On Sunday morning I 'did one of my things' whereby I invited people to write, draw or symbolise their prayers for others (or for themselves) on the back of a sparkly gift tag shaped like a tree decoration (I got mine in Wilkinson's in Dibley on my flying visit a couple of weeks back but I'm sure they can be procured pretty much anywhere) and then to come forward, if they so wished, and add their prayer to the church Christmas tree.  Whilst this took place we sang over and over the Taize chant 'In the Lord I'll be ever thankful.'

I was thrilled with how many people took part in this act of worship, and how varied and lovely the prayers - the invitation to draw or symbolise prayers is always amazingly liberating for people who are shy of speaking them out, even in writing.  One person commented to me how lovely it was to see the prayers of God's people on the tree.  And the tree does look rather beautiful, I have to admit (despite me almost knocking it over this morning as I moved it to take the photo!).

In a couple of hours we will hold our final Advent prayer lunch, when folk will gather to share a short time of guided reflection and prayer before sharing soup, bread and cheese and donating to Christian Aid.  I have loved every moment of this, as I used to 'down south', from preparing the liturgy to setting out the room and buying the bread.  Michel Quoist, the French worker priest observed that the whole of life could be a prayer - which is as well when I am rushing hither, thither and yon seeking to make ready for a space for stillness (superb irony, eh?).

Today our reading is the mysterious and beautiful prologue to the fourth gospel, as we ponder the miracle of the incarnation.  Whilst buying the bread this morning, I decided to treat us all to some festive biscuits - but the posh supermarket is a bit limited in this respect, so we ended up with a selection of cinnamon, chocolate and oatmeal 'people-shaped' biscuits.  It seems somehow apposite that as we ponder word made flesh we will munch non-gingerbread men.  Just hope there are no high sacramentalists present...!

Recently a number of people at church have been reading John Bell's 'Ten Things They never Told Me About Jesus' and commenting on how refreshing it is.  I have just read it.  It's a really easy read and I guess what struck me most was that whilst it didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, I have rarely heard anyone outside of a theology class speak about any of it.  So why is that?  Why do we who have been privileged to spend time really reading the gospels, discovering what first century Israel/Palestine was really like and glimsping new insights then revert to twee Victorian twaddle when we get into the pulpit?  Actually, we don't all, and we don't always.  Some of what he said I have said in sermons; some of it I have heard friends and colleagues say in sermons.  But maybe we need to find creative ways of helping more people to discover for themselves not just these ten things, but how to discover 'more light and truth' from the Scriptures.

It really shouldn't surprise us to know that Jesus was fully male, had a sense of fun, liked food, got angry with evil and so on; these are things I've known for decades, long before I studied theology, so I was a bit surprised others didn't.  But it is true that there are people aplenty who want to turn him into a feelingless plaster saint: I do recall someone telling me that Jesus on the cross was serene despite clear contradictory evidence in the gospels.

I think the big thing I gained from reading the book was not what it said, or even how it said it, but the reminder that it is all too easy to collude with untrue or unhelpful understandings of what the scriptures say and to deny others the blessing of learning to read them as 'grown up children' curious and open to discovering new and wonderful things of God.  I think I feel a possible study series coming on!!

Check out this link if you want to find something that will either make you smile or tut (or both).  HT BUGB e-news sweep.

I guess the question to ask ourselves is, why do we react as we do to this cartoon?  And why have I not been smited instantly from above for posting it maybe?!

(As an aside, I sent the link to an agnostic friend and had an interesting MSN chat as a result - maybe this is a mission opportunity?!)

Buy the Christmas Radio Times.  This a Pauline imperative!!  Why?  Because it contains a version of The Twelve Days of Christmas by laureate Carol Anne Duffy that you simply must read.  If you live in Oz or the Czech republic or somewhere that doesn't sell it, well, persuade your friends to post you a copy.  It may be online if you look hard enough.  But just buy it.  And read it.  And think on it...

Sunday evening just gone was very special.  To a casual observer it may have seemed to be a simple, if beautifully crafted, reflective service for Advent 3.  But for those in the know, it was something very special.

There are not many instances of Baptists and Church of Scotland folk sharing worship regularly together; far less where they share communion.  We are probably especially unusual in that we swap-preside.  For Baptists this is really no big deal; our theology and ecclesiology mean we can, and do, allow all sorts of people, lay and ordained, to preside.  For the C of S it is massive, needing approval of the Kirk Session and special dispensation to receive from a non-ordained person in a Baptist church (whilst, in common with most traditions, in their own place it must be an ordained person).  You have to know this to understand what happened on Sunday evening.

Our worship was led by a C of S minister in training (I think that's the right word) and it was the first time ever she was presiding at communion - something she could do in our church but not her own (at least so far as I understand it; again this is not unike many other traditions, even URC and Methodists do not allow their trainees to preside).

To be present at such a moment is privilege indeed.  I recalled how much preparation I put into my own 'first communion' and how terrified I was of messing it up.  It made me pause to recall just how great the privilege that we heretic Baptists take for granted of allowing anyone we choose to undertake this task for us.  Who am I, that I should be allowed to lead God's people in this way?

Part of the beauty of the moment was bits that didn't quite fit neatly.  Some slightly mixed theology - virtual trans-substantiation language sat in the same sentence as pure memorialism (all bases covered then!) - and some uncertainty about whether to hold onto the wine or drink it straight away - so the the C of S drank and the Baptists held.  None of this mattered, because the moment was bigger than any of this.  And it was smaller.  A group of twenty odd folk gathered in a church hall on a cold December evening unnoticed by the world at large.  A bit like a supper in a borrowed room in Jerusalem a couple of thousand years ago where a man made it up as he went along, and his friends found themselves specially privileged.

When you break bread, when you drink wine, remember...

Thank you J for a very special privilege, may God bless you as you bless others in your ministry