Twelve years ago, I was a Newly Acredited Minsiter (NAM) finding her feet in her first full time pastorate, convinced of God's calling but not having a clue what it actually meant, as I sat in my office in my quaint manse in the place I came to refer to as Dibley.
Eleven years ago, I was preparing a service to be delivered in a borrowed room (I think the local Methodist church but the memory has long since faded) on a Sunday afternoon following the sudden closure of the chapel where this congregation had worshipped since the mid 1870s.
Yesterday I recalled the events of the gas inspection that triggered the immediate need to close the premises, the grace of the inspector who 'bent' the rules to allow a funeral to go ahead (and the comedic "it shouldn't happen to a vicar" nature of that funeral) and the generosity of the Anglican church who hosted our Christmas 2004 services at zero notice. In January 2005 I preached a sermon on 'adventuring with God' based on the life of Moses. It was a half decent sermon, so I discovered when I dug it out from the archives of my service collection!
At the start of 2016, things are looking hopeful, if decidedly challenging, for the Gatherers, as long awaited and tenantiously pursued possibiltities might become reality. And then real life gets in the way, as it it is wont to do. Before Christmas, I had decided to revist the theme of 'adventuring with God' and yesterday wrote a sermon based quite heavily on what I said back in 2005. What I wrote is, I think, fine. But it doesn't feel quite right.
Not just because this is a different time and a different place, but because it felt it lacked a certain vitality. The content is there, but it needs to be written again, and I think I know how to do that.
If we had the time, what I'd love to do would to sit sit down and share stories... the adventures we have been part of in which, if only retrospectiviely, we identify God's participation.
As the next stage in our journey continues, as January 2016 begins to unfold, as hopes morph into reality, the one thing that is certain is that God is present in it all, and there are always connections to be found or made.
Perhaps I should end this post with the story of the gracious gas inspector...
It was Friday 17th December 2004, and I had a funeral around lunchtime. Electricians were installing emergency lighting and much needed earthing to our premises, and a gas inspector was systematically working his way through the building. An illegal capping off here, a dodgy connection there, a dangerous installation somewhere else... it wasn't looking good. And then the pressure drop from meter to final exit point that suggested leak or leaks and the the need to close the premises now, this minute.
I stood there listening, as he told me the news. "You have a funeral later on don't you?" he asked. I nodded. I can't recall his exact words but they ran roughly thus, "I will go back to the office and re-check my calculations, which I have to report to my boss. It won't change anything, and I will be in trouble no doubt. On Monday I will call you with the results."
It wasn't a foolish call - the place was no more likely to blow up than before his inspection, but he could not do otherwsie than condemn the gas system which meant closing the building.
Afternoon came and the funeral took place... the cortege arriving late becuase the family had needed to round up and kennel their dogs when the FD arrived to collect them. The coffin would not go through the door from the porch and had to be man-handled along the side of the building, in the back door, up two lots of steps, past the electricians (who showed incredible respect, stopping work and bowing their heads) before we got it into the church. The family had asked for Procul Harem's 'Whiter Shade of Pale" to be played... we'd heard it seven times through by the time we began the service, a further five at the end... I used to like it, but now... A burial on a cold December afternoon, but at least it was dry.
On the Sunday morning, after an emergency Deacon's meeting we told the church, before proceeding with the nativity, and then the evening carol service (carols without candlelight). On Monday the gas sytem was condemed and the building closed, to re-open only once, six months later, after the gas supply had been isolated at the mains, and then for a 'farewell service'.
The grace of the gas-man. The generosity of the Anglicans. The hospitality of the Methodists. The welcome of the primary school... there were/are all signs of God's sharing in an adventure we'd never have chosen, but which became part of a bigger, more wonderful story.
