A journey with wit and wisdom

It's Saturday evening. We've hit one of those rare moments of calm when the main path through the festival village seems almost empty. E., 21/2, runs ahead of us, flinging her arms wide and shouts to anyone with ears to hear
"Greenbot....I love you!"

So do I, her granny.

It's been 20 years now since I first fell in love with this place of wonder, hopes and dreams, falling into the arms of the festival with delight, as I discovered that there WAS a tribe to which I belonged, a place which heart and soul could both call home. 

In those first years at Cheltenham, with free range children exploring far and wide, enjoying a freedom and safety that I couldn't always offer them elsewhere, it was all about the talks. I bought tapes by the dozen, discovered new writers, new ways of approaching faith in terms of radical Kingdom living which my gently conventional Cotswold village church somehow never quite articulated, lapped up so much wit and wisdom, found myself stretched, challenged, inspired. I loved it all, - and the belated realisation that my own sense of discontent with the way Church and life seemed to play out was shared by others kept me going through the switch-back journey of discernment and ordination training. 
I made friends - online friends (a concept that was still excitingly novel, and transformative for me) with whom I spent many a happy evening on the Greenbelt forum, and so for a few years the festival was mainly a feverish series of catch ups, of "Greenbelt hugs" (oh, dear, dotty, beloved Anna, you are missed, still missed!) exchanged en route to yet another unmissable talk.
With them I savoured many, many Greenbelt moments. glimpses of God in unexpected corners that filled me with joy.

I watched those free-range children find their own roles, their own homes in the Greenbelt community...When I first travelled to India, at the same stage in my daughter's life as I had lost my own parents, it was to Greenbelt friends that I entrusted their emotional and spiritual flourishing if something went wrong and I failed to return. 
Those friendships were intense, sometimes demanding but never less than life-enhancing - and forged in our shared love of this place of hope and transformation year after year after year.

Greenbelt has always been a place where I could try new things...listen to music I'd never have met elsewhere, experience worship that was light years away from the norm I encountered as I travelled through curacy and into the early years of life as a parish priest. 
Sometimes Gloucester diocese, my then home, had clergy training days at the racecourse - and it always felt as if somewhere, just out of sight, the festival was going on in a parallel universe...that Snowy was stewarding a crowd into a John Bell talk, while The Rising brought in crowds to Centaur and DFG were up to something subversively funny in Underground, 
Ten years in to our relationship I had come to realise that there would ALWAYS be more than I could possibly fit in...but that if I missed something wonderful one year, there would be something no less wonderful waiting for me when we returned just twelve months on. I became less frenetic in my passage from Performance Cafe to Centaur, from Wild Goose to Christian Aid. It would all be alright. There were enough of us who were trying to live our faith in a Greenbelt kind of way, such that if I didn't get to everything, there would be others to pick up any one message and take it home with them.

5 years ago, I moved from Gloucester to Coventry - and the festival moved too, recovering from the trauma of 2012 Mudbelt, after which life at Cheltenham was never quite the same. Planted afresh on a greenfield site at Boughton, Greenbelt changed shape a little, but the passion, the beauty, the faith, hope and love were absolutely unaltered and we moved into a new chapter in our family too, as long-term partners became family and then, 3 summers ago, the very special Miss E experienced her first festival. With her dad up to his ears as head of traffic, it wasn't an easy weekend for her mum, but she's a wonderful woman who persevered anyway, so that last year we had the fun of chasing a rampaging toddler through the festival village, passing friends, talks, art work at a gallop. I'm not sure what I actually attended in2018 (I know I was at Communion, with the same group of beloved friends with whom we've shared this holy moment for at least a decade, as children were born to enlarge our circle) but I found that, despite a vague feeling that I hadn't actually experienced that much, when I returned to work I FELT as if I had been to Greenbelt. Renewed, enthused, challenged and changed. The addictive mix I've been lapping up continues to sustain and delight me.

And, this year, as temperatures soared, things were different again.
Different, but exactly the same in terms of what actually matters. Understanding friends coped when our conversations never shifted from the superficial to their former depths, as I had one eye constantly on a blonde, curly head intent on heading off across the Lawn to explore fresh woods and pastures new. In a new season, landscapes adjust their contours, and new delights emerge.

No, i didn't get to all the talks I might have enjoyed - but goodness, I was fed well by those I did attend. Mark Oakley, Padgraig O'Touma, Rachel Mann and the incomparable Nadia Bolz-Weber made everything gloriously alright, restoring my faith in preaching, in the power of story and in the joy of living in my own body...something Miss E had been trying to get across for a while.
I spent more time in the Haven and lying in the shade while Miss E created her own campsite out of a folding seat and organised her toys for "'Munion in the bootiful big tent" than I did soaking up the peace of the Chapel...but there were Greenbelt moments aplenty. 
Too late to gain a space inside Shelter for Saturday night's Taize service, I sat on the grass looking out across the lake towards the house and the festival village. I thought about a dear friend whose mother's life is gently coming to an end as we sang "Wait for the Lord whose day is near, wait for the Lord, keep watch, take heart!" and reflected that Greenbelt, more than anything else, enables me to keep faith and stretch out in yearning towards the Kingdom with all that is in me. And God was there, and I was there, and around us Greenbelt buzzed with life and that same longing urging us onwards.
And on Sunday morning I had an almost unbelievable, overwhelming privilege, when, asked to read at the Communion service, I found that my "lines" included my most loved verse in the whole of Scripture.
"For the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. And the darkness never will", matched by the wonder of the Magnificat, with its vision of the world turned upside down..rekindling my own treasured memory of being installed at Coventry on the feast of the Visitation, singing "Tell out my soul" as my beloved church family walked me up the aisle of the Cathedral towards a new life and ministry there...
I was even, incredibly, entrusted with the words of Institution, shared with a remarkable 9 year old. 
So many precious, precious words, to speak aloud in the place I love.
And I stood on my little platform, surrounded by 5,000 plus Greenbelters singing "O holy night" with all that was in them, and knew that here, right HERE, heaven was touching earth again. 
And I was part of it, caught up in love and delight and grace upon grace upon grace.

