A few extraordinary moments

Following up on my previous post... one of the books on my summer reading list that I am really enjoying just now is the above "The Rotters' Club" by Jonathan Coe.
It's a delightful read.
Here's a short paragraph that gives another slant to what I said in the previous post. It's an extract from a story within the story, written by the main character:
"I wonder if all experience can really be distilled to a few extraordinary moments, perhaps six or seven of them vouchsafed to us in a lifetime, and any attempt to trace a connection between them is futile. And I wonder if there are some moments in life not only 'worth purchasing with worlds', but so replete with emotion that they become stretched, timeless, like the moment when Inger and Emil sat on that bench in the rose garden and smiled at the camera..."

The Elusive Butterfly

Even without a proper zoom lens it is not difficult to get good close-up pictures of flowers because, for the most part, they just sit there, perfectly still. Unlike people they don't freeze in front of a camera or put on a funny face to hide embarrassment. You don't have to ask them to smile. What you see is what you get.
Photographing a butterfly is a bit more difficult -especially without a good telephoto lens- because they never seem to stay still for more than a few seconds.
On the dunes above Embo beach in Sutherland I came across a patch of thistles which seemed to be a happy feeding ground for a whole host of butterflies.
Above is one of them.
I know it is a fritillary but I'm not 100% sure which one as (I believe) there are three kinds of fritillary found in the north east of Scotland. [Again, someone more knowledgeable correct my facts if they are wrong, please.]
I think this may be a Dark Green Fritillary.
Now - I know it doesn't look in the slightest bit green but that just proves the ingenuity of those who identify and classify things like butterflies, of which there are so many varieties. The green (apparently) is on the underside of the wings (of the male only?) I can't remember exactly what I read somewhere about them and I don't have time to check.
To get a clear enough picture [and remember to click on the picture to see it full size] I had to get in to about half a metre from it. Not easy when the butterfly refuses to sit still for more than a few seconds at a time. This one, however, was enjoying a long drink of thistle nectar and gave me just enough time to snap away.
I think it is the elusiveness and fragility of butterflies that makes them so fascinating. (I can't help feeling my age when a certain song by Val Doonican runs through my head as I type these words!! - The Elusive Butterfly of Love, for those too young or too sophisticated to know.)
I may have quoted these lines before but many, many years ago I once wrote:

"The painting of a word on paper
or the ghost of an idea
are as fleeting as the glance of light
reflected from the rippled pool,
or the wings of a butterfly
rubbed against the summer air."
(c) Iain D. Cunningham

One thing I love about photography is its ability (very occasionally) to freeze such elusive moments in time; though perhaps in the very act of doing so, the reality is distorted. Butterflies, for example, just do not sit still for as long as it took you to read these words!

Impulse buying

Last week I bought myself a new guitar!
(A Tacoma DM14C electro-acoustic if you want to know.)
I've been saving up for one for a while.
My trusty old Yamaha FG-335 acoustic has just celebrated its 30th birthday and, like myself, it is getting a bit worn around the edges - or to be more precise along the fretboard. Admittedly I have seen a lot more than 30 birthdays.
Recently the Yamaha has also been harder to keep in tune for some reason. Maybe the tuners are just worn out too.
I was amazed to discover that people still buy and sell that old Yamaha on eBay for as much as £150. It was a good guitar, and has served me well, since it was first given to me away back in 1978. It's built like a tank and has withstood a fair amount of rough handling without any major injury. Unfortunately it would probably cost £100-£150 to have it re-fretted and the fingerboard repaired or replaced, so I thought the time had come to look for a replacement.
I did my usual thing and embarked on some research into makes and models - Ibanez, Takamine, Freshman, Tanglewood, Taylor (way out of my price range!)...
I saw (and more importantly heard) Newton Faulkner play his hand-built Benjamin guitar and briefly lusted after one - though I have as much chance of ordering and owning one of them as I have of owning a Ferrari!
Tacoma were not even on my radar, until I picked this one up in the guitar shop.
Right away I loved the clean bass sound and the fine and beautifully smooth neck. It just felt right. And it sounded good- even with my playing.
But I wasn't going to make any impulsive decisions (I said to myself) and informed the salesman in the guitar shop that I was going to visit another couple of guitar stores and music shops before I made up my mind.
I left the shop and started walking towards another store - less than half a mile away.
I walked quite quickly to begin with, then found my pace slackening off - not because I was out of breath but because I was getting further away from that guitar which I'd just played. It was calling out to me like a little puppy with irresistibly-appealing big brown eyes! "You know it is me you want!!" "Remember what I felt like in your hands!"
So I turned round and walked straight back to the shop and impulsively handed over nearly twice as much as I'd set out to spend.
All of this is a perfect illustration of why shopping and I just don't go together, and why shopping is for me a rare experience.
It's been well said that "the best things in life... are not things."
Well, the thing about any well-made musical instrument is that it is so much more than a thing. It represents possibilities yet to be explored, because any musical instrument is only ever as good as the hands that play it and the mind that controls it.
A bit like our own human lives I suppose.
This was also when I realised that my own guitar-playing hasn't evolved much in the last 25 years. New guitar: new challenge! Learn some new tunes and some new techniques.
Oh - and there's another new challenge. This one won't fit into the boot of my car!
And it's not a Ferrari.

