A Skinny Fairtrade Latte in the Food Court of Life

For those who are interested but may not find out through the obvious channels, here are a couple of bits of Baptist news.

The EMBA has now appointed its new, second Regional Minister.  The Revd David Rogers will move from the south of England to join the team as Regional Minister with repsonsibility for the northern half of the Association.  According to the powers that be this will bring stability after a long perioid of flux.  Hmm, they said that before!  Seriously, I think that this appointment will bring some new ideas and new energy to the Association and I wish David and his family every blessing as they prepare for their move 'north' (pah!  since when was the midlands north?!).

By way of change, Northern Baptist College has changed its logo from the old red triangle thingie (based on the shape of the building's roof) to a dove and the letters NBLC which stands for 'Northern Baptist Learning Community.'  More radical is its move to appoint Co-Principals (Revd Dr Richard Kidd and Revd almost-Dr Anne Phillips) reflecting a more overt expression of community rather than hierarchy.  How different it will feel in practice and from outside is not yet obvious, but it is interesting.  More interesting will be to see who is appointed as the new Biblical studies tutor - but I think that's still some way off happening.

Today I was at the EMBA ministers’ quiet day with the BUGB president, Revd Dr John Weaver, which was centred on the seven predicative I AM sayings of Jesus and the accompanying signs as found in the gospel of John. We were invited to explore the texts in different ways at different times during the day, including with the seven signs to try to see it through the eyes of one of the participants. I opted for Lazarus (as did the person sitting next to me!) and tried to do this not as him reflecting back afterwards but to try to be him experiencing what happened – not easy as I’ve never been dead!  I found it a compelling exercise and whilst what I scrawled – and have transcribed and extended - is not especially original or profound it has challenged me to think more.

I feel so weak, so ill – I ache all over and I so long to be well again.

I feel so powerless –

No strength to eat or drink, yet my mouth is dry

I am uncomfortable but I cannot summon the energy to move

When will I be well?

I long to be well again, to find my strength renewed, to be made whole and clean and free like all those others…

I call out for help… and nothing happens

I cry for healing… and there is silence

I wait for his coming… and no one comes

No reply…

Nothing.

I am weaker still, and weaker…

Those around grow pale and anxious

Helpless and fearful

The light dims

The effort to breath ceases

Release comes as I slip into death’s embrace.

All is still

No pain

No thoughts

No pressures

Rest

 

The tomb is still and quiet

 

Days pass – or is it eternity?

Time is no more

Silence

 

Stillness

 

Silence and stillness

 

A voice breaks the silence

Crashes through the stillness

‘Lazarus, come out!’

 

Not a request.

A command to be obeyed cuts through the stillness

Shatters the silence

Breaks through the peace

And ends the rest.

 

I am compelled to action

 

Nerve and sinew quicken

Lungs fill with the stale, dank air of the tomb

Forced to my feet

 

I stand

 

Following the voice I cannot see –

My face veiled -

My body bound in cloths

Stumbles towards the sound,

Feels the heat of the living world,

Smells the scent of life,

Inhales clean, vibrant air.

 

Voices, deafeningly loud, fill my ears

Hands reach to tug away the cloth from my face

Arms steady my unsteadiness

 

My eyes, dazzled by the brightness

Open

And see

His face

 

Amidst the noise,

The frenetic activity,

The smells

Is stillness.

 

 

They guide me home

To the place where I died

And there everything is reversed

 

Unwrapped

Washed

Clothed

Embraced

Clung to

Kissed

Spoken over and about

 

Confused

Bemused

Bewildered

 

 

Death must be faced again

 

But first,

Life must be resumed

 

Is now the time to live differently?

To do those things I didn’t do before?

To be more spiritual? More holy?

Is it a ‘second chance’?

 

And must I die again?

And must I live again?

And must I pass though the gateway to life

That is the pathway of death?

 

Must I do?

Must I be?

 

 

Don’t cling to me!

I am not who or what I was –

I am not yet what I shall become

 

This new life…

This old life restarted…

This new expectation…

This new knowledge of what lies beyond now…

This status as object of curiosity…

This being a miracle, no of being a sign

Is scary, confusing, bewildering

 

I had adapted -

Well almost -

To death;

And now I must live

Give me space and time to adjust

 

[time passes]

 

It is good to be here tonight with those I love best

Martha’s cooking tastes so good –

Did I ever appreciate the subtle flavours and textures she labours over each day?

Mary’s perfume fills the air –

Had I ever grasped the depth of love she has for Jesus, the risks she takes to express it?

