Whatever happened to the...

Reading Challenge?

Well, - clearly I’m incapable of posting weekly on the theme but equally clearly, it’s not that I’ve refrained from reading throughout January. Here’s an approximate list

Worthwhile
City of Djinns – William Dalrymple :the story of his year in Delhi, and a wonderful interweaving of history and present reality which evokes India in a way this addict found entirely heart warming

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek – Annie Dillard : I would never have discovered Dillard were it not for my US friends and I’m so glad that I did. Oh to see with those eyes – the precious minutae entered into with such excitement

The Vicar’s Guide –ed David Ison : does what it says on the tin…I’ve borrowed this from WonderfulVicar but suspect I will need to keep a copy to hand (though it omits any mention of how to please all of the people, all of the time. What do you mean, that’s not in the job description?)

Amiable Trash - treat with caution (so I've not given you links)
The Jane Austen Book Club - Karen Joy Fowler (light and fun)

Digging to America - Anne Tyler (read in under an hour...which gives you an idea of the substance!)

The Damascened Blade - Barbara Cleverly (Indian Raj whodunnit - I did enjoy this one)

The Vendetta - Jenny Pitman (cheerful tripe in the vein of Dick Francis but without his skill in characterisation)

As lists go, that’s pretty pathetic, really.
I think I must be spending too long online when I could curl up on a real sofa with a cat and read. Iceland ought to have been good for book consumption, but the contrast between bitter cold outside and cosy room meant that whenever we got in each evening, Hugger Steward and I fell asleep almost immediately…thus confirming my belief that we are really designed to hibernate all winter.
I try to limit my fiction during Lent, so maybe February will look a bit healthier.

Love Life Live Lent 2

Apologies, first of all, to those who read the title and were gripped with panic that Lent, already ridiculously early, had somehow started without them. The LLLL campaign this year clearly assumes that most people will be given the booklet by their churches on the Sunday before Lent, so yesterday was day 1...and the activity was to hear the story of the Good Samaritan (something I managed via Open House...where I was delighted to discover that in a staw-poll of congregation, most of the under 5s were happy to expect that Postman Pat, Revd Timms AND the scary skateboarder with hoodie and spray paint would all be good friends to the unfortunate traveller - oh to see the world through such hopeful eyes).
This year's focus is on "being a good neighbour" and once again we have 50 actions to lead us through a positive Lent...
Today were are invited to
contact a family member whom you haven't seen for a while...
Leaving aside my own nuclear family, I'm actually distinctly short of other relatives, so I was happy to substitute a good friend - someone, in fact, whom I've known since my post-grad year at Durham, 25+ years ago.
He has had an interesting time over the years, and at one stage our home was, I think, quite a needful bolthole for him, when things were tough. The last time I saw him was when I was made Deacon, 4 years ago. Recently life has cheered up substantially for him...He's getting married, and en route to that committment wanted and needed to make another committment, through Baptism. An email a couple of weeks ago was followed by a phonecall...
Would I be willing to baptize him?
Would I?!?!?
So he and his fiancee travelled down from London by train, arriving in Cheltenham early this evening. We had a wonderful hour in the study, discussing his baptism, my priesthood and all the difference that faith can make, then we went up to church together and he took this huge and wonderful step. There were just the 3 of us there in the building - but the presence of God with us was quite overwhelming.
This was a first for me - to baptize someone I know well, whose journey has intertwined with my own...to know some of what he is leaving behind, and to be conscious of the many people whose influence had brought him to today.
As I gave him the lighted candle, the whole building seemed flooded with light and joy.
It was, quite simply, awe-inspiring.

Positive thinking

As a dyed-in-the-wool optimist, living with a rather more cynical household (whom I sorely need to keep my feet on the ground) I find that more often than not I need to curb tides of positive feelings, lest they overwhelm everyone else and – let’s be honest – bore them rigid.
But the trouble is, I really do love my job and nearly all aspects of being part of the church (small “c”) here as well as the Church – and that optimism keeps on breaking through.
So, though I’m a day late for Sally's gridblog, I’m going to post about today – and the things that happened to make me come home smiley from every foray up to church.

The day began with the 8.00 Eucharist – a smaller congregation than normal, as it’s bitterly cold and the 8.00ers are mostly fairly elderly…Before ordination, I dreaded the thought of this service – but that was before I encountered the concentrated devotion to God and to worship that this congregation represents. As you’ll know if you read here often, St M’s is a church that values its music and liturgical niceties - and so indeed do I – but there are times when they can make things feel a bit anxious. That’s when the opportunity to preside at a service where the only requirement is to pray with and for others feels like a really special gift – and today the congregation included a visitor, a younger woman who told me that she had recently moved into the area and was in the middle of a church-tasting exercise, to try and work out where she might belong. She commented on how much she had enjoyed the space and peace of the service, the gentle welcome - and how lovely it was that this was offered every week. She even said she would be very comfortable joining us regularly.
Bizarrely, something else that made me feel positive was what amounted to a very quiet complaint. Having enthused last week on the blog about the way this congregation had adapted to being offered a short address, one lady came up to me at the end today to ask "Have we always got to have a sermon...it seems to interrupt the flow for me". When I told her that, yes, our plan was that we would offer some sort of thought for the day every week, and added that some of her friends were in favour, she smiled, said "Well, you'll never please everyone" , shook my hand warmly and went on her way. If only everyone in the church (and the Church) could be as tolerant about changes they would not have chosen. I was so proud of her (and not only because she started by assuring me that she had really valued today's effort- - though clearly her wonderous tact and diplomacy did help!)A hugely generous offer from another regular also added a spring to my step as I came home for a quick breakfast before the 10.00 – with all the beauty and drama of Candlemas, processions, candles and one of the most lovely anthems there is…i.e. St M’s doing the sort of things it does very well, and doing them with a loving focus.
What’s more, there was a handful of new children there today – at this rate, we might actually draw together a congregation representative of the local population one of these days.
Bitterly cold by 3.30 when we set out for OpenHouse…so I had minimal expectations as to turn- out. If I were the mum of small children, I don’t think I’d have taken the time to find coats, gloves, hats and buggies this afternoon – really I don’t. But they did. A happy huddle to engage with the wholly positive theme “LOVE LIFE LIVE LENT”…which this year has the specific focus “Be a good neighbour”.
For the activity, we drew round our hands so that I can make a tree with each hand representing an individual’s commitment to try and make a difference in our community during the next 6 weeks. 27 hands – age range 1 year to – well – a bit older…And over tea people were talking about the actions in the LLLL book – planning how they might do them.
It’s actually going to happen – in Charlton Kings!
If that’s not something positive, I don’t know what is.