"Make life more like Greenbelt" said my younger son, as we headed home one year, coated in mud but shining with joy.
"Greenbelt is a state of mind, not just a festival" said another...and once again I'm restored to myself, by 4 days unlike any other. 
As so often, my best beloved E said it best, with her joyous exclamation
"Greenbot...I love you".
"Amen", and again  I say "Amen."

Easter outdoors

Last week, in between the preparations for my mother in law's funeral & the ceaseless stream of parish funerals too, I was mostly in the churchyard!
Seems eminently reasonable in this month of funerals - but actually I was there to celebrate resurrection with children from 2 of our 3 local schools. In previous years, I've loved using the "Experience Easter" indoor stations, which take children on an interactive journey into the Passion narrative, helping them to build bridges from 1st century Jerusalem to 21st century Gloucestershire...but valley church school has now made that journey twice, so a change was called for, and the diocese had helpfully provided
"Experience Easter Outdoors".


With only 4 stations, and children coming round a whole class at a time, it was simpler to manage - and the stunning summer weather last week made it a delight to spend time exploring the events of the Triduum in a sunny churchyard. There were fewer deep conversations with the children, as we were in much larger groups - but the activities invited reflection and I'm confident seeds were sown. 
The stations worked like this

1) Gethsemane...The story of Jesus praying alone,  linked with all those who suffer pain and persecution as they stand up for what is right. Children are invited to take a stone, ask God to help them to stand up for what they know to be right, & then place stones in a circle around the tree at the centre of the garden


2) The Courtyard...VERY exciting. A fire blazing in the dustbin we use for the Easter fire (nothing if not basic in Cainscross!)...Story told, children invited to reflect on Peter's feelings after he had denied Jesus & his motivation for doing this then to take a twig, remember a time when they let somebody down, & drop twigs into the fire as they listen to readings reminding us of God's forgiveness.

3) Golgotha...Three crosses and the story of the penitent thief. A reminder that the cross is a symbol of forgiveness and love (I always talk about Jesus on the cross offering a hug to embrace all who have ever lived or ever will live)...then children are invited to make their own crosses and leave them as a reminder to all who pass by of just how much God loves them. This was quite wonderful. We had stick crosses, flat and upright, grass crosses, teeny tiny crosses of pine needles...all worked on with such attention...Visiting that corner of the churchyard now there is a veritable forest of reminders of God's love. Brilliant! 




4) Finally, of course, we remembered why Good Friday is not, after all, the saddest day ever, as we visited the Garden Tomb and saw how it was empty, with Christ risen and death defeated for all time. We talked about the power of hope and planted wild flower seeds, tiny, fragile, looking so dead but full of potential for life. If even a few of those placed secretly by the children actually germinate and grow, our churchyard will be a beautiful place this summer - but, having travelled around it in their company, I think it will always be a beautiful place for me. 

A prayer for an "Open the Book" team.

A long time ago (well, I think it was in 2001 to be precise) a small group of women involved in children's work in this diocese met for coffee and conversation with the then Children's Officer. We didn't have any specific agenda, beyond getting to know one another better, and mutual support. 

I was about to go to my selection conference, so didn't pay that much attention to a conversation that was happening on the other side of the room in the ancient gatehouse that is the Cathedral's Education Centre....but 2 of my colleagues were sharing a dream they had had.....and getting very excited.

From that conversation and the dreaming of dreams, Open the Book was rolled out in this diocese and those two women found a new vocation and ministry -which has touched hundreds of adults and children.

Fast forward to 2012, and I've been asked to commission the new team that is taking "Open the Book" into one of our community schools here in the valley. Over the past 3 months as the team has developed, they have grown in so many ways - in faith, in confidence, in friendship - it would have been worth launching the team for the benefits to its members alone, without the impact that their ministry will have on the children of our schools. 

It is a real delight to be commissioning them - I'm thankful for Open the Book as a project, and for the way it has inspired so many to connect with local schools, to enable them to experience the Bible, not as something sterile or irrelevant, but as something dynamic, exciting and immediate...

So tomorrow I will anoint the team, and pray for them by name......then wait and see what happens next through their gift of time and talents.

Lord God,
you invite each of us to be part of your great story

and weave our lives into your perfect happy ending.

