Well, we are migrating soon; the website that is. And this blog, instead of being a link found through the website, will be fully integrated into the new one. And that may even mean we can cope with comments. But don't hold your breath, just in case.
There may be other changes on the blog - we hope that others may get involved in writing, and that it may be more of a community effort, rather than simply my voice.
That's something we are trying to achieve in various contexts within our life together; exploring ways of hearing more than one voice. We already do it to some degree when we meet on a Sunday; we hear different voices in the readings, and sometimes in the prayers. We join together in responses. We listen as people lead us through music.
But there is room in our worship for many more voices - taking part in ways already established, and in finding new ways of sharing. It is a significant part of Baptist identity that we hear the voice of God for us in each others speaking. And so it is important that we learn to speak together.
And that of course, means that we need to learn to listen well too. We already practice this when we take seriously the role of the congregation in preaching. One of the privileges in being part of team ministry is the opportunity to listen to preaching, as well as offer it. And so, it is with some authority, even as a preacher, that I am qualified to comment that to listen well, to listen participatively, to allow the word to be the Word by listening, engaging, encountering and expecting is at least as active as preaching.
Without good listeners - listeners who expect to hear and require one to dare to speak so that there is the possibility of hearing, and whose hearing is one that is committed, then there is no word spoken that can become the Word in the world.
Please God, as we learn to bring more and more voices into our worship - and our blog - we will pay as much attention to listening well, and letting the Word be heard among and through us.

Sorry to be late with the blog this week; as Barbara used to say when we were working together, I'm not sure what I've been doing, but it's taken me all day (or two!) But one of the things I did yesterday was spend some time with a young man who comes into the church at various times. At the moment, ife is particularly tough for him, and I am very grateful to those who, yesterday, were able to provide exactly what was needed. And so was he, and he spent some time telling me just how much it meant to him. The phrase he used several times was "I don't know how this church does it; it's so amazing!" After saying this, in various forms, he then went a little further - "I suppose it's something that has been handed down". I'm not sure exactly what hemeant by it, but it has remained with me as a wonderful description of something important in the life of any church; the formation of a way of being, a culture, a set of habits - I am not sure exactly what to call it - that determines how we will act, and what kind of people we will be.
The thing about this way of exploring and creating an identity is that, unless we pay close attention to just how we are forming such who we are, we will be formed unreflectively, by habits and patterns that are not actually those of the Kingdom.
Part of what is happening when we gather - to hear the story of Scripture, and to explore it together at XChange, in home groups, in Sunday Club; to share bread and wine - and all the other food we eat together; to sing and to pray,- we are given opportunities to develop certain ways of being. We learn to listen and talk carefully and to know ourselves as part of bigger story, to serve one another, and to identify who we are through a pattern of self-giving that is cross-shaped.
One of the challenges of developing this kind of life is to move it from beyond the formal things we do together, and let these patterns invade the normal stuff of our life - the encounters which happen unexpectedly, the moments when we are taken off guard, the times when we are called on to act without time to reflect or to put up our guards.
My friend yesterday was reflecting that, in the matter of caring for people, meeting them where they are, and being practical in our response, is deeply engrained in who we are as a community. This is a matter for deep gratitude. Those who have gone before us have helped to shape a community of the kind that for those of us who live its life now, we are shaped into this generous and effective caring.
Which leaves several questions for us here and now. Not the least of which is, what are we shaping and handing on as the continuing identity, sense of what it means to be here and to be the people of God? And what are we doing to make sure it becomes deeply embedded in us and in the life we offer others?

Various surprising people over the last week have told me that they regularly read this blog; surprising simply because it had not occurred to me that they - you, and you probably know who you are - knew that it existed. One of the frustrations of not being able to manage comments is that our blog appears to live in a vacuum. (Despite my - admittedly not very skilled - best efforts, turning the comments on still eludes me. But our new website is due very soon, and then all will be different, I hope!!) And living in a vacuum is not a good place to be; indeed, I guess technically this image doesn't work, since nothing can live in a vacuum. Interaction is important, knowing how people read what is written, and the impact it has. And many of you have been very kind in your responses.
This need to interact is becoming important for us at the moment, especially as we think afresh about how we make contact with those who do not claim faith. We are grateful to those who have agreed to help us think about this, and there are all sorts of things to think through. And not the least is understanding people and the contexts in which they live and think. It is very easy, especially for those of us who have been part of the church for a long time, to forget that life and ways of understanding the world can be very different; generational differences, cultural differences, linguisitic differences and differences of ways of viewing the world - all of these matter as we try to find ways of communicating. If we are going to make connections, then it will have to be with people as they actually are, and not as we think they should be, nor as we know ourselves to be. I write this blog each (well, most) weeks about things that matter to me, in ways that make sense to me. I am grateful to those who make the effort to contact me - even when technically it is difficult. But it will be so much richer, so much more meaningful, once we can communicate.
And our commitment to communicate beyond our walls and beyond ourselves require even more determination to understand and make links, and to explore ways of communicating that may challenge how we see and think and expect; but which will be in line with the God who moved out of a safe and secure place into the risk and openess, identification and vulnerability of incarnation.