OpenHouse just makes me sing, though, every time…I’ve never been in at the start of a whole new service before, still less one that draws in mostly a whole new congregation –parents and young children who were completely outside the church family not so long ago. Now they ARE family – looking out for each other, growing together, praying, loving…and I'm overwhelmed by the whole thing, really.

My final foray up the hill today was for Evensong – just lovely to sit in the church and be fed for a change. Reared as I was on Choral Evensong at school and at Cambridge, this service touches me at all sorts of subliminal levels – and it too draws its own distinct congregation, who don’t necessarily attend other worship at St M’s. The perfect closure of the Naylor Final Responses is a tiny window onto heaven in itself…
I hope that the people of St M's generally realise what a gift the choir makes to them, week in, week out. I know I'll not have the opportunity to enjoy music of this calibre on a regular basis for the foreseeable future once I move on - so I do savour each note now. Happy sighs.

Then out into the stormy night to join Koinonia – my lovely shiney youth group, in silly pancake- tide mood…We didn’t achieve much, but the easy friendship that group offers is another positive among many.

Have I ever told you how much I love this job?

3 way pull - and then some!

It's Sunday...so naturally I ought to be doing various priestly things, and will indeed depart for OpenHouse very shortly...but there are other bits of life clamouring for attention too, so maybe blogging them will help me note and appreciate them.

Yes - I ought to write about Iceland. I ought to write about books (have read several tons since early January). I really really ought to write a post about something positive in my church for Sally's Gridblog (which should have gone up yesterday...but this is me, right?!)

But just for a moment I want to write about my children...because yesterday was one of those days when I realise just how shiney they can be. The problem is that I do have 3 of them - and being in 3 places at once is frankly impossible...

So, after a frantic morning of Sunday prep, Hugger Steward and I drove to Oxford where he was playing with the county flute choir in the Oxford Festival. He talked it down rather - don't bother to come in...competitive festivals are terrible things (well yes, there I'd agree, having suffered the Hastings variety all through my formative years, and bearing the scars to prove it)...and we won't be very good anyway.
Hmmmn....They were only awarded an "Outstanding" - apparently this is one grade above the exalted "Distinction"...And to think I was sitting in the car reading while it happened.
Ah well.
From Oxford it was all systems go to Cardiff, where Hattie Gandhi triumphed over her maternal genes (those which prove themselves incapable of any form of visual creativity, and struggle to engage in even basic needlework) to produce a stunning set of costumes for a student production of "Wyrd Sisters". The show was splendid - really great entertainment - but I was mostly stunned that a child of mine could actually have the vision and the skill for this kind of project. I love the way children keep on surprising their parents :-)

If I had been able to manage a 3 way split, I could also have spent the afternoon hearing the Dufflepud and many of the St M's choristers sing with a mass choir for the RSCM regional service - at which the Dufflepud was given his Bishop's Chorister award - with distinction- and 3 other young choristers from St M's also covered themselves with glory..I do hate it when I can't do everything - but I should be used to it by now, really.

It was only when telling a friend about all this after church today that I really realised how special it was to have 3 things like that to celebrate in a single afternoon. Please forgive the proud mother post - every now and then, I do need to enjoy those children of mine!

Since I'm currently procrastinating in the face of total absence of inspiration for a creative way of presenting the Good Samaritan to OpenHouse tomorrow (think under 7s and over 30s and you'll maybe see my problem - if you see my solution, PLEASE TELL ME!!!) I thought I'd post the lovely Candlemas prayers I used at the Ecumenical lunch yesterday. They made me very happy

Like Simeon,
may I grow old
in hope and wonder.

Like Anna,
may I be in love with you
all my days.

May I be open to truth,
open to surprises.

May I let your Spirit
into my life.

May I let your justice
change my behaviour.

May I live
in the brightness of your joy.

Starmaker God,
Lightener of the world,
bless us and warm us
into light and loving.
Bring to us the light of Jesus
all the length and breadth
of our nights and days.

You have found me.
I have seen you.
Daily I know you
cherishing me.

Kindle and draw me
into the light of your loving
every night and day
of my journey home.

As the candle,
so my life;
flickering, burning, changing,
alight and warm
with the light
which is you. Ruth Burgess from Hay & Stardust

Friday Five - Options, Options edition

Sally has offered us a choice of questions this week - but since one set concerns the Superbowl, which is so American I'm not even quite sure what sport it refers to, I'm happy to go with the other. Indeed, having used a Candlemass focus for our Ecumencial ministers' prayer time at lunchtime today, it's very much at the forefront of my mind. (In case you're interested, I talked about the feast, used some material from Hay and Stardust and - this is the good, if obvious, bit - invited each person there to light a candle from the large central "Christ candle" to represent their own church...underlining the one light in which we try to walk. It worked a treat!)

So - in answer to Sally, and by way of wishing her Happy Birthday for tomorrow as well...

