An interesting conversation arose this morning at my exercise class.  One of the members who professes atheism, and knows I'm a Baptist minister, asked me 'didn't you feel a bit pee-ed off with God when you got cancer?  After all you don't drink, you don't smoke, you're not overweight [I wish!] and you live a good life.'  She seemed intrigued when I answered, truthfully, that no, I wasn't.  Just then another member of the class arrived, who is also a practising Christian and she was asked the same thing.  She answered that she felt you had a choice to go under or to 'praise God through the storm' and in any case she wasn't worried because she knew her ultimate destination.  Just two possible reactions from people who profess a Christian faith.

It then got a bit silly - each person was asked as they arrived 'are you a bl**dy Christian too?'  Most said, yes, they were.  A couple are practising Catholics, one was C of S, another said that while she didn't go to church and hadn't been christened she did believe.  Our atheist was relieved when our one Asian member arrived as she wouldn't be 'another bl**dy Christian'.

There was a lot of good-natured banter and some open talk about baptism (cue Catriona explaining about serious dunking) as well as some thought about what kind of God, what it was reasonable for Christians to expect in return for their loyalty, and the mystery of suffering.

At the end of the class we had some muffins to celebrate the end of my treatment (delayed because several people including the regular instructor were away last week) and a cup of tea or coffee and a chat that extended to include some of the members talking about their views on some of the complimentary therapies they had been offered.

I think one of the things that I like about this class is the openness and genuineness of the women who partake.  Our cancer experiences are as unique as we are, but there is a common bond born out of them.  Those who were picked up on screening are genuinely grateful not to have experienced the 'delights' some of us others have shared.  Everyone rejoices when someone has good news - a clear mammogram, a successful scan, the end of a phase of treatment - and I suspect everyone would mourn should there be bad news.

Next Sunday (i.e. a week tomorrow) the rest of the group are walking the Race for Life together.  One of them has been out buying black tutus for the others, someone else is on the look out for fluffy pink headdresses; still another will arrive with Mars bars.  There is something healthily intentional about this group - there is shared experience, shared anxiety, shared joy.  Most of the women have some kind of faith, and those who don't may tease the rest of us, but only in a generous-spirited way.

So, I'm happy to be  a bl**dy Christian, happy to explain why I'm not mad at God about the past year, happy to be part of this little intentional community that meets on a Saturday morning in an upper room for ritual music and movement culminating in tea and biscuits.