By the wonders of advance posting and Google search engines...

Hope yours is truly special

I would love to claim that I took this photo, but actually I stole it from the web.  The snow in the photo is far deeper, crisper and, um, evener than the stuff I attempted to photograph this morning.  The combination of my lack of photographic skill, the level of light and possibly my very basic camera meant that the lovely view I saw with my eyes never quite made it to pixel-land.  If you time it right, there is a wonderful trick of the light whereby a street light shines through the rear-most dome of the Kibble Palace giving it a golden glow piercing the darkness of an early Glasgow morning.  The former BBC building and other nearby residential blocks form stark silhouettes against a purple-gold-fuchsia sky and it is truly a sight to behold.  Then a few moments later it is gone as daylight floods the city, the traffic roars along arterial roads and work begins.

In this part of the city we have very little snow, though side streets resemble skating rinks and last night I found myself uttering a middle-aged 'tut' at the child who was sledging down the path of the Botanics (why when there is all that grass....?).  As the nation struggles on, we are able to enjoy something that only university cities can appreciate - the stillness of the lack of students.  The city is given back to its longer term residents for a few days and we enjoy the space that results (though I suspect some of the cafes desperately miss the trade).

As radio and television issue warning after warning of snow and chaos, and as we sort out our own contingency plans (the snow on the roof is probably about 1 to 2mm, and there is no more evidence of plaster spalling, in case anyone is worried!) it is good to take a moment to enjoy the wintry city.  Later today I will be out and about making a couple of visits, procuring the last few bits I need for upcoming events and enjoying (in a way probably only I do) the buzz of last minute shoppers desperately seeking that elusive gift.  And then, before we know where we are, it will be over again.  All the preparation concentrated into a few short hours of high intensity before life moves on.

I will be taking a few days out from blogging and then, after conducting a wedding on Monday, a week off to visit (roads permitting) family and friends at various degrees of southness from here.  So this is my Christmas card for 2009.

The golden glow shining through the glass dome has a kind of defiance that echoes the words of the gospel - the lights shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot defeat it.  2009 has seen a lot of changes, and for a lot of people whose paths crossed mine a lot of darkness, my prayer for all is that the indefatigable light of Christ glimpsed this Christmastime will bring courage, hope and peace for a future as yet unknown.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, whatever you are doing this Christmas, may God bless you.

Emerging from a few totally non-serious prayer requests, and the need to confess to my own folk that actually I didn't 'hex' the snow on Sunday cos (a) I don't know how to and (b) the BU would probably excommunicate me if I did...

Dear God, recognising that all things are possible for you, and that there is nothing you like better than answering the prayers of your children offered in faith, we humbly beseech you:

To let it snow, let it snow, let it snow, but only at night

And that the snow you give us might be deep, crisp and even,but confined to parks and gardens, excluding the paths, slopes and steps, so that children can play and old people pass in safety

That you would hold back the hand of the evil spirit of 50mm-on-the-church-roof lest we should be forced to cancel our services

That you would keep clear all roads, railways lines, airports, channel tunnels and sea lanes, or, failing that, make the drifts to part as did the red sea to allow safe passage to your children.

That you would arrange, for all Christmas weddings, that there be a smooth, crisp covering of non-slip snow on the ground, an azure blue sky and an ambient temperature of around 18C

Or, failing that, realising that you are not a benign genie and recognising that actually you promise to answer faithful prayers consistent with your will

Grant us enough common sense to know when to stay indoors rather than risking life and limb to go out

Grant us enough generosity of spirit to look out for those who may be trapped in their homes, alone and lonely, with only a radio for company

Grant to children freedom from exploitation or abuse and the gift of innocent enjoyment and the making of memories

Keep safe all those whose work it is maintain as best they can the transport networks of our land, giving them wisdom in their decision making and strength in their endeavours.  For emergency services, hospitals, emergency shelters and commercial enterprises, grant compassion, skill and generosity.

For those who begin relationships we pray for life-long love and mutual trust; for those bereaved, separated or divorced, we pray for comfort and courage

For our worship and our mission, may we remember the 'why' as well as the 'what' so that decisions to proceed or cancel are informed by your wisdom and your love extended to those who lives intersect with ours.

Lord, in your mercy, transform our wants into your will, that we may glorify him whose name we bear, even Christ our Lord, Amen.

Yesterday was one of my favourite days in the pre-Christmas rush, the day when the morning service is taken by the Sunday School (if you are blessed with one; for me this was the first time since I left Manchester...) and the evening is the carol service (or candles by carol-light or lessons and carols or some variation on the same theme).