Candlemas/ Imbloc/ Groundhog day/ St Brigid's day- all of these fall on either the 1st or 2nd February. 1. Do you celebrate one or more of these?
We most certainly do…For us, Candlemas (aka The Feast of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple) is the final element of Christmas. Our crib has stayed up in church til this weekend, and we have one at home too but on Sunday they will be put away as we look away from Christmas and towards Lent and Passiontide....As we hear the story of Christ's Presentation, and his recognition by Simeon and Anna, we remember not just the joy with which Simeon greeted the "light to lighten the Gentiles" but also the foreboding of his words to Mary
"And a sword shall pierce your own soul also". It's one of those hinge points in the liturgical year.

2. How?
In the medieval church, this was the festival when all the candles to be used for the rest of the year would be blessed. Today, the Church of England “Common Worship – Times and Seasons” has a lovely provision for marking this transition time. At the end of the Eucharist, during the final hymn each member of the congregation will be given a lighted candle - then the clergy will make our way to the font while the choir sings Simeon’s song, the Nunc Dimittis…Once there we are all brought to focus on our baptism, and recommissioned to bear the light of Christ into the world.

3. Is this a bit of fun or deeply significant?
Significant, right enough. Here’s part of the liturgy, just to reinforce this

Father, here we bring to an end our celebration
of the Saviour’s birth.
Help us, in whom he has been born,
to live his life that has no end.
Here we have offered the Church’s sacrifice of praise.
Help us, who have received the bread of life,
to be thankful for your gift.
Here we have rejoiced with faithful Simeon and Anna.
Help us, who have found the Lord in his temple,
to trust in your eternal promises.
Here we have greeted the light of the world.
Help us, who extinguish [bear] these candles,
never to forsake the light of Christ.
Here we stand near the place of baptism.
Help us, who are marked with the cross,
to share the Lord’s death and resurrection.
Here we turn from Christ’s birth to his passion.
Help us, for whom Lent is near,
to enter deeply into the Easter mystery.
Here we bless one another in your name.
Help us, who now go in peace,
to shine with your light in the world.
Thanks be to God.

4. Are festivals/ Saints days important to you?
I love them….
I love the varied focus they give to the Church’s year, the way that each one has something to teach us, the way that we find against all expectations that we have something in common with these brothers and sisters in Christ across space and time…because their stories are so human, that again and again I'm forced to reassess the potential for holiness in the most unlikely people around me ;-)


5. Name your favourite Saints day/ celebration.
Eeek - there are so many to choose from, even with a calendar that is less generous with its commemorations than that of the Roman Catholic church (which, I was told in my childhood, has a saint or two for each single day of the year)...
Common Worship has a collection of "Lesser festivals and commemorations" which features some dear friends - George Herbert, Lancelot Andrewes, John Donne, Bonnhoeffer....a goodly fellowship indeed. As for "Official Saints" - I love St Cecilia, for the music of course – all those wonderful concerts I’ve sung in while in Cambridge and London specially…And Lucy for the candles and my lovely lovely daughter….but I was baptised on St Francis day, and have felt that this allowed me an offical sanction for my lifelong passion for animals…

My two new churches are dedicated to St Matthew and All Saints, so there will be lots of scope for creative celebrations in the years ahead I hope.

Roads to travel

Iceland was fabulous, thank you....Unbelievably cold to one for whom temperatures of 3 degrees or lower spark a "Risk of ice" alert on the car....unbelievably expensive (a £21 pizza to take away, anybody?) but also, and mainly unbelievably beautiful.

Pictures and thoughts to follow soon but meanwhile, because my dear friend Songbird among others is wading through some pretty weighty discernments right now, and because as an ENFP the moment I have a decision made I start wondering about the road not travelled, it's time to post (almost certainly for the second or even the third time) my absolutely favourite Thomas Merton prayer

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore I will trust you always
though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

What would you rather do, or go fishing?

was one of those nonsensical questions which seemed to be part of adult conversation when I was small...the gist, as I interpretted it, was that fishing was absolutely at the bottom of the list of desirable things to do...something that tended to make me feel that Simon, Andrew et al had rather a raw deal when their option was fishing or fishing.

I don't tend to do much of it myself...neither literally nor figuratively (though that might seem to be a dereliction of clerical duty?). I was back at the Home for the Distinctly Confused again this afternoon, using the same address that I'd delivered as the "Thought" at 8.00 - and I was so very glad that I'd not run with the obvious message...It is always tempting to try and bounce St M's into mission mode - and these days I'm more confident that the agenda would be as it should be, to bring people into a relationship with God and not simply with the church. However, I found myself pursuing another avenue (once again inspired by the thoughts of those on the Preaching the RCL list) and it was such a relief as I considered my evening congregation. There was, once again, a small clutch who were quite definitely on board and happy to be there...There was one lady who was in such a place of disorientation that she spent most of the service shouting for help, - which inspired her immediate neighbour to out shout her with cries of "Shut Up"....There was one lady who sat oblivious at the far end of the dining room, clearly not relating to anyone or anything in the present at all.

I have to say, the worship was not the best we've ever offered...The singing was thin, the prayers mostly solos from the Curate....and reading Matthew's account of the call of the disciples was a huge challenge against the competition of buzzers, tv and the distraught lady.
But once again I found that I'd been given the right words for that situation,those people. I don't know why I'm so surprised!

This evening's story is one of the most familiar of all the gospel scenes, and one of the most familiar of all gospel challenges.
When I was a child, I remember singing the action song
“I will make you fishers of men” – and now I find myself teaching it to the children at OpenHouse and, indeed, most appropriately, at Little Fishes.
We all know the idea.
We, who have heard and responded to the call of Jesus, must in our turn share that call that invitation with others.
We’ve been fished – and now we are sent to fish in our turn.

