A letter arrived today from one of my former neighbours in Dibley telling me that the houses where the old church stood are now complete and the first of them are occupied.  There was much speculation as to the name that might be given to the new cul-de-sac formed for seven of the nine properties (two fronted onto the existing street).  Among others, the hot favourite/anti-favourite was 'Henry Dennis Way' suggested independently by several Dibley Baptists and dreaded by others.  I secretly hoped for either 'Chapel Close' or 'Baptist Close'.  In the end it has been named 'Old Church Close', which, even if it is slightly awry in detail*, I think is rather fitting.  DBC is an old church - dating back to at least 1749 - and it is still close by, meeting within 400 yards of the site and with its graveyard just across the fields.

I hope the folk who live in Old Church Close will be happy, that their views over the fields will give them as much joy as they gave me, and that they will come to love the crazy world of Dibley with all its idiosyncracies and irritations!

*I'm not sure about Scotland yet, but in England and Wales protestant nonconformist church buildings are traditionally called chapels; it's a shame the local council didn't reflect this in their naming, but at least they recognised the symbolism.

So, I'm walking to church and I see a familiar looking van from this company (I can only find truck images)

Which makes me smile because I used to see them all the time - they are based half a mile from where I used to live.

So, I'm in the supermarket at Piccadilly station in Manchester buying bottled water (among other things) and it is this:

Which makes me smile because I can see where it comes from (allegedly) from my living room window.

So, the world is small.

Most NT parables are not explained.  Jesus left it to the hearers to work it out.  So the parable of the ducks, so the mother eagle.

Like all metaphors and models they are imperfect and pushed too far they collapse, but they are offered as they are, to do with as you wish.

Here is one of my images for pastoral leadership

When eagle chicks reach a certain age, it is time for them to learn to fend for themselves.  The father eagle goes off and does whatever father eagles do, leaving the mother to teach her chicks to fly.

She nudges the chicks out of the nest onto the ledge and then with a suitable shove launches them into the air.  Bewildered and confused, they plummet earthwards and the mother swoops down, catches them on her wings and flies back up to safety.  She then launches them off again and again repeating the process until they finally work out that flapping their wings is a good idea.

As the air rushes past them and as they soar skywards the eagle chicks discover who they are and why they were born... the mother's work, in this respect at least, is now done.

So this is my version of Stuart Blythe's version of Tony Campolo's parable of the ducks...

The duck students were excited, today was the long promised visit of Professor Aylesbury Mallard, distinguished scholar of duck anatomy, and she was going to give a lecture on the wing - not that is, that she was going to make it up as she went along, it was a lecture about the wing.

So, after waddling around the detritus of their student flat gathering pencils and paper, the students waddled down the road to University of the West of Duckland and into K block where the lecture was due to be held.  The room filled, and the ducks eagerly waited for the lecture to begin.  In waddled the professor, laden with with handouts that explained the minutest details of the anatomy of the wing.  Powerpoints showed the layout of bones and tendons, feathers were passed round to be examined and admired.  The ducks frantically scribbled or typed notes, amazed at all she had to say.

The lecture neared its end and the professor lowered her voice.  Our student ducks craned forward, eager to hear what she said, but could not quite catch it.  The ducks at the front leaned nearer and the professor spoke again, whispering something important.  Soon the mesage spread as, row by row, the students joined in the cry, 'fly, fly!'  Soon the air was filled with loud quacking as every duck joined the chorus.

Then the clock chimed the hour, the lecture ended, and the ducks waddled out the leacture room and back up the hill to their flat discussing what they had learned...