Andy had gone to work as usual that morning.  It was a nice day, the sun shone and life felt good.  Business was going well, sales were steady and the income more than enough for what he needed.  But he couldn't help thinking about what he'd heard over the weekend.  As usual, he'd been to worship, and as usual one of the local preachers had preached a sermon.  It had been inspiring, interesting, relevant - all the things he longed for a sermon to be.  Justice for those who are poor. Equal value for all humans, irrespective of age, gender or race. Healing for those who are sick... it all sounded wonderful, and how he hoped it was true.

Sensing someone was looking at him, he lifted his eyes and saw a man standing near to him.  In response to his quizzical expression the man said, 'drop everything and come with me.'

The rest is, of course, history. Venerated by some, chosen as an icon by Scots, Greeks, Russians and, indeed, many more, St Andrew as we know him left his nets, his boat, his business, his family, his hopes, his security and set off in the footsteps of Joshua ben David, also known as Jesus of Nazareth.

What would you do?

What would I do?

And what difference might that decision make?

One of my favourite sights each year... when the crocuses/croci bloom. Just beauitful.

Many, many moons ago, when I was at vicar school, we were required to read 'Things Fall Apart' by Chinua Achebe, a striking novel that draws it's title from the W B yeats poem "The Second Coming". As I've listened to the news over the past few days, and seen things falling apart in a country I love, seen anger and vitriol, intolerance and bitterness, I've found the opening lines of the poem flooding into my mind...

 THE SECOND COMING

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

I cannot claim to understand the poem, but its first stanza rings horribly true just now.

Kyrie eleison - LORD have mercy

Today I am moved, very strongly, to pray for justice, peace and truth:

For a young woman whose citizenship has been stripped from her (wrongly in my view) because having made a poor choice she now seeks to return home (think Prodigal son story...)

For a young man whose trial for the rape and murder of a young girl reveals a complex web of disorder and dis-ease at the heart of those affected (justice is not revenge, sentence should be rehabilitation, if at all possible)

For the family of a six year-old girl who went to bed happy, and whose life was ruthlessly cut short.

For the countless unknown ones whose lives are irrevocably changed by the foolish, selfish and sometimes even malevolent decisions and actions of those who wield power, elected or imposed.

Things fall apart - the centre cannot hold, and yet, in the brokeness of it all is the inexteingushable flicker of light that is Love, that is is Life, that is Hope. Amen.

The Prayer Room in Glasgow Airport.

When I arrived very early last Thursday morning nothing was open except the Prayer Room.

It's a very quiet, still space in a very noisy, busy place. The sound proofing is incredible, by use of effectively an airlock, no noise from the busy areas gets into the Prayer Room itself.

It's also an inclusive space. No-one may remove or cover the religious artefacts that have been placed there... there are prayer rugs, icons, candles, Bibles, leaflets, and many more.

The stained glass is lovely, incorporating the symbols of the largest world faiths, and some gentle, soothing colours.

I spent a very relaxed half hour in there, praying, reflecting and simply being... when I emerged the departure gates were just opening and I set off on my way to Florence.

Chaplaincy spaces are so important, and so valued by people of all faiths. I'm grateful to God for this space and the time it gave me in the wee small hours.

Florence was lovely, as was Pisa, and we packed plenty into our short break. 

I arrived in Florence feeling dreadful, with a heavy cold, blocked ears, sore throat and streaming nose... so it was straight to bed for a few hours sleep before taking an evening stroll.  Now I am home, my ears are still blocked, my throat is better and my cough has progressed to the 'productive' stage (tmi probably).

As is so often the case, a few major sites is lovely, but it's the unepxected bits that take my breath away... like the cloistered convent we stumbled across in a side street, or the (now) Orthodox church with air so heavy with incense it permeated my lack of smell!

Likewise with cafes, it was Il Vegetranio, frequented by locals, and serving honest peasant food, where we enjoyed the best meal of the holiday.

I was amused (and impressed) to be able to give directions to a French tourist in Pisa, using my limited French, and being understood.

Now it's auld clase 'n' parrtich...

Annual trip to breast clinic this morning, and all seems good (depends on outcome of mammogram) so I'm now 8 years a NED unless they tell me otherwise.

Lots of Admin and some service prep - and kitties reclaiming me!

In all this ordinariness, God is there and God is good.