But maybe it’s not the best metaphor for us as we consider our calling.
A fish, after all, doesn’t exactly thrive after it has been caught. In fact, if the fisherman knows his stuff, it doesn’t survive very long at all…whereas when Jesus invited those men on the shore of Lake Gallillee, he was calling them to a more abundant life.
That call, to which they responded, apparently without a backward glance, was of course to change everything for them…
Let’s think for a moment about all they left behind, good things and bad.
Most obviously, they left their boats – the way that they had earned their livings, the hall-mark of the people they were. They had been independent, - but no longer. They were asked to trust that they’d get by without the wherewithal for a day’s catch.
They left the damage of a day’s work behind, too – torn and tangled nets. No time to sort things out…just go!
AND they left their families. Zebedee, the father of James and John gets a special mention as we imagine him staring after his sons, wondering how he’s going to get the work done, whether his boys will be back in time to go out on the evening run. We know too that Simon had a wife at home, AND a mother in law, and he certainly didn’t run home to tell them he’d be a little while.
He just went…in instant obedience to Jesus…he turned away from his obvious ties and responsibilities and simply followed…and in following, found a wider world, a world of hopes fulfilled and wonders unfolding…a world in which the limitations of life as a lakeside fisherman simply had no meaning.

In short, they found they had left more than simply their past career behind.
There were other things to walk away from, the sorts of things that we too are asked to abandon when we turn to follow Christ…
Things like selfishness, insecurity, small- minded prejudice, fear of those who are different…things that inhibit our relationships with one another as much as with God.
They left those things behind, - though once or twice in the gospels we hear that they’d returned to claim them, and needed some help from Jesus in order to lay them aside finally. That’s an encouragement if, like me, you find yourself frequently reclaiming unwanted baggage.

But for now, let’s look at what they were leaving them FOR…just what was the new work to which they were summoned.
Fishers of men?
It’s a great image if that’s your natural metier…but it does only work in a limited way. At our baptism, we are commissioned to work for the kingdom, but that is far more than an invitation to a fishing trip.
We need to beware the danger of seeing people as simply things to catch and drag into the kingdom, regardless of how they feel. There are some Christians who see this calling as so central to their faith that they only engage with people outside the church in an effort to convert them. Surely this approach dehumanizes people as well as devaluing relationships, turning the world into “them” and “us”…insiders and outsiders…trappers and prey.
That doesn’t sound much like Jesus…
It’s really not quite the same as introducing non-Christian friends to a God whose loving embrace welcomes all.

There’s a further problem: all fish look alike. It’s very easy to think of a net full of fish as being interchangeable, exactly like each other, and not a collection of individuals. It’s all too easy to think of everyone outside the
church in that way too… all alike in need of saving…all surely to be landed by the same baits that brought us in, regardless of any differences in our situations.
But of course the truth is quite different…God meets each person where they are, and calls them as they are …and he calls them to life in its fulness not the processed sameness of a packet of Birds Eye fish fingers!

So, despite the song, let’s forget about fishing.
Jesus used that line for the men on the beach because that was their way of life…If he’d encountered a group of doctors, he might have adapted the call
“I will make you healers of souls”…Builders “Constructors of the kingdom”
Petrol pump attendants “Refuellers of hope”
He wanted them to understand that all of their energies, everything that made them who they were, could be redirected, so that all that they had, all that we have and are, can be given in service to God’s kingdom of justice, peace and love.

So, instead of simply reverting to the Sunday school song, I’d like to share another with you, one written by John Bell of the Iona community.
As you listen to the words, consider what God might be asking you to leave behind, and seek his help as you turn to follow. Perhaps the last verse could be our prayer.

Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?
Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?
Will you let my love be shown? Will you let my name be known,
will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?

Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?
Will you let me answer prayer in you and you in me?

Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen,
and admit to what I mean in you and you in me?

Will you love the "you" you hide if I but call your name?
Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?
Will you use the faith you've found to reshape the world around,
through my sight and touch and sound in you and you in me?

Lord your summons echoes true when you but call my name.
Let me turn and follow you and never be the same.
In Your company I'll go where Your love and footsteps show.
Thus I'll move and live and grow in you and you in me.


Signing off for Iceland now...See you next weekend - take care while I'm gone.

Another timely Friday Five

I have no idea how they do it, but again and again the RevGals in charge of the Friday Five seem to pick a topic that is absolutely spot on for my current concerns. Today I'm viewing with mingled excitement and terror a trip to Iceland with Hugger Steward next week. In her Gap year, Hattie Gandhi and I spent 3 days in Venice - and somehow this has evolved into a tradition such that at some point during a Gap year, there will be a mother and child expedition to a European destination of the offspring's choice. Venice was easy. Art, food and shopping. What's not to love? Iceland is rather more alarming, as HS really wants to explore the wild open spaces, trek across snow fields and generally cut himself adrift from the sorts of safety nets that an unfit middle aged mother might be inclined to cherish. Yes, I love the thought of seeing a real glacier, of encountering the original geyser at Geyser....but I do like to be warm and dry and I have an old fashioned affection for breathing...and I suspect that it may be difficult to achieve all of these. Still, I would trust HS to the ends of the earth and beyond...so on Monday we depart before the dawn chorus and by tea time will be negotiating the by-ways of Rekjavik. All of which means that a Friday Five on winter is pretty damn timely....

1. What is the thermometer reading at your house this morning? According to BBC Radio Gloucester, it's about 5 degrees this evening (it's now late on Friday here)...Yesterday was positively springlike, but a cold and clear night followed. Today was gloomier but looks set to be warmer tonight as a result.

2. Snow—love it or hate it? Mostly LOVE it. We get very little of it, so it is always an adventure. I slightly lost my nerve after falling a breaking my wrist a few years ago, so am less gung ho about the whole experience - indeed, I feel as if I'm turning into a little old lady as I pick my careful way along the pavement in icy weather...but the shimmering landscape, the way that the ugliest buildings are softened and transformed, the sheer magic...oh, that I love, sure enough.

