Our church age range is now 0 - 102. 

This, among many other things, makes me very grateful.

This, among many things, makes ministry hugely challenging and endlessly rewarding.

Congratulations to E&J on the safe arrival of baby O (a couple of weeks ago) and to G on your 102nd birthday.

Thank you God for these moments of joy and celebration.

I posted recently that I struggled to find anything to say in response to the endless succession of bad news.  I shared a response to some word-free prayers that I had found really helpful.  I have pondered the words of those such as Elie Weisel and Martin Neimoller that see silence as collusion, and of other bloggers who feel that it is better to say something, however trivial (and hence open to negative criticism!) than nothing.

So what do I say?  What can I say?

If I say, and it's true, that all I hear about are events in the wealthy west, that what causes us to recoil in horror occurs day in day out in places we never hear about, does that mean I care less or deem acceptable such actions?  Of course not.  But it is true.

If I say, and it's true, that the ever increasing flood of reports of tragedy has the potential to lead to compassion  fatigue, which is also true, do I have a viable alternative?  I don't.

If I say, and it is the case, that I can't do everything and can end up so paralysed that I risk doing nothing, does that make me somehow a lesser person?  I hope not.

If I choose not to make some quick response, some knee-jerk reaction, am I colluding with the status quo?  Some would say so.

So what do I do?

I continue to pray with countless others for the continued expression of God's Kingdom/Kindom/Commonwealth/Common Wheal (sp?) or whatever people want to call it on earth.

I continue to practice forgiveness, even when it's hard, even when I am deeply wounded by words, actions or attitudes.

I continue to be grateful for what is good, to express that even in small ways for small things.

I choose hope, and love, and faith... and laughter, and kitty cats, and roses...

Life is not existence, life is a choice... and whether my words are many or few, whether I get it right or wrong or somewhere in between, I do my best to choose life.

Pray for the world... think global, act local:

God of all places, may your kingdom come, and may I play my part, however small, in its expression.

As is normal for me on a Friday, I am starting to think about the service to take place a week on Sunday, which will focus on the fifth "I AM" saying of Jesus, "I AM the resurrection and the life".

Various thoughts are running through my head, among theml something I wrote a little over seven years ago from the perspective of Lazarus.  I've decided not to re-use this poem/reflection/thing in the service I'll be leading, but I do think that it offers some potential for reflection so is worth sharing again.

Rather than posting the link, here it is in its entirety...

I feel so weak, so ill – I ache all over and I so long to be well again.

I feel so powerless –

No strength to eat or drink, yet my mouth is dry

I am uncomfortable but I cannot summon the energy to move

When will I be well?

I long to be well again, to find my strength renewed, to be made whole and clean and free like all those others…

I call out for help… and nothing happens

I cry for healing… and there is silence

I wait for his coming… and no one comes

No reply…

Nothing.

I am weaker still, and weaker…

Those around grow pale and anxious

Helpless and fearful

The light dims

The effort to breath ceases

Release comes as I slip into death’s embrace.

All is still

No pain

No thoughts

No pressures

Rest

The tomb is still and quiet

Days pass – or is it eternity?

Time is no more

Silence

Stillness

Silence and stillness

A voice breaks the silence

Crashes through the stillness

‘Lazarus, come out!’

Not a request.

A command to be obeyed cuts through the stillness

Shatters the silence

Breaks through the peace

And ends the rest.

I am compelled to action

Nerve and sinew quicken

Lungs fill with the stale, dank air of the tomb

Forced to my feet

I stand

Following the voice I cannot see –

My face veiled -

My body bound in cloths

Stumbles towards the sound,

Feels the heat of the living world,

Smells the scent of life,

Inhales clean, vibrant air.

Voices, deafeningly loud, fill my ears

Hands reach to tug away the cloth from my face

Arms steady my unsteadiness

My eyes, dazzled by the brightness

Open

And see

His face

Amidst the noise,

The frenetic activity,

The smells

Is stillness.

They guide me home

To the place where I died

And there everything is reversed

Unwrapped

Washed

Clothed

Embraced

Clung to

Kissed

Spoken over and about

Confused

Bemused

Bewildered

Death must be faced again

But first,

Life must be resumed

Is now the time to live differently?