Consider the lilies of the garden

One of my sisters has a fantastic garden.
A few years ago it was little more than a field in the highlands of Scotland. Now it is an oasis of colour and beauty. The transformation is the product of lots of creative imagination and lots and lots of constant hard work.
The whole garden is quite amazing but I usually like to home in on individual plants or objects because there is often as much great beauty and interest to be found in the small things as in the big picture.
The flower photographed above was one of my favourites this 'summer.'
I am no expert (certainly not when it comes to actually WORKING in the garden!) but I believe this may be a variety of Zantedeschia or arum lily. I'd be happy to be corrected by anyone who knows otherwise.
These flowers are not exactly shy and retiring are they? They almost SHOUT at you to notice them. And why not? Even the plant world seems to have its celebrities enjoying their moment of fame.

[Don't forget to click on the picture to see it full size.]

Going and Coming

One of the first things I noticed about Trigony House Hotel was the lintel above the main doorway. Carved into the stone were the words:
The Lord bless thy going out and thy coming in.
A slightly more interesting and unusual 'welcome' sign than the ones you find at the entrance to most modern hotels!
Given the order of the 'prayer' (i.e. beginning with going out and ending with coming in) I wondered if it had more to do with wishing guests a good shooting expedition than simply welcoming them to the lodge for the first time but somehow, for me, it set the tone for our mini retreat.
Of course perhaps it is meant as a variation of the old Scottish way of saying goodbye "Haste ye back!" ...i.e. once you've gone, we hope you come back again soon.
Then again - maybe it's just because in the Psalm from which this is a virtual quotation (Psalm 121) going comes before coming.
I better stop rambling now because I don't know whether I'm coming or going!

Calm between the storms

On Sunday I was preaching about some of the 'storms' of life that inevitably come our way, sooner or later. Given the recent 'summer' we have been 'enjoying' of late some might have been forgiven for thinking that I was just talking about the weather. But, of course, I meant it metaphorically.
Sometimes these 'storms' can be emotional or even spiritual tempests that threaten to overwhelm you altogether. At other times it might just be, as for myself recently, a whirlwind of activity or busyness.
Either way, any opportunity for calm is very welcome.
I have been very busy lately, especially with funerals and weddings, but on Sunday evening into Monday we had the opportunity to find some calm between the storms spending some time at the lovely oasis of tranquillity that is Trigony House Hotel
Whether it was the comfortably large room, the really excellent food, the beautiful garden and surrounding countryside... or just the extra large bed... it was a truly restful overnight stay. But perhaps most refreshing of all is just having friendly staff that serve you willingly and even gladly.
It reminded me that Jesus gave his disciples some very powerful and thought-provoking examples of service (like washing his disciples' feet) to show that he had come to serve not to be served, but he also set an example of allowing people to serve him. I am sure this helped to give him the strength he needed to do all that he did- that along with his frequent retreats into the quietness of the hills.
O let the summer come...

The Reader

Sometimes the act of writing comes very easily. You get an idea and the words spill out almost by themselves. Such times however are almost as rare as hen’s teeth.

Most of the time, it is just plain hard work. Sometimes it even seems a totally impossible task. The blank sheet of paper, or worse the blank computer screen, taunts you and mocks your lack of inspiration.

I find that by this time of year I am running almost on empty. And yet my role as a preacher demands the production of something new (or nearly new) every Sunday. I know when I am needing my holiday. And I know what I have to do when I do get the time off. I need to read: not write— just read for the sheer enjoyment of it.

I’m a bit of a binge reader actually. Once I get started I tend to devour book after book.

I’ve already gathered together some of the books I intend to take on holiday with me. I know I won’t get through them all but I don’t want to run out either. So I’ll take more than I need and (if past experience is anything to go by) I will still find a bookshop and buy some more.

To be honest, I have started my binge, although I won’t be on holiday for some weeks yet. Ironic, perhaps, that the first volume on my holiday booklist is called “The Reader.” by Bernhard Schlink.

No comments on it until I’ve finished… except to say that it is already a pretty good read.

Now back to that blank computer screen: I’ve a sermon to write!

Seizing the day

OK - it wasn't quite 'the whole truth and nothing but the truth' when I said I didn't take any pictures at Linsay & Kerron's wedding. In fact I took a few pictures before the event, of the marquee/gazebo in the garden, the empty hall and the florist preparing the church etc. as well as a few pictures in the house as we were all getting ready - such as this one of Lynn putting on Linsay's make-up. But I knew that when the time came for me to get into the wedding car with my daughter any kind of camera was just going to be in the way.
In any case, I also knew that I would not be able to compete with the official photographer for the day, Owen Roseblade.
[Great name that, isn't it? Only if you didn't say it very clearly someone might think you were saying "Havin' a Nosebleed!"]

Well, I'm happy to say that Owen has lived up to his reputation.
As a photo journal of the day it really does capture the joy of the occasion.

O Happy Day!