Bless your servants N & M as they share the story of your love

and open the book in which we learn more of you.

Give them gentle patience,

Creativity and insight

and all those gifts that they most need

as they share good news with the children of Cashes Green.

May the children, drawn by these stories

Begin to find their place in your kingdom

and so claim your story as their own

Through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Pray like Hannah - letter for the parish mag

This month churches across Gloucestershire are going to “Pray Like Hannah”...But why?

It's an answer to a question, and also an invitation. So many churches are asking

“Why do we have so few children coming to church?” - and the answer takes the form of another question

“Have you prayed for them to come?”

The invitation is to all of us connected to the church: Pray like Hannah

I'm sure you remember her story, which is found in the Old Testament Book of Samuel. Hannah is the loved wife of Penniel, but she is childless – in her culture the ultimate disaster for a wife, a badge of shame, a judgement of God. Children were vital to secure the future of the family, the tribe, the nation. In desperation, Hannah is driven to pray, to “pour out her soul”. Her prayer is so urgent, so passionate that the old priest, Eli, assumes that she is drunk.

So the first invitation is to pray passionately for children to know that they are part of God's family. It's as simple as that. It's born from a deep longing and love for children, and a sense of loss that they are absent from our midst.

Hannah's prayer is answered; Samuel is born. But then Hannah takes him to the Temple and leaves him in Eli's care. He grows up to become a prophet and leader of God's people – probably not what Hannah had expected when she longed for a baby to cradle in her empty arms.

So we too have to be ready for answered prayer to look quite unlike our expectations...We may find that instead of the children flocking in to church on a Sunday morning, we are called to go out and take God's love to them....We may believe that we have much to teach them, but will surely find that they have more to teach us.

So this month parishes across the diocese are invited to Pray like Hannah...It's a good time of year to focus on children, a time when things change for many of them as they move from home to school, from one school to another...It's a time with endings to face and new beginnings ahead. It's also a time when we can expect to meet children on holiday from school, shopping with their parents in the Co-Op, riding their bikes in Victory Park. Sometimes their presence will delight us, at others we may wish that they could leave us in peace.....but each day as we encounter them, and each day that we don't, let's pray for the children of our community. Jesus welcomed children – loud, mucky, unkempt street kids...He told us to become like them. As the Body of Christ, the church is handicapped, incomplete if our children are not with us...so please join me in prayer this month.

We know that prayer changes things – so we've much to look forward to.

Servant King

This year for the 4th time I'm welcoming children into a church that I serve to "Experience Easter"...The trail was devised, originally for Gloucester Diocese, by our excellent Children's Advisor & Primary Schools Advisor, both of whom are stunningly creative & inspiring women - so the stations in themselves are highly effective. However, what makes me rejoice as I walk them with group after group is the fresh light that the children shed on events that are so deeply embedded in me.

Yesterday we opened "Experience Easter 2010" with year 5 from Valley Church School and as usual I came home with much to ponder. Insight of the day came from A. as we considered our different understandings of "servant" and "king" and how those two roles could be combined in Jesus

"Jesus understands exactly how it is to be anyone...it doesn't matter how different they  are,  what  they look like to other people...Jesus knows how it is because he has been there - from servant to king. He understands children and bullies too".

I'll never sing that song again without this added layer of meaning.
Jesus, in one action,  giving us not just a model for Christian life, but a glimpse of the heart of the God who knows us all inside out.

Signs of the Kingdom, Signs of the times - Week 3, Monday

I've blogged more than once before about the rather wonderful school at the top of the hill (not, sadly, the same hill which gives Church on the Hill its name - the school for that community closed before I left university),  a school whose staff work with children disadvantaged in so many ways, care for them passionately and teach them to believe in themselves. It stands as a sign of the Kingdom for me all the year round, not just during Advent.

Though it's not a church school, we've now established warm and friendly relations. I'm in there for Assembly at least once a month, getting to know both staff and children, and tonight the Juniors brought their Carol Service down to Church in the Valley. It was a simple service, with short readings delivered beautifully, telling the story from Annunciation to Epiphany and 100% traditional carols sung with great enthusiasm by all the children. It made me very smiley to think that this group of children at least will have the same sound-track to Christmas that I grew up with...whatever else overlays that foundation.

All lovely stuff, then - but perhaps most specially the tortoiseshell butterfly that was roused by the warmth as the church heaters lurched into action, which flew from the sanctuary down the nave over the heads of the delighted children and then returned to settle gently on, of all things, the Christmas tree.
New life, anyone?

Signs of the Kingdom, Signs of the Times: "Soon and very soon..."

You might have gathered that I'm a bit stuck with pre-festival deskyness, at the moment - so it's been a bit harder to raise my eyes and notice signs this past week. However, the Friday Five Over at RevGals was a gift for the series... Sophia offers what she describes as " another very simple Friday Five in honor of the past, present, and eschatological dimensions of this powerful season of the church year....

Please share five ways that God has come to you (your family or friends, your church or workplace, our world) in the past year, that God is coming to you right now, and/or that you are longing and looking for God to come."

