Yesterday saw me at two gatherings of Baptists, one small in a pub, one large in a church.  One explicitly an act of worship, one specifically an act of friendship.  For me they reflect two equally important aspects of being the church.

The first was initiated by one of my church folk who has a real heart for pastoral work.  Half a dozen of us met in a pub to drink coffee or tea (though at 11 o'clock for some the second round involved "purely medicinal" alcohol!) and have a chat.  It was a good way to spend a couple of hours, and does seem to me to be the way forward for a lot of pastoral work - the Dibley Lunch Club was born of exactly this kind of idea.  Maybe there is the potential here for a regular (monthly? fortnightly?) intentional gathering of folk in a place like this simply to share friendship over coffee.  It could, potentially grow into a mini lunch club, if folk were interested enough and willing to pay pub prices for their meals (Wetherspoons, where we were yesterday does some great deals!).  All that is needed in the short term though, is a core of folk who are willing to commit to be there once a month, maybe one or two willing to act as chauffeurs, and one or two suitable venues.  What I like about this possibility is the fact that the seed is already there, I have not had to 'invent' the idea, simply to see what's there and wonder how to nurture it.  No idea if this will go anywhere yet - have not even spoken to anyone but it seems hopeful...

The second gathering was the city-wide Baptist prayer gathering.  This happens twice a year, and as we are due to host next time (in August) I felt it was important to go along and see what it was like.  With roughly 20 Baptist churches in Glasgow, it isn't too surprising that there were around a hundred people there.  And I am starting to grow used to meeting people who know people I know wherever I go.  When I was in Dibley people thought I knew everyone in the Baptist world - maybe they were nearer right than I realised!  Anyway, I met some friends of one of my friends who has just moved to take up a new pastorate in Kent (J, they say hello btw).  The Baptist world is small, and for the most part it is very friendly.  I recall one of my college friends observing in her final year that although some of her colleagues drove her mad, and although their theologies and preferred styles of worship were poles apart, ultimately she loved these people and they loved her.  She was right.  Last night I found myself bemused and amused by a room full of Baptists singing 'good old redemption hymns' in almost drunken tones - never have I encountered such a thing in England - whilst being simultaneously touched by the sincerity of the singers.  We also sang songs I love - and not even a tiny hint of that song - so all was well.  There were prayers from Tozer and Columba, a couple of Bible readings (which did seem a little random) and a lot of time devoted to praying in small groups for the various churches the Union and the city.  Afterwards, of course, refreshments, though I was by then ready for home as it was getting late.  It was good to be there, interesting to notice the response when I was introduced as one of the new ministers to the area (simultaneously a loud "Hallelujah!" and a few sharp intakes of breath!), helpful to see how the thing works and how it might be adapted to our context and our quieter, more traditional style.  Above all it was good to be out among other Baptists, to be reminded of the diversity of who we are, to sing songs that need a guitar rather than a choir, to step out of routine, and then to come back to the familiar and loved with renewed appreciation.

Where two or three gather... in the pub over coffee or Guinness, in the sanctuary with organ or guitar, in agreement and even in quarrel (check what Matt 18 is actually talking about!) there Christ is present, amidst those funny folk called Baptist.

BBC Scotland has its very own soap opera.  I know it isn't aired in England because whenever I mention it to my friends down south they say 'what?'  I'm not a soap fan, but every now and then I watch the odd episode of something to remind myself what I am not missing.

River City is set in a 'close knit community in Glasgow' and after watching about four episodes, Shieldinch seems as dysfunctional as Walford, Weatherfield or any other soapy place.  But it's fun spotting the accents which reveal the odd interloper from 'Riversaid' where coal is delivered in secks, a few for whom subtitles are almost needed and even the odd stray Sassenach!  Some actors are household names, others are not.  There is a self-deprecating humour that only cities can manage, and although it tackles some issues, it doens't take itself too seriously.

It is good that Scotland has its own soap opera - just a shame no-one south of Carlisle is likely to see it.

Of course here, just off Sheepfold Street in the Summit area of River City, life is nothing like soap-land, but is every bit as diverse and far more fun.

Hard to credit it, I know, but there are two Mephibosheth's referred to in 2 Samuel.  There is the better known one, the one I learned about as a child, the crippled son of Jonathan, to whom David shows great kindness.  And then there's the one born to Saul and Rizpah, who I'd never noticed until I read a wonderful poem for Rizpah in last week's Baptist Times.

It must have been cold there on that hillside

Sackcloth coarse on your skin

Rain chafing, but barely noticed

Mother's grief savaging your heart

Shroud of loneliness as real

As the one denied your sons.

Your lonely vigil the last loving task:

Protecting them now, a last dignity,

Holding them to your breast to soothe and comfort,

No comfort to be found now, for them or you.

I have never heard a sermon on Rizpah.

She joins so many forgotten women.

Stories eclipsed by the 'more importnant'.

Yet I see her face reflected

In daily newscasts of places

We would like, in our comfort, to forget.

Where mothers again hold sons, or daughters,

Where no comfort will be found

But only a hope of dignity in death

As they are wrenched away

By war, famine or greed of others.

And yet again

God's Mother heart is broken.

Jeannie Kendall

Reading the accompanying Bible extract, I felt I had to check a real Bible to make sure there wasn't a transcription error - two Mephibosheth's in as many verses, one who is shown mercy and compassion the other who is slaughtered simply because he is who he is.