And Jesus, eating, talking, enjoying, challenging

Does he know how lost, alone and abandoned I felt when I called and he never came?

Can I ever comprehend why having seemingly left me to die he drew me back to life?

 

I must face death again –

Not today, but one day

 

I have no way of knowing how it feel

How it will come

Who will care for me

Wash me

Wrap me

Bury me

 

But now I no longer fear

For death is as birth

A transition point in life

 

Beyond that final grave a voice will call

‘Lazarus, come out!’

And I will stand and walk

Not back to this life

But, finally free, into the life of eternity…

 

Don't read too much into my choice of Lazarus - I was merely curious to discover where my thoughts went

 

A real joy, I think that's how I'd describe the GB anniversary weekend.  The Saturday reunion was great fun - although quite a few people I'd have loved to have caught up with weren't there - with  a lovely buffet supper and superb display of photos and memorabilia going back to 1934 (when it was Girls' Life Brigade of course).  We spotted several photos of my sister but none of me, though I did have my name recorded in various places.  Most people we knew were instantly recognisable and the cries of 'you haven't changed a bit' rang out loud and long.

Today we were incredibly grateful for warm sunshine for the parade.  Due to a late change of plans, which meant the leader due to 'fall in' and lead the parade was moved to the colour party and I was given the task - honour, privilege - of doing this.  The years rolled back as I mustered my best parade ground voice and for the first time ever headed up a GB parade!  I was amazed how many people- a lot older then me - said 'thank you' when we got to the church commenting that it was forty years since they'd last paraded and how much fun to do it now.  The service itself had a lovely feel to it - and ended up decidedly ecumenical!  The service was held at the URC to which the company is affiliated and District chaplain, Revd Dr Jennifer Smith, a wonderful American-born Methodist minister, drew everyone into worship with energy and grace.  My reading added a further dimension of ecumenism (though confused a few folk who assumed I must be a URC minister with that heritage).

The main thrust of the service was the way that the 'amen' of public worship is the link between past, present and future: amen isn't a word, it's a worldview, a mindset, a commitment to live what we pray, to be what we say, to do what we claim.  With two of the original girls present, one now aged 85 and quite frail (and who taught us intricate club swinging routines and complex skipping steps) and some little five-year old Explorers who might be there in another 75 years time, as well as some fifty or so old girls in between, something of the interconnectedness and continuity of gopsel as shared through GB was evident.

We closed with GLB/GB vesper Captain Divine (sung to Finlandia).  I loved it when I learned it and I still love it.  Indeed, I commented to my sister that if she outlives me, I want it sung at my funeral when the day comes:

 

Captain Divine!  Our work is now complete

And, ere we part, we gather at Thy feet,

To give our labours and ourselves to Thee

Without reserve, Thy cause to serve;

O Captain, hear us as we pledge to be

True to our creed, in thought and deed

 

I doubt anyone much sings it in the UK in 2009 (though many overseas companies still do) which is a shame, because it expresses a level of commitment to which so many in Brigade surely aspire.

Recognising that to the pure all is pure, this from today's BUGB news esweep reminded me of a classic church blooper...

 

Two years after having one of the lowest birth rates in the world, Georgia is enjoying something of a baby boom, following an intervention from the country's most senior cleric.

 

The classic blooper runs something like this:

 

The Little Mothers group meets on Mondays at 2:30.  Those wishing to become little mothers please see the vicar after the service

 

Sorry BUGB

Last night's Lent meeting was led by one of the Anglican lay readers and was week four of Christ and the Chocolaterie.  We were asked to split into small groups and talk about how we felt about contact with other faiths and other ideologies.  It was fascinating to see the total terror on the faces of some people at even being asked to discuss this in abstract.  It wasn't just the fear of difference but the unthinking terror of the very possibility that one might do so that struck me.  In our small group one person went very red and began to fidget but could not articulate why they felt uncomfortable or uneasy about engaging with people of another worldview.  I can understand and appreciate fear of taint or of being prosyletised; I share the Biblically based concerns over prohibitions on certain practices, but this was, so far as I could tell, unthinking terror.

One person in my small group - a wonderful retied Methodist minister - shared that at an interfaith meeting in Loughborough he'd met one of our local GPs (mine as it happened) who turns out to belong to druidic movement.  'So,' said one of the others turning to me with a glare, 'how do you feel about her now?' As far as I am concerned, she's my GP and so long as she does her job that's fine.