In reply to those who have asked why so little blogging lately, my excuse has been all the planning and preparation for my daughter's wedding on Saturday (though to be honest my contribution was marginal in comparison to what my wife did.) Apologies also that the above picture was not taken by me but by one of the guests "Chu." I was already wearing two hats as Father of the Bride and as Minister; I didn't want to complicate things further by trying to be amateur photographer as well.
I do have a few pictures taken before the wedding (i.e. when the sun was shining...) but once proceedings got under way I am afraid I was too busy to even think about taking photographs.
It was an absolutely brilliant day from start to finish. Beforehand I had wondered how it might feel walking down the aisle with Linsay then having to conduct the worship. Would I be completely overcome with emotion?
I have to admit that halfway down the aisle there was a brief flutter... but from then on it was just a totally joyful day, helped no doubt by the fact that Linsay and Kerron themselves seemed to be having such a good time.
My task was made easier by the fact that Linsay and Kerron had invited a friend, Andy Flannagan, to lead the praise at the beginning and end of the service and their former employer Andy Reed MP, to read the Bible readings. There was another Andy (Cunningham) in charge of the sound desk - so we almost had as many "Andes" as South America!
The ceremony was followed by champagne in a slightly chilly Manse garden, then a barbecue (cooked outside but eaten indoors) and finally a ceilidh in the church hall, led by "Rule of Three."

Come and worship...

Anyone who knows me will be aware that I rate the activity of shopping slightly below dental treatment in the scale of pleasurable pastimes. In fact, normally, I will do everything in my power to avoid shops altogether.
However, earlier this week, I spent a few days helping my eldest daughter to move house from one part of the great city of Manchester to another part of that same city. I really enjoyed the opportunity to spend a few days with her before her imminent wedding. I also (believe it or not) enjoyed building up all the flat-pack furniture- a bedside cabinet, a wardrobe and three bookcases. [By the time I got to bookcase number three I was an expert!]
However, it was also necessary to visit some shops during the course of my few days of being a one-man house-removal firm. And one of those expeditions into (for me) virtually foreign territory took us to The Trafford Centre, pictured above.
(I didn't have my camera with me so I have had to borrow a photograph from the Flickr site of Nicola Whitaker )
If you have not seen the Trafford Centre for yourself, you do not know what you are missing. To be honest, I'm not quite sure what I didn't miss!!
Believe me, this is one of the wonders of the modern world.... in a perverse sort of way.
Actually my first thought when we arrived was that somehow I had taken a detour and had accidentally ended up in Disneyworld. Well, for a start there are about 10,000 car-parking spaces. And everything looks like it has been manufactured out of resin. Then I wondered if I might be having an Alice-in-Wonderland moment.

Perhaps some people will find the Trafford Centre, and similar places (if there are any) to be places of inspiration and delight. To me it all seemed tackier than hot bitumen and as tasteful as tofu. (And, again, anyone who knows me will know what I think of tofu!)

Don't get me wrong- the place was utterly spotless and well-maintained, and clearly cost plenty of money to create, but to me it was the most over-the-top extravaganza I have seen in a long time.
In fact, I think that the Trafford Centre is to architecture what the Eurovision Song Contest is to music- i.e. there is some sort of relationship there but I don't quite know what it is.
I wonder what the reaction of some of my Kenyan friends might be to such a place?
But it set me thinking.
What is actually going on here?
Perhaps the explanation is simple: shopping has become a religion.
If the local superstore is the parish church of this new religion, giant retail parks like The Trafford Centre are the cathedrals and temples to the new gods. Like the great medieval cathedrals of Europe, these are places of pilgrimage for the consumer age, a homage to the gods of retail therapy and consumer credit.
The green domes of the Trafford Centre do look a bit like film-set copies of renaissance cathedrals. However, the main entrance is more of a Greek or Roman temple. (It's hard to tell which as all sorts of styles seem mixed up with each other.)
They are certainly places of sacrifice!
I know...
I ended up getting my credit card out too!

_The food hall... or maybe the deck of a luxury liner...

The perils of public speaking and live broadcasting

There are many perils and pitfalls facing anyone who would speak in public. Most of us who do it for a living, in one context or another, will have our own cringing memories of gaffes and blunders we have made, which is probably why there is a little frisson of secret delight when someone else does it!

Perhaps the only thing worse than accidentally saying the wrong word to a 'live audience' (since speaking to a 'dead audience' doesn't count!) is broadcasting your gaffe on national radio.

I was driving home a couple of days ago and, though I tend not to listen to the radio when I am driving, I was tuned in to Radio Scotland in order to hear the news at the top of the hour. Immediately following the news and sport there is normally a traffic report.

The female announcer (whom I will not name on compassionate grounds) unfortunately stated -with all due solemnity- that, as a result of excess surface water, traffic was very slow in the Charing Cross Underpants!

I just wonder what was in her mind at the time...

No, actually, I don't.

She compounded the error by immediately noticing her mistake and trying to correct it thereby drawing it to the attention of those who had not heard it in the first place.

For, of course, the truth is that we often hear what we expect to hear, just as we often read what we expect to read.

It's just a pity that sometimes we fail to say what we expected to say...