To do those things I didn’t do before?

To be more spiritual? More holy?

Is it a ‘second chance’?

And must I die again?

And must I live again?

And must I pass though the gateway to life

That is the pathway of death?

Must I do?

Must I be?

Don’t cling to me!

I am not who or what I was –

I am not yet what I shall become

This new life…

This old life restarted…

This new expectation…

This new knowledge of what lies beyond now…

This status as object of curiosity…

This being a miracle, no of being a sign

Is scary, confusing, bewildering

I had adapted -

Well almost -

To death;

And now I must live

Give me space and time to adjust

[time passes]

It is good to be here tonight with those I love best

Martha’s cooking tastes so good –

Did I ever appreciate the subtle flavours and textures she labours over each day?

Mary’s perfume fills the air –

Had I ever grasped the depth of love she has for Jesus, the risks she takes to express it?

And Jesus, eating, talking, enjoying, challenging

Does he know how lost, alone and abandoned I felt when I called and he never came?

Can I ever comprehend why having seemingly left me to die he drew me back to life?

I must face death again –

Not today, but one day

I have no way of knowing how it feel

How it will come

Who will care for me

Wash me

Wrap me

Bury me

But now I no longer fear

For death is as birth

A transition point in life

Beyond that final grave a voice will call

‘Lazarus, come out!’

And I will stand and walk

Not back to this life

But, finally free, into the life of eternity…

Yesterday I attended the Memorial Service (a private, family funeral having taken place earlier yesterday) for Rev Steve Mantle, formerly Regional Minister of EMBA, minister of churches in Derby and Nottingham, mission partner with BMS, and latterly a carer for adults with learning disabilities.  It was a lovely tribute to a man whose life has enriched those of others on at least three continents.  Several people brought their own tributes, as well as an overall tribute on behalf of his family.

The minister presiding, another "Northern Girl" who has known Steve's encounragement ended with this story, of which Steve was fond, and which speaks much truth.  Certainly I can recall him telling it as a NAM reflection day well over a decade, and it has stayed with me.

Here is a version lifted from the web:

May we each learn to fly like geese, honking encouragement to those willing to take on the responsibilities of leadership, supporting any who struggle, and achieving together so much than we would alone.

One of the great things about our church, is the number of people willing to take a turn at leading intercessory prayer.  There is always the freedom to use any format whatsoever, but 99% of the time peopple opt for prayers that are spoken.  Yesterday the person chose to do something different.  Rather than words, a series of carefully selected images was displayed, reflecting the diversity of things in the news over the last week or so.  At the end a short reflection was shared.

I really valued these prayers for many reasons and at many levels...

Firstly in a week when there has been a relentless tide of bad news, words are difficult to find, and risk being trite and trivial or ill-considered and unhelpful.  Sometimes silence speaks louder than words.

Secondly, the choice of images was inspired... we had Andy Murray kissing the Wimbledon trophy and Larry the cat strolling along Downing Street... and we had images from Nice, Turkey and the USA.  There were images relating to complex issues on which we as a church may not all agree.  There were images that will haunt us, at least for a while.  Over recent days, I have wrestled quite a lot about the tension between sharing the serious and the silly on social media;of what, if anything, to say about any of these complex topics... these visual prayers expressed better than I could ever hope to that the tension does hold, that laughter and anger, weeping and celebration may, indeed do, perhaps must, coexist.

Thirdly, and rather selfishly, I appreciated that someone who isn't me did something that wasn't all words.  Sometimes I feel we have a false - and unhelpful, maybe unhealthy - split whereby I do 'multi-sensory prayers' and everyone else does 'spoken prayers'.  I hope that others may now be encouarged to risk trying something a little more playful.

I know it wasn't to everyone's taste.  I know there were some technical challenges due to light levels and seating arrangements.  I know there was a lot to try to take in and hold in prayer.  For all that, I am glad that it happened, glad that people experienced something a little bit different, glad that they felt able to express their views, glad that we continue to discover the mystery of prayer.