• as always God has come to me very directly and powerfully through the ministry of children. In this Year of the Child they have been central to so many glimpses of the kingdom, from their dancing with the Holy Spirit at our wonderful Pentecost service to their unexpected, unintended wisdom offered again and again at school assemblies and at Messy Church. For me, the child as model of the Kingdom is unerringly effective.

• through the slow growth in relationships around Messy Church. For me it's represented by the gift of ice-cream for 40 from one mum who can ill-afford it, and by the way that one young man has appeared, rain or shine, to help in whatever way we need - from moving tables to making Christingles, with a host of other kindness in between. These are people whom I didn't know at all when the year began, and I thank God for them, and for all that they represent.

• the boundless energy and joy of Libby the retriever when I let her off the lead at the start of a walk in the woods or on the common. She is utterly present in the moment, delighted by everything that it brings - and the unconditional love with which she greets any and everyone whom she encounters is positively inspiring (til she rolls in something indescribable, of course...but that's what seeing "in a glass darkly" is all about!)
  

•  new friendships, born here online, with people who've been just exactly the people I've needed, with the particular gifts, insights and inspiration to transform some difficult times this year...those who have said to me "Here is the way, - walk in it".

• a dream hatched at a planning meeting just this week.The group gathered to discuss our contribution to a deanery-wide mission happening next autumn, - a one-off event designed to encourage people to "Think Twice" about life and faith. By the time we went home we were looking at something far more radical, something that might, with God's help, really make a difference in this community, even if nobody ever joins the church as a result...God so loved the world, - right?
  

Signs of the Kingdom, Signs of the times

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The obvious problem with launching any sort of blogging series is that you create the expectation that you will actually continue it...It would be entirely reasonable to imagine that an Advent series might include posts each day of Advent - but clearly I'm not going to achieve this. That instantly makes me anxious...Am I so busy looking in the wrong direction that I'm failing to recognise signs of the Kingdom? Surely there must be some to see each and every day...

Or is it simply that I lack the time to write about them? (shortage of time has never prevented this born procrastinator from fitting in a blog post, even with chaos and deadlines all around me)

And does anyone really want or need to read them anyway? (I don't have a site meter, so I'm not sure how many people actually visit here, but I do know that there are far fewer comments these days than in the heyday of blogging)

All of which is a very circuitous route to saying that series are probably dangerous. I avoided NaBloPoMo because I guessed I wouldn't have something worthwhile to share every day for a whole month, and I think this applies equally to Advent.

But I'll keep trying to offer the signs that speak to me...because, after all, blogging is a pretty narcissistic activity. If they work for anyone else as well, that's a bonus.

So...I was in school again, continuing to explore the meaning of waiting, and what we might really be waiting for. We talked alot about CHRIST...then one small hand began waving around in great excitement.

"Kathryn, Kathryn...I know what the other bit of Christmas means...It means it's for alot of people altogether. That's what a mass is...So Christmas means Christ for lots of people"

Linguistically dodgy, theologically spot on I'd say.

Signs of the Kingdom, Signs of the times Week 2: Monday

Busy weekend, with lovely C staying, the usual pattern of worship, & a couple of trips across to Gloucester Hospital to visit a poorly parishioner...There were several signs of the Kingdom to be spotted en route but my favourite came about during the All Age talk yesterday.
Using the Malachi passage set for the day, I talked about refining silver, and the need to purify it before it can become the shiny metal that we think of.
My mother's favourite silver tray went on a trip around church so that everyone could see their face in it, while I reminded them that we are made in God's image "to reflect His truth and light".
There was a baptism, too, and I felt more and more smiley as I realised just how strong a theme the image of God is in the liturgy...but my Kingdom moment came when E., Church-in-the-Valley's example of the splendid child who can be relied on to volunteer for everything, held the silver tray so that the curate's son could see himself. 
One of the most charming toddlers I know gazing with joy on the face that gazed back at him...
Indeed, it was very good.

Models for the Kingdom

You don't have to be in this game for long before you realise that the people who will teach you most are likely to be under 10s...
I'm still bitterly home-sick for the Little Fishes toddler church in my training parish, who constrained me to organise my theology into the sort of nugget that can be delivered in 2 minutes to a restless assemblage of babies, toddlers and caffeine-deprived mothers, but I'm blessed in having two schools here that welcome me with open arms, not to mention the splendid Valley Church Playgroup...so my education isn't suffering too much.

Yesterday was very much dedicated to Valley Church School. First thing this morn came a KS1 assembly on planets, which was startlingly successful, despite woeful lack of preparation.Later on I found myself in Reception, conducting a wedding...The bride was given away, reclaimed,then given away again before her father fell over the best man's feet and collapsed into infectious giggles...The groom decided the only comfortable place for his ring was on his right thumb...The bride and her bridesmaids concentrated above all on getting their hair perfect...All in all, it was startlingly convincing, except that I'm not used to guests giving me hugs afer the service and asking me to their birthday party. Clearly I need to spend more time on people skills :-)



Finally, after lunch, I landed in Y3, where they had been considering Committment. We started by talking about the committments they make - to Beavers, Cubs and Brownies, to their pets (if you let me have a rabbit I promise I'll look after it every single day), and to their school. We talked about the sort of committment that needs to be reinforced by reward or punishment and decided that less real than those committments that we kept to "just because".
The children had done some work already, and had some starter questions on vicaring, whose answers had me basically rephrasing the ordinal in terms suitable for 8 year olds! We decided that the committment I had made when I came to the benefice was something like this

•  to love everyone in the valley AND on the hill and do all I could to help them

• to offer worship to God and help them to do so

• to try and learn more about God and help others to do so

• to pray for everyone every day (that last one made me feel particularly breathless, - but fundamentally, that's what saying the Office is, I think...)

