RevGals Friday Five: Laboring Edition

With my US friends enjoying the Labour Day weekend, and my one remaining school student starting the 6th form next week, summer is definitely over and it's time to focus on work once again. I love my job, but feel disconcertingly reluctant to really knuckle down right now...Life with a puppy feels like one long holiday (except, of course, for the crack of dawn yelp "let me out quick, mum" ) so it's hard to focus. Therefore, in honour of on going procrastination, here are my answers to this week's Friday Five

1. Tell us about the worst job you ever had.
The very worst wasn't actually my job at all! A few years ago, Hattie Gandhi needed to fund the stable costs of her beloved horse and got a job delivering Yellow Pages around some neighbouring villages. That doesn't sound so bad, but the reality was that all the houses were up long drives, most had no means of identification at all, and the regulations demanded that if the hosueholder was not at home, you couldn't just leave the directory in a safe place, but had to attempt at least one return visit. You also had to complete sheets showing exactly what had happened at each address. I know this so well because the whole thing took so darned long that it became a family enterprise...Through August, we all took it in turns to trek round Cotswold villages which became less attractive with every passing day.We all developed bad backs from hoicking bundles of directories along country lanes...We discovered just how many bad tempered farm dogs there are within a few square miles...And HG earned, - oh, about three weeks of livery fees!
My own all-time-worst job was as cashier at an amusement arcade in my home town of Hastings...I sat there seven days a week, in a kiosk, selling tickets for the assorted rides, giving change for the slot machines, breathing in the smell of deep frying and candyfloss, constantly battered by the "music" that accompanied any hit on the rifle range next door. Good pay, but long hours - and a stonking headache guaranteed each and every day.
Student life, eh? But the trip to Cyprus it funded was definitely worth it.

2. Tell us about the best job you ever had.
Priest in charge of Cainscross & Selsley does me pretty nicely, thank you. When I preside at the Eucharist here, I know I am doing exactly what I am "for", and it's wonderful

3. Tell us what you would do if you could do absolutely anything (employment related) with no financial or other restrictions.
What I'm doing but without the need for my congregations/schools to worry about fundraising - with enough funds in place to undertake a programme that would really make a difference to this community. A drop in cafe? Some worthwhile youth work? So many dreams...And I still want to throw open the vicarage for single mums and troubled teens...Some funds to support that would be good.

4. Did you get a break from labor this summer? If so, what was it and if not, what are you gonna do about it? Twelve days on our narrow boat, cruising at snail's pace down the Grand Union and Oxford Canals...the ultimate wind-down...pure heaven. And then last weekend, the stimulation, challenge and delight of Greenbelt.
Due to a clash of diaries with a Bishop and a Primary School, I missed out on a planned retreat back in July, so am in need of a bit of solitary silence before I'm too much older - but the summer holiday was good, thanks.

5. What will change regarding your work as summer morphs into fall? Are you anticipating or dreading?
School term resumes next week, so I'll be reconnecting with the primary schools in the parish, and working out how best to serve them. I need to get my head down and really start pulling things together...I've been here for five months now - not that long, I know, but September feels like a good time for a few new starts. Current project, re-inventing the All Age Eucharist.
All good. All exciting. But ever so slightly overwhelming in prospect. Better once I get at it, I think/hope!

Bonus question: For the gals who are mothers, do you have an interesting story about labor and delivery (LOL)? If you are a guy pal, not a mom, or you choose not to answer the above, is there a song, a book, a play, that says "workplace" to you?
Ooh...birth stories...I feel the old NCT Chair instincts waking - those three birth days were, of course, the most exciting and memorable of my life. I was one of those fortunate women whose bodies seemed to get the idea of labour and delivery without much drama - all my deliveries were very speedy, none presented any real problems...I really would do it all again, were I not so incredibly ancient now...So which birth day should I tell you about?
I blogged my first labour experience when HG turned twenty one earlier this year.
Hugger Steward arrived at the same hospital, to the music of Mozart's flute and harp concerto...while the Dufflepud's birth took place at home. One wet morning, after an August that had as little sunshine as we've seen this year, I was woken by Hugger Steward's complaints that the cock crowing in the farm across the road just didn't care that there wasn't any sun to rise...I came to gradually, and decided that maybe HS and the rooster weren't the only things keeping me awake. Living in a village a good 45 minutes drive from the nearest maternity unit, we'd already arranged to have a home delivery, so instead of throwing the last few things into my bag all I had to do was phone the midwife and my friend C., then training as an NCT teacher, who was coming to cheer me on. Best honorary mother was downstairs with HG and HS, and as I wandered around from bedroom to bath and back again I could hear snatches of conversation, laughter, singing... I loved the sense of connection to every day life. This birth was not a medical event. It was mine in a way that the earlier ones, within the framework of hospital protocols, could never be.
Sure it hurt...Birth does. I remember announcing at one point that I'd had enough, and wasn't planning to have this baby today after all, so everyone might as well go home!
But I remember too the unutterable joy of seeing Hattie Gandhi holding her new baby brother, whom she had delivered herself (with the judicious help of Jackie, our wonderful midwife)...I remember Hugger Steward coming upstairs just moments after the birth, his eyes wide with the wonder of it all...And the pleasure of finding myself tucked up in cool sheets in my own bed, after a truly beautiful bath, a vase of roses from my own garden on the table and my newborn son lying beside me.
That was 17 summers ago. The Dufflepud is about to start his A/S level course next week. But those birth days are still so vivid - the most exciting and creative act I'll ever be part of.

Greenbelt Music

Many moons ago, before the vicar was even a curate, a good friend (who incidentally has just acquired a very exciting new job) suggested that I might enjoy going to Greenbelt.
"August Bank Holiday? You must be joking - you can't expect anyone running a B&B to get away then...Anyway, Greenbelt is an evangelical rock fest isn't it?"
You see, I'd heard about the festival during my student days, I had even spent a day uneasily skirting its fringes at Knebworth, but those who enthused about it seemed to be in a totally different world from my Renaissance bubble, even if we did share a taste in ethnic skirts and assorted bangles. Greenbelt, in my mind = evangelical Christians playing bad music loudly. Not a trace of Palestrina from dawn to dusk.
So I knew all about Greenbelt, didn't I? And I knew that I'd hate it...

