Lunch club day and another new member. 

Today we gave out personalised Christmas cards, handwritten by one of my loyal helpers - one for every year of her age, and she's as old as my mother.  We also gave out token Christmas gifts - two sample size Divine chocolates in a little gold organza bag (which is quite possibly a meeting of fairtrade and slave trade, but we'll not push it too far) to each diner and slightly larger gifts to the restaurant staff.

As I walked round from table to table giving out the cards, the new member did an in depth study of the table and was truly amazed when I handed her her card (my loyal helper is quick at writing, and our timing is suitably cunning).  The gentleman sitting next to her, who has only been coming a couple of months himself, but who received a birthday card on his first visit, looked her and said gently, 'see, I told you...'

All the helpers were exhausted before we began today, and minor mistakes abounded, but we had a good time.  If our members go away feeling valued and included, then we've got something right.  Most of them we'll see again in just over a week for our carol outreach event... this, I always claim, is pay back time because they have to listen to me speak for five minutes telling them God loves them and that Christmas is a celebration of Jesus, the Light of the World.  My prayer, as in previous years, is that in 'church' they will find the inclusion and warmth we endeavour to model at lunch club.

Now to lie down in a darkened room and recover enough to read a smidge more Baptist history!

Jim Gordon has posted one of my favourite Advent hymns today.  Others include 'O Come, O Come, Emmanuel', the beautiful setting of the Great Advent 'O' Antiphons, and this one (if you can excuse the odd bit of military imagery): -

And the day is at the spring,

When our eyes shall see the beauty

And the glory of our King;

Weary was our heart with waiting,

And the night had seemed so long,

But his triumph day is breaking,

And we hail him with a song.

There’s a hush of expectation,

And a quiet in the air;

And the breath of God is moving

In the fervent breath of prayer;

For the suffering, dying Jesus

Is the Christ upon the throne,

And the travail of our spirits

Is the travail of his own.

He is casting up the way;

He is calling for his angels

To build up the gates of day;

But his angels here are human,

Not the shining hosts above,

For the drum-beats of his army

Are the heart-beats of our love.

And it comes with fuller swell;

It’s the triumph song of Jesus,

Of our king Immanuel;

Zion, go now forth to meet him,

And my soul, be swift to bring

All the sweetest and the dearest

For the triumph of our King.

My musicians say they don't like Advent hymns, asserting they are 'too gloomy,' but I love the somewhat poignant, unresolved mood they set, as we wait in the dark and gloom for the coming of the light.

This Sunday I am indulging myself with several I love, including this simple offering from Taize: -

Wait for the Lord,

Whose day is near

Wait for the Lord,

Be strong, take heart.

Jacques Berthier © Presses de Taizé

Anyone else want to suggest their favourites?

Sean shares with us some thoughts from a sermon for Advent 1 he heard on Matthew 24, which suggests a less familiar (if well supported) reading of verses 37 - 41, notably that as in the days of Noah it was those who were 'eating, drinking...' who were 'taken' (v 39) whilst Noah was 'left behind,' so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man.  In other words, left behind is good, not bad!  (Check it out, it is the more natural reading).

This prompted me to take a look at some of the other texts that find their way into shaping so much popular End Times theology - and realising some of the quantum leaps in interpretation we sometimes make.

1 Thessalonians 4, for example, says nothing about scooping up believers to live in heaven, but (as my interlinear Greek puts it)  'we shall be seized in clouds to a meeting of the Lord in air; and so always with the Lord we shall be.'  I have no idea what the Greek word 'aera' might mean other than 'air' but it clearly isn't either sky or heaven - and there is no mention of going thence to heaven.  Re-reading this I am reminded of Acts 1:11 - the 'oi you lot don't just stand staring into space' bit.

I also checked out 1 Corinthians 15: 49-55 - which speaks of resurrection and transformation 'in the twinkling of an eye' at the last trumpet - but not escape from planet earth.

I guess I don't want to push all this too far, because it takes us beyond eschatology to theologies of death, and I haven't the time or inclination to explore that interface right now.  What it does do is, once again, remind me how readily we stop reading what the Bible actually says and see what we expect.  If there is one message that Ihave been hearing over and again this year, it is to come to the Bible as if I'm reading it for the first time (which almost fits with another aspect of the sermon Sean refers to).  I'm a firm believer that 'the Lord has yet more light and truth to break forth from the Word' - just that I never cease to be amazed how much more.

Last rehearsal of the GB nativity play and instead of a typical 14-16 girls we had 22, one brand new, two returned after long absences, and a couple who are rather hit and miss.  More shuffling of parts, a few new characters invented - including a very important angel who holds a star, played by our newest recruit (this character is in the Apocryphal Gospel of Catriona, chapter 1, not sure which verse yet).  When her mother arrived to collect her, she said to her "oh well, you won't be in it this time" and was genuinely amazed by our inclusion policy - truth is, if a new girl arrives next week we'll fit her in somehow.

As I drove home, I found myself reminded of the parable of the workers being hired to work in the vineyard at various times during the day.  Our play next week will, like all nativity plays, be heavily dependent on cold viruses, the whims of infant school children, and who remembers to turn up.  What matters is the everyone who does turn up will be found something to wear and something to do, and everyone, whether she has attended every week and is word perfect, or arrives for the first time and has to be prodded in the right direction, will get her moment of glory and a big clap at the end.

Maybe I'll add this parable to my apocryphal gospel too?!

Advent Prayers Week 2 - 16 people squeezed into the manse living room, loaves and fishes (well stew and apple pie) no problem, singing happy birthday to a 92 year-old (who wasn't the oldest there) and raising money for HMF.

This, I thought, is when it's all worth it.  No stroppy deacons to criticise (one supportive one to enjoy, another alas unable to make it this week).  An old lady brought a lemon sponge, someone else a ginger cake for next week, an offer of a Christmas cake to come... Five minutes of good, solid, heartfelt open prayer (as distinct from 30 minutes of embarrassed silence in the official prayer meetings)... Someone on the edge of the fellowship washing up, a couple of widows getting some much needed company...  The beginnings of community.

This is church!  And I've helped to make it happen!  Praise God who, in overflowing grace and love, seeks us before we have a clue we're being sought, and who never ceases to surprise us with moments of wonder.