A sonnet, by poet laureate Carol Ann Duffy, for Remembrance 2018...

The Wound in Time
It is the wound in Time. The century’s tides,
chanting their bitter psalms, cannot heal it.
Not the war to end all wars; death’s birthing place;
the earth nursing its ticking metal eggs, hatching
new carnage. But how could you know, brave
as belief as you boarded the boats, singing?
The end of God in the poisonous, shrapneled air.
Poetry gargling its own blood. We sense it was love
you gave your world for; the town squares silent,
awaiting their cenotaphs. What happened next?
War. And after that? War. And now? War. War.
History might as well be water, chastising this shore;
for we learn nothing from your endless sacrifice.
Your faces drowning in the pages of the sea.

© Carol Ann Duffy, 2018

This year I have prepared three Remembrance acts of worship for three distinct and separate contexts.

This afternoon it begins with a very low key reflection/meditation on the Shrouds of the Somme, and verses from the gospels about sparrows, hairs on heads and lives laid down.

Sunday morning will include the familiar Act of Remembrance, before reflecting through the lens of 'Honour and Shame'.

Sunday evening will a Communion Service on the theme 'Remember me'

If you ask preachers which Sundays they fear or dislike, Remembrance is always high on the list.  So easy to get wrong for someone or some reason.  So much expectation to manage.  So many complex ideas that could, and probably should, be explored.

Doing three in one year has been draining - and that's just the preparation.  By Sunday evening I expect I will be 'done'.

Somewhere I read that courage isn't 'lack of fear,' it's 'being afraid and doing it anyway'.  I find Remembrance scary, but I do it anyway, not because I am courageous, but because it matters that it's done, and done to the very best of my ability.

At BMS Catalyst Live we were entertained a dmade to think the comedy rap jazz duo Harry and Chris.

Here is their 'fear song' (watch out for those ladders...)

Yesterday was a ludicrously long day - I left home at 03:40 and returned at 23:10 or thereabouts. And in between, I spent a full day (09:00 to roughly 16:45) at the BMS Catalyst Live event at St Martins in the Bullring in Birmingham.

Was it worth it?  Yes, it most definitely was! Some well known speakers such as Ruth Gledhill, Stanley Hauerwas (a filmed interview as he'd been unable to travel) and Adrian Snell.  Some fascinating topics from history/biography via ethics, to apologetics and worship.  There was real laughter, and deep thinking.  There were conversations with friends old and new.

I guess it's a bit like a box of chocolates, where different flavours sit side by side, waiting to be eaten. And yes, you can eat a coffee cream followed by Turkish delight and then hazelnut crunch, and somehow it works.

I guess it's a bit like being back at school, where it's maths, and then geography before English literature and RE.  Your mind has to switch swiftly from topic to topic, without time to process what you've heard.

I guess it's a bit like doing theology, as you find yourself making connections between different themes and ideas.  The quest for truth and meaning, the challenges and opportunities of a technological age, the power of story, the need for imagination/imaginative hermeneutics, the importance of culture to shape and inform, the challenge of inclusion and the potential of multisensory approaches.

I was a ridiculously long day.  And I've working hard today to try to catch up. 

It was also a good day, and I am so glad I made the effort to go.

The 2018 videos aren't yet available, but you can look at talks from previous years here... And if anyone fancies joining me in 2020... 

It was a skim through social media posts, and a minister friend observing they were at a meeting in the place where they met the Ministerial Recognition Committee many, many moons ago.  Others commented... and then it struck me, it's twenty years today since my Min Rec at Hillcliffe, just outside Warrington.

I can still recall some of the questions I was asked, and still feel the sense of nervous anticipation along with the certainty that "they could still say 'no'" as I walked the short distance to the room where the verdict would be delivered.

Twenty years ago tonight, I was at a house group bonfire party... a group now scattered to the four winds, but a place where I knew love and support as I explored my call.

Quite where those twenty years went, I have no idea - but I do know I'm glad that they said 'yes'.