Today I just want to share a hymn I have loved since I learned it from the Roman Catholics amongst whom I spent a year of my training time a decade ago (where did the years go?).

In recent weeks I've watched quite a few sunrises (made better by the fact that they are now happening later so they no longer have anything to do with insomnia) each beautiful in its own way, and today's was epesically lovely.

The first verse of the hymn has always intrigued me, with its hints of struggle (shadows) in even the brightest of days.  It seems to be a popular choice for RC funerals, yet it also has echoes of the more familiar 'Lord of all hopefulness' as it takes the singer/reader through the day as well as, metaphorically, the whole of life.

Enjoy.

I watch the sunrise lighting the sky,
Casting its shadows near.
And on this morning, bright though it be,
I feel those shadows near me.
But you are always close to me,
following all my ways.
May I be always close to you,
following all your ways, Lord.

I watch the sunlight shine through the clouds,
Warming the earth below.
And at the mid-day, life seems to say:
'I feel your brightness near me.'
For you are always close to me,
following all my ways.
May I be always close to you,
following all your ways, Lord.

I watch the sunset fading away,
Lighting the clouds with sleep.
And as the evening closes its eyes,
I feel your presence near me.
For you are always close to me,
following all my ways.
May I be always close to you,
following all your ways, Lord.

I watch the moonlight guarding the night,
Waiting till morning comes.
The air is silent, earth is at rest-
Only your peace is near me.
Yes, you are always close to me,
following all my ways.
May I be always close to you,
following all your ways, Lord.

John Glynn (b. 1948) © 1976 Kevin Mayhew Ltd
9 6 9 7 and refrain

Today it is raining heavily in Glasgow... stoating, bouncing, stair-rods, cats 'n' dogs, bucketing, whatever expression you want it is doing it.  And in a few minutes I will wrap up in my waterproofs, pick up my jolly frog umbrella and walk through it to the first of today's appointments.

I like walking in rain, so long as it's a chosen, if necessary, activity.  When conditions are right, I like getting soaked to the skin and then enjoying the warmth of getting dry again afterwards!  I like splashing in puddles (I never quite grew up) though I don't like it when drivers see splashing pedestrians as a fun game to play.  I like the shinyness of the washed world after the rain, and the rich smell of freshly watered earth.

Today I like simply that I can go out in the rain, that I have health and strength enough so to do.  I like that there is almost always loveliness if we seek it.

Nothing especially profound, just the joy of life in all its fullness.

This week we will be beginning a short preaching series looking at the Bible and how we use (misuse and maybe even abuse) it.

Last Sunday someone came in just as the service was ending and I got chatting to her as I stood at the door.  It turns out she is a Piskie who moved west a year or more ago and has yet to find a church.  She asked about our services and then said 'you do preach the Bible don't you?'  I can guess what she meant but it caused an inner chuckle in the light of current intentions.

For some reason my Baptist Times didn't arrive until Saturday and I was delayed in reading it, but it had an Outside Edge column on.... reading the Bible and the danger of thinking it is all sewn up in one reading.

Hmm...

This week I'm playing around a bit with authority, the Barthian WORD, Word, word scheme, and the ideas that 'the word of God is alive and active' and that it 'became flesh and dwelled among us.'  Whether it will make any sense, whether this person will be at church and what anyone might make of it remains to be seen.

Other themes we will be looking at include handling difficult texts and the dangers of proof-texting & out of context citations.  In between we will have a multi-lingual service for Bible Sunday, supporting Scottish Bible Society.

Yesterday's service ended with us singing 'Great is Thy Fathfulness' in the BPW version.  It makes a good harverst hymn, reminding us of God's fidelity and providence.  In the version we used it has these words:

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow

These are the blessings your love will provide

I think I prefer that to 'blessings all mine with ten thousand beside' as it feels, in the 21st century, that the original is a bit materialistic (far from its author's intent I'm sure).  Strength for today, hope for tomorrow - what more is needful?  Blessing enough for me to have these two.

It is a shame that this wonderful hymn seems largely consigned to the box labelled 'funeral hymns' and I'm glad that we employed in the context of celebration yesterday.

I have found bits of Matthew 18 coming to mind over the last few days as the "drug induced alopecia" has taken hold.  Despite my worst fears, the loss of my hair has not reduced me to gibbering wreck, rather it just feels like one more step on the road to health.  It's been a tall stile, if I hold to my long-distance footpath metaphor, and it teases me with the prospect of another just ahead when the residual more tenacious hairs (around 10% of total, those in the 'rest' rather than the 'growth' phase apparently) are shorn and shaved.  Nonetheless, the over-riding feeling is a sense that it is 'better to be bald and alive rather than hairy (can't think of a nice word!) and dead.'  All of which took me to Matthew 18 with its injunction to amputate parts of the anatomy that lead to sin/stumbling in order to enter life rather than retaining them and burning.

It made me wonder about the way in which we imagine resurrections bodies/life in heaven - if we actually give any thought to it all.  Mostly people seem to imagine their current body perfected, at least perfected as per some beauty magazine.  A kind of permanent, perfected 25 year-old self in full health and with perfect faculties.  Which doesn't quite fit with Matthew 18.  And it buys into a lie about what 'perfection' and 'normality' really are anyway.  I recall many years ago hearing of someone who was a lifelong wheelchair user saying that in their imagination everyone in heaven had a wheelchair; and why not - who defines 'normal' or 'whole' as being able to walk or run unaided?

I've also found myself wondering what other little challenges to the 'body beautiful' myth might be justified.  Jesus told people that there would be no marriage in heaven, presumably, in part, as there is no need for procreation.   Which seems to render a lot of body parts redundant.  And so it could go on if we actually took the time and effort to wonder just what really matters, just what of our physicality might (and it can only be might, because we don't know for sure it will be physical anyway) survive into eternity.

The necessity to amputate rather than burn is a scary one.  The necessity to endure temporary or permanent disfigurement in order to live, if undesired, is a copable one.  The idea that wholeness is not measured by number or function of limbs, organs or hairs is vital to enabling us to accept and love ourselves as we are - made in God's image and likeness.  Which makes me wonder... is God bald?! ;-)