We agreed that because I don't have a boss keeping an eye on me every day (except for God - they were very clear about that too) it was as well that I was asked to make a committment - otherwise, said one, 
"If we're silly in Assembly, you might never want to come back again and then you'd not be doing what you said!".They were very perceptive about the ways in which I might learn more about God so that I could help others to learn as well (I was specially keen on the idea that if I didn't "get" something, I should ask FabBishop. - it's only sensible, after all)..They were clear about the need to listen more than to talk in prayer (If we talk more, Kathryn, God might think we don't believe He's worth listening to - like in circle time...") and about the committment of love that a priest makes to the parish, and they teased me delightfully about how they might like that love to be demonstrated (and maybe I WILL have a birthday party with a bouncy castle for the whole school next year - it would be one way of getting over the alarming prospect of turning 50!) .

Then it started to get a bit exciting.

THEY made the connection between the rain or shine committment of a priest to the local community and the "Better or worse" committment of marriage. They asked me to tell them EXACTLY what the bride and groom say to one another and then, one after another, quite calmly, they shared their stories of the times when it hadn't worked out. Probably half the class no longer live with both their parents, or have half-siblings from other relationships. We talked about how committments are made in good faith, about how sometimes the loving thing is not to stay with someone no matter what, and the possibilities of wonderful new starts bringing all sorts of joy. We even touched on forgiveness...But the children insisted that a broken committment is never a good thing, and the overwhelming decision at the end of the session was that you should always think long and hard even before the smallest committment, because, said the children

"If you promise to do something, then it hurts you if you can't manage it".

Ouch. I said I learned alot from children

Children - for a change!

This past weekend was busy, exciting, challenging - and other things too....and as I reflected wearily last night I realised that almost every aspect had something to do with children.

It started with Saturday's Children for a Change festival at Gloucester Cathedral. Once upon a time, these festivals were an almost annual event, an eagerly anticipated date on the calendar, which was worth organising holidays around. I have very vivid memories of my own children engaging in a huge variety of wonderful activities to which they could never have had access in our small Cotswold village, of the excitement for all of us as we realised that we were involved in such a huge and creative diocesan family, of the sheer delight of watching the Cathedral turned upside down by invasions of under 11s...For a long time after one such festival, family visits to the Cathedral included a trip to one particular corner of the north aisle that, we swore, still sparkled quietly, thanks to a liberal application of glitter glue after I was let loose with a craft station of my own.

That was in the early to mid 90s, rather a long time ago now.I don't know why there was such a hiatus in the festivals (though I'd be willing to guess it might have something to do with funding) but Children for a Change was well worth waiting for. As we gathered by the statue of Robert Raikes in Gloucester Park, it didn't feel as if the turnout was particularly splendid, but once we began marching through the streets of Gloucester we realised just how many churches were represented..a long line that spanned a couple of blocks. Once we reached the Cathedral, it took ages to get us all through the doors...and I began to realise just how many were actually there. To see the nave cleared of chairs but packed with people was quite stunning. Such a fabulous space...so well used.
The Psalm drummers launched us into a really great day (do you think there's a market for "praise aerobics"?I'm sure I must have burned at least enough calories to balance the fabulous ice cream I enjoyed later)...A small but enthusiastic contingent from the valley church school explored everything from martial arts to climbing-walls, from handling snakes to poker work, with story telling, circus skills, wood turning (to produce fantastic spinning tops) and macrame along the way....We explored corners we would never normally have noticed...bumped into old friends around every corner and generally had a fantastic time. I was sad that it hadn't been possible to encourage more families to come along - those who feel that the church is remote and inaccessible might have been wonderfully surprised...but I'd tried, really I had, and those who did come clearly enjoyed themselves.

In time honoured fashion, Sunday followed Saturday, and this being the 1st Sunday in the month we offered All Age worship at Church in the Valley. As we were also welcoming the new curate I thought it would be good to talk a little about the distinctive calling of the diaconate, and we looked at different bits of the ordinal and tired to work out what that might mean for M, and for all of us in our own ministries too. At the end of the talk, he and I washed the feet of a gaggle of willing children, an exercise which I found incredibly moving and powerful.Those tiny pink toes...I wondered where those feet might travel, prayed that as a church we might do all in our power to welcome and to serve these little ones, and prayed with all my heart that they might always feel as happy and loved within the church as they do now. It was earlier in the talk, though, that things very nearly went off the rails. I'd been trying to get the children to explore what being a herald might mean and one in particular was heading cheerfully in the right direction, when a lady of a certain age, whose enthusiastic participation makes her a great ally on All Age Sundays, announced with great firmness
"No...a herring isn't a messenger. It's a kind of fish!"

So now you know. The curate will, from henceforth (until an alternative suggests itself) rejoice in the bloggy pseudonym
"The Herring of Christ".
What else are deacons for...?

