I am tossing around a few ideas for the paper I have to write from scratch in the next week or so on the potential role of denominational historical materials as a resource for theological reflection in the area of church health (need some more 'punchy' words, methinks).  One of the things that strikes me as that Church Health approaches focus solely on the story of one congregation, as it recalls it (small), whilst Church History focuses on overviews, trajectories, dates and heroes (great).  The gap is pretty much self-evident when expressed like this.  One of the things I need to try to get my head around is what might 'middle-sized' look like?  I have a suspicion that unless/until the gap is bridged the potential of the resource will remain unrealised.

Of course, 'All things of average brightness and appearance, all creatures of medium proportions, all things of average intelligence and allure' wouldn't exactly make for an appealing hymn!  What is needed is not mediocrity but something intermediate.  If one of the limitations/criticisms of traditional Systematic/Dogmatic theology is that it is too theoretical/intellectual, and one of the limitations/criticisms of Practical/Contextual theology is that it is too localised/partial then maybe, just maybe, this endeavour will in some way help to bridge a more generic gap? (Or am I just fooling myself?!)

Yesterday I watched the first episode (is that the right word?) of Britain's Missing Top Model - a programme seeking to find a female model with a physical disability who can 'cut it' in the world of modelling.  The eight girls - six Brits and two from overseas - have a variety of disabilities, some from birth others due to accidents.  Some have very visible disabilities - missing limbs or mobility restrictions, two are deaf, one of whom has no speech and depends on a BSL interpreter.

Last night the first elimination was between the girl who speaks BSL and a girl who has had a leg amputated.  One of the issues raised when the judges were making their decision was whether the person they are after should have a visible disability.  An intriguing question - one implication of which might be that being born deaf is not disabled enough whilst having a traumatic amputation is.  I don't think that's what the judges meant, but it could have been heard that way.  I was annoyed that the associated website poll asked the question "should the eventual winner... have a visible disability" with a yes/no option.  If you answer 'yes' that means you automatically prelude a deaf girl from eligibility; if you answer 'no' you say that a visible disability precludes a person from winning; not a question I can answer.  A better question would have been 'must... she have a visible disability' - and then I'd have voted (and chosen 'no').

The question seemed to me to open up other potential avenues of debate and value judgements - and a timely reminder that whilst people look at outward appearances, God looks at the inside. 

I would not have the first clue how to select a potential model, and it is somewhat beyond me why anyone would wish to be one, but if this series manages to challenge some of the assumptions about beauty and makes people think about tough questions, then it'll achieve something worthwhile.

July sees the end of the school year, and here in Leicestershire that comes at least a fortnight earlier than it did in the north west (here schools close on 11 July; to my knowledge in parts of Cheshire it'll be 25th).  As the school year closes, so life slows down for 4-8 weeks, organisations take a break, congregations dwindle and I am trying to work out why it seemed a good idea to undertake two conference papers and a two week, 200 mile, long distance footpath this summer!

Yesterday I posted off the first, completed, paper to Manchester University and, although it has its limitations, there was definitely a sense of closure as I handed the envelope to the woman in the Post Office.  Had to smile, wryly, when she asked if it was valuable or precious - irreplaceable but worthless I replied!  In the end I sent it Special Delivery which is evidently safer than Recorded...

Today is the Girls' Brigade end of year parents' evening.  Last night I was printing off programmes (grand title for hymn sheets really!) and trying to think just which songs the non-church-going parents and family members might possibly know (and wondering why we have to sing when no-one joins in anyway).  So I will once more endure 'Give me oil in my lamp' which was the bain of my teenage years when every visiting preacher thought it was original to relate it to the lamp that sits at the base of the GB crest...  It's been a good year, and we've had some fun along the way.  Lots of changes afoot though, as one of the leaders steps back and we seek to work with a small team of church members who've agreed to act together to cover her role.  I hope the girls enjoy this evening - and I hope that whatever I end up saying for the devotional bit carries meaning for them.

A week on Friday is our last ever Kids Club.  This Friday as the main leader is away, I will be standing in, and hope to be able to find from the children how they'd like to mark the end of this chapter it their lives.  The last year has been challenging, with some horrendous behaviour and a leader forced to stand down due to major illness, yet whenever I see the children out and about they seem genuinely pleased to see me.  I do hope we have given them something to last a lifetime - and not just memories of me telling them I will not tolerate racist/sexist/homophobic/bad language!  I have yet to work out how to mark this closure in church, but it needs to be done - and the consequences faced.

Then on 18th July bidding closes on our defunct building.  Because I will be regaling people with my thoughts on Baptist historiography, and because many deacons are away that week, we cannot review the bids until the following Monday, but the hope is that sale will then go through in around 28 days bringing closure to another chapter of church life.