Oh, incidentally, she meant to say Charing Cross Underpass... I think.

Late for lunch

This is where I should have had lunch on Wednesday!

Holyrood Palace, one of the Queen's official royal residences in Scotland and home to the Lord High Commissioner and his retinue during the General Assembly.

(The photograph is not mine but from T Stadler's Flickr site. You will maybe understand why in a moment.)

To set this in some context I should explain that I am very much a last-minute sort of person (at least in terms of preparing for talks, sermons, speeches, meetings etc.) but, paradoxically, I absolutely hate being late for a meeting or other event. In fact, I will often arrive far too early for an event rather than be caught out by heavier than usual traffic or by some other unforeseen delay.

So imagine my frustration on Wednesday when we were too late for lunch.

Originally we had been invited to the palace on the Sunday but I had to point out that, since I am a Parish minister, Sunday was a working day for me and I couldn’t manage.

The palace very kindly issued another invitation for the Wednesday—the last day of the Assembly.

Although not a Commissioner at the General Assembly I was due to present the report of the Nomination Committee, of which I was convener. I had, of course, prepared the report at the very last minute the night before.
In the event, some of the reports before mine provoked lengthy debate and so went beyond their allocated time. By the time I stood up to speak I was already supposed to be at Holyrood and the palace had already phoned to ask where I had got to.
So we were too late and couldn’t go the palace after all.

However, the Moderator, Rev. David Lunan and his wife, Maggie, whom we have known for many years, invited us to have lunch with them instead. And a very nice lunch it was too!
(I have been reliably informed that we probably would not have been so well fed at the palace ...but I couldn’t possibly comment.)

The map re-drawn...Motherwell now in Europe!

Tomorrow night the focus of many in the footballing world will be on Manchester for the UEFA Cup Final. Though it is not my team I will certainly be a Rangers supporter for the night.
But I was celebrating another achievement on Sunday... Motherwell FC (the team I do support) qualified for a place in Europe [not that Motherwell, the town, wasn't already in Europe, you understand... but you do have to use the right jargon... come to think of it, I should have said 'Motherwell got into Europe!' followed, probably, by something like 'the boys done well.']
Actually, the 'Well did very well, considering the trauma that the club went through at the end of last year. Much of the credit for that must go to our manager, Mark McGhee, but on Saturday, at least, some of it went to local Carluke teenager, Darren Smith, who got us on the way with the opening goal.
Pity he got so carried away with his goal celebrations that he took off his shirt.

The other Albert

This is the other Albert - Albert Bogle - he certainly wasn't "born at Nexus in 2007" but he was the driving force and inspiration behind the National Gathering. Now he just has to convince the General Assembly (many of whom were probably not at the gathering) that it really was a worthwhile event.
...which it certainly was!

Albert

You are invited to a party

One of my favourite speakers at the National Gathering at the weekend was Michele Guinness - and one of my favourite quotes out of all that she did say, as she invited us to enjoy celebrating, was this:
"Our God is a party-loving God and Jesus is a party-going Saviour."

...not that the casual visitor to some church services I've experienced would ever suspect this!

Leaving your mark

Another little picture from the weekend's "National Gathering."
There was an All-Age Worship Event on the Sunday afternoon. Lots of fun it was too, with singing, dancing, drama, and food too...
At the end of it, those who had participated were invited to leave their mark on the tarmac - using chalk. For, of course, the truth is that wherever we go in life we leave behind our mark, for better or worse, and at the same time we are constantly picking up something of what others leave behind. (That's the first principle of forensic science after all, isn't it?)
I took loads of pictures of what folk left behind of themselves in this way - messages about how much they'd enjoyed the weekend, pictures of themselves or their friends, Bible verses and sayings. I've chosen to post just one of them with the simple anonymous blessing to anyone who might pass by "Have some love!"
Is there any better gift than that to leave behind - not just on a pavement but in our everyday lives?

Every tent tells a story

One of the central features of the National Gathering was the array of around 200 "story-telling" tents.
The tents had been purchased by congregations, or groups of congregations, and were set up as mini exhibition areas through which the different congregations could share their own stories of what was happening in their part of the world. And the variety of presentations, not to mention stories, was amazing. [There was even a congregation from Argentina that had taken a tent to share their story.]
Some had gone to great lengths and exercised some real imagination to produce eye-catching displays: others relied much more on their people to simply share the story with others. The overall effect, however, was to break down barriers between individuals and groups and get folk talking to each other and making new friends.
The sharing of stories is often what creates community and binds communities together. And, what's more, the act of sharing your story with someone else can often be as much a source of encouragement as hearing the stories of others.
The tradition of community story-tellers used to be very strong in Scotland. Often these story-tellers were travelling people who would go from one village to another sharing their tales and entertaining the people and no doubt on the way gathering more material for more stories.
It's an art-form that, thankfully, is being revived by the Scottish Story-Telling Centre.
As its director, Donald Smith, points out: "In the old Scottish Traveller proverb a story should be told ‘eye to eye, mind to mind, and heart to heart'. "
There was a lot of that going on at the National Gathering, as you can see from the picture above.
I wish more preachers would realise the importance of story-telling as a way of opening up the imagination of people and getting them to think for themselves, instead of trying to tell people what to think.
After all, we have in Jesus the example of one of the best story-tellers in all human history.