Fast forward to Pentecost 2000, when the whole of the diocese of Gloucester was invited to a huge party at Cheltenham racecourse, to celebrate the church's 2000th birthday. P2K they called it...and it was wonderful. A one day melee of speakers and music, arts and worship, culminating in a laser show that was a first for our family. We were enraptured and the (very young) Hugger Steward begged me to find out if there was anything like this anywhere that we might attend. Fortunately the main Communion service that day included the obligatory Anglican rite of notices..."If you are enjoying yourself, and would like to experience more, why not visit the Greenbelt stand..." - before the service was over, there we were,booking day tickets and discovering just how many and varied strands this Christian Arts Festival brings together.
It's always fascinating to compare notes after the event...There is so much variety that it's quite possible to hear descriptions from two members of the same family without realising they were at the same festival. For so many, it's all about the music. In the weeks before hand, as details of the music line-up are gradually confirmed, there are cries of joy or anguish on the Greenbelt forum..but mostly, I'm still in the dark. My wondrous offspring have widened my horizons beyond all recognition, from those of the rather bigotted classical musician who scorned GB at Knebworth...but all the same, I mostly don't know the names that appear on the GB website. But, of course, it's a festival. Once the wristband is donned, you have access to whatever you fancy..speakers, worship, debate, visual arts and, yes, music.
My favourite venue is the Performance Cafe (nurtured, as it happens, by the friend who first suggested that Greenbelt might be a life enhancing experience for the whole clan Fleming)....It has grown through the years, but is still an intimate venue where artists play acoustic sets, and you drift in to listen for a while before wandering on. It's the perfect place for someone like me to experience new music. Mainstage always seems to belong to the afficionados - and to youth....I'll stand on the edge of the crowd for a while, but unless I'm sure I like the artist, it's not the place to try things for the first time.
GB 06 saw Martyn Joseph playing mainstage- despite my offsprings' scorn I am totally addicted and his performance in Centaur this year reduced me to a small pool.Fortunately, everyone else was equally afflicted.


Last year was my introduction to the wild, whacky and wonderful Duke Special
and the follow up birthday present of tickets to his Oxford gig was one of the highlights of my year.

And this year? Perhaps not surprisingly, my discovery reflected the Indian resonances of my own particular Greenbelt. Aradhana
played during the Communion service, but I was rather too busy dealing with my role in a group including people from St M's, people from Church in the Valley, family and Greenbelt friends to engage properly. Sunday night in Centaur was a very different matter...Their website describes them thus
the sounds of sitar and guitar merge to create a new global instrument that blends unusual rhythmic patterns with the dipping and soaring of the vocals. listeners sense a deep devotion and connection to the yeshu revealed in the holy scriptures



Given the western origins of the musicians, this might have been deeply cheesy...in fact for me it was utterly wonderful. At the end of the gig, they were given a standing ovation...and persuaded into an encore, for which we were invited to dance.
So a middle aged cleric found herself stepping out of her flowery wellies to whirl barefoot around Centaur, dancing out of love for India, for music, for God.
It still sounds cheesy, doesn't it? Perhaps you had to be there.
I'm so glad that I was!

A blur of colour

I took this picture of one of the juggling staff from the ever popular "BallzULike" stall as GB 08 wound down on Monday evening...That whirl of colour and movement isn't a bad metaphor for the festival experience at its best(though I really don't remember flames leaping from his head, as they seem to be in the picture - perhaps its a post-dated miracle?)

"Rising Sun"

was the unintentionally ironic theme for this year's Greenbelt...Ironic, because it was the wettest festival we've had since moving to Cheltenham, I think. On Sunday afternoon, as we gathered for Communion, the heavens opened and we clustered under umbrellas and groundsheets to sing "Here comes the sun".
Humph

In some ways, this year was a festival of near misses for me. I failed to get to two worship experiences offered by friends...I forgot to go to another...I made a wrong call or two in terms of choices...I missed some friends completely, despite our best efforts, - and I really didn't enjoy the experience of driving half an hour home in the small hours to nurture the convalescent cat, despite the obvious pleasure of a real bed and as many showers as I wanted.
In the past few years, when not camping I have had a house full of Greenbelt friends so that the festival continued at home. This year, I felt much more detached - so I guess that means cat sitters and campsite in 2009 if I'm to really make the most of the festival.

Despite this, there was much to celebrate!

My first Greenbelt moment occurred on the Saturday when I turned a corner in the festival village and found myself face to face with Prem, the Indian priest who had taken me to see elephants in the Bhannergatta National Park almost two years ago.He heads up A Rocha India, and was a major speaker at this year's Greenbelt - but I'd somehow missed the news that he was coming, and clearly he hadn't expected to bump into me among 20,000 assorted punters. Great delight on both sides, though I was dismayed as I heard his talks to realise that despite the all I had learned during my stay in India, I've done so very little to work for change - either on behalf of those oppressed by the caste system, or indeed on behalf of the poor, benighted elephants.
To have two important bits of my life collide was an interesting experience...For my children to be able to hear Prem for themselves a joy. Vintage Greenbelt stuff!

Sara Miles was predictably splendid...Coming hard on my ponderings on abundance inspired by the lectionary last time I preached, her story of "eating Jesus" and the changes that brought about for her was hugely inspiring. I'm certain that eating together is the way to create community, and that offering radical hospitality is a huge part of our calling. Recently, some of my congregation from the valley have been thinking about ways we might connect with our community. Some sort of drop-in cafe is very high up the list,- finally making sense of a visit I made two years ago...
It would be lovely if this were the way forward for us...I wonder if there's a way we could make it free?
Of course, to welcome people unlike ourselves widens our experience of the God whose image we bear...It also changes us in ways we might never imagine.

John Swinton's talk "The Body of Christ has Down's Syndrome" took me further along the road of looking for God's likeness in everyone.
What does it mean for our theology if we believe that those with disabilities will be healed in heaven?
If we believe that someone with Down's is fully human and completely beloved of God as they are, what does this tell us about full humanity and about living in God's image
Clearly I need to revisit the work of John Hull
whose input on sight and blindness was one of the most compelling experiences of vicar school.
I wonder if he's ever spoken at Greenbelt?

Brian McLaren was fab - though the panel that included him alongside other emerging theologians and leaders was frustrating - too many exciting people, which meant that none of them had enough space to talk. I barely heard Karen Ward at all, - maddening! At the moment the emerging theology which I find so exciting seems quite remote from the reality of my parishes - but we clearly need to find new ways of being church here as much as anywhere...It's just that there's so much to assimilate for the moment, in learning the way traditional church happens...But I needed the cold water wake-up call, that's for sure



The Breathing Space Yurt was a treasure - a lovely place to be...On the last evening, I spent almost an hour in there, listening to the sound of stalls being taken down, the beginning of the end of the Festival, - which might have been sad, but wasn't. The peace was so solid that you could almost cut slices and take them away with you...


Personal highlight? -a close call, but I think it has to be blessed's Mass on Monday night. I was bowled over by the experience of the Sacrament being brought to me sprawled on a beanbag...very much just as I was...and Jesus came to me.

I know that I spent the rest of the evening wandering around with a silly grin - but then, that's rather the effect that meeting God has on me, specially at Greenbelt!

"Tomorrow shall be my dancing day..."

or at least, a day of much singing, laughter and general rejoicing.
Tomorrow, you see, is the start of Greenbelt 08.
Think of the best family Christmas - the times when you really ARE delighted to see everyone who turns up.
Add all the really interesting people whom you wish you could gather in one place but would never dare to ask.
Throw in copious handfuls of challenge, inspiration, and things you didn't even guess that you might need.
Set to music. Whatever music you love...any genre
Remember that you are loved.
Not just once but again and again.

Greenbelt...this year featuring Sara Miles, Brian McLaren, Karen Ward, Sally Vickers - and some of the people I love most in all the world.
I hope you might be there too.

It's impossible to explain how much this Festival means to me, and to so many thousands of others...Why don't you come along.
I promise you won't regret it.