3. What is winter like where you are? Damp, dank and gloomy - with occasional bursts of sparkling frosted wonder.

4. Do you like winter sports? Any good stories? "Like" and "sports" are pretty much antitheses for me....The broken wrist I mentioned above was caused by nothing more strenuous than walking my young children to school on a frosty morning. I slipped on the ice on my way back down the hill - and found myself unable, for the next 6 weeks, to drive, to write, to do most of the things that a mum with under 10s living in a small village needs to be able to do .
One positive outcome of this was that the said children learned various useful life skills, such as loading the washing machine and making their own packed lunches - but all the same, it was deeply irritating..not least as I had cycled around London, ridden horses in assorted slightly insecure situations and stayed sound in wind and limb. Walking my children to school was clearly far more risky!

5. What is your favorite season, and why? Oooh...I love each of them in turn. I need variety, so whenever a new season is unmistakeably here I rejoice that it's pleasures are to replace those of the one before. Because of all of them spring shouts loudest of transformation and new starts, I guess it's my absolute favourite...but it's hard to beat lying on springy turf under a cloudless summer sky...or scrunching through heaps of autumn leaves...or watching snow muffle the ugliness of the suburbs.

Bonus: Share a favorite winter pick-me-up. A recipe, an activity, or whatever.
Take one cat (black, name of Tallis) , a happily trashy whodunnit, a sofa, an open fire and a mug of Whittard's Spiced Christmas tea. Augment with a slice of Christmas cake and a CD of your choice. I'm going to listen to the Tallis Scholars performing Dunstable....and I'm not coming out til it stops raining.

Variety?

today has been full of it!

After Morning Prayer came Little Fishes - capacity crowds, the story of the miracle at Cana and (a minor miracle in itself) no spiced red fruit juice (wine, obviously) spilled on the chapel carpet. I'm really struggling with the thought of leaving this group - so many wonderful women, so many delightful tinies, and the bumps whom I won't get to see turn into babes. Each week is precious.

This was followed by the funeral of a lovely lady, whom I met when I conducted her husband's service very soon after I'd arrived here. We'd remained friends...she was one of those "heart lift" people who always make you feel better for having seen them. She was desperately ill just before I went to India in November 06, and I'd left feeling it was unlikely that I would see her again - but she fought back and, when I caught up with her in hospital on my return her first question was, as always
"How are you and how is your family?"
I almost expected her voice to interrupt our tributes today - "Enough about me. How are YOU doing?"

Having made a brief appearance at the wake, for the sake of her (equally lovely) children, I then drove over to Tewkesbury (still surrounded by water) to visit an elderly parishioner who really won't be here much longer. His daughter and son-in-law were there, so we prayed together. Not sure if he was aware of much of what was happening as I anointed him, but his daughter has been very anxious that everything should be done properly and it was clearly the right thing to do.

Another visit – this time to someone struggling with serious depression. Hard to be there with her and able to do so little...We talked about this - that all I can do is stand beside her in the darkness and wait for it to lift. She is an elderly lady, who has struggled with this demon all her life and each time it returns she has less energy for the fight. Someone else whom I won't want to leave.

Evening Prayer and immediately afterwards, a meeting of the Youth Committee.
Really positive tone to the meeting, and some helpful support for a couple of tricky issues we are facing…It’s lovely that we are now able to be confident in our work with children and young people overall, that relationships exist that simply weren’t in place a few years ago. I will miss the children of Charlton Kings horribly…dealing with the fact that I won’t know “what happened next” for them is quite the hardest part about moving on, but as a group they’ve taught me more about ministry than almost anyone. When I came here as a former “Children’s Reader” I imagined that my priorities would be very different, that children’s work would be much less significant…what I didn’t expect was that it would be the thing that fired and fuelled me for the other areas.I guess I might have known though, since it was when reading the distinctly depressing statistics about contact with young families that I heard myself tell WonderfulVicar, back at the stage when we were weighing each other up and trying to discern whether St M's was the place for me
"I've got to come here".
Yup - it's a God thing for sure!
Four years on, I know that if I am to flourish in ministry, I need regular opportunities to spend time with children and youth. Looking ahead, I feel very blessed that there is not only a church primary school but 2 county primaries within or in shouting distance of my new parish.
When I feel inadequate and terrified I remember that, and become simply excited again!

It being Tuesday

what else would you expect but a FRIDAY FIVE

1.What book have you read in the last six months that has really stayed with you? Why?
Timothy Radcliffe "What is the point of being a Christian?"
Truly splendid. I really want everyone I know to go and read it, - for far too many good reasons to cite. It's the sort of book that rekindles your faith in the Church- how about these as a random examples of sheer brilliance?
"God liberates us from small ambitions so that we may learn to hope more extravagantly"
"Thanking is thinking truly and prayer helps us to think well."
"The smile of Jesus summons me to an identity that is not constructed but given"

What is one of your favorite childhood books?
Oh my goodness - I was such a constant bookworm. As an only child I read, re-read and then read some more and to choose just one book feels deeply disloyal to so many other friends.
But because it has been very much at the forefront of my thoughts around Hattie Gandhi's 21st Birthday, I'll plump for Elizabeth Goudge's "Henrietta's House". I've just looked on amazon and it seems to be not only out of print, but collectably rare. How sad! I'd love to send it to several special people.
Why?
As an only child I made a habit of adopting dear people to augment my rather limited familial resources, and like the eponymous Henrietta I dreamed of living somewhere where I could have them all under one roof, close at hand. There are still traces of those yearnings - it matters hugely to me that the people I love should at least know each other...so if I ever make a big deal of your spending time with my children, trust me, it's a compliment.

