I have been reading a couple of books on Church history as part of my formal studying.  Both seemed to say a lot of the same stuff - but Rowan Williams was more succinct than Euan Cameron!  I guess what struck me was that their focus on "continuity and change" seemed to centre on doctrine more than mundane everyday stuff.  This makes me wonder am I being too trivial in what I'm thinking about - e.g. is change from not singing hymns to singing hymns (a C17 Baptist thing) actually all that important compared to say, what constitutes the 'true church' or the 'doctrine of God' or of 'God's mutability' (or otherwise).  Then I start pondering how human mutability and divine immutability can possibly fit together (where my understanding of immutability is something about a 'still centre' not an impassive being).  Then I think, hey, no one beyond academia will understand a word of this, and the whole point, surely is to be a PRACTICAL theologian, doing stuff that does relate to people in pews arguing about whether the green or red hymnbook is the one we ought to use...

I think that "continuity and change" is an important factor to hold in mind - Christianity has continued for a couple of thousand years and has evolved (am I allowed to use that word!) in all sorts of ways along the way.  The 'kernel and husk' views of people like von Harnack clearly have a valid point - but what is the kernel, is it specific doctrines or is it a shared story?  Is it something around liturgies and ordinances (or sacraments) or is it about mission?  The contextual theologians who remind us about inculturation and aculturation pick on on some of the same threads.

All this is doing wonders for my 'I am thick' genes, makes me aware of how little I know about anything, about how much more I could/should read just to be able to articulate one simple thought.

So here's what I think I think today!  Studying and trying to understand our past, the stories of how we got to where we are today, can be useful in appreciating something of the continuity and change that are part of our Christian heritage.  Almost from the beginning, people have tried to work out what is essential to Christianity, and to church (not the same thing) and have fallen out over it more times than enough.  Diversity and even (perceived) heresy are part of that story, orthodoxy seems often to be more about who shouted louder or lived longer than what or how they stood for - we have just forgotten that there was ever another viewpoint.  A lot of theological energy goes into determining the essentials of Christianity and using this to determine what is a 'real' church; less perhaps goes into accepting that church exists and thinking about how church 'does' change.  That church 'does' change has been true since it emerged, is true today as emergent churches, cell churches, you-name-it-it-does-it expressions of church come along.  But who is looking at the process of change?  Does one have to have a process theology of God (which I can never quite get to) to have a theology that says churches change?  Is the doctrine of God at the heart of this?  Or can I just say, actually we aren't very good at managing change, can we do it better?  Which is what I want to think about when all is said and done.

So, lots of questions and no answers... now I need to get back to practical theology of sorting out the jobs that need to be done for our Pentecost Party, from chair shifting and tent pitching to what games are and are not permitted.  All good fun - and "nothing changes here"!!!

Today I had my first 'skinny fairtrade latte' since before Lent began, balanced by the first 'heart attack on a plate' in the same duration.  Hurrah for supermarket cafes!  I was working, honestly, trying (and succeeding eventually) in finding a Christian bookshop that would provide roughly what I want for our Pentecost Party.

What I had in mind was a stall selling 'Christian Tat' so that any children who come along with their pocket money to spend can buy, say, a pencil with a cute lamb on it or a 'Jesus loves me' eraser; some birthday cards, the odd (well not too odd really) item of God-jewellery... the kind of thing people will buy at a 'fete', non-threatening, useable trivia.  So why do the shops try to flog me loads of SCARY tracts?!  The nice lady in the independent shop eventually agreed to no books and 'just a few trackts' (sic), having shown me some that were seriously scary.  Imagine the scene, nice family day out at local place of interest, Bappy minister has painted little Johnny's face as a tiger, you have purchased a Fairtrade wooden box for granny, you've been given a 10p off voucher for the cafe at the churches together stand, made a brass rubbing, had a picnic and then you pause at the Christian bits and bobs stall attracted by a bright display of 'free leaflets'...  You casually open a leaflet that tells you that you are evil and bound for eternal fire.  Do you (a) get on your knees and repent (b) put it down and leave thinking these Christians are not such nice people after all?  Dim question.  Let's face it, if we went to a community event organised by another faith group we'd be miffed if we were told we were going down unless we believed what they believe, so why do our oh so earnest shops think we must?

