Long time no write

Eeek, I've not blogged anything for six months. The real world was just too pressing. But with my birthday coming up, it seems right to try again.
It's becoming borne in on me that though I believe in vocation, I also have some responsibility in keeping my work-life balance from overflowing and making a nasty puddle on the floor.
There will always be far too many things to do - important things, interesting things, necessary things, God-given things. But if I don't want to look back at the end of my life with bitterness, wishing I'd had a better time of it, I need to take responsibility for making that happen rather than being a passive martyr who is Just Too Busy and wants to make everyone else feel guilty because they aren't working as hard.
I hope if I'm writing again in six months - and even more, in six years - I can look back over the intervening period with less suppressed resentment and more overt enjoyment.

Good news in hard times

Good to hear my sending church of Temple Cowley URC in Oxford is reacting positively to the current financial doom-and-gloom. Have a look at
http://www.oxfordmail.co.uk/search/4182254.Cowley_church_starts_soup_kitchen/ or even the church's home page to see what's going on. I believe even the long-awaited Emmaus project next door in the old church hall has finally materialised!

Queen baptised?

Last night one of those surreal moments happened that make life worthwhile. I was sitting at the back of a darkened theatre full of arm-waving kids, with a Sunday School teacher on both sides of me, la-laing into each ear an Elton John classic, 'Crocodile Rock' - or, as it had been rebaptised, 'Sunday School Rock' - being 'played' by a bunch of Muppet-like puppets on stage.
A local Methodist church (Woodseats Methodist) has a slick puppeteering team (who struggled slightly on a raked stage, but that wasn't their fault) presenting to rapturous Mexican waves of churched children such Christian classics as 'Raindrops Keep Falling on my Boat', 'New Life, New Life' (think Sinatra), 'Hallelujah, it's Fishers of Men' and 'Y Not 2Day?' (about the possibilities of witnessing to Jesus). In case you'd not guessed, the last two are better known even to cultural morons like me as the Queen numbers 'Hallelujah, it's Raining Men' and 'YMCA' - the latter made even more plain by the headgear of the puppets involved.
To its target audience, the show went down big. But I was left confused.
Do the presenters realise these are gay anthems? Is the musical director a Freddie Mercury fan? Or is this just a bizarre example of cultures passing in the night?

Detective evangelism

On the bus coming home just now I met an acquaintance who commented on the book I was reading (Hen's Teeth by Manda Scott, in case anyone's interested). That took us into a conversation about thrillers: the Golden Age, detective fiction set in far-flung places or times which gave us a window into very different contexts from our own; favourite authors; Sheffield writers. We were in such animated conversation that before I knew it we had sailed past my stop and I had to walk back.
I greatly enjoyed our talk, and felt I knew my dialogue partner better as a result of it. The strange thing is that we are both Christian and both involved in working with homeless people, yet I can't imagine myself talking so enthusiastically on the bus either about Jesus or about housing issues, though for each of us both topics are close to our hearts. I can't see myself saying, 'Oh, you must pray - it's fantastic!' in the same way as I urged him to read Margery Allingham? But why not? Above all, why can't I be as evangelistic about Jesus as I am about Dorothy L. Sayers (who herself was no mean evangelist, though sadly that meant she stopped writing about Lord Peter Wimsey)? I wish I knew.

Who goes here?

I'm vaguely wondering about having a site counter on the blog, to see how many hits the site gets. But I rather suspect it's out of vanity/idle curiosity. Why do I need to know?
On a similar note, I'm getting a lot of Facebook requests to post 25 random facts about me. And even though this would only be seen by my friends, I find myself twitchy at the prospect. Who needs to know that I once owned a hamster called Baron Rufus von Munchhausen (with a red head and a propensity for eating carpet)? (oops, only 24 facts to go now...) I prefer to be silent and mysterious, at least when I'm talking to numbers of people beyond my control. And maybe I should extend the same privilege to whoever comes across this. Any views, gentle readers?

