This morning we had a visiting preacher - a retired minister who preceded me by three at the Railway Town Baptist Church.  As it happens, he trained after me in Manchester. He had chosen some hymns that he thought we wouldn't know - and actually it turned out we all did, including this one, which stirred sweet memories of The Gathering Place.  I almost drifted off into the descant at the end of the last verse, but, for which everyone should be very grateful, I didn't!

A thoughtful sermon on the 'sign of Jonah' linked to a theme of One World Week (a charity now closed down) and the sign of Jonah being the God who cares for all creation and longs for its flourishing.

Today I've been working on a session with our students looking at the language of hymns and the way words can become problematic over time or in certain contexts.  One of the hymns I had chosen, quite innocuously, because I love it's imagery of God at different ages all at once, is Brian Wren's 'Bring Many Names', a song I learned in its final version not long after I moved to Glasgow.  Hunting for a recording today, the one I found turned out to be closer to the version in Wren's book 'What Language shall I Borrow'  which I assume has the original version of verse about 'young, growing God' - quite different from the 'definitive version' which, in itself has moved beyond the unintentionally 'ableist' language of the middle version.

Curious to see a move away from a God who can learn to a God who observes (though probably more palatable for for most contexts).  And interesting to see the change from metaphorical blindness (long before it would have been described as ableist) to a calling out of falsehood (possibly giving more 'intent' to human greed than the 'unintended consequence' of not being able to recognise it?).

Anyway, it entertained me for longer than it should have done... and I still love the hymn. 

Today we had a focus on the Baptist Home Mission Fund, with a yummy stew lunch (above the veggie version) and a special collection.  We were not huge in numbers, maybe twenty of us, but we were definitely well fed.

The River Clyde from the railway bridge south of Glasgow Central Station a little after 4pm today.  So beautiful.

I had been up to Glasgow to attend a funeral, which had needed an overnight stay with a friend. 

The northbound journey took two hours longer than anticipated, all due a signal failure at Lockerbie and the knock-on effects across the network.  It was interesting to watch how people reacted to the delays, some becoming angry and trying to force their way onto already overcrowded trains, and others engaging in friendly chatter and helping each other out.  In the end, my journey included standing from Carlisle to Glasgow on a very slow train, but I got there, which was what mattered. 

Last night a group of Gathering Place folk gathered to chat over nibbles, and it was such a joy to see them and to hear their news.

Today the funeral was ably led and well attended, a lovely tribute to a dearly loved man.  Whilst it was odd not having any official role in the funeral (I reckon it's more than twenty years since I went to one 'just' as person) it was also lovely not to have to do or be anything.

At the station in Glasgow, I bumped into someone I knew from a different context, and we had a lovely ten minute chat before she went on her way. The journey home was delayed and got more and more so as delays and cancellations built up.  But it was such a glorious evening for a ride down through the south of Scotland and the Lake District, I couldn't do other than enjoy the ride.

I do feel blessed - I travelled safely (and now have a claim in for the entire cost of my ticket due to the level of delay!), I was well cared for, I saw people who matter to me, and now I am home.  Those, surely, are blessings worth counting.

Today I was doing some research for a conference paper I'm writing, so I was reading the chapter in the photo to learn more about early women Baptist ministers in Scotland.

As I read the stories, I was surprised at the emotions they raised - I'm someone who gets told off for being 'too stoic' but here I was, not sure whether to cry or rage at what I was reading, and the injustice of it all.  A story that could have been so very different, but never will be because of a context that made certain decisions at certain times.

It's not often I have to stop reading 'facts' to process my emotions, but today I did.

Today I want to honour Jane, Muriel, Marjorie and Beth, women whose stories are unknown to most Baptists in Scotland, and who courageously walked the path that led, eventually, to my own appointment in 2009.  If I encountered misogyny, prejudice and isolation - and I did - it was as nothing to these sisters or foremothers or whatever name we choose to give them.

I am not sure if I am made more sad or more angry by what I have read, but I am glad that I have read it, and will be sure these  names are heard in the story I choose to tell.