... thoughts from Graham Kendrick that are well worth taking six minutes to listen to.  My congregation sing really well, we are blessed with gifted musicians and a lovely choir, a willing congregation and a readiness to try new stuff.  Sometimes when I go to big events the singing ranges from bad to dire... this helps to explain why...

As I prepared for this Sunday's service, I happened across a recording of one of the poems I want to use produced by Channel 4.  As the video ended on You Tube, as usual, others popped up - it seems there are a whole set of them...

'Dulce et Deecorum' read by Christopher Eccleston

'Last Post' read by Vicky McLure

'Suicide in the Trenches' read by Stephen Graham

'Attack' read by Gemma Arterton

'The Soldier' read by Sophie Okonedo

'The Last Laugh' read by Sean Bean

'In Times of Peace' read by Noel Clark

use 'google' to find them - well worth a look

They are all beautifully read.  I've opted to share this one, which is probably one of the most classic war poems there is...

At the end of the summer, I happened across a poetry anthology called "1914 Poetry Remembers" which I bought, took home and promptly buried under a heap of other papers and forgot about until I was clearing the decks for a house guest!

It is a wonderful collection of old and new poems (and a small amount of prose), editted by Carol Ann Duffy, which invites the reader to remember and reflect.  A number of top contemporary poets were invited to chose one Great War work and then to write something themselves; the result is this book.

On Sunday we'll be using a small selection of the poems, some classic (Yeats, Brook) some contemporary (Duffy, Dharker and others) along with some images, video clips and Bible readings.  I hope that this slightly different approach, set alongside a very traditional 'Act of Remembrance' will help us achieve something purposeful, allowing each one to find some "strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow".

Blog lite at the moment - my weeks are becoming madly busy: mostly good, and much of it the interruptions that make ministry.  If you haven't seen the book, go and look for it... published by Faber & Faber ISBN 978-0-571-30215-4.

And now... to participate in a Bible study on Wisdom of Solomon !

Baptist Assembly in Scotland - like Baptist Assembly in England, and I'm sure in Wales - is always a mix of bane and blessing, interesting and irritating, engaging and exhausting.  And, as ever, I try to focus in my public reflections on what struck me in a positive way.

Two things especially stuck with me, one from Rev Dr John Upton of BWA and the other from Rev Ian MacCauley, a Glasgow minister, and to which I've added the odd thought of my own.

John Upon, focussing on the Ezekiel vision of the valley of dry bones and the events of Pentecost, began with the illustration of hearing a late night radio interview with his favourite gospel singer, a softly spoken woman whose singing voice is rich and powerful.  Asked by the interview how this could be so, she evidently replied "It's the Spirit o' God, honey, it's the Spirit o' God".  What really struck me, though, was the link made between the question from God "can these bones live?" - to which Ezekiel has no useful answer.... "I don't know" - and the heart cries of hurting, marginalised or victmised people.... "Can I ever live....?"  "Will I ever be free...?" or whatever it might be.  Humanly we are powerless to help - but God calls us to 'prophesy to the breath/wind'...

I found myself pondering whether the "cry of dereliction" of Jesus on the cross is, in fact, a hinge-point where his heart cry, fearing he has been abandoned, is simultaneously the voice of God substituted for all who feel abandoned... "can these bones live?  is there hope?  am I truly worthless and abandoned?"

This seemed to link backwards to the previous evening which included a call to vulnerability, based on the John 21 account of Jesus resurrection appearance to his followers.  "Show me your scars, then I will believe" was reread as a call to vulnerability, openness, authenticity... the idea that unless or until we are honest and open about our struggles, willing to reveal our 'scars', people have no reason to believe us when we say faith makes a difference.  No room for faux happiness, happy vacuous Christianity.  On the contrary, it is brokenness, our scars, our willingness to admit when we mess up or fall short, that gives us credibility.

Now, I'm not sure that that is what anyone else heard, but it doesn't worry me in the slightest, because the Spirit o' God, honey, the Spirit o' God blows where it will... maybe it simply resonated with, and authenticated, my own endeavours to open and honest (with appropriate boundaries), something which seems to connect with at least some people, some of the time.

In the last week news has reached me of the deaths of two of the gentlest, most faithful, encouraging Christian men I will ever have the privilege to know.

M was the 'elder' of  my sending church in Warrington, essentially a 'super deacon' chosen and appointed by the then minister on the grounds of his wisdom and experience.  A Londoner by birth, he supported Spurs (three of us in the church at that time were born in Spurs territory!) and had worked for the local council in some fairly senior position prior to retirement.  He was actively supportive of me from the moment I arrived at the church, and delighted in my journey to ordained ministry.  Sadly in recent years his health declined, his short term memory began to fail and he had to step back from some of the duties he had fulfilled with gentleness and grace, always a smile, always a word of encouragement.  Last New Year, when I visited the church (meeting in their hall while their roof was repaired... is it me?!) he was, as ever, sat at the door, handing out hymnbooks, smiling and welcoming people as they arrived.  This, week, after a long illness, he slipped away, closing  an era of service and witness.

P was a member of our neighbouring Church of Scotland, actively involved in work with young people and a leading light in work with international students.  Educated in London (apparently, my source is not quite sure where he was born!) he was a teacher of French in Glasgow his entire adult life.  A competent pianist and a gorgeous tenor, his contributions to joint evening worship were always a delight.  Just a two weeks back he was playing for Sunday evening worship, and I, arriving early, enjoyed some good chat and banter with him.  The next day he left for a speical holiday in Turkey where he died very suddenly.  P was always smiling, he oozed gentleness and wisdom.  A great encourager and supporter of others, genuinely humble and kind.  With his death, another era ends, leaving its legacy of precious memories.

These two wise, gentle men have touched my life more than they ever knew, have encouraged and corrected me, laughed with me, shared with me, and both will be sadly missed.

Two things come to mind as I take a moment to give thanks for them (since for various reasons I can attend neither funeral) ...

P once observed, wisely, in a conversation about a service that had been "interesting" that we don't come to church for what we want, or even to enjoy it, but to worship God.

And M, in response to any account of things turning out alright in the end would say with a warm smile, and a knowing look that recognised the underlying struggle, "God's good."

God is good - to have known M and P has been a great blessing.  May they rest in peace, good and faithful servants.