Today I did some volunteering by helping to train other volunteers new to the service I volunteer with.  I was surprised to be told that I have provided telephone and/or email support to more than two hundred women affected by breast cancer.  That's a lot of privileged conversations, a lot of trust being expressed, a lot of vulnerability on the part of those I've supported.

In the eleven or so years I've been active, so much has changed - more people are being diagnosed than ever and waiting times for treatment are creeping up.  At the same time, there are so many new and better treatment options available now than there were back in 2010/11.  Yet, at the heart of it all are real people hearing those dreaded words, 'I'm sorry, it's cancer'. People of all shapes and sizes, ages and stages, people of every sex and gender, race, religion, political opinion, relationship status etc etc etc... 

It takes a lot of courage for someone to contact a support service, to share details of their diagnosis, their questions, their thoughts and feelings - yet they do.

It's a great privilege to be trusted by people in times when they are especially vulnerable, afraid, angry, bewildered, numb, or whatever unique mix of emotions it may be.  Sometimes I wonder if, almost fifteen years past diagnosis I still have anything valuable to share - then I speak to someone who just needs a 'good news story', a story that says there is hope, there is a future.

Sometimes someone church-related will refer to this role as a ministry, and perhaps it is.  Certainly, for me, it is a source of surprising joy and fulfillment, which is truly a great reward.

Yesterday felt decidedly unproductive - I did some essential stuff but not really anything substantial.  It may not have helped that a one point my desk was taken over by Sophie!

Sasha was also in her office chair, supervising proceedings.  Today I need to get my brain back into gear and do something vaguely constructive before the students return next week. (Also hoping the builders next door are quieter than they were yesterday!)

Sometimes Easter 'happens' and sometimes it doesn't - what do I mean by that?

Obviously, Easter happens every year - it is a date in the calendar, we prepare and deliver the services in faith, and with the hope that, somehow or other Easter will 'happen', that the wonder, mystery and joy of resurrection will somehow be our experience.  But there are no guarantees - there is no formula that is certain to give us a 'wow' or 'aha' moment when resurrection becomes real; there is no promise that we will feel anything at all.  

The danger of reducing Easter to an event, to a moment, is that we can feel as if we fail if/when we don't 'feel' it.  I am sure this is, in part, why most of the gospels have stories doubt and question, disbelief and fear... because Easter is a process, a working out (or outworking) that can take time, a lot of time.

But for me, this year, Easter did 'happen' on Sunday, as we shared together in something that proved to be very special - as evidenced by comments made to me by visitors and regulars alike.

For me, the highlight was probably the 'informal communion' where four children (supported by an adult just in case!) served the congregation with gluten free pitta bread and grape juice.  It could have been a disaster - plates held at angles that threatened to tip the entire contents onto someone's lap... near trips over the edges of pews that were saved just in time... small children weighed down by relatively heavy trays of glasses... and in that risk was rare beauty... a moment of 'this is what become like a child' means.  By chance, perhaps, we had two girls and two boys, two regulars and two occasional visitors, different skin colours, different ages and abilities, which simply added to the moment.

A visitor spoke of being moved almost to tears... a regular spoke of new life... many spoke of it being special... and it was, not because of what I did (though I did do a lot!) but because of everyone present and because of the mystery that is Easter joy...