Anke dje, anke be

I know! I know! I've had far too long a break from blogging... and by now I am bound to have lost all of my readers. So, no doubt I am now just talking to myself.
But - hey - I'm a preacher, I can handle that! Plenty of experience.

Talking of preachers...I've just met and also listened to the preaching of the Archbishop of York, John Sentamu.
Now there is someone who is surely never going to be short of listeners!

I have just returned from the Church Without Walls National Gathering in Edinburgh, and what an inspiring and refreshing experience it was. I'll say more about it in future posts, because this was one occasion when the camera was working overtime, but for the moment I just want to mention what a privilege it was to be in the hall with about 3,500 others, listening to the Archbishop delivering a message that was thoughtful and thought-provoking, careful and challenging, but also at times very moving and at times very funny.
For example...
"Are you the kind of person who, when he wakens up, says, 'Good morning, God!' or the kind that says 'Good God it's morning!'"

What I liked most about John Sentamu (and it was true not just of his preaching, but also of his one-to-one conversations) was his authenticity.
He is, quite simply, a man filled with genuine enthusiasm-and it makes him such an easy person to have a conversation with because he is truly interested in the person he is talking to. That's an example definitely worth following.

Oh... and he knows how to have fun too...

Towards the end of the worship service he got hold of a djembe and joined Jane Bentley in leading the singing with some enthusiastic drumming.

It's interesting to me that, according to the Wikipedia definition of a djembe* [and who would ever doubt Wikipedia? :-) ] the purpose of the djembe is to gather people together to hear some news or to celebrate... exactly what the National Gathering itself was all about.

* "According to the Bamana people in Mali, the name of the djembe comes directly from the saying "Anke dje, anke be" which literally translates to "everyone gather together", and defines the drum's purpose. "Dje" is the verb for "gather" in Bamanakan, and "be" translates as "everyone" in Bamanakan.

Dear Green Place

After my visit to the Orchid Fair at the weekend I was relieved to hear that Glasgow District Council had thrown out plans to allow the building of a nightclub and restaurant in the Botanic Gardens. I have nothing against nightclubs per se but I think it would have been a pity if this particular project had been allowed to go ahead, a view shared by many of the garden's neighbours.
Every city needs its oases of tranquillity and the Botanical Gardens in Kelvingrove is precisely one of those. It's also the place I often used to go to in order to eat my lunch when I was a student - although I concede that this is a less compelling argument for preventing the proposed development.
In our own individual lives too we need similar quiet places; a place that can be for us an oasis of light and shelter where we may be able to appreciate the beautiful things of life in the midst of far too much busy-ness and ugliness... or simply a place to pause and draw breath.
I wish you the gift of tranquillity in your own dear green place.

Catching up

Another of my readers pointed out that my web-clock was an hour slow!
I wondered how long it might take for someone to notice.
Actually... to be honest, I just couldn't be bothered correcting it. But now that it has been pointed out, I have made the necessary changes. Hopefully now it is showing the correct time.

Long pointy beard

One of our younger readers made the observation that the orchid pictured in the previous post looks "like a man with a long pointy beard!" I'm sure she must have been referring to the above Yosemite Sam from the Looney Tunes cartoons.
However, you may have some alternative suggestions as to the resemblance.
I'd like to hear about them. Just don't tell me that it looks like ME!

The princesses of the palace

Well, I shook the dust off my camera case and, at long last, gave my camera an outing. We headed into the city (Glasgow) to the Kibble Palace (part of the Botanic Gardens) for an "orchid fair" that was taking place there over the weekend. The Kibble Palace itself is always worth a visit, especially after its recent restoration.
It took me back more than a few years because when I was a student in Glasgow I often used to go there to eat my lunch.
However, on this occasion, the main focus of attention was the Orchid Fair that was taking place - an opportunity for orchid growers from all around the country to display their prize specimens.
There were two things that I really enjoyed about the exhibition- the first (perhaps rather obviously) was the collection of orchids themselves, in all their incredible variety; the second was the enthusiasm of the growers as they spoke to visitors about their plants and how they looked after them.
I almost always respond to enthusiasm. I know that some people who have particular interests and passions can sometimes be a real bore but most of the time the enthusiasm of people is infectious, especially when such people are not trying to show off their superior knowledge but are simply expressing their own love for whatever has grabbed their interest.
When it comes to people trying to share their faith you get both types. Sadly there are more than a few who could bore the pants off anybody when they start talking about what they believe- some can even be quite offensive and a real turn-off- but people with a genuine passion for their beliefs who are not trying to belittle others or bully them into sharing their beliefs can often discover that their enthusiasm is infectious too.
Anyway, enough of that and back to the orchids.
They come in such an astonishing variety of colours and shapes that I was mightily relieved that digital photography had been invented- otherwise I would have shot off four rolls of film in half an hour and not been able to afford the cost of developing the prints. 120 digital photographs however costs nothing to look at one the computer screen.
Of course, I have absolutely no idea what variety any of the particular orchids were, including the one pictured above, but I just marvelled at their beauty and thought to myself - no wonder people get enthusiastic about them!
All the same, I am not about to take up orchid growing myself. I know my limitations!