Do you have a favorite book of the Bible? Do tell!
John....and Psalms. Couldn't do without either. Please don't ask me to try.

What is one book you could read again and again?
Oh - so many. All the C S Lewis Narnia books AND the "Out of the Silent Planet" trilogy.
Bleak House - imho the best of all Dickens
Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising. - which I re-read every winter, around Christmas time if I can (assuming that I can wrest one of our multiple copies away from the offspring)
Any Jane Austen...

Is there a book you would suggest for Lenten reading? What is it and why?
Most of my own current reading is very much geared to preparing for the realities of a "first responsibility post" - but I'm hoping during Lent to spend some time with Marva Dawn & Eugene Peterson's "The Unnecessary Pastor" - in order to shift my focus away from the nuts and bolts of churchyard regulations and the like and help me focus on the foundations of my calling. I guess that would be quite a goodie for many of us.


And because we all love bonus questions, if you were going to publish a book what would it be? Who would you want to write the jacket cover blurb expounding on your talent?
It might just be "the book of the blog" -
"Good in Parts - the struggles of a jobbing curate"...and thanks to your encouragement, I'd love any one of you to write a blurb for me. You really do make me feel good about writing, and about being me!

Nemesis

struck this evening!

The afternoon was unexpectedly manic, as I heard at the church door of 2 people newly in hospital who could do with a visit and I still had the evensong sermon to write. Worse, my computer has not been on speaking terms with my printer since just before Christmas, so everything has taken longer as I have faffed around with memory stick, the other family printer etc etc...So after lunch I sat down and struggled to some sort of a conclusion with the sermon, saved it on the memory stick and handed that over to LCM, who was engaged in some complicated CD burning operation such that I couldn't simply print the sermon off myself.
Shortly afterwards, he brought in a wodge of paper which I slipped into the relevant file before heading off to the hospital. Everything ran smoothly there, and I arrived safely at church in comfortable time for Evensong. All continued well till the 2nd lesson...having prepared a sermon on Galatians 1 1-11 what I heard was Galatians 1 11-24 (this is absolutely correct - I have no idea what possessed me to write on the earlier passage). However there was, I felt, nothing to be done about this except to confess to an inverse epiphany - a moment not of "Ahah" but of "Oh No" and then trust to God that the congregation would still make some sense of my words...It might have been OK, too, if I hadn't reached the end of page 4 and turned over to discover not page 5 but a totally unrelated document...and no sign of the rest of my sermon ANYWHERE
What that sermon lacked in content (pretty much everything) it certainly made up for in passion as my panic lent fire to my words...

Notes to self

• Read the lectionary reference, check that you've read it, read it again
• Check contents of file before ascending pulpit steps
• If all else fails, bring things to a close with speed and conviction and thank God for the junior choristers whose silent applause as I cowered in my stall afterwards was quite the most cheering aspect of the whole thing
• Seek mediation for the printer/computer dispute...get them talking somehow, come what may
  

Thoughts for the day

When he arrived at St M's 5 years ago, WondefulVicar was told very firmly that the 8.00 congregation did not expect and would not welcome any sort of word, to interrupt their silent devotions...He was pushing their boundaries by inviting them to acknowledge their neighbour so far as to exchange the Peace. To actually halt them in their tracks and compell them to spend a couple of minutes exploring and reflecting on Scripture would be Just. Too. Much.
He accepted this without demur, and this remained the case when the Curate arrived a year later...At Festivals sometimes one or other of us got overexcited by the wonder of the day and launched into some sort of meditation upon it but by and large we respected their wishes. Only we both felt uncomfortable. The 8.00 congregation is considerably more than a handful, and as I shook hands with some 30 plus week after week it was hard to feel that I wasn't short changing them.
So we agreed that,from Advent Sunday, a "thought for the day" would become part of the pattern...We waited for the onslaught and today it came.
As I stood by the door, person after person spoke
"Thank you so much for including an address" "It's really good to have something to carry away with me into the week" "I'm so glad that we get a proper talk now".
Which all goes to show - you never know until you try, and it is probably never a good idea to rely on 3rd party evidence as a guide to the wishes of others!

Of course, some weeks this does mean that I'm preparing an address of some sort on two different lections (this Sunday is one such) but on the whole, I think it's triumphantly worth it....
This morning's word's are here...This evening's? Well, let's say they're still under construction!

Yesterday was full and happy. I left first thing to drive down to Sussex by the sea, where my honorary mum, the wonderful E was celebrating her 90th birthday together with her 3 children, J, T & S,- all of whom have been part of my life forever.
Though the actual birthday was on Thursday, there was still a hugely festive air to the holiday cottage where we gathered - J and her husband coming from Denmark, and earlier in the week D had visited from Dubai, as well as those of us who'd come from assorted corners of the UK. For me E has been a warm and constant presence, a source of love and encouragement at every stage. just after the 2nd world war, when my father contracted tuberculosis and found himself in a sanitorium next to E's husband T, an RAF pilot who had been one of the "few" in the Battle of Britain. When both men were discharged, they lost touch for a few years, bumping into each other by chance when Daddy needed a ladder to arrange a fundraising display, popped in to a nearby pub (in a small town a good 50 miles away from the sanitorium) to borrow one and found T working behind the bar. The friendship resumed instantly and when T2 was born, Daddy became his godfather, while we returned the compliment when J became my godmother in turn. Sadly tuberculosis claimed T's life before I was even born, but the families remained close, E caring for me and including me among her children during my own mother's frequent spells in hospital. Bringing up 3 children on a war widow's pension must have been so hard, but there was never a feeling of scarcity, of eking out resources - rather a joyous creativity as E showed us what could be done to create beauty from things that others would have discarded. I like to think that HG's penchant for "Charity Shop Chic" was learned from watching E, always quirkily elegant on less than a shoe string. I love that whole family so much. They've always been there...always welcomed me...always made me feel totally at home....and the loving connections continue for the next generation, as T2 is Hattie Gandhi's godfather.
Yesterday was,I think, the first time we've all been together since HG was very tiny.There were lots of "do you remember?" conversations, lots of comfortable silences, lots of sheer delight in each other's company. Since my generation had all grown up by the seaside, where else could be the right backdrop for our rejoicings? It was all very British - cold and windswept and wonderful...and after a few bracing moments (the only concession to E's age was that we didn't actually stride for a couple of miles along the beach) we took refuge in a nearby pub (where William Blake had a run in with the army once long before).
300 miles round trip and worth every second.