Are there any organisations who produce decent giveaway leaflets?  Not that I think we have to have them, Jesus seemed to do fine without, it would just be helpful to have a positive alternative 'up my sleeve' so to speak.  I'm planning to 'forget' the tracts when I take the stuff to our Pentecost Party (and be praying like mad that no one else decides to take theirs along!) because what we actually want to say is 'hey, we can have fun too.'  People will be invited to our open air service the next day, surely that is 'tract' enough?

There seems to be a gulf between the worldview of those involved in any contemporary forms of mission/evangelism and the resources that are available in our shops.  Maybe you think I've just sold out somewhere down the line, but I know I cringe when someone hands me a turn-or-burn tract, so I'm not about to give them to anyone else.

Next Wednesday I am speaking to a ladies' meeting in Manchester!  They have even altered their date to fit my availability, so I'd better be good.  I am speaking on Mary and Martha - Luke 10 and John 11.  Two very different tales that give us some different takes on these sisters.

Martha - you know her, careworn red hands, face lined from frowning, always busy cooking and cleaning.  Mary, beautiful, attentive, deeply spiritual... well that's the kind of images I grew up with anyway.  So which one is it who recognises Jesus as who he is...?  Why do Luke and John give us these seemingly contrasting portaits?  Are they, in fact, contrasting?  Or is it just that somewhere I have sold out to an unfair image of Martha (even if she's the one I feel more like, busy, practical and, when all's said and done, is making sure Jesus plus 12 hungry blokes and countless hangers on get the best dinner she can cook - yes, I know, that's Sunday School eisegesis or worse, but you get my drift).

Somewhere in what I share I want to affirm both Mary and Martha, and to recongise the times when it is right to be either or both of them, that actually they both live within each of us.  To note that sitting at Jesus' feet (the good child who knows all the answers in Sunday school) does not automatically lead to recognising him as Lord; to suggest that the busy, practical woman who at times puts family or community before church is not automatically less spiritual than the one who is there every week looking both gorgeous and suitably pious!

There's nothing radical or new here, and I owe a debt of gratitude to Stuart J for his amazing Mary and Martha sermon of a few years back, but I hope that my thoughts will say something to these 21st century women who meet for worship on a Wednesday afternoon and then scurry home to cook tea for husbands and families...

This Sunday's sermon will be based on the Emmaus Road story.  Given the length of the journey - some scholars say 3.5 miles, others 7 (depends on if it was a round trip distance that was recorded apparently) - what we get told by Luke is a very minimalist precis.  So here is where Sunday's sermon will go...

First of all, Jesus met Cleopas and friend where they were - on a journey, feeling lost, confused, bewildered, perplexed, stuck in their own little world.

Then, he let them tell their story.  He did not interrupt (so far as we are told) just let them tell it as it was for them.

Then, 'foolish and slow' comment not withstanding, he reminded them of ancient promises - we don't know what exactly, no one tells us.  The Moses story - the one they have just had a festival to commemorate - speaks of God's faithfulness of hope despite the oppression of slavery in Egypt.  The obvious prophecy Luke's gospel has Jesus quoting to refer to himself is one of hope and action (Luke 4: 18-19/Isaiah 61: 1 - 2).  Jesus doesn't ask them to 'Turn Take, Trust, Thank' or 'Admit, Believe, Confess' or put crowns rather than self on a chair, he offers them wonderful promises of a trustworthy God and a vision of a different world.

Then HE accepts THEIR invitation to share food - something utterly ordinary and accepting of them as they were.  In a very earthy and practical way, he is invited to be with them.  "Come and be part of our everyday life, we have something to offer you"

Only then, as they are doing something as ordinary as sharing a meal, do they realise who he is and race back to Jerusalem to tell the news to others.

It seems to me that this passage offers us lots of things...

• promises for when we find ourselves in Cleopas' place
• a reminder that we don't take Jesus with us into the world, Jesus turns up whenever and wherever he wants to, recognised or not
• a model for pastoral support - listening and offering hope (not advice or solutions!)
• a Jesus approach to evangelism - walking with people, earning their trust, entering their places, receiving from them what they can offer us, and being surprised by joy in the process as it is they, not us, who recongise Christ and take the news to others.

In many ways on Easter Sunday nothing changed - the Romans still occupied the land, people still got crucified, the Temple still functioned as before, violence and injustice continued - and yet everything changed for Cleopas and friend as they discovered a new way of seeing, a new way of walking into a future shaped by promises of hope and a love that was stronger than death.

Reflecting on the story has been helpful for me - challenging tempations to too much eisegesis (reading in) and interpretation and allowing myself to stand in the places of Cleopas and (dare I say it) Jesus as they walked together as Easter people in a Good Friday world.