Hot under the collar

Those who know me will be aware that I am not someone who likes to get dressed up in clerical attire. Personally, I think that "dog collars" suit dogs better than people (although dogs may think differently.) The one situation where wearing the "dog collar" sometimes comes in useful is in hospital visiting. It can act as a passport to visiting someone outside of normal visiting times. However, yesterday I did visit someone in hospital, outside of visiting hours, wearing a perfectly ordinary shirt and tie (even though I have to admit that the tie is almost as absurd and useless as a dog collar.) I simply explained that I was the patient's minister and my explanation was readily accepted. (Maybe that means I look like a minister??)
The only other times I tend to wear a clerical collar are when conducting funerals or weddings (in the case of the latter it goes well with my kilt.)
My reasons for not going in much for clerical attire have nothing at all to do with fashion. (Again, anyone who knows me will realise that I know next to nothing about what is fashionable.)
It is simply that I believe in a relational, rather than a formal, style of ministry, so it is important to have as few barriers as possible between me and other people. I think God works best through our own individual personalities which, after all, are his gift to us, rather than through any kind of 'uniform' that suppresses who we are and gives us a formal status.
I realise of course that many people (including no doubt a number of my own congregation) will see things quite differently.
I respect their views.
After writing the above and while "googling" the net for a suitable picture to go with it, I came across this blog post which raises similar issues but much more eloquently. I have to say, however, that unlike Elizabeth MacFarlane I have rarely if ever suffered any kind of abuse while wearing the collar: I just think it gets in the way of real conversations.
Still on the subject of clerical attire, I am grateful to Steve Tilley for pointing me to this video that gave me such a laugh.

Quiet strength

The image above from Japan shows a famous cherry tree whose roots have split a massive granite rock in two.

Had a busy but enjoyable day yesterday preaching in my own church in the morning and in the local baptist Church in the evening.
In my morning sermon I quoted a song/hymn I had written some years ago but had forgotten all about- a reminder that there are different kinds of strength, other than brute force.

O Lord, in your weakness you were strong
As you stood on trial for love.
You wouldn't give in to fear or anger;
your heart would only forgive.

At the mocking of kings and jeering of soldiers,
your dignity was abused;
yet love was the answer you silently gave:
Let it be Your way that we choose.

O Lord in your silence you spoke boldly;
the world had nothing to say.
A whole new Creation, from your dying,
came into being that day.

While the scoffers and cynics
still have their moments,
and faithful ones are confused,
your love is the answer you silently give:
Let it be your way that we choose.
(c) Iain D. Cunningham

Reflection

I'm a bit short on inspiration these days. Just too many things that have to be done by strict deadlines. However, someone in my congregation just passed on to me last night a meditation/reflection that she wrote, although what she actually said was: "I held the pen."
If you are feeling a bit fragile, fearful or unsure of the future, think of this as God's message to you today.

The photo is of one of the beautiful beaches on Islay

I have no eyes to see what you hold in your heart,
you cannot feel me until you let go of your fear,
you will never come to harm so long as you have me.
Take my hand and feel my love,
embrace the gift I have given you,
feel the light in your heart
and know that I am always with you giving you strength.
Take time and I will give you joy.
Through me you will know yourself,
you cannot help but know me,
I am with you all of your life,
and beyond.
You know me just as I know you,
we are one.
Be still,
be quiet and I will come to you when you are ready.
Take time to hear my voice.
You will recognise me as you would yourself.
Through me you will know love as you never have before.
Take it!
There is always more.
You will never be shut off from me.
There is always more.
Bring yourself closer to me,
feel my presence with you.
This is home.

(c) Joan Hazelwood

Who knows what goes on inside her pretty little head?

I've spoken before about our cat, Tess. She can be a strange creature sometimes - one minute very affectionate, the next fairly ferocious.
When I am working at my desk she has a habit of jumping up onto the desk and walking all over the computer keyboard (which makes for some interesting new words) before settling down usually on the pile of papers that I am working on, or else she will try to curl up on my knee which is equally distracting.
This morning she did her usual and, as often happens, her attention was drawn to the movement of the cursor on the screen. Since I wasn't going to be working with the computer at the time I decided to do something to keep her 'out of my hair' or at least off my knee. I put a DVD into the pc drive. Now, I've noticed already that Tess likes watching wildlife programmes on the telly, especially if it involves elephants, or members of the cat family. Well, this was a documentary on Mountain Lions.
It worked!
She was transfixed! She sat on the desk totally absorbed by the pictures on the screen. I'm not sure how much of the commentary she understood but I think she fancied herself prowling among the mountain regions of South America. She was definitely star-struck!
I think she could turn into a real desk potato if I let her...

