Challenge to the reader/viewer - which character in the picture is my relative (artist self portrayal) and what is the name and breed of the dog (which I recall patting when I was a child on a rare visit to Scotland... an obscure claim to fame!)

My Dad used to say, among other things, the following

1. If you can't say something nice, say nothing
2. If there's nothing worth saying, say nothing
3. (Of people who talked twaddle) he/she opens their mouth and their belly rumbles

Today I can't think of anything worth saying (I could grumble about the failures of various postal systems that have caused me hassle in the last few weeks, but that contradicts both constraints) and you really don't want to be subjected to the gurglings of my digestive system.  So, I'll shut up until there is something worth reading/sharing.

Maybe that somehow fits with the fact that this Sunday's evening worship will include a lot of quiet/silence?

For various reasons, most of them good, it has felt of late that I've have at best misplaced, and possibly lost, the plot.  This was epitomised by the realisation that I had planned (?!) to be in two venues, 360 miles apart, simultaneously...  In the noise of the gaudy quiz show 'uh-err'; in the noise of a former radio programme 'quack quack oops.'

As I have said to various of my lovely Gatherers, I you find a plot lying around somewhere let me know, it just might be mine...!

Just now and again little miracles happen - well that is to say, we notice them when they do.

Just now and again we glimpse the mystery of how God works in, through, with and despite us.

Yesterday was one such day.

I always worry if my work mobile phone rings after 10p.m. - who is dead or dying!  But this was someone who is sufficiently otherworldly that the hour would not even have been noticed, it was, thankfully only 10:30, and, because I had some visitors, I was still up!

A haitus had been overcome through the grace of three angels, and a person who every now and then undergoes radical shifts of opinion had made one.

As the title of a song I never learned because the grammar appalled me would express it, 'ain't God good'.

I had an 'interesting' conversation today about all age worship with someone who isn't keen on the idea.  All of which got me wondering how the gospels might have looked if Jesus hadn't been so keen either...

And immediately it came to pass that, after these things, people were bringing their children to Jesus for him to bless them.  Some of the babies were hungry so they cried; some of the toddlers were tired, so they grizzled; some of the parents were at their wits' end so they snapped at their little ones.  And Jesus was much miffed at the interruption to the (three chapters long) sermon he was preaching and glowered at parents and children alike.  His voice rose in volume and pitch as he uttered 'let the little ones come unto to me for a maximum of fifteen minutes then take them away for age-appropriate entertainment so that the adults get their turn uninterrupted by grizzles and wails and, heaven forbid, breast-feeding.'  And the parents' faces spoke volumes, and the toddlers wept because they had been promised stories, and the babies sensed the atmosphere and wailed all the louder.  And it came to pass that, after these things, upon the green grass where the multitude had gathered, there were no children, and no parents and the crowd grew ever quieter and smaller - but at least Jesus could be heard by those who remained...

Thank goodness it wasn't like that.

I do appreciate that wails and grizzles can be distracting, that children do need to learn that worship is not play time (though hopefully it can be fun) and that some people are embarrassed by 'mothers of today' who feed in public.  But what really winds me up isn't any of the above - it's the fifty-pluses who chatter all through the service, root through their bags for their offering during the intercessions and moan about the hymn choices.  So now you know!

Next challenge - how to explain this graciously....!

I know this is very much a minority voice, and I do want to respond kindly, but it's not so easy when I am convinced that the way we have collectively agreed to go in this respect is so utterly right and so utterly gospel.

OK. Rant over.