Thank you, E...Your birthday, like your birth, was a gift to all of us.

Slightly too accurate

though of course, being an online quiz, it made this analysis without my actually writing a word. Kind of ironic, no?
Still, fwiw...

What Your Handwriting Says About You

You are a fairly energetic person. You know how do pace yourself, and you deal well with stress. You are very extroverted and outgoing. You are loving, friendly, and supportive. However, you are also manipulative and controlling at times. You are balanced and grounded. You know how to get along well with others. You need a bit of space in your life, but you're not a recluse. You expect people to give you a small amount of privacy, and you respect their privacy as well. You are somewhat traditional, but you are also open to change. You listen to your head and your heart. You are a decent communicator. You eventually get your point across, but sometimes you leave things a bit ambiguous.

What Does Your Handwriting Say About You?

Now, Curate, enough of these on-line diversions...don't you know there's
a sermon,a thought for the day,and a funeral address to write before bedtime. Go to it!

A long time ago

at a CME event we were asked to produce an image that conveyed how we saw ourselves as preachers. Though others came up with rather lovely images of a lens reflecting the light of Christ, or something that existed to connect God and his world, I found that the only picture that had any reality for me was of a dog crashing through the bracken, intent on indulging in a thrilling exploration...but losing the trail, heading off in the wrong direction, having to return to square one..Always, with wagging tail, huge enthusiasm and an overwhelming desire to please.
Close friends will be familiar with my references to my "inner golden retriever" - who sometimes gets all too enthusiastic, bounding up to people without reserve, and probably slobbering all over them too- so it was absolutely no surprise that when, following Rach's lead, I tried the latest quiz, this was my result. The last sentence in particular sung loud and clear for me!

You Would Be a Pet Dog

You're friendly, loyal, and an all around good sport. People love to be near you. You are very open with your feelings, and you're quite vocal in expressing them. You are sincere and kind. You love many people - without any sort of agenda. Why you would make a great pet: You're content to chill out with your friends Why you would make a bad pet: You always find yourself getting into trouble What you would love about being a dog: Running around and playing What you would hate about being a dog: Being left home alone while everyone else is out having fun

What Kind of Pet Would You Be?

WOOF!

A chance to be glad

Yesterday I went over to Tewkesbury (not overwhelmed with floodwater, despite gloomy media predictions - though I do feel for those several poor souls still living in mobile homes in their own gardens) for lunch with such of the clergy women of the diocese who were free and wanted to attend. We have these gatherings twice a year and, though when they were first mooted some expressed disquiet that we should still "need" to meet together as women now that our ministry is mostly accepted without drama, I really value the opportunity to spend time with my sisters in ministry, to share experiences and to pool our resources in the face of any problems.

There were road-works, which I hadn't planned for, so I arrived even later than usual - and as I walked into the room at the beautiful Abbey House several women were gathered in groups, chatting over the bring and share lunch. I'd hardly put my coat down when one came over, and presented me with a card and some lovely daffodils - the first I've even seen this year.
"Congratulations on your new post!" she said
and it was like that all the way...Friend after friend offered hugs, happy messages, enough affirmation to keep even an ENFP purring for a good long while.

Later we got into groups to talk about our particular pressures, and I realised that actually for me, one hardship is the absence of opportunity to share joys in ministry.Specifically, it is hard for me to enthuse too much about the future in my new parishes - as I know that there is sadness on both sides as I prepare to leave the people here who have taught me so much through my curacy...It was a real gift to be able to bounce and rejoice with women who understand, because they've been there, the curious mixture of delight and awe that goes with the prospect of responsibility for a whole parish of my very own.
More generally, you have to be pretty geeky to get excited about some of the bits of ministry that send me home wanting to sing of an evening - and my family, though tolerant, can quite clearly have too much of a good thing. Bad days, paradoxically, are fine...Then they will get indignant on my behalf, offer me a hug, pour me a drink ...they don't need to know the details in order for me to feel the better for their comfort. But good days, days when there's something that feels just wonderful - those can be hard to share.

So, today I'm consciously grateful for those people with whom I can and do share pretty much everything...and for those of you whose periodic comments make me feel that there are readers out there who are interested in the ongoing story of what Kathryn did next.

ETA Eeeek...as so often happens in sermons it seems that what I thought I was writing and what people read were rather different...I truly wasn't appealing for reassurance that you are still there, though it's lovely that you are. I was just noticing that having people with whom I can share good times as much as problems is Very Important for me. Thanks, friends

Last Saturday's book post

just didn't happen - as you may have noticed. No surprise there, then!
However, this doesn't mean I'm not busy reading...

Sillies for the week, thanks to my ever-wonderful public library were

• The Frost Fair - Edward Marston

(an amiable historical whodunnit, with good period detail and well drawn characters)

• Ragtime in Simla - Barbara Cleverly

(set in India AND a detective story: how could it fail?)

But I'm doing some proper reading too -

John Pritchard's The Life and Work of a Priest

is so wonderful that I'm re-reading and taking notes as I go and will give it a post of its very own shortly. Highly, highly recommended - one of those books that makes you want to cheer every few sentences. Thank you, LMC, who produced it for Christmas.

