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.