This where I will be on Wednesday of Holy Week, in a Victorian building that shows its age, where I first preached 'with a squint' (at least in English parlance) almost a year ago and where I now work most days: The Gathering Place, home to the church I am now a part of.

Jesus spent a lot of time in Holy Week going to the Temple and teaching people.  Seemingly his outburst did not get him an ASBO or a ban, he just carried on doing what he did.

Everyday Christ, whose story is largely unknown, who walked and talked, and smiled and cried, be with us in our everyday lives.

At various times I have posted photos of the demise of the 'Dibley' Baptist Church building.  This scanned photo (albeit a bit skew-whiff) gives a hint of the inside as it was before we gutted it.  Superficially it looked lovely - a bright sunny sanctuary well loved by the members.  Who would have imagined when I arrived on 1st January 2004 that within six years 'not a single stone would be left standing'?

Who could have believed Jesus when he said the same of the Temple c. AD 30?

Jesus Christ, stone rejected by the builders, cornerstone, capstone, true-point for our own building, show us where our trust should lie.

So, here I am drinking tea in a little chapel in Wales whilst walking Offa's Dyke in 2008.  The members supplied a kettle, bottles of water (no on-tap supply here) and drink making facilities; there was a box for donations and a few cards for sale.

When Jesus entered the Temple the sight of buying and selling must have been a familiar one, something he had observed regularly for three decades, but on this occasion, humanly speaking, he snapped.  As coins scattered, pigeons fluttered and sheep ran amok, who could possibly have found stillness to pray?

As I drank tea in the stillness of Welsh chapel, was I somehow at prayer?  I like to think I was.

Angry Christ, furious at the things which separate us from God, overturn the tables of our hearts, our 'sacred cows', our barriers to prayer, and disturb our complacency.

When I was training for ministry, I spent a year working with a Roman Catholic priest in Swinton (Salford Diocese).

On Palm Sunday we gathered outside the Presbytery door and processed with our palm leaves into the church.

The photo was taken Palm Sunday 2001, which means the two children are now ~20 years old!

Where are they now?  What difference did Palm Sunday make for them?  What about us?

Jesus, lover of the young, who said that if they were silenced even the stones would speak, enliven our praises

This found its way to me via the head of ministries at BUS.... enjoy!