Apologies for being so silent... between packing, moving and unpacking I have been very occupied... also a few practical glitches (due to previous owner taking away box that clearly says 'do not remove') meant slight delay getting broadband up and running.

Anyway, I think I can say that I am about 90% sorted, if by that we mean having opened every box, removed its contents and with rooms functional.  Nowhere near that if we recognise that the books in the office have simply been plonked on shelves unsorted (apart from the Bible commentaries which are in order!).

It is fair to say that the office is now functional, and I really enjoyed spending yesterday doing college work (I am technically back at work this week) at my desk.

I find myself reflecting on the truth that 'functional' is good enough, and that the place will never be fully 'sorted' even if I spend every moment of every day sorting it.  A bit like life, really... we need to be able to function, to do a 'good enough' version of whatever it is we do, but it will not - and cannot - ever be perfect.

Meanwhile, the Clepto Kitties are settling in remarkably well, and seem to be enjoying having a much bigger house to rule!   

My time in Railway Town Baptist Church ends on 31st August, and my final preach is 30th August.  At the time of typing, I am surrounded by boxes, piles of books, bin bags and goodness knows what else as I sort stuff ready to move to Manchester next week.

One result of this is that I am writing my last two services this weekend, and thinking where to store them so that they don't get lost in transit... I am leaning towards printing them and taking them to church so that at least I know they (and the accompanying 'tat') are there. 

Way back in 2009, as I prepared to leave Dibley, a small church that had run out of money to pay me, I crafted a liturgy for a release of covenant at the end of a ministry - a sort of spiritual undoing of the promises we made to each other at the induction.  Over the years, I shared the liturgy with others, and in 2020 it was published as part of a collection of Baptist women's writing.  In 2023, I adapted it slightly as I prepared to leave The Gathering Place, and on 30th August it will once again be refreshed for this context.

Each time I have revisited these words, it has been surprisingly emotional... recalling what has been good and what hasn't been so good, what I think I got right and what I know I got wrong... and so on.

Moving to what will be my last pastorate before I retire also feels decidedly different... it is not the open end of Dibley or the Gathering Place, and it is not the transitional role of Railway Town, but is its own, unique, waiting to be discovered 'thing'.

I know that I have worked hard for this congregation, and as our paths diverge, I journey onward with a positive sense that this calling is now complete.

Yesterday was another 'last' - the last time I was 'second adult' for our monthly children's group.  It's always fun to spend time with young children, to work with gifted and creative volunteers, and to explore the Bible, faith and spirituality in ways that are experimental and experiential.  Yesterday we were thinking about 'Jesus the Good Shepherd' through story, craft, colouring, puzzles and movement.  Eight children, including one first timer, boys and girls, enjoyed their time together.

I have enjoyed my time with this group of children, and will miss them, but I am already looking forward to getting to know a new group of children and young people in the new church I will be part of in just a few week.

The photo has nothing to do with the post except it represents a brief lull in the busyness of the last ten days or so.

There are two definite truisms about ministry... one if that it is privilege, the other that it is the interruptions... and perhaps it is when the two coincide that it is as most most profound.

In the last two weeks ministry has seen life in all its fullness, and as the funeral prayer puts it, finding God in the whole of life - it's beginning, its living and its ending.  For good reason I cannot go into details in a public forum, but I've had the privilege of conducting a wedding for a couple who had just days earlier welcomed their first child... I've had the privilege of singing from memory, behind the blue curtains, the favourite hymn of someone at the every end of life... I've had conversations about membership... I've arranged to visit someone unexpectedly admitted to hospital...

I also have to start planning my last two services before I leave Railway Town, and on Thursday Deacons present and past will be taking me out for a meal to mark the end of our time together.

Very privileged to be allowed to share these precious and significant moments in people's lives.   

Today's lectionary gospel was a series of parables about small things s images of the Kingdom of Heaven... so I explored them, very briefly under the heading 'the God of small things'...

• A wildflower seed, aka a weed
• A bit of fungus
• (A detectorist’s dream)
• A bit of grit in a mollusc

A Kingdom that is not geographical or visible, not led by  powerful human being, but instead something that is...

• impossible to eradicate, essential to the thriving of small creatures (like weeds are to caterpillars and bugs), tenacious, unlovely and often unwanted...
• works sacrificially (yet unlike yeast is never destroyed) to transform the ordinary into something that nourishes and brings joy (loose link to bread and "wine" which we shared later in tiny proportions)
• something that's really hard to find, that needs endless searching and the willingness to fail - and risks discovering a lot of empty drinks cans and other junk along the way!
• something formed in response to an irritant, a bit of grit... and which is only revealed in all its beauty o the death of the host mollusc (loose link to the cross/sacrifice of Christ

Everyone was given a paper heart impregnated with wild flower seeds to take away and plant, and a wooden bead to remind them of the stories.

I admitted to struggling with the weeping and wailing linked to the story of the good and bad fish, and how a God who is love would/could/should eternally punish any of their own creatures, and wondered whether actually we do better to think about the the 'hell on earth' some people experience, and how that might be a call for our response to be good news.   Lastly I noted that, like the net of fish, sometimes it is only after the event that we can discern what was good or bad, helpful or harmful.

An invisible Kingdom, invasive, resilient, sacrificial, transformative, maybe only recognisable retrospectively... something worth pondering.    

Overall it was well received, and some good conversations followed.