The VERY hungy caterpillar

Being a brand new house, which was a building site until earlier this year, the vicarage doesn't have much by way of a garden. The land is there, right enough, and it has been, as the estate agents would say "laid to lawn" - which is fine by me for the moment. The lovely Libby is a very keen gardener, who would undoubtedly cause havoc if I had any prized blooms to cherish...so for this year,I'm mostly content to leave things as they are.
I do, though, have quite a collection of pots, - the only gardening I allowed myself at the curate's house, since I knew we were only there for four years - so I planted those up a few months ago and have been glad of the colour they provide. I was specially pleased with some tumbling nasturtiums, which cheered up the front porch no end - or did until yesterday.
When I left the house at 1.30 they looked something like this

When I got home one hour later, the picture had changed somewhat ....
The plant was completely stripped of its leaves, - only ravaged stems remained.
Closer investigation revealed no less than 42 of these little dears gathered on one stalk


and making decidedly free with the next pot along. The neighbouring containers were similarly afflicted. I've just googled, and it seems that when they grow up these caterpillars will, predictably, turn into cabbage white butterflies...
It would have been nice if they could at least have been something exotic, but whatever else they are certainly efficient. Eric Carle knew a thing or two!

Sleepy Sunday

For various reasons, not unconnected with the last post, I didn't get alot of sleep last night, so this afternoon after the usual happy round of morning worship and a double baptism for two delightful little girls just after lunch, I subsided on the sofa with Serafina the laptop...I was just dozing off when inspiration struck.
For the past three weeks, since the second day of our holiday in fact, I have been tormented by a line of poetry that I couldn't place. For some strange reason which even I can't fathom, I didn't feel I could just google the line...so I asked around, but even Hattie Gandhi's writing friends were stumped and so I pondered and wondered and even fulminated just a little.
And then, like magic, as Hattie Gandhi and Storytelling Photographer friend were telling me once again how completely they hadn't recognised the line it came to me.
FERN HILL!
Dylan Thomas.
I was sure of it...and with that conviction google became an instantly viable option. Within seconds there it was, complete with the line that had tormented me (the last line of the poem, if you really want to know) - and I remembered once again how beautiful this writing is, and thought of the day it was handed out to us as our first piece of Practical Criticism with Deeply Scary Don in my first term at Cambridge. Despite my terror, I adored the poem and I still do.

FERN HILL

 Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
 About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
   The night above the dingle starry,
     Time let me hail and climb
   Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
 And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
 And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
     Trail with daisies and barley
   Down the rivers of the windfall light.

 And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
 About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
   In the sun that is young once only,
     Time let me play and be
   Golden in the mercy of his means,
 And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
 Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
     And the sabbath rang slowly
   In the pebbles of the holy streams.

 All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
 Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
   And playing, lovely and watery
     And fire green as grass.
   And nightly under the simple stars
 As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
 All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
   Flying with the ricks, and the horses
     Flashing into the dark.

 And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
 With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
   Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
     The sky gathered again
   And the sun grew round that very day.
 So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
 In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
   Out of the whinnying green stable
     On to the fields of praise.

 And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
 Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
   In the sun born over and over,
     I ran my heedless ways,
   My wishes raced through the house high hay
 And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
 In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
   Before the children green and golden
     Follow him out of grace.

 Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
 Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
   In the moon that is always rising,
     Nor that riding to sleep
   I should hear him fly with the high fields
 And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
 Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
     Time held me green and dying
   Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Prayer works!

"Well, duh....obviously" you say.
"Call yourself a vicar, woman? Honestly!"

Last night I entreated prayers on the RevGal site for a very tricky and potentially explosive situation in one of my churches. I won't go into details, except to say that by the end of the Eucharist this morning various kind and competent people had swung into action, and it looks as if the problem is more than half way to solution.
I'm deeply grateful to those who prayed, and to God who gave me such splendid souls to work with. I do, as I'd suspected, have the very best job in the world...

The first hymn at Church on the Hill this morning said it all -though at the time we were singing it, I didn't appreciate this as anything other than alarming irony

"Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head."

In other words, phew! All shall be well!

Sermon for Trinity 13 Yr A – 17th August 2008

This is a reworking of a sermon I wrote for Inclusive Church two years ago...I can't remember if I posted it at the time, over on the St Mary's sermon blog, but here it is in its latest incarnation.

As most of you probably know already, the vicarage family has recently been extended through the arrival of Libby, a golden retriever puppy. She’s growing fast, already past the cuddly bundle stage and now lollopping delightfully in all directions, falling over her own paws and causing no end of mayhem in a happy sort of way. Recently she has discovered that she no longer has to confine her explorations to floor level. By standing on her hind legs, there’s very little that she cannot reach – so I’m having to work hard at teaching her that “Down” means just that, and that helping herself isn’t very good manners. In our rather messy family, there are quite good pickings to be had at floor level – the crumbs under our table are many and varied…but Libby realises that there’s more to life than grubbing about down there.
Sometimes, I’m not sure that the rest of us share her insight.
I’ve no statistics to support this, but I can’t help suspecting that a straw poll of a typical Church of England congregation would reveal the “Prayer of Humble Access” as one of the top prayers in the liturgy.
“We do not presume to come to this your table”.
It’s right up there with the comfortable words as a part of worship that many feel is non-negotiable – but I have to confess that it’s not one of my favourites. You see, I find it both slightly ironic that within a prayer that has become enshrined in the hearts of so many there lurks a reference to a scene that is thoroughly disquieting, - the meeting of Jesus with the Canaanite woman.
The first thing to consider is exactly its place in the Gospel. It comes immediately after Jesus has gone out on a limb in challenging the myriad food laws that had proscribed life for the Jews for centuries.
More, of course, Jesus redefines purity as a state of being, rather than a state of diet.
“It is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles”
This is almost a truth too far even for the disciples, - and it’s tempting to see it as a first shot in the revolution that is the Gospel.
Tempting, but possibly inaccurate, as we focus on tonight’s reading.
Jesus is in Gentile country, close to the port of Tyre,- but he’s trying to lie low, to take time out, but real people with real needs just won’t be put on hold.
Here is a woman who is driven by that most compelling force, parental love.
She pushes her way in, intent on claiming the healing that she believes her daughter deserves.
Like so many others, she throws herself on the mercy of Jesus, even as she recognises the cultural difference between them
“Son of David, have mercy on me”
And what happens?
For reasons that may be obvious, I’ve never tried to tell this story in a primary school assembly, but if I did, I know that the children’s answer to that question would be.
What happens?
“Jesus makes the child better”
That’s what we’d all expect.
Jesus goes about doing good, healing, rescuing,- surely that’s the essence of his earthly ministry. Of course Jesus is going to comfort the mother and heal her child, without further ado.
Except that he doesn’t.
Not at first.
First, we find ourselves thrown off balance, our expectations flouted by words of such staggering rudeness that they are almost unbearable. Jesus, JESUS of all people, tells that frantic mother that she and her child are no better than dogs….and I don’t think we’re under any illusion that he meant much- loved and cherished pet retrievers.
He is saying without compunction that as Gentiles, the woman and her daughter are not fully human, and they’re therefore beyond the scope of his love, his healing. They are quite simply a different species – not the sheep of his pasture but a pack of mangy strays.
“It’s not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs”
It’s extraordinarily hard to hear this.
We want to retain our soft focus image of Jesus, the source of endless compassion…but this abrasive stranger shakes us.
However, the Canaanite woman is made of sterner stuff, and refuses to go away quietly.
Instead, she responds in kind, picking up Jesus’s words and turning them back on him.
We may be dogs, but surely you’re not so mean that you begrudge us even the left-overs. She refuses to take No for an answer…
And in doing so, she stops Jesus in his tracks.
Against his own expectations, he is forced into really seeing her, - another human being, a child of God…and what he sees makes him change his mind in a radical way.
Jesus change his mind?
Surely not!
As God’s Son, Jesus must be perfect…the unmoved mover, no shadow of turning, right?
Well, I’d say not.
For me, learning is part of what it means to be human.
Even Mrs Alexander was prepared to accept that Jesus went through all the normal stages of physical development – “day by day like us he grew”
So too, surely, he learned and grew in relationship…
He learned, he grew, and sometimes he changed his mind. There’s so much more going on here than just an exchange of banter, for surely Jesus is forced to rethink the scope of his mission.
This should, I think, serve to correct our own tendency to arrogance, to hardness of heart. It’s so tempting to believe that we don’t need to listen to others, because we already know the truth, already understand fully what Scripture means. It’s hard not to sympathise with the Jews, who believe themselves to be the insiders, on a fast track to Salvation. In our society, and in our church, we can surely think of behaviour that matches theirs, of insiders who guard their corners, and cannot believe in a God whose heart and vision are larger than anything we can encompass.
But if we take Scripture seriously, our limited view is inevitably challenged.
Listen to Isaiah
“My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples”
or again to Paul
“God has imprisoned all in disobedience, so that he may be merciful to all”
In Scripture we meet a God who listens and changes his mind, whose unlimited love almost surprises himself.
In Scripture, we encounter a God who is changed by his relationships, a God who is moved by the prayers of his children, and acts in unexpected ways to answer them.
In Scripture, above all, we meet a God who is love, and cannot remain unmoved by the beloved.
“We do not presume…”
Well, thank God that sometimes we do.
Sometimes, like Libby, we reach out to help ourselves.
Thank God for this woman, the outsider, the second class citizen who refuses to go away but demands that Jesus recognise her right to engage with him.
Thank God that she stops him in his tracks, forcing him to see and recognise both her faith and her humanity.
Jesus learns from the encounter…a lesson that we, his church, most sorely need to hear.
There ARE no limits to be set on God’s love.
There is enough and to spare for all….
Nobody need be content with just crumbs from under the table. To affirm some need never mean denying others. Too often we behave as if we need to claim our ground at the expense of others, we create hierarchies to defend our own position at the table. We act as if there might not be enough to go round.