It is strange - but quite pleasant - having a fairly empty diary at the moment, though I am mad enough to have three services to take on 13th July, have accepted a guest preach a hundred miles away on 20th (when I land back in England at midnight!) and another at my 'sending church' the day between finishing my hike and starting my second conference!  As things close down for summer, there seem to be some natural conclusions occurring - which inevitably are the heralds of new beginnings yet to be discovered.

As posted earlier, part of yesterday's service was the challenge to come up with a mini-sermon during the time it took to sing a hymn, approximately three minutes.  The readings chosen - of which I did not have notice - were 1 Samuel 3:1- 10 and Luke 9: 10-17.  So here, in typed up form is roughly what I did.

I did cheat slightly, and allude to the Johannine version of the feeding of the 5000, so children became central to both stories (a link to Operation Christmas Child which we were launching).

From the Samuel story, I picked up the fact that to start with he did not know who was calling, assuming it to be Eli.  Once he had the knowledge of the caller's identity he had a choice - to respond or not.  Had we read on in the story, we would have heard the nature of the call, and Samuel had a choice whether or not to obey (it would have been pretty scary having to tell Eli some home truths).

In the second story (according to John anyway) is a child with a 'picnic' (Sunday School interpretation) who is in a roughly similar situation.  Presumably he could have just eaten his food himself, but, it seems that once he became aware of the situation he gave, so far as we can tell, all that he had in response (parallel to widow's mite or woman with expensive ointment?).  How the miracle happened, we don't know, but what we do know is that out of this response, out of this giving of a little, there came so much abundance that twelve baskets were needed to gather the leftovers.

How does this relate to us? All of us have in some way, like Samuel, come to know about important issues (Operation Christmas child, the situation in Zimbabwe, violent street crime in the UK, etc) and we have to make a choice as to how we respond.  We may not have much to offer - a tube of toothpaste, a teddy bear, a small amount of money to BMS or HMF - but out of that small, willing offering, comes an abundance of joy and grace.

As God calls called Samuel, as Jesus told the disciples to feed the people, so the call comes to us today: how will we respond.

It was a good challenge, and I guess a reasonable knowledge of familiar Bible stories made it easier than might have been the case had someone chosen an obscure passage from the middle of Judges or Leviticus, but it was one I'd be quite keen to repeat occasionally or, more creatively, to open up and invite congregation members to share what touched them in the stories and how it relates to life and faith.  Communal hermeneutics and homiletics - what do you reckon?

Today's service was one of those where it felt good to be a minister.  Probably I should say I don't think I've experienced one where it felt bad to be a minister, but most of the time they just 'are' - neither especially good nor especially bad.

It did not get off to a good start.  The stand-in caretaker and I arrived to find the school hall totally cluttered, with both fire exits obstructed (mutter mutter) and both fire extinguishers inaccessible (double mutter mutter; you simply cannot get away with such things when you have former professional risk assessors hiring your premises!).  The PA system we usually lash into had been removed/replaced, the screen was nowhere to be found and the place was a mess.  We set to and arranged some chairs in a circle. I then set up the 15" monitors I usually use for those who can't stand, and the laptop screen had to act as a third, and then plugged in my medium power computer speakers - necessary because we were using the Operation Christmas Child DVD (I could have lived without the technology for words because we always have some sheets as well...).

We were thin on the ground - holidays and impending hospital visits meant several folk were absent, but one person who came last week had enjoyed it so much they came back!

As we sang the various hymns and songs, I found myself mentally transported to various special or significant services or events.  Looking around the congregation, it was clear that some powerful feelings were stirred and the free flowing tears here and there suggested both safety and release.

The two Bible readings chosen were interesting -  the call of Samuel from 1 Samuel 3, and the Lukan feeding of the five thousand.  It was fun thinking on my feet, during the three minutes it takes to sing a hymn, what I would draw from these as a 'thought' - but it all seemed to flow quite well and to connect with the launching of our shoebox appeal.

At the close of the service, we held hands and said the grace and someone who always does this with eyes tightly closed actually half opened them!

We drank tea, cleared up - leaving hall with at least one clear fire door (the other things were outwith our control to correct!)- and went home.  The caretaker thanked us for tidying up.

I unloaded all the technology back into my office (most of it is mine anyway) decided I need to look on Ebay for another secondhand flat screen monitor and reflected that it had been a good service, and yes, it felt good to be a minister.

For much of the afternoon the rain had hammered down, but as we left school/church the sky cleared and the sun shone.  As I sneaked off to the corner shop for some milk, I found myself calling to mind a childhood hymn (that actually makes very little sense when I stop to think about it) which seemed somehow to express some of what I was feeling:

Glad that I live am I, 

That the sky is blue.

Glad for the country lanes

And the fall of dew.

After the sun the rain,

After the rain the sun:

This is the way of life

Til the work is done.

All that we need to do

Be we low or high

Is to see that we grow

Nearer the sky.

 

Most of the time life just ticks along, but today I am conscious of being glad to be alive.