A Skinny Fairtrade Latte in the Food Court of Life

Yesterday I went to see Elsie (not her real name) in hospital where she had been an emergency admission the day before.  Elsie is 96, registered blind, can walk only very short distances with a zimmer but lives a fulfilled independent life in one of the sheltered complexes of Dibley.  Yesterday she was frightened and upset - but still delighted to be visited 'I hoped you'd come' she said as I greeted her.

Elsie is good fun, she calls a spade a spade and delights in the status that being the oldest Church Member at Dibley BC gives her (our oldest attender is actually a year older).  I always enjoy time spent with her.

Yesterday she was keen to ensure that I had not forgotten her instructions for her funeral - which church we are to borrow and the route that the courtege must take to her final resting place in Dibley cemetry.  Elsie loves a 'ride round' and is determined to have one last ride round before she is laid to rest.  Good on her!

The conversation continued.  I'm not intending to go just yet, she said (she has plans to 'see' the 2012 olympics) but 'I'm ready either way.'  What a fantastic state of mind - to have a reason to live and a confidence to die.  Elsie is not an educated woman and few would see her as especially spiritual - local superstitions blend strongly with her Christian faith and I doubt she's ever had a 'quiet time' in her life.  Yet in an intuitive way she 'gets it' and she has a kind of phronesis (practical wisdom) that once gained old women either respect or fear.

I really hope Elsie does get to 2012 - she will turn 100 the day after I turn 50 as she regularly reminds me (when I came to preach with view, Elsie's two questions were 'how old are you' and 'when's your birthday'!).

God bless you Elsie, and may we all attain the confidence you have of being 'ready either way.'

This morning I have to stuff 150 envelopes with letters asking churches to contribute to the cost of our association ministers' conference.  Mindless but necessary.  Another useful module for pastoral training maybe?!

Do you recall those endless games your parents made you play (or you have made your children play) to while away long journeys?  Well I'm now playing one as I decide what are the essentials for Friday's train ride to Bournemouth.

I'm Going to Baptist Assembly and in my suitcase is...

• a delegate's badge or they won't let me in!
• a pair of flip-flops so that I am properly dressed for attending Prism
• a Bible for the Prism Bible study - because when Simon says (no, that's not another game) "the clue is in the title" and people look sheepish, I don't wish to be one of them.  Trouble is the main arena Bible study isn't, its a sermon, so you don't really need a Bible...
• A 'silent cheer' or two for the reception of ministers who have completed their NAM period
• Some flat shoes I can run in (or the nearest I ever come to running) to get between venues for seminars etc.
• A mobile phone so I can find the people I want to find in the main arena
• Some plastic money for all the stuff I'll end up buying - BMS harvest, Operation Agri harvest, new BUGB directory, bits of tat for church
• A nice squishable cotton bag for carrying said items
• A thick jumper, a thin tee-shirt, a waterproof and some sunscreen -cos you never know if it'll be hot/cold/wet/dry

There are various things I'm looking forward to for various reasons including

• The reception of ministers (and the subversive act of silent cheering)
• The In Memoriam - always poignant when I know people listed there, and this year are names of two linked with Dibley one of whom was a wonderful RM and friend of my folk.  (Thinks... better add tissues to suitcase!)
• The NBC reunion and a chance to catch up with peers and friends
• Prism
• Still Centre, Open Space
• Seeing friends from more Baptist churches than I can count, drinking tea/coffee, walking on the beach

Admitting to loving Assembly is not 'cool' but then 'cool' was never my thing.  Aspects of it may grate, irritate or frustrate but I do love this diverse and crazy world that is Baptist life and it is a privilege to be called to serve within it.

The former Dibley Baptist Church building begins its demolition process today.  It is a slightly weird sensation watching the physical deconstruction of a place where I worshipped and worked (if only for 12 months).  Good, because the land will be serving local needs and hence the Kingdom, strange, because we no longer own it and I have no 'right' to know what is happening yet people still ask me what's happening.  Hopefully I can capture some of it on camera for church archives - and try to work out how to help my folk reflect effectively on what it all means.

This morning I discovered I had mislaid my diary - a small (A6) black book about 5mm thick and of no commercial value whatsoever.  But without it I was lost - I knew I had no meetings today but, good disicple that I am, not a clue what lay in store tomorrow or beyond without checking this little treasure.  I wouldn't say panic ensued, but much parable-like (parabolic?!) high and low searching went on before deducing that it wasn't in my house but had been left behind last night at GB after I'd been temporarily distracted during my clearing up.  Thankfully after an unscheduled drive to and from that church, my diary and I are reunited and I know what is happening in my little world.