2 Samuel 21: 7-10 CEV

David had made a promise to Jonathan with the LORD as his witness, so he spared Jonathan's son Mephibosheth, the grandson of Saul. But Saul and Rizpah the daughter of Aiah had two sons named Armoni and Mephibosheth. Saul's daughter Merab had five sons whose father was Adriel the son of Barzillai from Meholah. David took Rizpah's two sons and Merab's five sons and turned them over to the Gibeonites, who hanged all seven of them on the mountain near the place where the LORD was worshiped. This happened right at the beginning of the barley harvest. Rizpah spread out some sackcloth on a nearby rock. She wouldn't let the birds land on the bodies during the day, and she kept the wild animals away at night. She stayed there from the beginning of the harvest until it started to rain.

The poem focusses on Rizpah and her 21st century contemporaries, obscure women who tend to the mortal remains of their loved ones whose deaths are the result of human inhumanity.  But I am also struck somehow by the two Mephibosheth's, related by blood, separated by circumstance.  The seeming random nature of 'fate' and the mystery of a silent God loom large in these few short verses.  To read on, it does seem that David made provision for a decent burial for Armoni and Mephibosheth, but that doesn't quite make up for what went before.

There is, so I discovered via a web search on Rizpah, also a Tennyson poem called Rizpah here evidently inspired by a newspaper account of the execution of a young man.

Makes you think:

• How little of the Bible we actually know nowadays
• How little we really learn even if we do know

And it just makes you think..

... is it just me, or has January been a very long month?

A minister I spoke to on Sunday said he felt it was interminable...

What do you think?!

Still it ends well.  Sunday is World Leprosy Day, when we will be counting our blessings.  It is also Homeleness Sunday and an opportunity to support various charities in that field.  No one can do everything, so we are sticking to TLM, which includes homelessness issues, at least in so far as they affect people afflicted by leprosy.

If it has been a long month for those of us with many blessings, how much more so for those with no homes, no family or no hope...?

I enjoyed myself on Sunday speaking at a nearby WPCU service.  I was mildly amused to be asked 'are you robing tonight?' since I wasn't even be-collared (no-one having died or needing to be spliced) and slightly bemused by the ritual processing in and out of the Bible (suitably adorned in heavily decorated book marks) to indicate the start and end of the service.  My sermon seemed to be well enough received, even being described as 'refreshing' and only one hymn was sung to a tune I'd never heard before.

Then, belatedly, my Baptist Times arrived yesterday (it is still on Royal Mail re-direction which seems a bit hit and miss) with two articles on ecumenism that seemed to express fatigue, disappointment and even perhaps a degree of cynicism.  A lot of what was observed was valid, but I'm not sure that it needs to lead us into despair.

One writer commented that ecumenism has always been seen as an 'add on' for most people, even many ministers.  I think that's a fair comment - united services tend to be less well attended than others and churches often plan events and outreach 'across' one another.  But that is not a fault of the dream but of local praxis.  In Dibley, we as a church made a conscious decision to close our own service in favour of any united worship, acknowledging but subverting people's reluctance to go out twice in one day; it was often noted that we always had the biggest turnout and was a source of mild irritation that our ecumenical colleagues didn't do likewise.  Here in Glasgow our evening services are always joint with another church and are in the style of neither; compromises have to be made and attendances are never going to be massive - though I have seen a sudden increase since Christmas.  In neither case is it lowest common denominator mush and in neither case is there a sense that we should abandon our distinctive and separate witness, just a recognition that ecumenism is a serious undertaking.  Of course it depends on the ministers, and being a bit of a mongrel myself, albeit a committed Baptist-mongrel, ecumenism is in my blood.  Do I believe in a single organic unity?  No, I don't, at least not in the way I understand it, since I don't think there ever was one.  Do I believe in one Church?  Abso-bloomin-lutely, just not sure how it looks.

Another comment made in the Baptist Times is that LEPs tend to arise where, in my interpretation of the writer's words, two (or more) dying churches join to form one bigger, no less terminally ill, church.  Ecumenism as survival is doomed to fail because it is born of desperation not desire.  The best LEPs, the ones that thrive and blossom, seem to be those in places like Milton Keynes that began life as such.  There will be exceptions, of course, but to join two small congregations motivated by saving money, reducing workloads and 'showing we really are one afterall' simply won't be good enough.

In my, albeit limited, experience, the best practice is that which acknowledges diversity and difference and seeks to affirm each congregation's unique contribution to the 'big' picture.

• There is a Leicestershire village where all the churches have identical signage, apart from their denominational label, thus they all say 'The Church in Bimbleville, Denomination.'  It seems to work.
• In Dibley we did a number of joint outreach events, such as a children's club or a pensioner's tea, and at the end we would refer interested parties to the fellowships that could offer what they were looking for - the parish church for children's work, the Methodists for a women's group, ourselves for a lunch club.  We avoided re-inventing wheels, accepted our niches and refused to compete with one another.
• In many places ecumenical study groups for Lent and Advent prove a real source of joy.
• Lots of initiatives and interests cross denominational boundaries from Christian Aid week to Fairtrade to B2C Sunday

I could waffle on, but it'd soon get boring!

My suspicion is that we get tired and cynical because our view of ecumenism is too narrow, possibly too much 'organic union', possibly too much 'add on extra.'  If we can re-imagine it as unity-in-diversity, as one body in many parts that do not compete but collaborate we may stand a better chance.  Truth is, there is nothing wrong with being a small church, a niche church or even a dying church but everything wrong with seeing ecumenism as the cure for our latest woes.

So, no to robes and yes to joint services; no to ill-considered mergers and yes to shared mission; no to cynicism and yes to hopefulness.

What do others think?  Examples of good practice and encouraging experience would be good to hear.