I love the children's nativity service, always slightly unpredictable - we had our own minor panic when the Virgin Mary was sick the day before (quite apposite I'd have thought...) and we had one uncooperative shepherd who chose to hide under a chair for part of the service - and always guaranteed to evoke lots of emotion in the congregation, perhaps recalling when they, too, were 'third angel from the right' or bravely announced in their best voice 'we have no room.'  O maybe, like me, it is because such an event marked the start of their own (conscious at any rate) faith journey.  I love the earnest faces of little children, of the six-year old Mary who whispers her 'yes' to God's call on her life, the over-exuberant boy-Joseph who drags his expectant wife at high speed along the road to Bethlehem, of the coy-preteen playing wise-man three or arch-angel Gabriel and hoping no-one from school sees them in a halo or crown, and so on and so on (not all of these were evident yesterday but they were out there somewhere).  I love the mix of mystery and wonder, of make-believe and truth and the sense that God is at work.

And I love the carol service, the walk through dark streets (and yesterday with snow falling) into the cosiness of the church where the participants wait in quiet expectation.  The pre-service buzz of chatter stills and we find ourselves drawn gently through familiar readings and carols, blended with some newer material (which depending on location could be film, drama, choir, poetry or prose).  Yesterday our first reading, the prologue to John, was read in a rich, velvety Welsh accent by one of our members, and I was, momentarily transported to any small Victorian chapel with hard, polished pews, a draught round my feet, and secure familiarity of church tradition: 'hear, then the word of the Lord according to the gospel of John...'  A carol later and the delightful rawness of a child's east Glasgow accent led us through the Isaiah 11 'stump of Jesse' reading.  Again, in my mind's eye I was transported elsewhere, to school halls with their familiar smell of disinfectant, boiled cabbage and wax-crayon, to the uncertain enunciation of strange words and the chest-bursting pride of being asked to read.  As our reader finished, she paused for half a second, uncertain what to do next, then she said 'and that's it' before she sat down.  And so it continued, the lovely blending of a choir of children from a less privileged part of town with the adult voices of two church choirs, the familiar Bible texts in assorted British accents, the reflective pieces from diverse theological stables...

And that's it... another year's carol services are done and dusted.  The magic happens (and I don't apologise for using that word - the word Magi has the same root), we are drawn beyond ourselves to other times and places, connected or re-connected with those who share our faith, and, mysteriously, encounter again the God who chooses to be born as a baby.  And that's it... that's the point.

I have no idea what the little girl who uttered those words last night might be doing today, or will be doing over Christmas.  I cannot know what her life is like now or how it will work out.  But last night, in a moment of uncertainty over what to do next, her words made so much sense.  'A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse...' and that's it.  That's what we commemorate, that's what we celebrate, that's what we anticipate.  Amen and amen.

'Good Catriona she went out

On 20th December

Checked the snow that lay about

Wasn't deep enough to close church'

Among the 'things they never taught me at college' is that the decision to close the church because of snow lies, ultimately, with the minister.  For most people in most churches that means, 'are the roads so treacherous or the car park so slippery that it would be too dangerous for people to get to church?'  Here it means, 'is the snow loading on the roof such that our insurance is void.'  Setting aside that we aren't quite sure if it 50mm or 100mm that triggers this decision, and setting aside that I'd have thought the density/compaction of said snow would be a factor, and setting aside that actually we couldn't physically get up there to check the depth defintively without risky life and limb in all manner of other ways, it was with some relief that as I walked through the park, ending up looking like an abominable snow-woman, that I could see quite clearly that the snow was quite definitely thin (< 5mm), soft and mushy (not compacted).  So barring a sudden blizzard during the time we are at worship - which we won't see because we'll be inside with the doors closed - we wont be 'calling it' any time soon.  Oh, and regarding the massive blizzard during the service - I reckon I'd argue 'time at risk' and dazzle the insurers with phrases like 'ten thousand year return period' if worst came to worst.  Which it won't.

'Therefore Gatherers all be sure

As you come to worship

That your Rev is on the case

And the roof's not bro-o-ken!'

Joking aside, keeping our folk safe is a real responsibility, whether it is icy paths, freezing meeting rooms or wonky steps.  I'm glad that folk here take seriously the conditions of insurance rather than saying (as I have heard elsewhere) "oh, God will never let that happen."

Now I must do some proper work before worship!!