What did people do before diaries?  Did they have good memories, less meetings or both?  Did they mark notches on sticks to tell them when it was Sunday and time to ring the bells for services (presumably the lack of bells in non-conformist traditions, even after they become tolerated and legal so didn't need to hide, reflects to some extent the point in history at which they emerged?).

It is a tad disconcerting to think that my life is, in some senses,  in the 'hands' of a little black book - and not the type that ministers are meant to have surgically attached!

I used to find the book of Numbers boring until the day I actually sat down and read it.  Today I have been reviewing the inventory of church stuff sorted in various garages, spare rooms and sheds so that I can hand it over to the "working group on chucking stuff away."

I have learned a profound lesson in the last week or so about how to travel with people in the wilderness.  When we closed the building people wanted to keep everything 'for when we get a new place.'  Doing my best impression of a kind minister, I let them keep whatever they were willing to store (and put a whole load in the manse).  Last week one of the 'storers' asked at the church meeting if we could review and then get rid of some of this stuff that has not been used in four years plus, and/or is actually very shabby.  So now the working group on chucking stuff away will review the inventory and bring recommendations to the church meeting.  And I have learned the power of waiting.

Forty years in the wilderness was a necessary experience for the Israelites to adjust their thinking and living in the light of their new found freedom.  Four years is as nothing by comparison, but it has been necessary for us to understand what our own new status means for us.

So my list of numbers of green hymnbooks, red hymnbooks, offertory bowls (why did we ever need 13 for goodness sake?!) chairs, table cloths, pencil sharpeners and the like forms part of our own Book of Numbers.  Not merely an inventory of what we own, but an expression of who we are and where our thinking and growing has taken us.  The revised eidtion will be far shorter I am sure, but it will be owned by the community, and that's what matters.

So, BUGB has altered the title, but the role is largely the same.  The "Home Mission Fund" grant visit is a big thing for small churches, and one of the hats I currently wear is as HMF visitor for a small church.  This morning I am reading their paperwork and trying to formulate questions to ask them when we meet in a little over a week's time.

It is always intriguing to see what isn't in the reports as well as what is, what the church chooses to explain and what it assumes you already know.  The little church I visit is doing some great stuff in its local community and its minister is working very hard and very creatively.  Yet there are tough questions we need to ask because this about spending other people's money in a way that best serves the needs of the Kingdom.

I claim that I take the 'bad cop' role and ask the tough questions leaving my colleague (we always take a church member as an equal partner in this) to play good cop.  But I always endeavour to balance the tough questions with some of our own vulnerability as another little church (... I notice x seems to be the case, it would be so for us too, can you tell me more about it... that kind of thing).

HMF Grants - or BUGB Mission Grants as the rose is now known - are a really good thing but there is also a real challenge to employ scant resources responsibly.  So it is a privilege to take part in this, but also it behoves me to ask the tough questions about giving, about commitment, about risk taking, abut mission.  I am looking forward to meeting the good folk at 'Oriental Drip' Baptist Church and hearing their news and working together to discern how financial support can be best employed.

This weekend I saw a street sign that reminded me of this place:

It is an unusal power station - here are no above ground cables or pylons within (I think) two miles, and it was designed to nearly-but-not-quite blend into the sky when seen from a distance (I think they architect picked the wrong day to check the colour palette!)

I have a soft spot for this place, not least as I put a lot of energy and enthusiasm into ensuring its safe operation over almost a decade.  Not everyone's chosen means of making electricity I know, and questions should go on being asked, but it's a precious place for me.

Happy memories!

So, I went to the opticians this morning, bright and early, for my annual eye test.  Becuase I have a hereditary likelihood of developing glaucoma this includes the dreaded puff of air and field vision tests.  Whilst the latter are decidely uncomfortable, it is the latter which proved problematic today.  For some inexplicable reason the equipment used does not allow you to wear your glasses nor does it account for my fairly severe myopia; as a result I literally could some some of the 'squiggles' crossing the screen not becuase my eyes are bad but becuase they were too faint.  Evidently there is machine that does account for prescription, but you have to book an appointment separately for that, so I have to go back.

Seems a tad daft to me to give you a test you can't pass because you can't see it in the first place but there you go.

Makes me wonder what other areas of (metaphorical) myopia I have that impact my field of vision...

At the end of today's service someone said to me 'I enjoyed that: I could hear every word and I could understand what you were saying.'  Given my ongoing reflections on communication and accessibility I took that as a great compliment.