Praise in the Park III

Praise in the Park II

Praise in the park

Piecing together prayer

I went for a walk in the park this morning - the snow's still not melted from where it fell last week. There's a thick film of ice over the millpond and everything's in black and white. Ducks were skidding in to land and standing around on the surface, at a loss to know what to do. Squirrels were trying to remember where they buried that nut. And I walked along, praising God.
If you'd seen me, you'd have thought: there's a camera nut. And then, maybe: what's she trying to take pictures of? There's nothing there.
And there was nothing there in any spectacular way. Details of fungus on treetrunks, details of trees reflected in water so still you could hardly tell which way was up. Details of snowflakes and moss fronds and birch bark. Amazing details of creation.
Creation is on my mind just now, both because of the (to me) staggering information that a third of the British public believe in a 7-day creation (were they asleep in all their science classes?) and because on Sunday morning we're going into Genesis 1 in a big way: discussion groups, craft sessions, practical options for being green, and that's just the service.
And also because of Job.
When Job protested at the suffering of the innocent, he was pointed by God in the direction of creation. Can you give me specifications for the foundation of the earth? Has the rain a father? What about the hippopotamus? Face it: if you can't get your mind around creation, you just haven't got a hope of understanding innocent suffering. Trust me, I'm God.
With Job (I suspect), I find this less than totally satisfying. Yet with so much innocent suffering going on all around me, I find the advice to look carefully at creation has some merit in it, if not much ethical sense. Yes, there are earthquakes, mosquitoes and the AIDS virus. No, I can't understand fully what's going on in creation - nor could Darwin, though he gave us some very helpful pointers. But though my intellect can never capture the big picture, just as my lens can never capture the full beauty of what is, going for a walk with my camera still inspires in me wonder and praise. Is this accidental prayer?

Not cold enough in Sheffield

It wasn't cold enough in Sheffield this week. Not by two degrees.
Apparently, so I was told this afternoon, Sheffield City Council has a policy for housing homeless people temporarily when the temperature goes below -4 degrees C for 3 consecutive days - four beds are suddenly made available, which is bound to solve the whole problem of rough sleeping in Sheffield. But a few nights ago it was only -2 degrees C, so that solution was no good for the man who approached Soup Run volunteers, freezing cold and with nowhere to go.
The Council emergency number was rung. They answered. But there was another problem, besides the insufficient level of cold. The individual concerned had actually been housed temporarily the previous night. The next morning he should have gone to the Council offices to be interviewed - presumably to establish how dire his need had been. But he had not gone. So now he was on the 'not to be housed' list. It was not possible for him to come off the 'not to be housed' list. It was not possible for him to explain over the phone why he had not gone to his interview. There was nothing the Council could do about it.
There was nothing the Soup Run volunteers could do about it, either, beyond giving the man a sleeping bag, so he could sleep outside in the snow, because it wasn't cold enough in Sheffield for emergency sleeping arrangements to be put in place. And in any case, as the man had missed his interview, he was no longer deemed eligible for help.
I know none of this first-hand, but I do know that the Soup Run volunteers who told this story are experienced in trying to help people without homes. The Council has a lot of experience too, and their outreach workers with rough sleepers do a lot of good under frustrating conditions. But in this case, it seems to me that someone has badly missed the point. By more than two degrees.

Simon Barrow on being Christian in a sceptical climate

I'm getting a lot of food for thought recently from two electronic sources: Ekklesia which is UK-based and Sojourners, blogging largely from the States. Both wrestle with the question of how Christianity makes sense in a post-Christendom world; Simon Barrow's recent essay in dialogue with thoughtful humanism struck me as particularly worth commending. And in both cases I've signed up for regular email updates, so I can read them when I have the time to do so and delete them when I don't. After all, I do have a life beyond cyberspace - when it's not snowing, that is...

Snow problem?