We moved on to talking about other groups in society and how people react to them.  Travellers were mentioned which raised the usual anti-comments and my coments over NIMBY-ism in respect to provision of sites for them earned me more glowers.  I also dared to raise the topic of migrant workers as we now have some in this little corner of the world which probalby concluded my heresy for the night!

Talking to the perosn who had clearly been the most terrified, I offered to lend her my Lion handbook of world religions (don't tell John Parry I own this, he'd kill me!) assuring them it was a nice, safe evangelical perspective.  Still I hit a brick wall - why would I even want to know, was the reply.

It made me realise how far my own thinking has moved over time, how large the gap is between me and some of these folk (I've always been interested to read about other faith traditions) and how narrow-minded and terrified are some parts of the Christian church.  If, as we claim, Christ is Lord and has defeated all that is false, what scares us so much?

One more Lent study to go - it has on the whole been good and I hope people have gained from it.

The next few days will bring a break from routine - and a couple of days are technically 'off' but a bit of a bus drivers holiday if truth be told.

This photo is almost ten years ago - which is decidedly scary!  It was taken at the last GB Camp (though they're now called residentials apparently) that I led in 1999 when we went to Scarborough.  Don't you just love the traffic warden outfit!

I have been looking back at various GB photos because this weekend I will be in Northampton for the 75th anniversary of the company my sister and I belonged to as girls.  Both of us trained as leaders but whilst she escaped I seem to be a lifer having now done all but 28 years as an adult leader (various ranks at various times, including the now defunct 'Commandant' which used to raise titters among my work colleagues for same strange reason!!) and still going strong.

So, after the EMBA Association half-day on Saturday, I will driving south for a social-evening gathering of 'old girls' where I hope to meet up with various retired leaders as well as my peers.  I'm led to believe one or two drop by here occasionally, so maybe I'll see you there?

Sunday afternoon is a special thanksgiving service and parade - meeting outside the house where we used to live and marching behind the BB band to the church.  All very nostalgic!  And judging from the church's website nothing much has changed physically in the chapel since I left there in 1981 to go to university, though the list of services and activities is VERY different.  I have the privilege of reading in the service and it will be a happy honour, remembering an important stage in my own faith story and why I still remain committed to this organisation so many years later.

After that, Monday is the EMBA's quiet day for ministers led by BU president Revd Dr John Weaver.  I will be travelling with a good friend (of ten years) from nearby D+6 where she is a specialist minister for older people.  I am looking forward to a good chat there and back, some space to be still and receive, and some renwed energy for the next relentless round of services and pastoral needs.

I'm not sure it exactly counts as a rest, but it will be a change and I am looking forward to it.

Last night at Girls' Brigade we started to move towards Easter with a fun evening of different activities which the girls moved around until they'd all done all of them.  So we had a table of puzzles and word searches, a table with colouring, a table of craft with funky foam and a table of cutting out.  All things our girls enjoy.  But before we began we talked through the tag end of Lent to see if we could work out the calendar of Sundays and other special days between us.  Quite entertaining really.

So I asked what last Sunday was and then what next Sunday is.  Up went the hands 'Easter Sunday' (good try but not yet) 'Palm Sunday (closer but still not yet) 'Father's day' (unfortunately that one isn't for ages yet, it's in June)... It begins with a 'P'... 'It is Palm Sunday then!'  (honestly it's not).  So I explained that it was called Passion Sunday (unless you're a Catholic, which some of our girls are, who call Palm Sunday, Passion Sunday...) the day when Jesus began his last journey towards Jerusalem.

Then we moved on to Palm Sunday.  What happened then?  Another flurry of hands and those frustrating waves and squeaks that mean 'me, me ask me' (which like all mean adults I ignore).  'It was a day when Jesus walked into Jerusalem with a donkey and all the women put their coats on the ground and the children had those, um, like branches, yeah, branches' (excellent answer, well done).  Wave, wave, squeak: 'no it weren't.  He, like sent two of them to get a donkey what had never been rode before and all the people shouted and waved branches' (yes, very good, that's mostly what "Jane" said isn't it, so you're both right really).

Now, what other special days come before Easter Sunday?  There's one that begins with 'M'... Mau.... 'Monday?'  It does sound a bit like Monday doesn't it.  Maundy Thursday.  So we talked about the Queen and Maundy money and rich/powerful people serving poor/powerless people because Jesus has washed his friends' feet and told them to do the same sort of thing.