We abase ourselves before God fearfully.
“We are not worthy….”
True enough, but the message of this passage is surely that worthiness is irrelevant.
God’s reckless mercy sweeps us off our feet, or as that alternative prayer in our liturgy reminds, us his love compels us to come in, and we find that we are all alike included in a boundless welcome.
“You are the God of our Salvation and share your bread with sinners”
Not just a few poor crumbs but the very bread of life itself…enough for all.

I can't resist

Having told you that I'd be posting less, I'm about to publish my third post in an hour...I just dropped in at Red Heeler Ranch to catch up with my friend Zorra, and found this most beautiful prayer written by Marc Chagall.
It reminded me that, though I always consider myself a distinctly non visual person (having grown up short sighted and with a lazy left eye to boot, and not discovering the wonder that is contact lenses till my late late teens), one of my earliest memories of meeting with God came through Chagall's work.
I've blogged before about our family friend, Renate, as the source of all sorts of literary wonders. It was Renate too, who scooped me up one day when I was about 11 and took me off on a wonderful trip that culminated with an overnight stay with her parents in Cambridge.The following morning we visited some of the colleges, and as I walked into Trinity Great Court for the first time I said to myself
"One day I'm going to study here..." (This wasn't arrogance: I simply had no idea that it might be a challenge to get into Cambridge, still less did I know that at that stage Trinity women were still several years away....but somehow in time that resolution came good, and Renate was so pleased that she had been the one to first show me the college)
The God moment, though, came earlier in the trip as we stopped at a small church in an apparently undistinguished Kentish village. I was puzzled. Church-crawling was part of life with my parents, but Renate, like many Holocaust survivor families, was determinedly atheist...even my child self knew that she didn't "do" God, so why were we stopping here?
We pushed open the door and walked into a light that was unlike anything I'd ever imagined.
Each window at All Saints Tudely is the work of Marc Chagall and the impact is completely stunning.
I sat there in stillness for at least an hour, gradually realising that the beauty that surrounded me was the faintest reflection of a Beauty I could not begin to grasp...I felt totally safe, totally happy and when the time came to move on from the church I celebrated by singing, alone in that wonderful place, the music I'd longed to sing out loud since the day I first heard it.
I know that my Redeemer liveth
At that moment, it became completely, non-negotiably true.

Friday Five: Fall Transformations

Over at RevGalBlogPals, my friend Mary Beth has shown us the fruit of the bois d'arc tree and asked about transformation: For this Friday's Five, share with us five transformations that the coming fall will bring your way.

There have been so many changes in these parts over the past few months that I'm kind of hoping that this autumn may be a time of growing into things, rather than radical transformations, if that's OK.
However, one big change comes up at the end of September when Hugger Steward begins student life at Robinson College, Cambridge. That means, in effect, that more of my children have left home than still live here. Recently I found myself filling in a form which asked how many adults and children there were in our family and it was quite a shock to realise that the balance has so shifted that the answers were (in theory at least) "four" and "one". Of course, as my friends know, really I'm twelve but even so...

A change I'm hoping for is to better discipline in working life. There is a wonderful theory out there that clergy should aim to divide their days into three, and expect to work two of the three sessions. This is sometimes practical if you have no evening meeting - it feels acceptable to take time off from vicaring once I'm home from Evening Prayer - but I find it really really hard to relax with a good book or even indulge in "dog walking for God" during the day time, even when I know I'll be fully engaged on church business in the evening. I was talking to another new vicar about this on Thursday and we both agreed that living over the shop meant that there was always both church work and house work looming large, and that taking a genuine break was almost impossible during the working week.

It's one reason that I'm glad of another change...In three months time the good ship Polyphony is going to move to a marina at Tewkesbury just over half an hour from home. That is going to make regular escapes far more likely - and the prospect of days off on the boat is hugely attractive.

Meanwhile, The Dufflepud should be able to walk or cycle to school for the first time since he was 11, as he's moving for the Sixth form to a school that is slap bang on the parish boundary. For the past 5 years he has had a daily commute of at least half an hour each way, an hour since the move, so this will be a huge improvment, and might actually help him meet local friends as well as improving our family's global footprint. Hallelujah!


That's four definite changes - others really will be "more and better of the same" I think.Time to get to know the school communities here in the valley better, as a new intake of children begin their primary education...Some tweaking of the liturgy in both churches, some time spent evaluating together what it means to be church (specially when the building work at Church on the Hill gets under way, and we find ourselves the nomadic people of God once again)...New ways of looking at familiar things, different perspectives which might just be transformative. Who knows?