Today has felt almost like a holiday. I've done work at home, played a bit on the computer and because of current atmospheric conditions felt no guilt whatsover for not going to see anyone/having any meetings. I've even got some stuff done that's been hanging over my head for ages.
But what if (like the year I was studying in Switzerland) the snow just went on and on for months? I'd then be having to get through it no matter what, and would no longer see the aesthetics (wonderful lighting, walking home from town yesterday evening) for the inconvenience (muscles tense every step for fear of slipping).
Funny how the same thing can be so quickly reframed. Contextuality is all...

Uncomfortable uncertainty

I am apt to extol the virtues of newness, change and lack of control to my congregation. I probably go overboard on it, just to counter the natural conservatism of most organisations, including churches. But there are times when I wish I had much more control over the outcomes of what I do.
Just now I am trying to support someone experiencing domestic abuse. I don't know nearly enough about the situation, the legalities, what's best to do when. But I still feel a weight of responsibility on me to act and to advise in ways that will at the least do no further harm.
Now it's me I'm having to preach to about trusting God, about God's care for all, about God's will for transformation. And I don't find it any easier to hear or to put into practise than my church does. At least, I suppose, this is making me empathise with my fellow Christians... what a shock, I'm not Superwoman after all!

Bald Statements/Good Grief

Yesterday I saw a fantastic exhibition of sculptures at Central URC in Sheffield (sorry, it's over now) by Jean Parker, a woman whose response to breast cancer and the treatment which made all her hair fall out was, during a seven-day silent retreat, to model small clay heads symbolising eight of the emotional/spiritual stages through which this experience had led her, from denial to peace. Later she worked these up into small bronze statues and reworked the themes in a more abstract way in alabaster. The results were placed around the church sanctuary alongside a DVD giving her reflections on her work.
As the publicity for this event had promised, the stages of Jean's grieving also resonate with people who have not experienced breast cancer but know other forms of bereavement and loss. I could imagine the DVD in itself being a very powerful focus for a group discussion or for worship - the whole set-up had been used that way for the local Week of Prayer for Christian Unity service the week before.
Interestingly, I heard that not everyone was happy for a church to be used in this way. I could imagine one of the sculptures in particular, on the theme of anger, arousing negative reactions. As Jean says on the DVD, being angry, especially being an angry woman, is not at all encouraged in society. People don't know what to do with you. Far easier to be depressed, for then you can be comforted. Yet without processing all these stages, how can we be healed?

Get a life!

That's what someone in my congregation advised me as her parting shot, as I edged out of her hospital room. I suspect it may have been because when she asked me what I was doing this evening I admitted that I'd be thinking about the sermon.
But today I think I've had quite a lot of life. Friday began with our drop-in breakfast (best fry-up in Sheffield and some good theological/pastoral conversation), continued with NT Greek (three of us have now got as far as Mark 2 after 2 years hard slog) and a fundraising meeting for our worker with older people (semi-depressing - why do good projects need constant reinvention so people will still give them money?) followed up by two hospital visits and an evening on the computer still ahead of me, to be rounded off with a thriller and a bit of mindless TV.
Does this count as a life? I'm not sure. It would be lovely to have about twice as much time so I could a) reflect on all the different pieces of the mosaic and connect them with one another more creatively and b) do some of the follow-up that should really be done after most of the things I do. But it could be a lot worse. I think.

Home-inspired haiku

I've been visiting my parents, and this morning my father described to me a scene he'd viewed from the window. Given my mother's stroke it seemed very poignant, with imagery of decrease, lost partnership and isolation. We both fell silent - there seemed no more to say - but this haiku came out of it:

Morning. Moon waning.
Two gulls together fly high
Alone in their world.

With apologies to Brian Wren

I seem to have slightly misremembered the title of Brian Wren's book of hymns Piece Together Praise but since this blog was inspired by a course on scrapbooking and piecing together remembered Bible stories (see Women in Ministries blog) it still seems appropriate. And anyway, I find both life and praise never quite fit or make sense if you try to make them out of just one piece, just one voice, just one truth. I always need to piece meaning together from many different contexts - and even then it's usually somewhat distorted to try to fit everything in... though that may be just the result of my mental/handicraft skills...