of our day, week, month and year.
As we move through the season of remembrance and into Advent, why not join us in reflecting on God's presence here and now, and through history, saving, loving and calling.
And next week, I may be on time!

On technical problems

If, as well as reading this on our website, you also look at the notice sheet that we put up each week, you will know that we have had some "issues" with our notice sheet; all we seemed to be able to do was show old ones! We have now managed, thanks to our wonderful webmaster and the patience of Andrea and Vilem, got things moving again - we think.

But it has been an interesting experience. Quite rightly, people were keen to tell us there was a problem. Unless we were told, we would not have known, and then nothing could have been sorted out. But then we discovered we could not even put up a note saying that we knew there was a problem. And so people felt, having told us and seeing nothing changed, thought that we had not listened, or were not taking it seriously. Which led to some frustration on all sides.

Communicating - especially when communicating isn't working well - is fraught with difficulties. It feels like it shouldn't be. Talking to each other - or writing, or using sempahore or whatever means we have available to us - feels like it ought to be simple, straightforward and natural. We are communicating people. We know what we want to say, the message we want to pass on - and so we do it.

But sometimes, somehow, it doesn't work. The message gets confused, misinterpreted or distorted. Misunderstandings happen, and sometimes hurt is caused, anger provoked - and the consequences seem to run away from us. All we wanted to do was say something - and suddenly we're in a battle and don't quite know how.

When I was a student, I remember a tee-shirt with the slogan
what you think you heard me say is not what I thought I was saying
(it was a big tee-shirt!) It's a phrase I've come back to often when I've realised that what I have said is not what has been heard. It helps to defuse things sometimes.

But this realisation - of the difficulty of making ourselves understood, and of understanding what another says - provokes me to even more praise for Incarnation. For, in many and various ways, God spoke to our ancestors by the prophets, but in these last days, God speaks to us through a person. Now, all we need is grace to understand!

I am doing a lot of travelling at the moment; this week has seen me in Prague, at a consultation to reflect on the future of the International Baptist Seminary, and then Glasgow to take part in the induction of the first woman as sole pastor in a Baptisty church in Scotland - and pretty soon, I am off to share in the plenary session of the World Council of Churches, a meeting that will last for a week.
I will be glad when it all stops and I can stay in one place for more than two days at a time!
But one of the things that has been more and more evident in all the events I have been too is just how small the world is. Not simply because of the ease of travel (which, even if it is boring, is easy, if I am honest!) It's mroe the way there is always somebody who knows somebody. For example, at the consultation, we were told to go and form pairs with somebody we hadn't met. I knew most of those in the room, so I headed towards somebody I thought I had had no contact with - only to have him say, "Ah yes, I know your father".
And the man leading the consultation - brilliantly, and his work has been one of the delights of this week - grew up at the church where Seyan is now pastor.
And at the induction, I met somebody who asked me to take greetings to members here whom they remembered attending there some years ago.
So who knows who I will meet at the WCC meeting, and what links will be uncovered.
It is one of the experiences that make real, for me, what we mean when we talk about being the body of Christ. Physically, the sole of my foot does not often come into contact with my shoulder - seeing that I am no contortionist. But they are both my body. And they are linked through a series of connections. To go to places I don't know and discover people I don't know but with whom I have links, means that the language of the body of Christ is not simply pious talk, but reality.
Our website, and those of you who read this blog, are also part of this; we may not meet (though I know some of us do), but we belong together.
And, with this amount of travelling going on, it is something I am very grateful for!