[remember to click on the photo to see it full size]

Going nuts

As the above ad says "It doesn't take a sledgehammer to crack a nut" but that doesn't stop some people trying it. When I was young I don't remember us ever having a nut-cracker in the house. We did use a hammer (albeit a relatively small one) to crack open hazelnuts and walnuts. Hazelnuts usually did all right and most of the time you could recover them whole, or at worst - in two pieces. Walnuts, on the other hand, often ended up mashed, or as we used to say "in smithereens." Often you had to pick out little fragments from the broken shell which also sometimes meant you accidentally crunched into a little piece of broken shell at the eating stage of the process. Painful.
I was remembering all of this the other day at a meeting when it was made clear to us that new regulations governing charities which come into force on the 1st April (of course) now require churches to quote their charity number on near-enough every piece of paper they produce. Apparently even our weekly Order of Service bulletin has to carry the number. And every email too.
We have to blame Oscar for all of this heavy-handedness. No, not Oscar Wilde, nor Oscar Madison from the Odd Couple but OSCR - Office of the Scottish Charity Regulator.
Actually, it all stems from the actions of a charity in Scotland a few years ago that turned out to be a pretty bogus (or at best incompetently run) affair and all the regulations governing charities had to be severely tightened up. In principle, I agree with this, but sometimes you can go over the top.
It reminds me of what occasionally used to happen in school (and maybe still does) when someone in the class does something wrong but won't own up to it, so the whole class has to take the punishment.
Of course, as a law-abiding citizen, working in a church that respects civil law, we will comply in all respects. Promise!
I'll need to check, though, if there is any stipulation made about the size of the text that you must use to display your charity number. Would 2pt Arial do, I wonder?
One other consquence of the charities shake-up is that our church accounts now run to about 26 pages. A lot of fun for our church treasurer tomorrow as he tries to guide the congregation through the new style of accounts at our Annual Stated Meeting after the service.

He is risen indeed!

A HAPPY EASTER to you all!

There are some stories that I never get tired of hearing and whose novelty for me never wears off. Perhaps the greatest of these is the Easter story.
Part of the endless fascination for me of the "Easter" events described in such different terms by each of the gospel writers is the sheer mystery of it all. Not even the gospel writers themselves could really say exactly what happened, because no one witnessed the resurrection itself.
That doesn't bother me. On the contrary, it comforts me. It leaves room for faith as well as wonder. It is one of those mysteries which the more you know about it, the more mysterious it becomes. The deeper you plunge into it, the deeper it seems.
I guess the word is unfathomable.
But, you know, part of the reason why no one knows exactly what happened on that "third day" is that the resurrection took place "while it was still dark." The sun hadn't even come up by the time Mary and the other women got to the tomb to find the stone rolled away.
Could that in itself be somehow significant?
Of course, Jesus seems to have had a habit of getting up before daybreak to go off into some lonely place to pray but this takes 'getting up early' to a new dimension altogether!
What I like most about this seemingly insignificant detail of the Easter narrative though is that it reminds me of a truth we find all through the Bible... the light shines IN the darkness and the darkness can't put it out, and eventually the light grows to banish the darkness itself. It's the triumph of future hope over present circumstance.
And isn't that something we all need these days?

A bit of drama and passion

I've been getting a bit of stick lately from some people who I know regularly read this blog. The trouble is... they've had nothing new to read for ages.
I guess I could make all the usual excuses about being too busy etc. and that I have spent some of the time updating our church website but although both of these things are certainly true the more important reason is that recently I've just not had anything to say.
I know... I know... it's never stopped me before.
But there are times when you just kind of dry up, or at least need a little break.
Unfortunately, this is not an option when you have to prepare a fresh sermon or two each week. You just have to get down to it and work hard. But as far as the blog is concerned, I sometimes take the easy way out and just walk away from it for a while.
Someone who didn't give up, nor take the easy way out, was Jesus.
I've really enjoyed watching the first two episodes of the BBC's latest Drama "The Passion."
I hope the next two episodes continue the high standard. I'm looking forward to it coming out on DVD too. Tonight I watched episode two with my current Discipleship Group, which seemed especially appropriate.
I'm sure there will be some critics who will point out that the writers have introduced elements that are not in the Biblical gospels but that is inevitable and necessary for telling the story with any semblance of psychological realism. Preachers do it all the time... at least if they have any imagination! The gospels themselves give only the briefest of sketches and leave lots to your imagination.
What I like about this particular production is that the characters are relatively complex, not just cardboard cut-out 'goodies' and 'baddies.' You see that each person has choices to make - Jesus, Pilate, Caiaphas, Judas, Joseph of Arimathea etc.- and you can sympathise with all of them because their choices are not usually between simple good and bad, but between good and the best, or between evil and a lesser evil. You can understand how difficult some of the choices are and, what's more, identify with them.
I think Joseph Mawle does a reasonably good job of portraying Jesus, although he is maybe just a bit too low key. You wonder would anyone really give up everything to follow this man? Where is the charisma and excitement?
To be fair, though, we do enter the story at some of its most solemn moments when I suspect Jesus must have been pretty heavy-hearted.
No time for light-hearted frivolity then.
I'll have to wait and see how the trial and crucifixion and most of all the resurrection are handled before I give it my unqualified approval (not that the BBC is looking for it, of course) but so far, so good. And what a refreshing change from all that so-called "reality" nonsense... to have some real drama from the Beeb! Let's have some more.

