This is the third Sunday of Advent, for most of us Proddy nonconformists essentially the final one because next week will be nativity services and 'candles by carol light'  and variations there-on.  I have no problem with this, indeed, I love the 'traditional' fourth Sunday given over slightly non-liturgically correct anticipatory celebration.  Over the last couple of days, I finally worked out the direction that this year's advent services have taken (I'm a bit slow sometimes!!).

Week 1 we were 'spotting the signs' recognsiing that even amidst all the chaos and troubles of the world there are signs of God's activity, signs of hope.

Week 2 we were 'getting ourselves ready' and used Paul's prayer for the church at Philippi (chapter 1 of the letter) as a basis for some personal spiritual clearing out of clutter, the 'removal of dross by fire' and 'washing with fullers soap' of the prophet

Week 3 we are 'being joyful' and using Philippians 4 as the centre of our thoughts.  Joy not as a feeling (it isn't) or an option (it isn't) but as an imperative and as evidence of God's work within us (cf Galatians 5).  Having cleared out the clutter there is space for beauty - gentleness, peace, prayerfulness, hopefulness.  Not mere tinsel put up for a few days, but permanent fixtures.  Wow!

Week 4 - we will be quite ready to celebrate as the children and young people lead our morning worship and as we welcome ecumenical friends and visitors for our evening carol service.

Always good when it comes together... especially when we discover what God has been doing as we (I) have blundered through it all again.

A murder is always bad news.  When it happens almost on your doorstep it is very bad news.

I never met Nasim Jamil, though it's possible I passed her in the street.  Indeed, I had never heard of her until her death hit the national headlines.

It transpires that some of the mums from toddlers knew her or have relatives and friends who did.

Today all that can be done is to weep with those who weep.

This is a proud and diverse city, and as we prepare our hearts to welcome, afresh, the Prince of Peace may that peace fill this place once more.

Eternal rest grant unto her, Oh Lord, may she rest in peace.

(Photo from BBC Scotland website)

I was half awake listening to the 6 a.m. Radio 2 news this morning and heard something about Rowan Williams being a tad irritated that politicians (I think) saw religious belief was something for 'oddities, minorities and foreigners'.  I might well not have heard properly and it was undoubtedly out of context and I am 100% certain the arch bish has no problem with any of the above people-groups, but it made me think (even in my blearly minded state!).

Without the oddities, minorities and foreigners my church would be pretty empty on a Sunday.  Sure, I have many, many folk who are stable and able, and even a majority of White British Scots.  But actually the church (and I'm sure RW would agree wholeheartedly) chooses to embrace the odd, minor and foreign, to be a bit marginal and liminal and radical and such like.  If the powers that be dismiss that as lesser, well that's their loss... just maybe they'd do well to look back at a bit of history to discover that it was those odd/minor/foreign folk who began public education, hospitals, hospices, prison reform, credit unions, etc. etc. etc.

As for me, well hey, a white English female Baptist minister in Scotland... that's pretty odd, foreign and minor!!

Tim has just posted a rather poignant photo of their former church and its surrounding community at their blog and if you click on the title of the post it opens up a gallery of photos.

As a kind of solidarity among tabernaclers, here's one of mine from Dibley which is not disimilar in feel/context.

The end of my first year as minister of Dibley saw the enforced closure of the much-loved sanctuary exactly a week before Christmas.  We were forced to make rapid phone calls to other churches to find places we could meet for our Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day and then ever after services.  I trekked up (and down) the hill where the manse and church stood with a case full of candles, Bible, notes, CDs and whatever else was needed.  But the welcome was there and we discovered new insights into the "Christmas Story."

This year some friends of mine in a little (brick as it happens) Tabernacle in East Manchester have been forced to move out into the nomadic existence I had come to know rather well.  For them, Sundays are sometimes in their front room, sometimes in borrowed buildings, sometimes as guests of others, sometimes outside.  A faithful and courageous little community camping in a city.

And now I am once more in a city, vibrant with life and bustling with people of diverse ethnicity and social group.  Once more a church that is camping, tabernacling, albeit in it's own 'back garden', and has been for several years.  Here, as elsewhere, people gather week by week, putting out chairs, making a temporary worship space in the room we use for pretty much everything.  Once more, I am seeing new slants on an old story.

I know quite a few 'tabernacling' churches.  Some have deliberately chosen this model, some have had it thrust upon them.  Some are doing it for a reason or a season, others by choice or circumstance will do it for life.  Some feel it is second best, others see it is a great opportunity.  As for me, I delight in the flexibility and freedom it offers, whilst recognising the constraints and challenges it brings.

I recall, when I was a teenager, hearing a version of the prologue to John's gospel which said that God's word 'came and tabernacled among us.'  I guess there is something gospel and incarnational about being a tabernacling church, a church that is a little bit precarious, a little bit vulnerable, a little bit temporary, a little bit on the margins... a little bit like the craziness of God born as a peasant baby who grew into a wandering preacher maybe...?

To all fellow tabernacling churches everywhere (and especially in Dibley and East Manchester)... this Christmas-tide may you find afresh the wonder of the Christ-child who shares your vulnerability and courage, and may you be blessed as your bless those around you.