Lunch Club day today - one of the highlights of my month.  It was proper driecht (which I still cannot remember how to spell, depsite having been told by real Scots several times) this morning, and by the time we returned home, fine, chilling rain was falling.  I was glad of stew and dumplings followed by rice pudding and jam - proper comfort food!

For several of our folk this was the first time they'd been out this week - and would probably be the last unless the weather improved.  Sobering to think what a high spot this monthly lunch is for so many people.

This month we had an unusually high number of sickness absences - another sign that winter is on its way - and the really sad task of refunding an advance payment for the Christmas dinner to someone who will be dead by then.  There was something very poignant about that, not least because this person has relatively recently found happiness in a new romantic relationship.  Such is the fragility and tentative nature of golden years romance.

We also had a new member, a woman who has an MBE and is remarkably proud of the fact, and makes sure everyone knows, something which annoys several others.  It is a shame that we can't always look fast the veneer to see the frail and frightened human inside, the lonely woman who has fund-raised tirelessly for charity and now faces long, empty days herself.

The whole event seemed to have a cosy glow about it, an unhurried pace, a sense of wellbeing and welcome.  I hope that in some small measure we brought into the lives of these folk the Light that cannot be extinguished and the hope that is beyond age.

Last night the Girls' Brigade began work on their nativity musical play.  This year someone from their church is organising this, which is great.  My gripe, and it happens every year, is that all the characters, apart from Mary, are male - there is a census man, a male angel called Foghorn Fred, even the generic people are referred to as 'he' rather than 'they.'  Hopefully by next week the script will have been suitably amended - so we will have a census person and Foghorn Freda.  What is more sad, is that most people in churches just don't get it.  When the evidence seems to be that our Sunday Schools, like our churches, have more girls than boys, then it's about time our drama scripts reflected this.  Why should the girls have to be non-speaking angels or narrators if they aren't the 'chosen one' who gets to be Mary by dint of her blond hair and blue yes? Grumble, mumble, rant.

An abortive attempt at a sermon, a walk to the bank, the ordering of some 200 Christmas crackers, and various degrees of mulling later, I think I have some thoughts...

An honest grief - a grief that does not pretend everything is alright when it clearly isn't, that acknowledges pain, questions, regrets, doubts, whatever it may be, for that person at that time.

A hopeful grief - a grief that sees death not as the end but as part of something else, that, despite the pain etc., looks beyond itself not in a pious, pie-in-the-sky way, but trusts in God's promises

A joyful grief - joy is not the same as happiness, but it is a quality that allows for smiles and laughter, celebration and remembering, whilst avoiding false cheerfulness

A mysterious grief - a grief that recognises that death is a mystery, that we cannot fully know what follows, that we can never really understand what happens, but we know (intuitively?) that something is going on.  Linked with hope, we know that ultimately all will be well

A timely grief - a grief that is expressed at the right time, not being repressed or suppressed but also not being measured according to some psychological scheme with phases and timings.  It does its 'work' and does not ensnare or damage.

A shared grief - if we take seriously the idea of community, of our interconnectedness in the 'Body of Christ' then we must grieve together on some sense.

A healing grief - that somehow in the honesty, hope, joy, mystery, timeliness and sharing we find wholeness and liberation so that we can continue to live life in all its fullness.

Still not a sermon, and needs some careful work to make it useable, but getting there, I think.

I stumbled across this phrase this morning as I was reading NT Wright's Paul for Everyone commentary on 1 Thessalonians 4, which is one of the passages I've chosen for Sunday's Remembrance service.  It is a great phrase because it gives Christians permission to grieve, a need that sometimes seems to be suppressed, repressed or even denied.  It is a great phrase because it says there is a Christian way of grieving that is different from other expressions, not that these lack authenticity, but that they miss something that our faith offers.  It is a great phrase because it forces us to think what is appropriate, and what is maybe not, for us as Christians.

Wright's reading of the text will inevitably offend some Biblical literalists, since he refutes the idea of a rapture, points out the meshing of three ancient metaphors, and centres on the aim of the text, which is to comfort, encourage and reassure those who are alive.  Death, resurrection, heaven and/or a new creation are mysteries we cannot begin to grasp, and what the symbols and metaphors offer us is only ever partial, but we can be sure that those who have died remain in God's care.

If I am able to communicate some of the liberation and hope that this passage offers those who grieve, then I will be satisfied.

Today I am up to my ears in preparations for Sunday's Remembrance service.  In a moment of rash stupidity, I decided to do a booklet (rather than just a song sheet for those who can't see the screen) that we'll sit in a circle with monitors for visuals rather than a screen and, as I've only had five requests for candles and bought 4 dozen of the things, I'd find a suitable to text so that everyone could have a 'labelled' candle to take away.

In the trusty open source software that is E-Sword, Iwas looking at various translations of John1:5 and found this in the Message which I really like...

The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness; the darkness could not put it out

I'm not a great fan of the Message, but this seemed ideal for Sunday, and I love the word 'blaze' used in this context, suggesting almost that the light consumes the darkness rather than merely that the darkness can't extinguish the light.

I hope the service works - we are using some three-handkerchief weepy hymns/tunes because I feel some of our folk need some release of pent-up emotion, some poetry (not too mawkish) and some images (when I decide which!).  Time will tell - but hopefully the Life-Light will indeed blaze through and the candles find their way into the homes of those who need the hope of the words.