Just wondering

whether this blog is truly sustainable at the moment?
We returned from holiday almost a week ago, and I've managed only a very flat and factual catch up post since then...The truth is that, like every curate I've ever known, I'm finding the transition to incumbency so demanding of my time and energies that there's very little left over for quality blogging.
I'm not going to abandon ship entirely - there are too many precious connections that were first made through this blog - but I guess I need to be realistic about what I can actually hope to achieve here. Whenever I sit down at my desk, there are any number of parish jobs clamouring for attention,- both the immediate tasks of each week, and the longer term revisions and innovations that are bound to be part of a new ministry. Blogging and blog-surfing feel like increasingly guilty pleasures when there is just so much that has to be done.Given what I feel I can reasonably publish, I'm simply not sure if it's worth it - I know my most recent posts have been anything but remarkable.The parish issues and events that were sometimes the basis for past reflections mostly feel too delicate to write about now...and our domestic comings and goings are at best of limited interest to others. That leaves me with a bit of sermon blogging, a Friday Five now and then - and the occasional general reflection when time permits. It doesn't sound promising, does it? I'm sorry.Perhaps things will settle down in time, and I'll be able to return to more reflective blogging but realism suggests that for the moment things will be pretty dull around here. Bear with me if you can...and, if you have been, thanks for reading.

And we're back

Lovely holiday, thank you for asking.I'll post pictures tomorrow, but tonight just want to get something up here before I forget how blogging works! Feel very disconnected from that part of my life at the moment, - and don't much like that feeling.

Though we left home amid the high drama of a thunder storm that knocked out the power for many in the area (but which young Libby coped with as just another one of the new and exciting aspects of life in the big wide world), we had more than adequate weather, and nearly all the time we wanted to read, to sleep, to watch the moorhens emerge from the rushes...
We cruised from Northampton to Oxford, a distance of just under 40 miles - at most an hour's drive on country roads then. It took us 12 days to do the round trip...and there was not a tedious moment. Libby only fell in 3 times (twice as a result of her own joie de vivre, as she lollopped along the tow path with cheerful abandon, falling over her own paws with predictable results) and seemed to enjoy every minute of it. So did I.

The greatest joy, of course, was the presence of Hugger Steward. He did make it to the top of Kilimanjaro (probably the first man ever to do so while wearing skeleton pyjamas - there's glory for you!), had only 2 bouts of malaria to his name (and that's despite taking the appropriate meds) and is clearly as homesick for Yamba as ever I was for Karnataka. He has yet to update his website but when he does, the photos are well worth a look.

Our re-entry to normal life was rendered rather dramatic by an accident that befell Teddy the Ginger Pirate Cat last Monday.Clearly his thoughts were so focussed on his plans to take over the world (his nomme de guerre is Spirax Sarco, who ought to be a Bond villain, even if he's not) that he forgot his Green Cross Code and had a run in with a passing car. He emerged with a broken jaw, necessitating an unbelievably huge vet bill and tube feeding for a week.
As he is Hugger Steward's cat this wasn't absolutely the best homecoming for him, though Teddy obviously believed that it was his hospitalisation that brought HS home.
After a fraught weekend, the tube was removed this evening, though wires remain in place and he's clearly got some serious recuperation ahead. Assuming that one life was used up with his lost leg 13 years ago, and there are surely other dramas that we wot not of, I'm hoping he'll go carefully for a year or two. There is serious money tied up in that cat :-)

Will the last person leaving

please turn off the lights?

I'm just about done for the moment.
3 Eucharists and a double Baptism this morning (spilling over into this afternoon)
a bit of sacramental ministry by telephone that has left me gasping
all sorts of odds and ends actually tidied up
and now....

well, now it's bedtime on Sunday night and tomorrow I will leave home at crack of dawn to drive to Gatwick to reclaim Hugger Steward from Darkest Africa!
I am ridiculously excited......

not least because once I have collected HS, we come home only briefly and then it's off to the joys of Polyphony for 11 whole days.

Take care, all of you. Do nothing rash while I'm away - and I'll see you when we get back.
Hugs and loves, ok?

A "couldn't be better" Friday Five

As I may just have mentioned a couple of times, we are off to Polyphony on Monday as soon as I have reclaimed Hugger Steward from the baggage check at Gatwick - and, as one of the world's most disorganised packers, I know that four hours after we arrive I will have to gloomily admit what essential item I've forgotten this time. My RevGalPals, in an effort to alleviate this dismal situation, have given me a chance to decide on the five essentials without which I should not, would not, could not leave home...which probably means that I'll find I have none of them by Monday evening.
Dreams are free, however, so this is my list of the things that I absolutely positively can't leave home without

1. Digital camera - since its advent in my life, Biggles has been a source of huge pleasure, helping me to look more carefully and to make more of the world around me than I ever have before. I usually manage the camera, to be fair - it's the charger that may be stuck in my study!

2. Journal and pens - even if I write nothing, I always go hoping for the time and space to think.

3. Books - usually deeply frivolous for the boat, but with one "been meaning to get around to" added to the box for good measure. I raided the Oxfam shop yesterday and emerged with a huge haul of cheap and cheerful fiction, largely of the detective variety..to that mix I will add "Take this Bread" which arrived too late for me to join in the RevGals discussions a few weeks ago, plus just possibly one other from my "work to read" piles.

4. Tapestry - I only ever seem to do this when on retreat or at the boat so progress on projects is terribly slow, but it's a good way to pass the time while the world slips past at 4 mph.

5. Music - ipod now, walkman in days of yore...My own instruments are not easily portable, but I love that Hugger Steward took his flute to Africa, and have vivid memories of inter railing as a student, and sharing a railway carriage from Copenhagen to The Hook of Holland with Robyn from New Jersey, who played her flute for us to sing all day long.

Great forgettings include - my father's pyjamas, on a weekend break in the New Forest when I was a small child...he was quite a formal man, the product of his age, - so he didn't have a spare tee shirt in his luggage, and this was a Bank Holiday weekend in the countryside, so no emergency shopping options...I don't remember what the resolution was, just the appalled and muffled expletive as he emptied his suitcase
-the Dufflepud's sleeping bag (or was it Hugger Steward's?) on an early music residential
- my towel - too often to contemplate (I'd never survive in a Douglas Adams galaxy) and my flannel and hairbrush too when I went to India
I'll let you know when I return home what the Great Missing Item was this time! Just so long as it's not the dog food/leads/toys/beds....travelling with a puppy reminds me of travelling with a baby, except that the feeds are trickier!

Out with a bang

The happy arrival of Libby has not been the only change in our lives at the vicarage of late. School term ended for the Dufflepud last Friday, - and that meant the end of an era, as he will be moving in September to a 6th form centre far closer to home than the school where his siblings completed their secondary education.
It felt quite strange to realise that, apart from going in to collect his GCSE results in 3 weeks time, we've ended a connection that has been running for 10 years....that when the History department arranges a trip to Russia, no Fleming children will go along...that we won't have to listen to the Head's Charter Day speech once again (it varied little from year to year)...that none of my offspring will be attending the summer music residential next year.
Last year, as Hugger Steward left school, his final concert was overshadowed by the floods that swept across the country. The planned "Festival in the Field" rapidly became a "Get through this as best we can" and the promised fireworks and RAF Falcon display were clearly a wash out.
The Dufflepud, however, fared rather better, though the evening was more than just chilly for the audience. We sat with some dear friends whom I'd not seen properly for far too long, and thoroughly enjoyed much of the music (the sound system did no favours to the classical performers, contending with the difficulties of an open air performance - but the jazz band was excellent).
"What about the fireworks?" you ask.
They were amazing! A great way to end our relationship with a school that has done my children proud for 10 years...