saying goodbye, endings and new beginnings

This coming Sunday sees Seyan's farewell service. We are grateful that he has been willing to come and share this service with us - if you are free, come and join us for our harvest service at 11.00 on Sunday.
We will take a moment at the end of the service to say farewell, to express something of our gratitude, and to commit Seyan to God's continuing care, as well as recommitting ourselves to God's care and service.
It will, I am sure, be a time of laughter, memories and some sadness. It is an important process, saying goodbyes. It's not easy. It means acknowledging parting, accepting separation, giving ourselves to a new way of life, and not one we might have chosen or planned.
But it is also a time to say thank you, to express affection, to commit ourselves to hope.
For it is in the context of hope that we say goodbye. We hope - we trust - that this new arrangement of where we all are and what we are all doing is one in which God is working, and through which blessing and possibility are made known, made real. We dare to hope this, even when it feels unchosen, and scary, because we believe in resurrection. Resurrection is so much more than "life after death". It is life unlimted by the small deaths that shape our every day - the goodbyes, the endings, the changes - all that threatens our own sense of control and choice. But the promise of resurrection is that the life that comes through and beyond all the deaths is a life that is in God, - rich, blessed and full. We don't need to wait for a heaven beyond the earth for that; we are in touch with it every time we dare to acknowledge the reality of parting, and trust that it is a hopeful process.

Packing Up Memories

The next few days promise some frenzied activity on the 4th floor and above as I try to meet the deadline on next Friday when the removal firm arrives to collect all my worldly possessions and transport them to Walmer.



I marvel at quite how, as a single person with modest means, I have managed to accumulate so much stuff. Clearly my passion for new clothes needs to be curbed if any future move is to be achieved with less stress than the present one.



Hopefully the present encouragement we all face to move to a paperless environment might help too. Why on earth have I kept so many boxes of papers - bank statements, letters, governors minutes, deacons agendas, half used notebooks?



I suspect moving should afford an opportunity to have a radical review and a major throw out of some of this accumulation but each item has some memory attached to it and it is proving very difficult to consign any of it to my biodegradable black sacks.



Returning 'home', as I will be doing soon, is starting to rekindle memories too. Friends - I think that's what I still call them - have kindly produced a complilation of movie clips from the 1980's showing a much slimmer and youthful Seyan engaged in church activities in Walmer. Watching these has reminded me of the friends, fun and a thriving fellowship of which we were all part two or more decades ago.



Times have changed and people have moved on. The memories are good to treasure but new challenges lie ahead and although shaped by past experience they need to find their own direction and purpose.



As life here at Bloomsbury will continue without me and folk will from time to time doubtless recall memories of our activity together, so, in Walmer, life will go on too - differently from before - but now with me as Pastor creating memories for the future.



The Gospel we share and proclaim must surely be the same, unmistakably formed and shaped by events of the past but relavent and responsive to the needs and diversity of society of the present. Discerning our Godly response is often tricky and the easy option may often be to do so 'as we've always done' or 'as x or y did last time'.



As I'm packing my boxes now, I shall need to be careful what I choose to unpack later, and how best to us it. God is wanting to do something new and I (we) should allow this without the baggage of the past getting in the way.

on being an audeince to nothing

There was great excitement here at Bloomsbury last Tuesday lunch; the TV cameras were here! A programme that is based on, but assures us it is not, X-Factor, needed to do some filming for an audience. And they thought we would be the ideal place and people to supply what was needed. So, last week, various people were filmed reacting as an audience, both in delight and in despair - or at least disapproval. There was much cheering, and some booing, a lot of waving and a fair amount of thumbs-downing. It was all great fun, and if we ever hear when it is to be broadcast, we will let you know.
But there was something rather bizarre about it all. Because all this audience reaction, all this emotion and response was being recorded without anything actually being there to react to. The various bits of film will be dubbed onto the programme appropriately later.
At least, we hope it is appropriate. But it does raise the question about what is appropriate. If the editors decide that a particular act is the one they want to win, presumably, they will dub on the cheering response - and the disapproving one for the act that is to lose.
Which poses all sorts of issues, not least the point of honesty. If we are watching something, it is very evident that the response that is broadcast with it will guide our reaction. Canned laughter is based on this - and I guess this is just one step up from that. But if this is for a competition, then what does it do to the people who, presumably, are competing with the hope of winning, and being judged fairly (whatever that means)
There is also something about dis-integration here too; the separation from ourselves. When our reactions are entirely manufactured, and completely separate from what others then see them in relation too (if that sentence makes sense), what damage does this do to the wholeness of human beings, to the integrity of who we are and they way we respond to the world.
One of the callings to wholeness that Jesus gives is surely to do with an honest response to the situations in which we are; to respond with who we truly are, not in ways that are designed to make us look good, or to win favour or to create a particular impression. It can be hard to do. There are all sorts of things that get in the way of our authentic and whole response; our fear of others' judgements, a need to look good or be acceptable, the power of peer pressure or, even more fundamentally, our lack of connection with our own deepest responses to the world. To record a series of responses without anything to respond to seems a brillian illustration of just how easy it is to become alienated, and treat it as fun or normal.
All of which is rather heavy over something that was fun. I'm glad we did it. It made us laugh, and it was an interesting series of human interactions, as what was needed was explained, demonstrated and offered.
But it makes you (well, me!) think......