The Herring of Christ (TM)is thoroughly good news for all sorts of reasons, - including the family he brings with him. Youngest herring (small fry?) is a very charming baby who all but undid me yesterday at Communion. I'd given the Sacrament to his mum, who was holding him to face me for a blessing. Youngest herring gave me his habitual beaming smile and reached out both hands to take a host from the patten.
Yes I know he didn't know what he was doing...(just as he didn't know what was being done on his behalf at baptism a month ago)...but still, he was reaching out towards Christ and I, a minister of Christ's Church, was constrained to gently push him away. It won't have hurt him, I'm sure - but it didn't do much for me.
My committment to inclusive church is total - and my sacramental theology has no problem with offering our Lord to the children who long for Him (not that I could stand it their way if I tried, really...)So why do I insist on toeing lines that pretty much nobody else present would even have noticed were there?
"Children for a Change", the theme of the diocesan festival, carries with it a dual message...that our focus should be on children for once, and that children can of themselves bring about change. Small Fry has certainly made me reflect once again on our attitude to the Sacrament...and pray and dream and long for change there.
"For everyone born a place at the table..."

Death & Hope

The service on Tuesday had two visual centre-pieces, one a globe surrounded by "Children for a Change" candles, which were sent with each school at the end of the service, and the other a beautifully bare silver tree, on which every Year 6 class hung a prayer dove.
I didn't get to read any of the prayers, but I'm not likely to forget that powerful image, - expressions of hope and of peace set in front of the memorial tablets of long ago.

I would love to be there at the end of the week, when the tree will be completely covered with these visual expressions of children's dreams, a solid embodiment of the song written specially for this service.

Lead me on as I travel on my journey
Lead me on wherever I go
Give me courage and hope for the future
Be with me as I grow, grow, grow

Rites of Passage

You don't need to have read very many of my witterings here to realise that one of my greatest pleasures in this particular job is the excellent relationship with Valley Church School, children, staff - the whole community. Making space in our churches so that children can awaken the surrounding adults to the reality of God's presence is very much a guiding passion. I would never presume to say that I'm trying to enable children's relationships with God: in my experience, they have a far greater sense of God's presence, and an innate spirituality that it's a genuine privilege to spend time with them.
So I'm always excited when I'm invited to spend time in school, or, as yesterday, to go out and about with a class.
It was a Very Special Occasion for Year 6, their trip to the Cathedral for the Leaver's Service. During this week, our Mother Church will welcome 2000 children who are preparing to move on from Church Primary Schools at the end of term...but for the Valley children, the excitement began well before we reached the Cathedral.
As we boarded the coach, I was reminded of the sheer adventure that going ANYWHERE by coach represents to the young...Indeed, as the last time coach travel was part of my life at all regularly I wasn't that much older than the Y6s, I found myself sharing something of the same hopeful anticipation.
I don't think I ever aspired to quite their level of breathless wonder at the ordinary, though. That whole journey made me wish once again that Libby the retriever could actually talk! The way those children bounced and delighted in the most ordinary things was so reminiscent of her attitude on walks
"Kathryn,Kathryn....can you see the swing in that garden"
"I can see a horse...And a cow....and a train"
"We're going over the motorway..."
"Can you see the Big Wheel"
"Oh, look..I saw...I did...I saw a TEENAGER"
I wish we could hang onto that immediate wow factor! These, of course, are things I drive past regularly without a second glance - but the children helped me, for a moment or two, to see something special.

Then we reached the Cathedral.
"It must be really old. Is it about 100?" (On being told the actual age of the building..."No, they didn't have stone in those days did they?")
"This place smells....of holiness."
As the building began to fill with children there was a happy buzz. Valley School sang early in the service (and made their vicar cry - they were so very shiney and hopeful, singing about the light of love)...
Then came the mime - an interpretation of the feeding of the five thousand reflecting our diocesan theme in this Year of the Child, "Children for a Change".
It was, quite simply, breathtaking...as was the children's response.
In the artist's interpretation, the boy with the loaves and fishes was clearly disabled, his walk a painfully slow lumber...He wasn't the brightest star in the firmament either, but when he reluctantly offered the fish he had caught so laboriously, when he suddenly realised that he WANTED to give his treasures to Jesus, when Jesus welcomed and affirmed him and held him in the sort of hug that should last forever, - well then everything changed.
He did indeed go walking and leaping and praising God...and as he bounded around the Cathedral, full of the joy of his restored mobility and new self confidence (I am one whom Jesus chooses to hug), gladly throwing the precious fish from his unemptiable basket to all whom he encountered (for this was truly an illustration of what it means to be blessed to be a blessing), the children caught and ate fish no-one could see, that were yet so real that I too reached for one as it was thrown towards me, recognising that this "fish" represented the grace of God, encountered unexpectedly in all its transforming wonder.
After that it was small wonder that the whole Cathedral stilled as our suffragen prayed...with that quality of stillness that, just once in a while (nothing like often enough), you encounter before the Post Communion prayer.
These children knew exactly Who they were speaking to, and why that conversation mattered.
Pure joy to be with them.

