Today was my Rahab sermon.  I had worked quite hard on it, felt that I had something worthwhile to share and that it could speak to each of us about the ways in which her life mirrors our own - her life on the margins, her easy dishonesty, her fears for the future, her faith in God, and so on.  I had distributed red threads to each person as they arrived, to be used within the service as a symbol.

Two minutes into the sermon and my 'lighthouse sweep' landed on someone pointedly showing her Bible to her neighbour with that 'look she's wrong' expression in her face all preachers love (not).  Alas the timing meant she got my best Paddington hard stare before my gaze moved on.  After the service she came to tell me that Rahab was not a whore but an innkeeper since that was what the word 'prostitute' meant in those days.  Not that she was telling me I was wrong (much) but that actually generations of Sunday School teachers had been right to call her an innkeeper.  One does wonder why the scholars King James employed failed to use the correct terminology when they came to do their translation, but hey.  I will clearly need to very careful not to mention Boaz' feet next Sunday!  Years ago I was a Sunday School teacher.  It saddens me that so many loyal Christians switched their brains off at age seven and are therefore blinded to the wonder of a God who works with and through people like Rahab... and us.

By contrast, someone else (ironically the other poor woman who'd also come under my icy stare) said she'd found the story and sermon very helpful in facing a difficult family situation, so all was not lost, even if I left feeling rather deflated.

It was one of those Sundays when you find your paranoia gets fed as you are told that certain people are very unhappy with what 'you' are doing and are leaving the church.  It was one of the those Sundays when you get a glimpse of hope when someone else who has been on the periphery for a decade after being offended by a church decision comes and asks for a copy of the material circulated at the church meeting on ideas for mission and the way forward.

It was one of those days when the red thread symbol was perhaps as significant as the bread and wine we also shared.  Rahab was given the red cord to hang from her window both as a reminder of the promise and so that the spies would know where to look for her.  Well, God does not red threads to find where I am, but the piece of red wool currently tied around my wrist is a good reminder of God's faithfulness.  It was good to see a few other people leaving with red threads tied to their person - I hope they at least found something of God's hope in what we shared today.

My little sister who is learning to be a URC minister in Cambridge (and tells me how many ex-Baptist tutors she has who 'saw the light', hurumph) frequently rings me to ask for books she might read for her essays on anything from Kingdom parables through child faith development to theologies of communion (on this, however, her view is perfectly sound, good ordinance theologian that she is, though I had to tell her what one was!).  I find this mildly amusing since she already has more theology degrees than I do.  Anyway, she also tells me that for the Christmas revue she will be offering an exegesis of the Hokey Cokey!!!  This reminded me of some of the bizarre things we had done at college, and the two of us had a merry few minutes recalling and singing down the phone such delights as...

'Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer' to the tune of 'Soldiers of Christ arise'

'Amazing Grace' to the tune of 'Nelly the Elephant'

The Doxology (praise God from whom all blessings flow) to 'Hernando's Hideway'

Oh, yes, and the valiant attempt the Greek class I was part of to sing 'I do like to be deside the seaside' in what my sister rather disparagingly terms 'Wenhamese.'  Just because she reads Greek and Hebrew!

So, as the season of mellow corniness approaches apace, any other recollections?

I am feeling puzzled - not that there's anything new there - about what to 'do' with Ruth when I preach on her in just over a week's time.  Thinking about Tamar and Rahab has already used ideas about God not being constrained by people's willingness or otherwise to get involved and about being on the margins of society.  Ruth does not necessarily offer me much new.  She is a foreigner (tick) a widow (tick) she acts not unlike a prostitute in going to the threshing floor (tick) she becomes an ancestor of Jesus (inevitable tick).

I have discovered that she is usuually preached on within Judaism as part of Shavuot (The Feast of Weeks/Pentecost) which combines harvest festival with the giving of Torah.  She is being preached by Christians using the RCL alongside Mark but I suspect playing second fiddle (don't tell the rampant feminists!).  But I am not too sure where to go with her!  I am tempted to get the whole story read out in lieu of a sermon and simply add a five minute reflection - but is that a cop out?

Do we go for 'Ruth & Boaz' a love story?  Do we go for 'Naomi & Ruth' a case study in inter-generational cross-cultural relationships?  Or what?  Ideas please!!!

No, nothing theological, just a burst water pipe in the road outside my house causing water to spray up out of the pavement. 

Severn Trent emergency people said they'd send someone to look at it within the next 24 hours and asked if it was a large or small leak!  The answer, of course, depends on your definition of large/small.  By domestic standards it was pretty big, by industrial standards - well perhaps not.  Still, at least I met new people who knocked on my door to ask if I knew about it!

Silly me, I thought we were short of water and needed to conserve it, not allow it to gush up through the path and be wasted for hours on end.  After around 8 hours it seems to have been sorted - but that's a heck of a lot of water wasted in the meantime.  In this meantime something like 2000 people in developing nations have died due to lack of access to clean water - sobering.

My Dad saw active service in the British army in World War II (he was a lot older than my Mum, though ironically nowadays would be a fairly typical age gap from me)

My Dad's brother was a conscientious objector and spent World War II in jail somewhere round Birmingham, and was employed painting camoflage for buildings.

My Mum's Mum was a Jew, and the family fled to Scotland at the outbreak of war, fearing for their safety.

In my time, I have worked on defence contracts in the submarine industry and also on contracts concerning public safety due to military installations.  One of my brothers served briefly in the army, the other for a while worked at Bletchley Park, now one is a police officer and the other works to upgrade signalling on the railways.

This year, a young lad who lived a few steets away was killed on active service in Iraq and several young men have died on the roads around here.

All of these factors shape my views on Remembrance Sunday.  I have long since come to recognise the bravery of my Dad in going to war and of his brother in taking a costly stand against it.  I recognise the courage of my grandparents - and their fear - and know that had no action been taken I would not be here to type this.  My time spent on defence work was done in good conscience, as what that to assess public safety, and neither without careful forethought.

I have from time to time been criticised for the decisions I've taken, because 'Christians don't' (or do), usually replying that I'd defend their right to disagree with me.

War is far from good, and violence rarely justifiable, but I at least have to accept there are no simple answers.  Intuitively I believe that the pen is mightier than the sword, theologically I assert that love is stronger than death, practically I live with the tension of being part of a disordered world where both sin and finitude impact our experience.

Today I will remember - and having remembered, will live.