Humbled by a blessing

Sunday afternoon saw my return to the Home for the Decidedly Confused (stop giggling, I was visiting, ok?) which I'd not visited for a while. We work a rota with our neighbours at the Baptist church, so turns don't come round that often...and with a rather unremarkable reflection on the Baptism of Christ to offer I wasn't looking forward to it much.

The particular challenge about ministry here is that because so many of the residents suffer from at least a degree of confusion, if not full-blown dementia, making relationships is almost impossible - particularly when you only visit once every few weeks. Of course I'd be happy to visit more regularly, but we do have a lay visitor who brings Communion to the home, and I've no desire to tread on any toes, so my policy has been to keep a low profile unless one of our "own" elderly is admitted...As a result I don't get to know names, and even faces change quite regularly though some residents remain there for many years.

On Sunday, the group was much smaller than usual...about a dozen I guess, instead of the more usual twenty...but at least 4 of them were enthusiastic when I offered them a hymn sheet and the giant print order of service I've produced for them (loosely modelled on Evening Prayer). I felt quite hopeful. One third of my congregation able and willing to engage felt very promising, so I was disappointed as the service began and, as usual, I found myself the only voice speaking the prayers and responses. God forgive me, I heard myself thinking "Well, this is pretty pointless. They have no sense of what is going on...I might as well be reading them the Yellow Pages for all the good this is doing"
The first hymn was no better, but I ploughed on with the Gospel and then launched into my reflection on it.

The change happened just as I said

This is my son, the Beloved with whom I am well pleased
Not because of what he has done but because of who he is,

There it was - a sudden focussing of attention, an intensity of listening that transcended the buzz of a service bell, the noise of the tv in the adjoining lounge, even the struggling cough of the gentleman who sat, still wrapped in his bib, at the back of the dining room.
I heard myself again...but this time I knew exactly why I was there, as I spoke these words
This is my son, the beloved…
Hear God speaking those words to you, not because of what you can do for him but because of what he is….for what he is is simply and wholly love.

Obvious really - but just in case I was at any risk of missing the point, when the service was over and I had prayed down a blessing an elderly man spoke up
"I want to thank you for coming, for being with us. You have no idea what difference your words make to us. Come over here - I want to pray for you too"
And he did. He blessed me on behalf of all there, and of his home congregation , on the other side of Cheltenham.Quite wonderfully, as he held my hand in both of his.

Please, God, help me to learn the lesson I thought to teach...and to remember that there is never "routine" or "pointless" ministry if I remember to focus on your kingdom and not mine.

Birthday Girl

14th January 1987 saw London in the grip of a snow storm...It had started snowing the day before, and a thick layer already covered Wandsworth Common as we drove past it on the way to an ante-natal appointment at St George's, Tooting. Because 14th was my due date, we actually saw my consultant that day - and she agreed that there was nothing much happening and booked me in for another appointment the following week,
"At which stage," she added, somewhat ominously, "we'll discuss the options for an induction".

So, when I woke the following morning feeling a bit uncomfortable, I didn't pay very much attention.
First babies, after all, never arrive on their due date - and anyway, it would be much too much like hard work to make LCM dig out our car and drive me the 4 miles to the hospital, only to be sent home again when nothing much happened.
Only, it became apparent that something really was happening. Nothing very much, just enough to make me determined to keep walking up and down stairs while LCM ate some breakfast.Sitting or standing still just didn't seem to be an option...so our drive through the snow silenced streets of South London was rather a challenge - but still, I was quite sure this couldn't be labour. Not on the right day. No, I'd invented it because I was excited and longing for this baby to become a reality...

We parked the car and made our way through the falling snow. To my surprise, I seemed to have to stop every few minutes as waves of discomfort swept over me - but this couldn't be labour. It was much too manageable.Going up to the delivery suite in the lift was a bit of a show stopper - not least because I found myself sharing it with my (awe-inspiring) consultant. Surely I couldn't be about to prove her wrong.
But when we got into a delivery room, suddenly I was sure that she was indeed quite quite wrong.
"Goodness" said Helen, the student midwife, "I can see your baby's head - what alot of hair!"
The need to push became the single most important force in creation - and so, fifty minutes after we arrived at the hospital, my own darling daughter, - with hair damp and curly, and eyes as blue as the sunlit sea, - was placed in my arms for the very first time. The earth jolted on its axis, the traffic in the streets ground to a halt and there was music everywhere...

Three days of dream- land, as London struggled with the snow, and my baby (my baby!!) and I cuddled up together in our bed by the window, basking in the hot-house temperatures of the post-natal ward, surrounded by endless bouquets of pink flowers, as we watched people outside slither and slide on the icy pavements. People showered us with cards and gifts - but I couldn't understand why. Didn't they see that I already had all that I could ever have dreamed of?



Well, we came home, the dream was indeed reality, and the music of those first heady minutes of motherhood became a constant sound-track to our lives as this first-born of mine sang before she spoke, and has moved through life on a tide of song ever since.
Today I drove down to Cardiff to help her celebrate, amid the busyness of exam week.
Again, loving friends conspired to counter nature...The day was set grey, wet and murky, but BestUniFriend had arranged an indoor picnic, - its centre-piece a fully-fitted picnic hamper, containing all sorts of Wind in the Willows delights - and created an enchanted landscape - complete with elephants, peacocks and butterflies (albeit in minature) in which to savour it.

When I first cradled her in the soft light of the delivery room, once all the busyness was over and done, my prayer for her was that she would always have someone to love her, someone on whose sofa she could crash if the day had been bad, special people whom she could love and be loved by. Driving home tonight, I realised just how fully that prayer has been answered. Her life is full of special people, people who love her, people whom she loves and I'm so grateful.But most of all I'm grateful that she is my daughter.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING GIRL - THANK YOU FOR 21 DELIGHTFUL YEARS.