Yesterday evening, our monthly social event was entitled "An Evening with Robert Burns" and combined some lovely singing (solo and participative), readings of some of Burns' better and lesser known poems, some background information and a couple of items either about him or responding to him.  It was great fun, and a decent number of people enjoyed munching oatcakes and cheese, shortbread, Dundee cake (I presume, it was already cut up!) and tablet.  For those who wished there was Irn Bru, for those who didn't there was tea and coffee.

I had fun, but there was, fleetingly, as we sang Auld Lang Syne at the end, a moment of deep homesickness, a sense, I suppose, that this is not 'who' or 'what' I am, and that there is an invisible cord that will always bind me to... well, where?  That was the question I ended up pondering.  I have a real dislike of nationalism and, along with lots of English people would instinctively define as 'British' not 'English'.  I don't get all "gooey and patriotic" when I hear 'Rule Britannia' or 'Jerusalem' or anything else. Likewise, I don't feel excluded or marginalised by "Flower of Scotland" or "Hen Wlad Fy Nhadu" or any other anthem or patriotic song.

When I moved from the North West (NW) of England to take up my pastorate in Dibley, I was dreadfully, and unexpectedly, homesick for the NW.  Unexpected because Dibley is only about forty miles from where I grew up.  Unexpected because I have moved many times, and come from a family in which moving is perfectly normal, even across national and international borders.  I still do not know quite why I was homesick, or what it was I yearned for, but once I had recognised it, I was able to let it go and enjoy this new community.

I think what surprised me last night was that, until that moment, I have never felt the least bit homesick since I moved to Glasgow.  I have felt welcomed, accepted and loved from day one, just as I am.  Sometimes I have had to bite my tongue when sweeping generalisations are made about "them" (English people) and what "they" think/want/do/are/say.  But at the same time, it has alerted me to the same tendencies in myself in relation to others.  And it was fleeting, I still am very happy and 'at home' here, that is why it was such a surprise to feel it.

Robert Burns lived from 25 January 1759 to 21 July 1796.  Dibley Baptist church emerged in the 1740's, with the first wooden chapel being erected in (I think) 1749.  In 1798, the chapel was granted independence from its 'parent' and has maintained a faithful witness since.  It seems, somehow, quite fitting that these two vastly different aspects of human history were broadly contemporaneous, and how each has in some way impacted my life.

It was a lovely evening, and I hope people are encouraged to plan another 'Evening With...' sharing food, fellowship, words and music.  I did suggest maybe Chaucer, so that no-one would understand a word of it, rather than just me... either that or Gerard Manley Hopkins!

One thing that struck me as funny... we had two kinds of cheese, one was Scottish Cheddar and the other Red Leicester... how authentically Scottish was that?!

The now demolished chapel at Dibley at Dibley had a series of 'foundation stones' with the names of four powerful men who had been benefactors at the time of its construction.  Above each name was a little inscription that ran, if memory serves, "God our Father", "Christ our Saviour", "The Spirit our Helper"  and "Heaven our Home".  I'm not sure that it is possible to be homesick for heaven (unless perhaps you are Jesus (discuss!)) but I do think that there is something about our common identity that ought to come before our local/national identity, without denying our reasonable sense of belonging and pride in "our" compatriots and "our" place.  All of which means I will feel no embarrassment supporting the England netball team in next year's Commonwealth Games, at the same time as delighting with the host nation when Scottish participants excel.