Inertia rules

I ought to be writing articles for the parish mags, but at the moment all I seem capable of is playing with the puppy and counting the days till Hugger Steward gets home (at the mo he is climbing Kilmanjaro - please pray! - but he will be HOME in just 9 days time)....so what better excuse for a Friday Five on Saturday?This week's is really fun....and comes from my friend RevHDRod, whose own You don't have to listen, I just like to talk is one of my all time favourite blog names, - summing up in a phrase the attitude of so many of us to blogging!

Friday Five: What's in a Name?

So how did you come up with your blogging name? And/or the name of your blog? Being hopeless at dissimulation of any kind, I realised that there was Absolutely. No. Point. in even trying to adopt an alternative blogging identity - and in any case, I assumed that only those people who already knew me would ever read my blog. I began posting just a few weeks after I began my life as a curate - and in the UK at least the first word association of "curate" is likely to be "egg" - which comes with the tag "Good in Parts". I've blogged the story some while ago, but the short version is that a Punch cartoon once depicted a hapless curate, a guest at his Bishop's breakfast table, being asked if his egg was OK. It wasn't, so his diplomatic response was "Good in parts..." Thus "the curate's egg" has passed into the language

Are there any code names or secret identities in your blog? Any stories there? When I began blogging I was entirely unimaginative, as I assumed that only the handful of bloggers I knew already would ever read me, and they were clearly well-aware of who was who in our household. Later, though, the children named themselves. Hattie Gandhi is so-called a)because of her predilection for attractive head-gear, in which she looks predictably stunning and b)because in her toddler years she used to wander around aftgr her bath swathed in one of those baby towels with a hood, and looking for all the world like the late great Mahatma, as her fond parents pointed out. A two-year old's pronounciation of this became "Hattie" and the rest is history.Hugger Steward not only works at the wonder that is the Greenbelt Festival, where yes, he is indeed a steward and receives the embrace of dozens on the annual "Hug A Steward" day, but is also renowned for his own talent as a hugger....another reason why his mother is busy looking forward to 28th July. The Dufflepud was named in full daylight on this blog, after he'd had a happy morning experimenting with the coracle that belongs to Best Spir Dir Ever...He looked so very much like the illustrations of the Dufflepuds in Voyage of the Dawn Treader - quite irresistable. Otherwise, I pretty much stick to initials, though FabBishop, Wonderful Vicar and Best Spir Dir Ever are indeed just that! I'm very blessed....

What are some blog titles that you just love? For their cleverness, drama, or sheer, crazy fun? So very many....Pink Shoes in the Pulpit seemed to be a sign of hope when I found myself in a very male deanery, in a church which is still struggling with the idea that women can minster without becoming pseudo men in the process....A Blog Less Ordinary might be better named "A Blog lessPosted On"but nonetheless, tis a good title and a good reflection of the man behind the writing. Then there is Moreena's wonderful "Falling Down in Also a Gift", which seems to sum up in one phrase the way that she and her whole family live life to the full despite the shadow of her daughter's life-threatening condition. Really, though, all the blogs I read have names that draw you in to the world behind the title.

What three blogs are you devoted to? Other than the RevGalBlogPals blog of course! Three?? Only THREE?!? How can I possibly say...I do, though, value those blogs that help me to keep a sensible perspective on the dramas of the Anglican Communion - Bishop Alan's, for example...And Jonny Baker the Eminence Grise of UK Christian blogging, is a wonderful read and source of inspiration, as is Fr Simon at Parish Life. Goodness. Three men!!!! But those are almost the only male blogs I read regularly at all...Strange. Nearly all the rest of my blogroll consists of revgalblogpals - or blogs that are a more specific "catch up" with the life and times of my friends, though looking now I see that the roll as it appears here is woefully out of date. Blog-keeping as hopeless as general domestic maintenance. Oh dear.

Who introduced you to the world of blogging and why? Two or three Greenbelt friends -including One Pedestrian and Reach out and Touch the Screen started blogging in 2004 and invited me to view their blogs...Inevitably I wanted to comment, and it seemed impolite somehow to do so when I had nowhere of my own for them to retaliate. I was ordained Deacon that Petertide and began Good in Parts a few weeks later, as a way of reflecting on the early experiences of ministry. Bloggy birthday coming up very soon, actually...though I suspect I will be away at the time.

Bonus question: Have you ever met any of your blogging friends? Where are some of the places you've met these fun folks?
Blogging has been a really good way to get to know people I might have admired from afar,to approach people I would otherwise have been too awestruck to engage with. I still find it really hard to accept that people I have not met, and probably never will, engage with me through this blog too..That they should even get onto a train to visit me as one of their 3 destinations on a family trip to the UK is beyond wonderful...but maybe that's what sisters do, Songbird? Jo(e)??
Greenbelt is a great place for UK Christian bloggers to meet irl, but nothing will ever beat the excitement of finding myself All The Way across the Atlantic, heading out of New Orleans on a boat with some of the finest bloggers on the planet. It's just kind of hard to realise you have family so very far away, whom you are longing to spend more time with soooon.

A Tale of Two Bishops

Though life has been pretty much dominated by things canine for a while, there have been other events ticking away in the parishes, particularly as this was the last week of the school year.
The school attached to Church in the Valley (hereafter to be known as Valley Church School, or VCS) is a little way into a 5 phase building and improvement project, for which, as a Voluntary Aided School , we have to find 10% of the capital costs ourselves. As I've mentioned before, parish in the valley is by no means affluent - indeed it is well towards the top of the "deprived wards" chart for this county, so we're short of high-powered, high-earning families on the school roll. The sum we have to find is small in comparison with that which Church on the Hill needs for its roof, but the amazing concert there two weeks ago brought in pretty much what we need to raise each year over a looooooong period in order to repay the diocese for our building work. I would be kidding myself if I thought that we'd ever be likely to stage that sort of event down here. Life is just different.
So on Monday we launched our appeal "Building their Future", inviting the local press to come along and hear what we have in mind. As a church school we investigated whether there might be a bishop available to add "oomph" to the proceedings. It transpired that, thanks to the Lambeth Conference (I wonder how many times any of us will read those particular words in that order! but truly, I do mean "Thanks") there was not just one but two bishops available...our own +J, the suffragen who "put me in" to my parishes here and also +V, the bishop of Karnataka Central Diocese, where I spent my Indian month in November 06. We're twinned as a diocese with KCD, so it made sense that +V and his wife should be guests in Gloucester before the conference, but it was a lovely surprise to be able to welcome them, as they had so warmly welcomed me, to visit "my" school, and "my" parish. I love it when my worlds touch, however briefly.
Even better, I'd spent some time only a couple of weeks earlier sharing some Indian memories with the children at VCS as part of their "global dimension week", and had taught them the way to offer "namaste" greetings...+V and his wife were delighted by 200 English children saying "namaste" to them...while I was delighted that they chose to talk to the children, as I had, about the work that is being done in the church's New Life hostels for the street children of Bangalore. (I just looked through the archives to see where I could link to my experiences there and realised that I don't seem to have blogged them at all...some seriously retrospective writing seems to be called for when time permits)
But then it struck me.
The huge irony of +V being there to help us launch a fund-raising drive to improve facilities in a school that would be absolutely Top of the Range in every respect if we were in India. Valley Church School does genuinely need some money spent on it, as it competes for children with one very glossy county school and the miracle working school whose 50th Birthday celebrations I enjoyed recently. If we want parents to choose us, and so open the route to a distinctively Christian ethos and education for their children, we can't afford to look shabby or second rate. +V absolutely took the point that, where they have any choice at all, all parents will seek the best for their children and spoke powerfully of the need for a vision of excellence as a driving force...a vision which unites us at VCS with the leaders of his projects back in Karnataka. There was no trace of "You don't know you are born" in anything he said to staff or children.
The visit was, I believe, a success all round. Head, Bishops and children all shared hopes and dreams, hats were hurled on high as cameras clicked, and the appeal was well and truly launched.
But, nonetheless, it was hard not to think of what the Indian children would feel if our existing facilities could only be transported magically to Bangalore...
Global perspectives can sometimes be uncomfortable things.