The noise around us continues, and very exhausting it is too. The struggle is that there is nothing to do but get through it; like so many things that happen without our choosing, the only way through is through.
What happens to us when we get "stuck" in a situaiton; when, despite all our best efforts and all our most fervent wishes - even prayers - nothing seems to change, and things remain as they are, ways we don't like.
This can happen in so many areas. It can be our own experience of ourselves (as we move into February, there is in some circles much laughing conversation about how tattered new year's resolutions now look, for example); it can be in our care of each other - when we want life to be better for the people we worry about, and there is nothing we can do to change things; it can be as we contemplate the state and position of the world - situations that look impossible or uncertain, and which do not seem to offer any possibility of change?
I am more and more convinced that the call in such times is just to stay - to hang on in there. In conversations with various people who work in community based groups in the area of the church, one of the regular things that is commented on is that we (the church here) are here for the long-term; we don't dash in and out, we are not dependent on the kind of funding that can all too easily be withdrawn with little or no notice, we are not going to disappear if things get tough. It's the kind of thing we tend to take for granted, so it is interesting to note that it is something others see about us.
It matters in our internal life too. Some of us live in and with situations that appear to offer no hope of change. It may be ill-health, it may be demanding responsibilities, it may be something much harder to put into words. But one of the things we offer each other is staying there, walking the hard - or simply long - path, not giving up when things don't change despite our best efforts and deepest hopes.
Thank God for the grace of carrying on - and thank you to all of you who do it with us and for us.

Being around our building is, once more, to be very aware of the noise that building work can create. The building next door, this time, is the one that is being reconstructed, and there has a been a great deal of hammering and drilling. And today, there was more work being done on the road at the back, involving what appears to be elephants dancing on biscuits - loud and crunchy!
Also on a Tuesday - the day I am writing this - we have our "Waiting Prayer" meeting; a half hour of silent prayer, whcih, for those of us who attend, is a welcome oasis in a loud and busy life.
I ofund myself fantasising during the prayer today (I make no claims to be a disciplined prayer!) about running away to somewhere green, wind swept - and without mechanical noise. It would be so much easier to pray there, runs the imagining. I would not be so abstracted or wooly-witted. I would really achieve depths of communion with God.
But in fact, I believe that praying in this context - surrounded by noise and at times rather overwhelmed by the business and busyness of life in the city - keeps us real. If our prayer and worship only "works", only appears to have reality in pleasant, quiet, perhaps even "romantic" contexts,then we need to ask just what we think we are doing. There is no chance of that happening in our building; we are kept in touch with the life and demands, the joys and the challenges of living among people day to day.
And it keeps our day to day life real too. For as we pray and worship in the midst of the city, we keep alive the links between the complexities, joys and ever-pressing presence of living in our lives and in our city. Praying and worshipping in the noise and busyness not only stops our worship become isolated from the realities we live in; it also stops the everyday and immediate realities of our living becoming separated from the deep presence and activity of God.
So I am trying to give up my fantasy of a green space in order to be able to pray truly. And if you would like to explore with me even further the challenge of praying in our situation, come and join me sometime.

During the past week, I have been having a conversation with a friend about a particular series of novels. The main character in the books is somebody who lives according to a very strong moral sense, and a deep commitment to right, good and love. Fans of the writer often speak of the impact of this writing on their own sense of self, and of the model the character provides.
In talking about this - and other - books that have mattered to us, I have become even more convinced, or perhaps it is that I have managed more clearly than usual to articulate, the recognition that for many of us, there are guiding texts; they may be books, or films, music or TV programmes (Patrick Stewart, when he took the role of Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the Star Ship Enterprise, in the series Star Trek, commented that he had been taken aback by the realisation that there were people who took his character as a life-model - and the responsibility that placed on him.)But whatever they are, they form a narrative that speaks to us of character, and what is admirable, of aims and how we might achieve them, of what it means to be a person, and how to do it.
The question is not will we have a base narrative - the question is do we know what it is, and have we chosen it with awareness.
Perhaps the year when we reflect on the translation of the Scriptures that we know as the Authorized Version, it is a good time to think further together about how, if at all, Scripture can be a base narrative for us?

The waiting over, the celebrations begun - and, it feels like, ended. Christmas is sooooo past now; we are into the new year, we are faced with putting away all the decorations, we are trying to lose the weight we have just put on, we have packed up the carol books....
But if Christmas means anything more than just a happy holiday, a lot to eat and some pretty pictures (to say nothing of the sheer delight of the nativity play)it mustn't be something we can pack away. Christmas is about birth; birth is about beginning; beginning implies continuity. And so, how do we continue? How to we go on with Christmas, or the implications of Christmas.
Perhaps we can do it through the other dominant theme this week; a new year's resolution. Perhaps we can resolve to do better, to live differently, to be better people.
Except - is that what the birth is about? Is that what we have been waiting for - a chance to try and get it right (again) and discover (again) that we can't do it?
Or might we have been waiting for something else? Might we dare to believe that the meaning we are offered in the birth is that it is not all down to us, that we are not the centre of the universe, nor the only ones who are responsible, nor is our strength all there is?
It's a new year, it's the Christmas season, it's the time when the promise "God with us" is offered anew.
I wonder if I can trust it? I wonder if you can? Might we do it together?

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.