After Thursday comes... 'Good Friday' and we mentioned the cross and that sadness - thankfully no one asked why it was called 'Good'

Then comes 'Easter Sunday?'  (no, not quite, there's a day in between) ... Saturday?  What happened on Saturday?  Puzzled looks.  A waiting day - some people call it Holy Saturday some say Easter Saturday but it's a day we have to wait between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

So what comes next?  Every hand goes up, eager faces longing to answer... 'Jesus comed alive again' (is that right?  All round the table are earnest nods)  A few hands remain up 'and we get Easter eggs,' 'and I eat one bite a day of mine,' 'and I get ten Easter eggs,' 'and I get ten hundred' (yes, it's a happy day isn't it and so good to celebrate).

Will they remember any of what we said?  Who knows.  Did I have fun?  Yes.  I love the awful grammar and muddled tenses (though often highly logical) of small children.  I love the 'Jesus comed alive again' response, as if this was the most natural thing in the world for him to do.  And I even don't mind the elision of Easter and chocolate if it means they see it as a day of celebration.  I of course will buy myself one Fairtrade Easter egg which will do well to survive much past lunch time on Easter Sunday, and look forward to being surprised again by what this season brings.

Now - time to check on the soup for my Lent prayers, average age about 80, and a different kind of fun and fellowship...

Next Sunday (Passion Sunday in Protestant calendars) I am not working but instead will be joining the other 'old girls' from the Girls' Brigade company I attended in my youth for its 75th anniversary parade.  This is scary.  As my little sister noted 'it really can't be 25 years since the 50th anniversary' yet both of us have lived more years since it than we did before it.

My next working Sunday is Palm Sunday, which I love preparing for and gives me a great excuse to be a bit 'whacky' and creative as well as being an occasion where I usually try to move people on into Holy Week on the basis that most of them won't be in worship again until the following Sunday.  Maundy Thursday we'll get about a dozen; Good Friday many people will sniffily not come to the muti-sensory outreach event because 'it's not a proper service you know'. Grrrr.

Anyway, the creative juices were flowing this morning and I have put together what I think is a great service with loads of dramatised Bible readings and no sermon.

We begin with Palm Sunday and I found the basis of a wonderful 'chant' in A Procession of Prayers compiled by John Carden, published Cassell 1998 page 152

 

Jesus is passing this way!

This way, this way.

Jesus is passing this way -

He's passing this way today.

 

I intend to start this chant going myself, nudge someone (a plant) and say 'pass it on' in the hope that we can get the whole congregation chanting together.

 

We will also use a 'football chant' style version of the gospel record...

 

Hosanna!  (clap clap clap)

Hosanna! (clap clap clap)

Blessed is the

One who comes

In the name

Of the Lord!

Hosanna! (clap clap clap)

Hosanna! (clap clap clap)

Hosanna in the highest!

 

Finding suitable hymns/songs was also a challenge - and we will be using a selection of verses culled from various hymns and songs (after five years my folk are accustomed to this odd habit of mine).  There are very few Holy Week songs/hymns but I did find these two which I thought were helpful and so might others...

 

This one is good for adults, thoughtful words and a solid metre (6684D) and we're using verses 1, 2 and 3 as part of our service on Palm Sunday

 

What kind of reign is this,
provoking such a scene?
These crowds, the palms, the cloaks, the songs:
what can they mean?
God's Chosen One arrives,
and loud hosannas ring
as on a donkey's foal he rides,
the humble King.

But with a heavy heart
this Prince of Peace has come,
his eyes awash with tears for lost
Jerusalem-
and in the temple courts
his holy anger burns:
the greedy money-changers' stalls
he overturns.

This promised, rightful Heir,
by prophets long foretold,
brings teaching and authority
both clear and bold;
the leaders whom he chides
respond with rage and fear-
they plot his fate; the crisis grows;
the cross looms near.

They want his blood, he knows,
and he will be betrayed-
there in the darkened olive-grove
his choice is made:
he takes the bitter cup
with all it will entail,
resolved to face the agonies
of thorn and nail.

What kind of reign is this,
fulfilled at such a price:
a King who freely gives himself
in sacrifice!
With wonder we recall
the path our Saviour trod,
acknowledging the risen Christ
our Lord and God.

Martin E Leckebusch (born 1962)
© 2000 Kevin Mayhew Ltd
6 6 8 4 D  (Suggested tune Leoni)

 

This one is more all-agey in feel and I have idea what it is sung to. The metre is roughly 15 15 13 15 and I don't know any tunes that do that!  It does a few bits of rationalising the four gospel accounts and I'd want to inclusivise the language in places (but that's just me) but it gets my vote simply for doing an overview of Holy Week in one song.

