I usually take off the last weekend before Advent begins, and I suspect by the time Boxing Day arrives this year, I will be wishing I had done because I will be so very, very tired.  For all that, yesterday was a good day, a very good day, with a toy service, which saw lots of new toys gathered for the Salvation Army to distribute, a big gathering of folk sharing a soup lunch, and many of us learning how to make wreaths - mine in the photo above.

Having been at church at 8 a.m. to start off the slow cooker and not leaving until nearly 3 p.m. after we had cleared up, it was a long day.  The days ahead are filling up rapidly, with all sorts of good things and, weather/trains permitting, a few work-related trips. 

Although I have to constantly remind myself I am now rapidly approaching 62 not 22, I do enjoy all the craziness of this time of year.

I was late to social media - I liked blogging, liked not knowing who was reading this stuff, unless they commented or made contact in other ways.  Eventually I gave in and joined Facebook and later Twitter.  Yesterday I was one of the millions joining Bluesky.

I have mostly enjoyed, and still enjoy, social media, but over time parts of it have changed dramatically and often not for the better.

I remain on the platform formerly known as Twitter, at least for now, since there are many good people and fun accounts still be found there.  But for how much longer if rumours about sales and control and other unpleasant changes prove to be true?  I ponder the tension between the truth that you can't change something from outside of it, and the truth that participation can become collusion.  Tricky.

And of course now there are so many other platforms that there just is not the time or space to be there.  My decision to join BlueSky (as myself and as my cats) with the same 'handles' as  on the other place seems to echo that of millions of others - so much so that some glitches have arisen in the new place.

For now, what's enjoyable is that the connections I/we have are few, and trusted, and it it take seconds to scroll through the posts.

Scarily, it's now nineteen years since I began blogging, and this once busy French provider is now a lot quieter than it used to be.  I get a lot, and I mean a lot, of BOT messages, whch I systematically delete, but otherwise the sky here is actually pretty nice too!

Lots of churches - and other buildings - have Rolls of Honour to record the names of the men who died in military service during the two so-called World Wars.  A few even have names from later conflicts.  The one here in Railway Town is different in at least two ways...

Firstly, it is a list of those who were on active service, and was, so I am told, read out weekly at a prayer meeting.  The two names edged in black are, we believe, those who died.

Secondly, and so far as I am aware this is unique, it includes the names of six women who also served, at least one as a nurse and possibly others on the land. 

Yesterday at the Remembrance service, despite my careful planning, I needed a fill of about five minutes if I was to hit the 11a.m. silence correctly, so I read aloud these names... which was quite a moving thing to do, not least as there were more on the roll than present in the service.

Today I recall with gratitude Irene, who spent long hours on the Yorkshire moors listening for morse code being transmitted behind music on the radio... I recall Lilias who was a captain and lorry driver... I recall Jean, in a reserved occupation,  whose twin sister Betty was a private who served under Lilias...

And I recall with a measure of sadness Jane and Flora who pastored Baptist churches in Scotland during wartime only to be squeezed out when the men returned:

‘the pastorates of Jane Henderson and Mary Flora MacArthur [which] were shortlived in the extraordinary circumstance of war. Thereafter Scottish Baptist women faced a long struggle to achieve equality with men in the pastoral office and some doubt whether true equality has been reached’ Talbot, B (ed) A Distinctive People, Milton Keynes, Paternoster, 2014 page 74

So many names never appear on official rolls of honour, so many names written on people's hearts. We will remember them.

Red, white, purple? All, any, none? That annual internal debating... and external attempts to engage graciously with others who are 'right' whilst I am 'wrong'... and, as always, wondering how I can approach this in a way that meets needs, challenges stereotypes and actually matters in some small way.

Looking back of twenty plus years of Remembrance services, in different contexts, I am quite impressed with the range of what has been explored - from 'just war theories' to 'the environmental impact of war', from 'homes for heroes' to 'war poetry', from 'sacrifice' to 'pacifism'.

This year I get to 'cheat' to revisit and adapt a service I led two years ago inspired by a visit to Coventry.  And to use just one of the many great hymns written for Remembrance Sunday that problematise, in a helpful way, the whole purpose of what we are doing.  As war goes in Gaza and the Middle East, Russia and Ukraine, as globally politics becomes ever more terrifying, as people attempt to flee in tiny boats or are buried alive, it is important to ask the hard questions...

If the war goes on, and the children die of hunger,

And the old men weep, for the young men are no more,

And the women learn how to dance without a partner,

Who will keep the score?

If the war goes on, and the truth is taken hostage,

And new horrors lead to the need to euphemise,

When the calls for peace are declared unpatriotic,

Who’ll expose the lies?

If the war goes on, and the daily bread is terror,

And the voiceless poor take the road as refugees,

When a nation’s pride destines many to be homeless,

Who will heed their pleas?

If the war goes on, and the rich increase their fortunes,

And the arms sales soar as new weapons are displayed,

And a fertile field turns to no-man’s-land tomorrow,

Who’ll approve such trade?

If the war goes on, will we close the doors to heaven?

If the war goes on, will we breach the gates of hell?

If the war goes on, will we ever be forgiven?

If the war goes on…?

John Bell and Graham Maule © Iona Community