It has been an odd Easter, and I have resisted the temptations (a) to dwell on what has miffed me (b) to criticise what I've experienced in services and (c) to post anything until my last commitment was complete.  There is a lot I could say - a lot that found its way into my paper (and now rarely used) journal but I want to post on one train of thought only.

On Friday evening I was channel hopping in search of something worth seeing and happened across the start of the repeat showing of the Manchester Passion.  I had loved it last year and thought it was worth seeing again; I was not disappointed.  Granted, I knew the ending and remembered much of the broadcast, but it was no less powerful.

I have always had a soft spot for Judas, and as he sang 'Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now' the poignancy of his predicament touched something very deep within.  I don't do crying very often (like about once in ten years) but I found tears rolling down my cheeks as he sang.  Poor Judas, torn apart, feeling isolated, let down, bewildered, having agreed to something he already regretted... not a typical 'bad guy.'

Maybe some of what he was singing/expressing connected with some of the vulnerability and scariness of being an HMF minister in a church that is always precarious; maybe the emptiness echoed some of what I felt about this Easter - who knows.  Whatever it was, it got me thinking.

There are two key characters in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus and Judas, and each of them acts in some way  vicariously for every person who ever lived.  This is not the place for deep discussions on atonement theology, but if in some way Jesus' death was vicarious, then so was Judas' betrayal.  If Jesus somehow stands in the place of 'fallen humanity' than so does Judas.  We have no right to judge him, for we are him.

Whether Judas hanged himself or whether his guts spontaneously spewed forth (both Biblical) I have no idea.  I feel for Judas, I really do.  Some how or other life became impossible after his betrayal of Jesus.  Tradition has it that he went to hell, scripture calls him a 'son of perdition' but when I think about him, recall how much Jesus loved him, I wonder.  I find that I want either (a) to be a universalist or (b) to embrace unreservedly the expression of the theology of the 'harrowing of hell' that sees the whole purpose of descent as to redeem those who were there.  I can't get to (a) otherwise I'm not sure what the point of the church is, and I have never studied (b) enough to fully appreciate its nuances.  Theology aside, I long, and have done for as many years as I can recall, one day to discover that in the end Judas was reconciled to Jesus, to God.  After all, there but for the grace of God go I.

Late on Saturday night I got an email from someone I'll call Jonathan.  He is a member of my church but has been working away at a Christian centre for almost two years.  Jonathan is gay.  Jonathan had (has) a hardline theology of gayness and has spent as long as I've known him trying to make himself straight.  Last night's email was not such a surprise, but it made me sad - after a long struggle it has become too much and faced with the choice 'God or Gay' he's decided to explore gay.  He is lonely, angry, sexually frustrated, deadly earnest, and horribly, horribly confused.  I am sad not because of the choice he's made (though I struggle with aspects of it) but because he feels he had to choose.

What should I do?  It's an issue where I have no neat answers and struggle to find a 'standpoint.' It's an issue where I accept the BU rules for ministers.  But I am Jonathan's pastor, not his judge, and, being female and straight aside, there but for the grace of God also go I.  I have tried to encourage him not to see it as 'either/or,' reminded him of evangelical networks that affirm a range of standpoints on human sexuality issues (he is terrified of liberalism), and assured him of my support whatever he decides.

Are Jonathan and Judas so very different?  Am I?  Are you?  Where does the balance between inclusiveness and anything goes lie? 

The last contact between Jesus and Judas was a kiss - how ironic that a first century greeting would be seen as 'gay' in our culture and age.  How ironic that love and intimacy should become so perverted, not by issues of sexuality but by intent.  How ironic that when I want to save Judas, I am called to stand beside Jonathan.

Not the Easter I anticipated.  Not a story of resurrection joy, but one of being in a potter's field trying to talk Judas down from the tree, of praying that the Good Shepherd will go right to the bottom of the ravine (Paul Fiddes at his best) to rescue the weak, shivering lamb.

The Easter story never ceases to amaze me; just when I think I have a clue, the pieces shift and the view changes - I have no more 'got it' than the first disciples who found crazy women telling them impossible things.  I still feel a little cheated that I didn't get to preach this year, but somehow, God has preached a sermon I needed to hear and then to share.

Please pray for Jonathan, and all the sad, bewildered, angry, frustrated, lost, alone, whatever-they-are Judas-like characters you know.  And may the peace of Christ dwell richly in your hearts and minds this Eastertide and forever more.