eta. Caroline's comments make it rather clear that writing about something when you really ought to be tucked up in bed, just so you can get something else posted on the "right day" is not a good idea.
Just to clarify, the service in the Cathedral wasn't a Communion (though this diocese encourages the admission of children to Communion, and it's on the agenda for many church schools at the moment, we're nowhere near the point at which the majority of children could receive - so it would be just as inappropriate to make the Leavers' service a Communion as she suggests!)...I was simply trying to find a moment with an "average" (is there such a thing?) Sunday congregation that could be compared with the holy silence the children achieved.
And the mime, - well, that really didnt feel like intentional evangelism. It was far more about the potential to make a difference that exists within even those who consider themselves to be small and useless (the persona of the child in the mime)...and the transformation that discovering that potential can make.
No idea if I've clarified or muddied, but had to make an attempt!
OK....move along now....

Open arms

Explaining the cross to younger children shouldn't be easy.
I'm thankful that I don't have an atonement theology that demands that I try to explain to anyone, least of all an under 10, why they should love a God who seems set on punishing the innocent, to carry the weight of the guilty.
For me, predictably, the cross is all about love - and so, when I'm talking about it with children, I often ask them what those open arms suggest to them.
Depending how old the child, s/he may insist on focussing on the crucifixion in all its pain...on talking of nails and gazing incredulously at the palms of her own hands.
We need to think about that, - of course we do, but really I have a simpler message in mind and with Reception and Yr 1 it's usually quite easy to get there.
If all else fails, I ask them to imagine that it's the end of the school day and they can see their mum standing at the gate...
When she opens her arms to them, what does it mean?

Well, - that, at least, is how I used to try to introduce that amazing love at the heart of our faith.
But this morning, past and present came together to make me wonder if I need to rethink.

Today I got to wait with some nearly Reception children, at the end of their induction to school. One by one their mums and carers arrived to take them home. Of course, the moment each child saw their mother, the leapt up and ran towards her.
Many bent down and gathered their little one in a warm, floor-level hug.
One or two swung them high, and their oh-so-grown-up,very-nearly-school-aged children clung on for all the world like the toddlers they'd been only yesterday.
Those reunions were a wonderful, smiley thing to witness.
But as I watched, I remembered another time, another place, another group of children waiting.
One by one, those children had been claimed by returning parents.
But towards the end, when only a handful of children were still waiting, the door opened once more, another child rushed towards his mum, full of excitement, bursting with news to share...and received, not a hug but a brush-off.
Might as well not have been there.
Instantly all the joy and enthusiasm left him; he deflated before our very eyes and, oh my heart bled...

So I understood, reluctantly, that not all small children will know what God's outstretched arms can mean for them.
Perhaps that experience of loving welcome is completely unfamiliar.
I hate that this can be so, perhaps even in my own community...with children I know and care about.
And if I feel like this - then God's open arms must ache and ache.

All in day's work

Some Sundays are just weird...
This morning was the nearest to flat that I've ever felt when presiding at the Eucharist. There was torrential rain just when people might have been setting out, so numbers were well down at both churches, the hymn selection didn't work for me (that's unusual - often I can't see in advance why a hymn has been chosen, but it hits the spot quite beautifully, but I guess I can't ever sing "Rock of ages" without mentally transporting myself to the crematorium - and though I value funeral ministry highly, it's not where I'd choose to be on a Sunday morning).Most probably, I was just plain tired after quite a demanding week. Whatever the reason, this morning's worship was at best "OK" and I was sad that it wasn't a shiney Sunday, as it was D's first day with us. He's exploring a vocation & has come to us to experience the harsh reality of an ordinary parish, as he normally worships somewhere rather exciting. Of course I wanted him to see us at our best (even though he isn't an OFCHURCH inspector, I don't seem to be able to help wanting to impress - even though I know full well that's not the point of it at all,at all)...
As we drove back from the Eucharist at Church on the Hill I said to him
"Well, that's probably as bad as it gets" and hoped devoutly that this was true.


This afternoon, though, was Messy Church - and suddenly everything was lovely.
Again, pouring rain worried me...would there be any children there at all?
Arrivals felt slow, - but by the time we were counting heads for supper there were 40 children and assorted carers, having a wonderful time (though not as much fun as me, I'm sure) doing bubble painting, wonderful aerodynamic enterprises with D, flame coloured streamers and all sorts of other delights.
When it came to our worship time, K started them singing "Deep and wide" and it was such fun as we all got tied up with the actions, missed out words and got faster and faster...Then it was my turn. We turned off as many lights as we could, and I lit the candles inside a bowl which we'd covered in flamey paper...I told the story of the first Pentecost, majoring on the work of the Spirit in filling us with love and courage to share Good News...told the children that the Spirit was for them too, and that they could share the Good News with one another. We lit one candle from those in the bowl, then the children very solemnly and silently passed the light one to another....it was amazing. Completely enthralled, silent, attentive....at the end, I'd planned to pray
"Come Holy Spirit...fill us with your love" but it seemed superfluous...The Spirit was so tangibly present it was almost surprising that the flames remained confined to the candles.



Later we had a splendid meal - take away pizza & v posh ice-cream, - the latter sponsored by a wonderful mum who was so happy to be able to give.
I really do think that Messy Church is doing what it sets out to...such a warm sense of community, of welcome and acceptance.