She's here

Ladies and gentlemen
May I introduce you to the one and only, really rather delightful

LIBBY

So far she has excelled in general obligingness as much as in puppyish charm and Mufti shows every sign of being happy with her company (not least, i suspect, because I am spending lots of time playing with both dogs as part of the settling in process).

I'm not getting all the work done that I maybe should be, but just for a day or two I'm allowing myself not to positively hunt for things that need doing, if they aren't immediately clamoring for my attention. I've been waiting for a Golden Retriever since I was, iirc, 4 years old...so I'm a rather happy vicar at the moment. Warm thanks to my friends at St M's, whose gift enabled us to enlarge our family so delightfully.
Ministry has never been so cuddly!

Just to cheer us all up

I'm going to visit this litter on Wednesday, all being well. There is, it appears, one bitch still available so I'm now torn between manic excitement and "ohnowhatamigoingtodo-ness"
It does at least divert me from my techie dramas...
Next question...dog cages...good or bad idea? I think I'm in favour, but haven't used one with earlier dogs, and won't for Mufti. What do you think, peoples?

Grrrr

Any techie wizards reading?
My desktop is being about as unhelpful as it knows how at the moment....running very slow indeed, and despite managing to download emails when I first boot up, it then can't summon the ooomph to stay connected - even though the icon claims "Connected - strength good".
My lap top is also a bit iffy in its connection, but that has been an issue off and on for some time...so I'm reduced to using Marvin - the very elderly depressive computer that once belonged to my old office. Not being able to work at my desk and go online might be wonderful for my concentration but it's very bad for my temper - and of course, the little darling has waited till the week when I'm home alone until Thursday, as the Dufflepud is off on his final music department residential, LCM is mending clocks, and the globetrotters continue to trot around the globe.

So...if I don't respond to emails, post nothing anywhere and generally vanish from the ether for a while, it's probably not the fault of the number 11 bus but rather a case of my technological ineptitude finally catching up with me. It does make me cross though. As I said earlier, Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

eta Oh no....Now it seems to have lost track of Hugger Steward's server and his website, despite the fact that the server is switched on and humming away merrily. He is going to be sooooooooo cross when he gets home (I can only hope that the stuff he has posted from Tanzania will reappear somewhere once he has managed to persuade his website to spring into action again, but I hae my doots.
Oh heck, oh dear, oh bother!

Doggy dilemma

Non pet-owning readers feel free to skip this post...you won't understand why I'm even having this conversation. Why would any sane person, with an already busy life, add to their potential complications? Why indeed??
Everyone else....please read on!
You'll remember the agonies of deciding whether or not to try to rehome Dillon the Evil Jack Russell and our huge relief when he settled happily in a new abode before the traumas of our house move became yet more traumatic thanks to his presence. Since then we've been a one dog, two cat family, and that's been largely OK. Mufti has been pretty contented without him, except that she has rather insecure if she's home alone (she has never been an "only dog" for more than a couple of weeks in all her days) and has taken to raiding the laundry basket so that she can snuggle up with a garment of mine to remind her that there is indeed a mum out there somewhere...After a few pairs of holey knickers, I'm remembering to close the bedroom door, so that's really only a minor issue (except as a symptom of how she's really feeling). However, she has definitely become more sedate since Dillon's departure, and even on walks is inclined to remain velcro'd to my heels most of the time, which isn't her normal way of being.She could definitely decline into premature old age, if left to her own devices. BAD idea...Solution? Another dog, of course, and St M's sweetly gave me such a huge cheque when I left there that despite having bought a rather splendid cope I still have a sizeable chunk in hand, which has long been labelled "puppy fund". I'd love to have something as special as a dog to remind me of all those wonderful people each and every day - and if it doesn't get spent soon, it will disappear on petrol. Not the object of the exercise, I feel. So, there is £500 in the puppy fund, just waiting to be spent.
The only problem is...what puppy?
The Dufflepud has a yen for a Golden Retriever, - and certainly they are delightful dogs, very well suited to the comings and goings of vicarage life...but they are also on the large side, and it must be said that I've quite enjoyed being able to stick my dogs under my arm when the need arises - and also have limited time to take them for cross country walks. So, a bit of me worries that a retriever might be more dog than I need, might get bored, might become - heaven help us - a problem dog itself. A large lollopping well meaning problem, but all the same...
On the other hand, if I'm ever going to have a big dog, it had better be now - and there's something rather wonderful about being able to bury your face in a canine shoulder if the world is out to get you....

Having grown up with a spaniel who was one of the two best dogs ever, I'm pretty sentimental about them too...and they have the advantage of being more portable, and maybe a better "fit" in the narrowboat too.

On the other other hand (yes, you'll need to be as multi armed as a Hindu god to cope with this) they seem to cost a phenomenal amount - more than feels quite moral, to be honest.The local animal shelters don't have any puppies at all, and mostly seem to have dogs like collies, lurchers and some rather fierce bull terrier types...those being the predominant breeds in these parts...none of which they are prepared to recommend to a household where all sorts of people will be visiting, and the dog needs to be an agent of pastoral care, or else blend into the background completely.So, while I'd love to rescue a dog in need, that looks almost impossible at the moment.

A fresh set of hands is now called for, as I've found a website that sets out to offer a puppy register for ordinary dogs...not those from top breeders, but reputable owners who care about the welfare of their puppies...and they offer both cockers, retrievers and (very tempting - see their picture above) retriever/spaniel cross puppies at a rather more realistic price than the superior breeders I'd been exploring to date....
I've spent the last 2 hours using time I don't have to trawl the site...I have a short list of possibilities that are available here and now, many of whom have had their first set of injections, so could be ready to come on holiday with us...but I don't know what to do!!!!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch

while Synod debated, in one small corner of the Anglican Communion I've had a very busy weekend...

