Three years ago, as part of my sabbatical leave, I spent a few days in central London visiting Bloomsbury Central Baptist Church. Each day the walk from my digs to the church took me through Russell Square, an oasis of green in the midst of the buzz and vibe of that area. I sat on benches and watched the world go by, strolled with a friend, drank tea from the cafe and generally enjoyed the gift that is life.

Last week I spent a few days in south London with some other friends.  Just before going our  separate ways, we drank tea in the outdoor cafe at the British Library on Euston Road, not far far from Russell Square.  In Euston railway station, people of all races, colours, creeds milled around peacefully (if such a thing is possible), munched snacks, ran for trains, laughed, chatted, igonored and above all coexisted.

So my thoughts today are very much with those affected directly and indirectly by events last night. I know that my friends at Bloomsbury will be doing what they do every day, as will people of other traditions, faiths and none.

Today's PAYG was the story of the woman whom Jesus compared to a dog...

Her response is pretty amazing - she doesn't show anger because she has been insulted; she doesn't go and check her list of words that hint at xenophobia; she doesn't slink away and sulk.  No, she says, fine, if I 'm a dog treat me like a dog.

Which made me think.  Because it is really easy for me to absorb insults - deliberate or otherwise.  So easy to become what it is I think I am being accused of.  So easy to escalate a careless word into an attitude against which I am permitted to rage.

Even dogs lick up the crumbs... if you consider me a dog, treat me as you would treat a dog...

That's actually pretty subversive, possibly wrong-footing Jesus, certainly provoking a response from him.

So my lesson for today is, when I hear something as insulting or hurtful, not to react angrily but to turn it around into a potentially positive alternative... even [insert word] are treated thus...

That doesn't mean that all words can be subverted, all insults redeemed, all carelessness excused, but at least for me at a personal level, I suspect that most of them can.

On Sunday evening I had the privilege of going to visit a church in another city in an official capacity to hear a young man preach.  All went well, and I've been able to write what I hope is a positive affirming and encouraging repport.

This post, which is deliberately mischievous, arises from the fact that during the service we stood for three extended periods of 'sung worship' that were musically unsatisfying, some of them theologically or linguistically iffy (in my view).  I can't stand still for 20 minutes any more, I even have to shift my feet around when I'm preaching, so blocks of 20, 15 and 15 minutes (the service was just under 2 hours long) was too much, and I sat the last one out.

Depending on the repetoire of songs in your own church you will know which one I am plagiarsing/emulating.  Hopefully you won't take offence, and just maybe you will have a chuckle...

Standing in a darkened church

Singing endless worship songs

Where the tunes all sound the same

Every Sunday

Lots of bad theology

Lots of battle metaphors

Lots of words I’d love to change

Power language

Guitarist has a three chord trick

Drummer’s in a perspex shed

Singer shuts their eyes…

More than once, we must sing it all again

Then the break, where we find the tune is changed

It’s annoying,

It’s annoying!

Now my hips are getting sore

So I’ll have to take a seat

Just like many others do

Every Sunday

Yearning for a Taize chant,

Iona, Wesley, Kaan or Wren…

Different meters, different moods

Or world music

Organists who change the stops

Choirs in four part harmony

Congregations singing…

Praising God, in diverse ways

Saying sorry, saying please

Hymns that tell a story…

Only once, we can then sing something else

That has links with the theme of the service

It’s quite easy!

It’s quite easy!

Sitting, standing, singing, quiet,

Crying, laughing, thinking, still,

Listening, praying, speaking too

All are worship

God the Father,

God the Son,

God the Holy Spirit…

Every week you must put up with our songs!

Every week you receive our clumsy prayers

Every time you accept our muddled worship

You are faithful

And we're grateful…

This morning I took a little time to glance over the most recent BMS magazines, and found myself laughing out loud at a short article in the Summer 2016 issue of Engage, which focussed on language faux pas by mission personnel. Should you be in need of a few laughs yourself, have five minutes to spare, or are simply curious, go here and click through to page 16.  Happy reading!

Today I decided to have another go at decluttering - it's a long old process but each time I do make some progress.

In the course of sifting through a box of papers, most of which went into the bin, I stumbled across various cards made for me by children when I left Manchester and when I arrived in Glasgow.  It was lovely to be reminded of those special moments, and makes me glad of my hoarder tendencies.  I read some old thank you cards - one referring to something I had done which evidently was a real help to the person who wrote it, and of which I have zero recollection.  That was nice too.

Definitely being blessed all over again (as well as a few 'yikes' moments when I realise how many years have elapsed).

I did eject six sacks of rubbish and fill a huge bag of recycling, as well as identifying loads more stuff that one day will find its way to a charity shop.

Not exactly a relaxing day off, but a good one in many ways.

(The picture in the photo was drawn by Edward who by now will be at least 18!)