 

On Sunday he rode on a donkey into Jerusalem

The people shouted: Hosanna! The King of the Jews, Amen!

They threw down coats and branches as on the donkey came

On Sunday he rode on a donkey into Jerusalem.

On Monday he entered the Temple, casting the traders out

He overturned all the tables and raised up a mighty shout

How dare you cheat my people and cause good men to doubt!

On Monday he entered the Temple, casting the traders out

On Tuesday he spoke with the wise men, words both strong and true

They tried to trip and trap him, but the master knew.

He told them of a king's son who came to collect his due

On Tuesday he spoke with the wise men, words both strong and true.

On Wednesday in Bethany's village, Mary's love was told

A precious perfume was given that might have been kept or sold

And Judas sold his master just for a bag of gold

On Wednesday in Bethany's village, Mary's love was told

On Thursday he shared in the supper - it was to be his last

Then out he went to the garden and prayed that the cup would pass

And Judas with the soldiers betrayed him with a kiss

On Thursday he shared in the supper - it was to be his last

On Friday they took him to Pilate, asking him to decide:

A traitor and a blasphemer;  he must be crucified!

Then to the cross they nailed him, and watched him as he died

On Friday they took him to Pilate, asking him to decide.

On Saturday he was a-lying, bound up in Joseph's tomb

A massive stone at the entrance, securing his final doom

His friends who loved him dearly were filled with fear and gloom

On Saturday he was a-lying, bound up in Joseph's tomb.

On Sunday he rose in triumph, leaving an empty grave

He stood before his disciples and told them they must believe

Now go into the world, tell all men I'm alive!

On Sunday he rose in triumph, leaving an empty grave

Chick Yuill (c) Salvationist Publishing and Supplies Ltd

Today is, according to a Radio 2 Pause for Thought this last week from a Baptist minister, so it must be right (sorry whoever you were I've forgotten your name), Refreshment Sunday.  The fourth Sunday in Lent is one when people were given respite from their Lenten abstinences for one day before they continued on towards Holy Week.

We focused our thoughts on the Markan account of Jesus being anointed at Bethany (Mark 14) and I tried to explore something about how the home of the leper Simon (how did manage to retain a home if he had this disease - was he wealthy?  Was he a lonely man with few friends/visitors because of his disease and consequent ritual uncleanliness?) provided a place of refreshment for Jesus, and the significance of the moment when Jesus allowed himself to receive the refreshing of anointing by an unnamed woman.  We pondered whether we would actually be like those who berated her for waste and found themselves shocked that Jesus, the advocate for the poor, praised her actions.  There is a tension between doing what Jesus calls us to do and being refreshed for that service.  Sometimes, I concluded what we need is not more words but less; sometimes what we don't need is another hymn or song but a time of silence.  So we did just that - we spent three minutes (the average length of a hymn)  in silence, after which I read a few verses from 2 Corinthians 4 (treasure in clay pots) and gave everyone a lovely illustrated text of 2 Cor 4:7 I'd found online.

It seemed to do whatever was needful - some shed a few tears, others simply relaxed in the stillness.  Baptists are not known for our use of silence or stillness; sometimes I think maybe we fear it.  Whatever the truth may be, for us today needing refreshment for our own journeys, it was the right thing to have done.

The crematorium where I was this morning, like so many others nowadays is phasing out real live organists (though we had one) in favour of automated computer systems, notably one called Wesley (after John or Charles maybe?).  The advantage is that rather than home-burned CDs that fail to play, scratched ones that skip or tapes that get chewed the music can be downloaded and plays clearly.  What happens when the computer goes on the blink is another matter altogether - but we nearly found out this morning.  For some reason, this particular place expects the Funeral Directors to control the music via a touch-screen at the back of the chapel (which for us meant him having to move some of the people to get to it) rather than their staff doing it behind mirrored glass.  For some reason he had to press the start button four times before the music began and was starting to look rather worried by the time the strains of 'soul limbo' began to fill the air.

The upside was that as the music started a murmour of gentle laughter rippled through the chapel and people began to smile again.  It was hard to walk slowly and in a dignified manner to such bouncy music but as I exited the chilly chapel into the warm spring sunshine it felt like a "good job jobbed" - even drawing praise from a fiery West Indian lay preacher!

What Mr Wesley might make of his name being used for the infernal machine I have no idea, but suspect he'd have liked the tune as he is one of the many allegedly to have denied Satan royalities on good tunes.