Headlines included - a 50th Birthday Celebration for one of the schools that serves this community - and which does wonderful things to open vistas to children whose aspirations might otherwise be rather limited

- watching Longsuffering Clockmaker and an unsupsecting friend (who had visited us to attend a local Canal Festival, of which he saw little thanks to determined rain) construct an elephant (yes...this sort of thing happens in vicarages all the time - didn't you know?)

- my first wedding at Church in the Valley - for a delightful couple who seem really tuned in to what was happening beyond the immediate festivities...Bride's mum, bride AND vicar were all distinctly teary as the bride walked down the aisle and though I did have to ask the congregation twice whether "They the family and friends of N & M would support them in their marriage now and in the years to come", once they'd got the idea that this was a participative event and not a spectator sport they then engaged with it with gusto. Amazingly, there was sunshine too!

- having the privilege of introducing the most wonderful concert at Church on the Hill...Sarah Connolly just happens to be one of my parishioners and with huge generosity she gave her time, and persuaded a group of orchestral musicians to join her in performing a programme of Bach and Handel for the benefit of the church roof. An amazing team of volunteers from the village ensured that we were plied with fantastic refreshments, welcomed into a beautifully decorated and tranformed church and that the whole evening ran completely smoothly, despite the aforementioned rain (which meant that instead of little black dresses and party shoes, many sensible souls opted for waxed jackets and gum boots). As for the performance - to be given the gift of a truly world class artist(one critic in the national press described Sarah as someone he would cross continents to hear - and I'd say he's absolutely right) singing glorious music in one of "my own" churches...to be seated only a few feet away from her ... to watch the music soaking into the walls of the church, and making it more beautiful than ever...was a once in a lifetime experience for which I am deeply thankful.

- lest I get above myself, the following day saw me literally pilloried...and receiving a baptism of wet sponges as part of Church in the Valley's Summer Fete There are some disturbingly good shots among my parishioners (my skirt is actually pale blue...I was that wet) though it was very sweet the way so many of the congregation went through a "Oh, I couldn't possibly...you poor thing" routine before they could be persuaded to take aim. The weather didn't do us any favours, so we moved most of the stalls into the church building, with some in the hall, and others in the church itself...Very medieval all round! The "home team" fielded all sorts of wonderfully dedicated people, who set to immediately after worship and created a variety of stalls which really did have something for everyone.
The circus skills performer was a huge success, and the building was filled with a happy buzz all afternoon...We even had some fugitive seamstresses, producing costumes for a medieval fayre which is happening in a couple of months, beavering away in the children's corner! I'd done a rushed job on some leaflets reminding the community of those things that we can offer as a church, beyond Sunday worship - and was delighted to be able to write
"The church is open each day as a place of quiet and prayer..."
It certainly wasn't quiet and prayerful on Sunday afternoon but it felt well and truly open, and a great crowd of people came through the doors. Some even stayed for the Songs of Praise service that concluded the day - and I staggered home exhausted but so very proud of both my church families, with their differing gifts, but their common committment to making community.

- Finally Monday saw an unexpectedly big funeral to complete the range of experiences...My words seemed to connect with those who needed to hear them, and I was left wondering yet again at the variety and the privilege of this calling and so thankful for the people whom God puts in my way as I engage with it.

Synod update

I've just had a very helpful conversation with Someone Who Knows about most things in the C of E and am now clearer on the provisions to be made for traditionalists. As ever, Thinking Anglicans has the best roundup of all reports and comments...but here's the short version.
There will be nothing enshrined in law, no more alarming Acts of Synod that proclaim women's ministry tainted and dangerous to the purity of Anglican orders...rather there will be a code of practice so that priests and parishes who are unable to accept the episcopal ministry of a woman will be protected. My guess is that many of these will leave - but despite this, that the Church of England will be richer and healthier as the gifts of those women called by God to episcopal ministry are released for the service of His Church.
So, not a perfect outcome but the best that we could achieve in the current situation. Thanks be to God!
Now there's "just" the small matter of the Lambeth Conference to negotiate...so please dont, whatever you do, stop praying!

Please pray

as I write, the General Synod of the Church of England is debating whether and how the Church might ordain women bishops.
When the legislation went through that allows for the ordination of women as priests, there were safeguards built in for those unable to accept our priestly ministry. There is a possibility that similar measures might be part of the package this time, - which means that several thousand of us have written to our synod reps to say that we would actually prefer to wait longer and have the measure fully accepted than to live with a two tier church, in which some would undoubtedly treat women bishops as "second order". There is good coverage of the issues here. As today has gone on, I've been stopped by several people out and about in the community here, who've expressed huge support for the ministry of women together with a view that might be summed up as
"The church needs to get its act together".
I didn't expect to feel this anxious...Whatever happens, people will be hurt I think, - but please pray for minimal damage to this church that I love, despite all the institutional failings and frustrations.

eta
Synod has voted in favour of women bishops (confirming an earlier decision that there was no theological objection to this) but with provision in place to protect traditionalists....At the moment, nobody seems able to say exactly what this provision may look like, so I'm not sure whether I'm rejoicing or lamenting, though I'm thankful to read that ++Rowan said, during the debate
"I am deeply unhappy with any scheme or any solution to this which ends up, as it were, structurally humiliating women who might be nominated to the episcopate." Goodness knows, at this stage, whether his voice will have had any influence, - but it's encouraging that he's not so punch-drunk as Lambeth looms that he can't see wood for trees in this particular jungle.

Three years ago

St M's was crowded with friends and family.
Three years ago I was so nervous that I could barely speak until I found myself on the chancel steps where the President stands and heard a woman's voice saying clearly "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and ...."
Three years ago I realised that in offering absolution to God's people I felt myself more fully absolved than ever before
Three years ago I suddenly understood the reality that we do most truly "grasp the heel of heaven" during the Eucharist, as I became aware of my own personal cloud of witnesses, parents, teachers, writers, musicians who had been part of my journey to the point at which I could pray the Great Thanksgiving with and on behalf of them all.
Three years ago I presided at the Eucharist for the first time, a new priest, less than 24 hours old in my Orders, and realised what I am for.
How amazing and mysterious that something which is now the non negotiable core of my being is something that was new, that happened for the first time, just three years ago.
Thanks be to God!

I found this in my in box just now

and it seems substantially more important than most other things I'm likely to engage with today.
Please do read it and take action if so moved...

Dear Kathryn,

Yesterday, the Financial Times declared: “G8 leaders ready to backtrack on Africa aid.”

It is inconceivable that the G8 could consider such a reversal, especially in a time when increasing food prices are making it ever more difficult for families to make ends meet. But the final decision hasn’t been made yet, and we have a critical opportunity to influence the outcome.

You—and nearly 40,000 other ONE members—have signed our petition to the G8 calling on them to deliver on their commitments to the world’s poorest people, but in light of this news, we need to redouble our efforts.

Please take urgent action by passing this email along to your friends and encouraging them to sign our petition to the G8:


This potential reversal comes at a time when we are seeing results from investments in development. For example, thanks to distribution of bed nets and increased access to antimalarial drugs, in Rwanda both deaths and cases of malaria have dropped by two-thirds since mid-2006.

As malaria still kills around one million people a year, it’s clear that we must replicate success stories like this. But it won’t happen if the G8 backtrack on their commitments.

Please tell the G8 leaders not to backtrack on aid: here's the site again