Today I'm off to the hospital in time for bloods at 9a.m. in turn in time for my oncologist appointment at 11a.m. Hence, given snow and other inevitabilities, such as late running clinics, unlikely to be around much today.  All  seems to be well on that front and hopefully he will be happy with progress again.  In which case dose 5 on Friday... already!

When all this began it was the gorgeous sunny weather of an 'Indian summer' and now it is the treacherous ice of an early winter.  In some ways the climb up Mount Chemo so far has been less unpleasant than I feared; it has its moments when it all feels like a drag but at least the summit is now almost in sight... three weeks to go if I manage to stay well and avoid injuries between this and then.  I think I've been lucky with side effects compared to many people (though from what I gather I've been better at following the rules than a lot of people too!) and for that I am grateful.  I'm glad too that I've been able to carry on working so far - and now with just a few weeks to go hopeful of managing that right through to the end of December.

So, time to wrap up, put on my hiking boots, grab my walking poles (advice from someone yesterday) and step gingerly on the road to health via the road to the hospital.  More news when there is some.

Today I have been reading the passages on John the Baptiser which will inform Sunday's sermon.  What struck me as never before was the frequent use of the word 'joy' in these bits of Luke and John.

Here is Luke 1:14, part of the message given to Zechariah, and old priest who was childless...

You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. (NRSV)

I think that's just a beautiful little verse, one I've read and never seen before.  It is so human, acknowledging perhaps Zechariah's secret yearnings for completion and acceptance in a society where progeny signified piety/righteousness.  Before anything else, this child will delight his parents.  I kind of like that.

We are also using part of John 3 where Baptiser-John speaks of his own joy.  I wonder what he learned from his parents that helped him delight in another's greatness, content to be who he was?  Sure he had his moments of darkness and doubt (eg Luke 7 which we aren't using) but reading today I see not a scary doom-prophet but a bringer of joy... for me a new take on Jordanside Baptiser.

Today the pavements outside my home are decidely icy, though there are bits of near virgin snow if you look for them.  Having to see my GP for some test results, I gingerly threaded my way up the hill in my wellies - definitely a sight for sore eyes.  Walking slowly, taking time to look where my feet went, keeping safe (I really do not need broken bones to add to my fun) and arriving intact at the right time... it seemed a bit like a metaphor for Advent done well.

As I look at various Advent resources, I keep finding people running on ahead - already in Bethlehem, some already with a baby in a manger, some already singing lustily the carols that really ought to be kept in abeyance just a little longer.  Psychologically it's good to build anticipation and tension - to have people aching for the moment that Christmas begins.  Liturgically it's good to take time to travel the journey through scripture visiting prophets and prcolaimers, meeting angels and seeing how the 'big story' sweeps through time.

At church we were given a nativity set - the usual characters and animals all waiting to be placed in a scene.  But we are moving slowly, thoughtfully, sensibly, even gingerly along the path to Christmas.  On Sunday we had just Mary and the angel; next week we will bring in Joseph... and there must be a pause, a waiting until Chiristmas for the storty to develop.  On Advent 4 we may add the ox and ass, signifiying the stable, but baby Jesus will be held back until Christmas Day.  The shepherd (there's only one) will follow, probably on Boxing Day and the wise men (three) will have to wait until nearer Epiphany (though we might start them off in a different part of the church before then).

Advent is not a race, not a mad dash, and Christmas should be the longed-for culmination of aching waiting.  So, whilst I'll continue to enage with those resources that run on ahead, I will stroll along in my wellies, crunching the snow beneath my feet and straining to glimspe the hint of what lies just beyond the horizon.  Advent at a sensible pace.

This via BUGB e-news sweep.  Not sure whether to laugh or cry!

The idea of tracking and tracing Jesus if he's stolen (or escapes) is just sooo bizarre.

Today is the seventh anniversary of my ordination (yesterday was the thirteenth anniversary of my hearing a call to ordained ministry).  It's not a date I tend to keep, but I do like it when it lands at Advent 2 which feels somehow fitting.

What a lot has happened in the 13 years since I heard an almost audible voice from God call me to this role.  And what a lot has happened since that day seven years ago when, as the last of my year group (unlike Spurgeon's, Northern don't do 'batches') to settle I was ordained.

It was with some trepidation that I took up my appointment in Dibley (I'm sure they were "trepidated" too!) as a baby minister, full of ideas about what church could or should be, full of energy but still with one heck of a lot to learn.  During the first three years I was very grateful for the support of the BUGB mentor scheme, the requirement from Northern that we return twice a year for an overnight, and for the support of my much-loved and much-missed Regional Ministers, especially the late Peter Grange who modelled for us so wonderfully his concept of the 'less anxious presence.'  Having to work with many churches in crisis and conflict, Peter had read widely and trained thoroughly in techniques to aid his work.  He had the wisdom to recognise that the theoretical 'non-anxious presence' was a fallacy, and offered his own 'less anxious presence' instead.

Leaving Dibley after as near as makes very little difference six years, I was a fully grown minister, a qualified BUGB mentor, a member of a number of committees local and national and had, I believe, established a track record of competency.  My little church served me well, giving me the space and place to grow into the minister I now am.  I am grateful that they took the risk of calling me all those years ago.

And now just over a year into life in Glasgow, I am privileged to part of a church that is happy and growing.  Growing in numbers for sure, but also growing in other ways I suspect too.  We have people coming forward to take responsibilities and other people just quietly picking up when something needs to be done ('needs doing' for English readers, 'needs done' for Scots ;-) ).  The last couple of Sundays when we've had problems with the heating and the electricity have shown the strength of commitment as people have 'kept calm and carried on' bringing in blankets and portable heaters, making extra hot drinks, helping each other on the snow and so on.

Seven years on from when I was ordained I have undoubtedly changed a lot.  My theology continues to evolve (are those words allowed in the same sentence?!) and I continue to wrestle with what it means to be a minister and to be a church in this day and age.  I am qualified as a mentor for both BUGB and BUS (pretty rare I suspect) though have yet formally to support any students, BUGB NAMs or BUS PAMs (not that PAMs are called PAMs but still, you get my drift).  I am sort of involved with various bits of Baptist and ecumenical life, though at the moment much of that has to be 'on hold'.  Above all I think I continue to learn what it means to be a 'less anxious presence' entrusted by God and by people to lead something so precious and vulnerable as a church.

Now and then, as I hear news from my friends in the 'real world' I wonder what I might be doing now if I'd stayed in that world - ignoring or defying the call to ministry.  But I never have any regrets, never wish my path had been different, not even though at times it has been pretty hellish.  At risk of offending my more sacramental friends, I still don't have a sacramental view of ordination, and I don't think anything ontologically occurred when words were spoken.  But being a minister is what I am, probably what I always was, and I am happy to be seven years old today!