This coming Sunday we are sharing in a 'Songs of Praise' style service celebrating the life of our church. 

Twelve people respresenting twelve aspects of our life together have chosen hymns that, in some way or other, connect with their representative role.

I have twelve short Bible readings that I think sort of go with each theme.

And I have 12 other readings, some overtly sacred, some ostensibly secular, some serious, some humorous and so on.

So by way of a teaser among the authors and sources we will find...

Dancing Scarecrow (Clare McBeath and Tim Presswood)

Brother Lawrence

Michel Quoist

George W Stevens

John Calvin

Vernon Scannell

Masao Takenaka

Jennifer Dines

John O'Donohue

R S Thomas

So, if you want to know more, and happen to be in Glasgow on Sunday, you know where to find us... bring your singing voice and join us for a fun act of worship.

This morning I decided to begin my annual cull of the wardrobe... clothes that have not been worn in the last 12 months are reviewed and probably (but not always) set aside to go to a charity shop.  Perhaps it is the effect of having cleared out my Mum's flat, but this year I have felt able to be a lot more ruthless (not properly ruthless, but more so) and a lot of things I've kept out of sentimentality have found themselves consigned to the charity shop bag/box/heap and others to the bin.

The photo shows the collection of hair-slides and other hair things that had sat in a drawer for nearly six years and will never be needed again.  Why was I kepeing them?  Pure sentimentality, a reluctance to let go of the past perhaps, or maybe because many of them had associations with people or places or events.  In the end, I selected one to keep, a heavy, metal celtic knot that I hope can be converted into a brooch.

Today I also packed up the 14+ inch long plait that had been carefully stored in my underwear drawer and posted it off to The Little Princess Trust where it might find itself used to make a wig for a child experiencing hair loss.  It was a strange, slightly bittersweet moment when finally I sealed up the envelope and marched out of my front door to the Post Office to send it on its way.  Perhaps a tad hard on myself, there was a sense that the "properly grown-up" thing to have done would have been to donate the hair in September 2010.  But at that stage it was all too raw, I was too afraid of what tomorrow might bring, and somehow a long plait in a plastic bag in a knicker drawer was a source of comfort at a time when certainty, confidence and sense of identity were rapdily disappearing.  Today it was not such a big deal.  I held the plait one last time, inhaled its still sweet smell, packed it and sent it on its way.

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

One thing I have been doing today is photographing things; the prize-winning jumpers I knitted as a teenager that have lain unworn for at least a decade; the hair slides that for most of my adult life were coordinated to outfits and events; the plait and its donation form just before it was packed up.  The memories can be prompted by the pictures, the actual objects can be let go, freeing whoever, one day, has to clear out my clutter from wondering why on earth this woman had a collection of hair accessories or fairisle jumpers or whatever it may have been.

A useful lesson for me, I think.

Yesterday, a prominent Christian cited this quote from Bonhoeffer on social media...

“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”

I found this very challenging - in the light of the attrocity towards the LGBTQI+ community in Orlando and the murder in Yorkshire of a democratically elected MP, I have found myself lost for words.  Whilst there have been some powerful and eloquent responses, there have been as many, if not more, ill-considered, unhelpful and (especially in relation to events in Orlando) evil and vindictive responses. 

Silence, at least short term, if prompted by a sense of helplessness, impotence and, yes, fear of saying the wrong thing, doesn't seem to me to be intrinsically evil.  Less than ideal, perhaps.  Not what some feel is needed.  Imperfect.  Falling short.  Sinful if you must.  But evil?

Yet I remain challenged, deeply challenged.  I have a host of sayings and Bible verses whirling in my mind...

"A still tongue shows a wise head..."

"There is a time to speak and a time to keep silent..."

"Do you see someone who speaks in haste? There is more hope for a fool than them."

Perhaps I should have said or done something - but at the same time I am wary of empty symbols and hollow gestures.  How easy it is to change a profile picture on social media and then forget all about the issue.  How easy it is write some eloquent words and then move on to the next pressing topic.  How easy it would be to make emotional responses to emotive matters, blowing with the wind and never doing any more.

Perhaps, and I hope this is not an excuse, I am allowing myself to confuse "malign silence" with my own "bewildered quietness".  Perhaps I mistakenly read "inaction" when I am trying to "work within the systems to redeem". Perhaps quiet, sometimes subversive, hopefully transformative words and deeds, will never be enough.  Perhaps I should be bolder and  brasher and less fearful.  Perhaps it is my own insecurity that creates a sense of guilt or inadequacy at what feels to be an honest response.  Perhaps, too, I am far from alone.

God who speaks in the sound of silence

Christ who sleeps amidst the storm

Spirit who hovers over the chaos of this disordered world

Show me not only when, but how to speak

Not only when, but how to  keep silence

And into the aching void of grief of all who mourn

In Orlando and Yorkshire

In refugee camp and war zone

In public and in private

Pour your unconditional, unending, accepting, all-embracing love

Amen.

Events in the news this week are shocking and horrific, and the blogosphere is filled with comment, some articulate, conciliatory and hope-filled, some clumsy, aggressive and hateful, and of course everything in between.  I have chosen not to post any responses, not because I don't have any views and not because I don't care, but simply because words fail.

Vigils, candle-lighting, petition-signing, social media ranting, reasoned reflections - each of these can be hugely meaningful and helpful.  But they pass, the intensity fades, another horror emerges to capture attention and the cycle repeats.

So, this blog post not withstanding, I am choosing to be silent, to dwell in the darkness of unknowing, un-understanding, with the God who waits and walks in the darkness and whose presence may be glimpsed in absence.  And as I do, I allow these sets of words to emerge from deep within to comfort and to challenge me...

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not understood (overcome) it"

"It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness"

"Light is stronger than darkness, Good is stronger than evil, Love is stronger than hate, Life is stronger than death"

The horror, the media outpourings, the petitions, the candles - all these will pass.  Only faith, hope and love remain, and the greatest of these is love.

This morning I've been leafing through oodles of books of poems and prayers.  In the course of it all, I happened across this, which was worth paw-sing to read...

From Jubilate Agon by Christopher Smart (1722 - 1771).

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having considered God and himself he will consider his neighbor.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day’s work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord’s watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness when God tells him he’s a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him, and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defense is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord’s poor, and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually–Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can sit up with gravity, which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick, which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master’s bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Icneumon rat, very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God’s light about him both wax and fire.
For the electrical fire is the spiritual substance which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, though he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.

(PS this is a pretty old photo of the girlies who are now much rounder of tummy!!)