We have a sporadic tradition here of inviting people to use their most comfortable language when we share the Lord's Prayer. We do this because there are quite a few languages represented among the regular congregation. Indeed, on a Sunday morning, we almost always - certainly at this time of year - have people in worship who speak very little English. There are even one or two people who come regularly to worship who speak no English at all. With a printed order of service, careful announcement of the readings so that people can follow them in their own language, and lots of smiling and handshaking, we manage to build relationships and make something happen. Sharing the Lord's Prayer in our own languages emphasises our links and still gives us all the chance to participate.
I have wondered often about why people come to worship when they don't share the dominant language. On occasions, I have attended worship in other countries, and it is a strange feeling not to be sure what is going on, or at best, making a guess.
But it is also true that actually all of us are attempting to speak and hear in a language not our own when we come to worship. All language of God is so huge, so partial, so striving to speak the unspeakable. We can never fully speak the mystery.
And the words we say of ourselves, the promises we make in the hymns we sing, the offerings we make in our praying, these too are more than normal language - and certainly not our normal language, our everyday speech.
The stories, the promises, the commands and calls we hear when we read Scripture, share bread and wine, open the baptismal pool - such language is foreign to us all, speaking to us in the dialect of the Kingdom, a country we are not fully at home in, but which we look towards.
Having those among us who do not speak the language that the majority speak is a a salutory reminder to all that our worship speech is always a language we are learning, and in which we will always be beginners. But thanks be to God, he still chooses to speak to us.

Power and giving it up - or not?

Power! I know what I think. Or at least I did – until last night. Power is bad – as we know – power corrupts… At Xchange we talked about whether Christians, whose mission is to the world, need power in order to fulfil that mission. Should we celebrate Christians sitting in the House of Lords? Should we be grateful for Christian millionaires who are generous with their monetary power? And for that matter- should we recruit celebrities to promote the Christian message? The trouble with power – it seemed to me – is not that it is hard to use it wisely. The trouble with power is that it is impossible to use it wisely. Wasn’t that the point of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings? The Ring of Power! Surely, in the right hands – in Gondor, in Lothlorien, it could be used by good people to defeat evil forces. Power corrupts before you have even grasped it!

But then we look at Jesus. At some levels, he relinquished all power. And yet even the wind and waves obey him. He has authority: to forgive sins, to perform ‘mighty acts’, to command obedience from the forces of nature. What was the source of this authority? Is it any different to power?

At Xchange last night – I felt that one of our conclusions is that in relinquishing all power, he thereby embodied the authority that rightfully belongs to a human. Without relinquishing all attempts to power, would the wind and waves obey him? Would he have been able to perform such mighty acts? Maybe it is in giving up power and the lust for power (however we try to legitimize that lust with soundbites and bible verses), we discover what authority means. Maybe, in abandoning our quest for power, we discover the authority that is genuinely God-given, and ultimately most powerful of all.
(Posted by Ruth on behalf of)Simon Perry