We had visitors from another church, who are considering the Messy Church model and it was very special to be able to share something that feels so full of God's own loving creativity.
And yes, I did need Messy Church to fly today - and am so thankful that it did.

Shine a light!

So...that was the morning.
Yesterday afternoon was no less full of excitement, as it saw the launch in our diocese of "Children for a Change", our focus for the Year of the Child.
I would guess that something like 1000 people crammed into Tewkesbury Abbey for a festival service, so that the afternoon became a wonderful opportunity to glimpse friends from all over the diocese.The banner that my beloved Koinonia had made during a sleep-over 2 years ago now was carried in procession alongside banners from churches and schools from right across Gloucester diocese. The small contingent from Church/School in the Valley carried their banner with aplomb, and when the time came collected the special "Year of the Child" candle.We are commissioned to light this in as many different places as we can find children in the months ahead, as we pray a special prayer written for the occasion. I took it into school this morning and invited the children to help me think of creative places to take the candle over the next few months...was specially pleased that one little girl suggested it might go with her to visit her brother in hospital, "because then I could pray with him there".
We had a year of the child a while ago (maybe a decade - apparently this is the 30th anniversary of the UN Internation Year of the Child), with lots of excitements across the diocese and a real sense that the church was recognising the need to include and affirm the children in their midst. So it was very sad indeed that yesterday, when the vicar of Tewkesbury suggested that, as there was such a huge congregation the adults present might move from the chairs in the nave to enable the children to both sit and see what was going on, nobody moved. Not one. Of course the children were creative, crowing into the aisle, standing on parents' shoulders, making the most of the situation...but yet again, when invited to make them literally central, at a service created with children as the focus, the adults in the pews refused to give an inch. Said alot, I fear.
Still, let's not be bleak. The contingent from the Valley made me feel very smiley and the prayer for the year is emphatically one of hope.

Jesus, Child of Mary, light from God,
help us in the Year of the Child
to share the gifts of children,
to recognise that every child matters,
and to bring hope to children in need,
so that every man, woman and child
may know your blessing
and shine as lights in the world
to the glory of God. Amen.

From the crib....

Today had the potential to be "interesting", and not in a good way.
Do you remember that in the autumn FabBishop nearly found himself hurled unsuspectingly into the middle of our first ever Pets service at Church in the Valley?
On that occasion, I diverted him up the hill, to celebrate their Harvest Festival - but he still had this date clear and wanted to come visiting...Candlemas. Lovely festival, with a great story and also one that lends itself to lots of beautiful liturgy and some rather wonderful music. The 1st Sunday in the month, though, is something quite different at Church in the Valley, as it's our All Age Eucharist,where the emphasis is very much on involving even the youngest children, and any liturgical niceties have to come second to an accessible, inclusive service.
FabBishop, however, is a Serious Liturgist (he wrote large chunks of Common Worship, for heaven's sake) - not someone you'd immediately think of in connection with an unspecified number of children, percussion instruments and candles.
You'll understand that all this had made me just a little tense in the past few days.
Liturgies were planned, revised, and submitted.New words were written for familiar songs.
My lovely lovely congregation, recognising that this felt a bit like an "OFSTED" for their vicar, rallied round, swept, polished and made Church in the Valley as beautiful as they knew how. Mountains of junk were shifted, "glory holes" disappeared overnight, and the linen was laundered and pressed to perfection.
And, on the day, it all came together.
Around 25 children and well over 100 adults filled the church delightfully.FabBishop was on splendid form, speaking from the nave and encouraging interaction for all he was worth, children from our school read lovely prayers we'd prepared together, and the final procession from Crib to Font was all that I'd dared to hope and more.
Over coffee, E (aged 8) awarded FabBishop a shiney teddy-bear sticker, and I have to say he deserved it.
Church in the Valley should be purring and preening itself for a while, I think - it was such a lovely morning.

To the font

In our prayers we remember the words of Simeon
'Lord, now you have kept your promise,
Let me, your servant, leave this earth in peace.
I have seen the salvation you promised with my own eyes.
He will be a light to bring light to everyone
And he will show us your glory'.

We thank God for the light of faith – and ask God to bless the Church across the world, and each one of us as we try to follow Jesus

We thank God for the light of hope – and ask that God will transform those places and situations in the world that are most dark and sad.

We thank God for the light of love – and ask that God’s love will shine to comfort all those who need it most…the sad, the lonely, the sick and the fearful

We thank God for Jesus, the light of the world, who came to show us the way to God and walks beside us every day

We stand near the place of new birth.
Let us shine with the light of your love.
We turn from the Crib to the cross
Let us shine with the light of your love.
We go to carry his light.
Let us shine with the light of your love.

Glimpses of Christmas - part 1 - Christmas Eve

Messy Harvest

was an unqualified success.
More than thirty assorted children and their adults, many of whom had never willingly crossed the church threshold before.
Lots of willing and talented craftspeople, offering everything from breakmaking to turning discarded beer cans into simply stunning sunflowers.



Sunshine, smiles and a whole church to fill with activity.

Is it surprising that we had a ball?