Snow doesn't last long in these parts, and after a full day at the desk yesterday and a lot of Admin this morning, it was time for a little light relief... it's self-evident I didn't take any art courses when I was younger, but I had fun.

Epiphany, a word that seems to have emerged, in liturgical use anyway, in the early fourteenth century, and which has its roots in the Greek epi = 'upon' and phanenein = 'to show'.  For most of us in the west, it is associated with the arrival of the Magi, traditionally portrayed as three kings, often, though not always, white European, and sometimes as one white, one black and one oriental in appearance.  Courtesy of Sunday's worship leader, and the Methodist website, we were reminded that the festival was originally concerned not with the magi, but with Jesus' Baptism (think of the descent of the spirit as a dove) and of the miracle of water in to wine (the first 'sign' in the Johannine account).  This does help explain why, to this day, the Lectionary has a decidedly muddled chronology at this time of year, with Holy Innocents before the arrival of the magi, and the Baptism of Christ before the presentation of the infant in the Temple... two (or more) different things are being explored and expressed.  I have, in years past, noted that the word 'phantom' shares the same etymology as 'epiphany' and the descent of the 'Holy Ghost' as a dove sits well with that.

This year, though, what struck me most was a conversation with a child aged about seven that took place on Sunday...  Since we closed our Sunday School, we have had an influx of African-heritage and African-American heritage children who are an absolute delight.  On Sunday they were colouring in pictures of the magi (mainly portrayed as kings on camels) and what struck me was how, without pausing, each child coloured their magi with white skin.  'Do you think they might have looked like you?' I asked the child... they shook their head.  'Do you think they looked like me?' I asked... they nodded vigorously.  That saddened me. 'I am sure at least one looked like you,' I commented, 'with lovely brown eyes and beautiful brown skin.'  The child looked doubtful, but a younger sibling smiled  brightly.

The point, so we often claim, of Epiphany, is the revelation of Christ to the gentiles - to the foreigners, the people who weren't Jewish, the people who didn't look like 'us', believe like 'us', think like 'us'.  The very word 'magi' linked to the more familiar 'magic' or 'magician' may infer an eastern mystical, or so-called pagan, worldview... coming from the east they may well have been Persian, might have practiced what we know as Zoroastrianism, and certainly weren't 'Christian' (had the term existed back then, which it didn't).  In this story the unexpected truth is that people who are 'not remotely like us' are included in the story.  Which leaves me pondering how our portrayals of the magi - as kings, as male, as white - exclude, and who might discover themselves included if our images were more diverse? Our worship leader had worked hard to select images that weren't all white and western; this is in no way a criticism of that, rather a reminder to self to be alert to unintentional/unconscious biases that perpetuate white privilege/superiority. 

(Image copied from here)

It snowed yesterday... and overnight apparently... enough to close one of the arterial roads not far from where I live.  In my garden, there is enough snow on the tiny solar-powered lights to create an illusion of Narnia, at least if I share a close-up without a wider context.

This morning, I received a supermarket delivery, the driver very apologetic to be running late, but also very cheery and helpful.  Another delivery brought a new all-weather coat (timely, the one I've worn for the last eight years is literally falling apart), the person was equally cheery.

Both cats have been out to explore this strange, white, vista, with Sophie, wisely, rapidly coming back into the warm, whilst Sasha sniffed out the periphery of the garden, even though it meant getting cold wet paws.

And I have 'worked from home', getting a decent amount of admin type stuff done, and catching up my emails.

One news website says this is the worst snow for fifteen years in Scotland... I have no idea if this is so, but I do remember the snow from fifteen years ago, the walking on ice to get to the cancer hospital, the joy of sticking my bald head out of the window to cool down when hot flushes were too horrendous...

I like snow... I was born into snow (1962/63 winter)... I learned to drive on ice and snow (1983/84 winter)... and, if nothing else, it reminds me that I am still here, still well, and able to enjoy life in all its fullness.

Not an erudite post, just random ramblings on a snowy Monday at the start of 2026!   

Yesterday, New Year's Day, I took a train (they run on New Year's Day in England and Wales, if not in Scotland) to Styal, a village dominated by the former Quarry Bank Mill, a National Trust property, rich in social history and industrial archaeology.  Not having been for around twenty years, a lot had changed, with greater recognition of the influence of Empire, gender injustice, and the impact of industrialisation, as well as benevolence and philanthropy,

It was curious overhearing conversations, from the slightly gruff 'don't touch, that's really old, you might break it' of a father negotiating exhibits with a toddler, a pushchair and granny, to the cut glass RP of the mother who, having listened to the weaver describe her role, said to her son, aged around seven 'Oh, that sounds like the story of Penelope, have you studied that in Classics yet?'

According to the woman in the cafe, where I claimed my 10% reduction by showing my train ticket for arriving other than by car (cycle helmets can also be used apparently), this was the busiest day of the year... and as staff and volunteers managed the demands of entitled visitors making (to my mind) ludicrous demands, all of life could be found milling around the Mill.

The grounds are extensive, combining riverside walks, formal gardens (sadly damaged by storms a year ago), vegetable gardens and the orchard, where I snapped the photo I've chosen for today.  The gate open, inviting entry... and the trees 'wintering' after the activity of a previous year.

New Year is a bit like standing at an open gate, not yet able to see fully what lies beyond it, but even so, knowing that it is the way that travel will go.

In years to come, I wonder where the journey of life will take the toddler, the child, the parents, the dog-walkers, the cafe staff... and I wonder where this year may take me or anyone kind enough to read this stuff?  

This morning I have taken a few moments to look at the final December post for every year of this blog - relatively few have actually been on New Year's Eve, because I have almost always been on annual leave (as I am this year) and often chose to take a break from posting (especially in the days before Facebook took over!).

It's crazy - beyond crazy - that we are now quarter of the way through the 21st century... twenty five (plus a bit) years in which we went from wondering if computers would survive the much-hyped. mythical, millennium bug to living in the aftermath of a global pandemic caused by an anything but mythical biological virus... twenty five (plus a bit) years during which I have trained and served and as a Baptist minister in a range of contexts... twenty five years of life in all its fullness.

Like all years, this year has brought its own unique blend of highs and lows, joys and sorrows, laughter and annoyance, disappointment and delight.

I am reminded, as I am every year, of the beauty, vulnerability and interconnectedness of our human lives... there are stories that are not appropriate to share here of love and loss, and of challenge and change, of resilience and courage, both individual and corporate...

On a global scale, there is much that worries me deeply, yet I refuse to give up on the hope of God's incoming rule and reign, where all creation is fully restored.  These words from Romans 12 seem worth holding onto as we take our first steps, tentatively, into 2026... 

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.

(Photo was taken a couple of days ago (its frosty and driech today!)  - you can't spend a quarter of your life in Scotland and fail to notice vapour trail saltires!  I also like it as a symbolic representation of hope, of new journeys, and the crossing of paths along life's way)