The not-so-hot seat

Well, the snow has returned and this time decided to hang around for a day or two- or at least long enough for some blue sky to appear and set it off to perfection.
We don't get blue skies all that often in Scotland but when we do, then I, for one, really appreciate them.
For some reason, summer blue skies never seem quite so intense to me as a blue sky in winter set against the white snow, or the blue sky of springtime acting as a backdrop to pink cherry blossom, or in autumn when it is a foil to the spectacular reds, golds and browns of the trees.
I passed Braidwood Loch this morning on my way to Braidwood Primary School and fortunately I had my camera in the car with me. I couldn't resist stopping for a moment to capture this particular blue sky, and that pretty cool (snow-covered) seat. Well, I certainly wasn't going to sit on it.

Mind you, perhaps it would be less uncomfortable than 'sitting in the hot seat.'
But sometimes you just don't get to choose the seat you have to sit in and you have to make do with whatever comes your way, uncomfortable or not.
So maybe dark grey cloudy skies are more common, but that just means making the most of any glimpse of blue sky that comes your way and enjoying the moment.

...so maybe I will go over and sit on that cool seat after all...

Don't do it!

I suppose it was inevitable eventually but it still really, really annoys me...
Recently I've received a number of supposed "comments" on the blog... except they are not really comments, they are links to a so-called 'virus scanner' that proceeds to tell you how many bits of spyware etc. are on your computer and how you need to download their software to protect your computer... etc. etc.
In fact it is nothing but spyware itself. I am trying to intercept these bogus comments and delete them before any of you accidentally clicks on the links but I want to warn you anyway. If you see a comment that asks you to click "here" - please don't.
If this nuisance persists I may have to introduce comment moderation which would mean that comments don't appear until I have vetted them. I'd rather not do that but if I have to I will.
In the meantime keep the genuine comments coming. It's good to know that somebody actually reads this stuff now and again.

Crema de la crema

Regular readers will know that one of my favourite places to eat is a local restaurant here called "Prego." It has become a favourite place not just for special occasions but also at other times when we have no real excuse for eating out other than that we want to.

My original 'review' of Prego (the Lanark version) included the following phrase "For an Italian restaurant, the espresso could be a bit better" which was certainly true on that particular occasion. My espresso that night did not possess the necessary "crema" which as all coffee geeks know is an absolute essential if it is to deserve the name "espresso."

However, I don't think my comments pleased the restaurant owner much, as he takes a measure of pride in the coffee he offers. (You expect nothing less from any Italian restaurateur worth his salt.)

Last week he was in the Carluke branch of Prego and insisted on making my espresso himself and offering it to me "on the house." [I noticed that he also made a point of opening a fresh bag of coffee beans for the purpose.]

Well, I can report to you that on this occasion (as on most occasions it has to be said) the espresso was certainly worthy of the name, with a healthy and delightful crema.

I realise that those of you who make do with instant coffee probably haven't a clue what I am talking about. I would also like to point out that I am not a snob in any other realm... but when it comes to coffee I know and expect only the best. And if I can produce a crema on my espresso at home then I expect my Italian barista to do the same. Thankfully, I know that he can.

Two bright pimples

"In Chittagong he would live like a prince, but here he is just doing the donkey regarded his malnourished limb, the two bright pimples above the elbow."

What do you mean it doesn't make sense??

It's what I was reading when I was away on my short break.

I had bought a book at the airport (Brick Lane by Monica Ali) and I was pretty much enjoying the story. I had reached page 320 and what you see above is exactly what I read.
Of course, my first reaction was to read it again just to see if I had missed a word or two, or simply misunderstood some clever sentence construction... but no matter how many times I read it, it still made no sense.
And then I noticed...
... after page 320 came page 273 - a page which, in fact, I had already read the day before! Soon it dawned on me that a whole section of the book had the wrong pages in it.
It was a bit of a Groundhog Day moment when I realised that I had already read this particular section...

... and then the frustration kicked in.
I wasn't going to be able to continue reading the book.
Sure, the last few pages were there... but I didn't want to read the ending without reading how the story arrived at that place. (I am not one of those people who reads the end of the book first to see how it is all going to work out. I want the author to lead me to that point.)
I've had to wait until today to get a replacement for the defective book.
Unfortunately I don't have time to read it at the moment.
I only hope I can actually remember now what happened in the first 320 pages!

Life itself can be like this some times.
Things don't always work out the way you expect them to.
Sometimes you find yourself in a dead end.
Sometimes you discover it just doesn't make sense at all.
And often it seems as if some of the pages are missing, or the wrong pages have been put into the story.
That's when you need a little bit of patience... and a lot of faith to trust that one day the story will make sense.

Would you walk by...

One of my daughters had a very lucky escape on Sunday morning. Her car spun off the road and rolled over into a field, ending up facing in the opposite direction, although back on its wheels again. Had the skid happened a few seconds earlier who knows what might have happened. As it is, she emerged from the wreck unscathed - which is more than can be said for her car which is now a total write-off.
Amazing as her good fortune was, it is not, to me, the most astonishing thing about the incident. No, I reserve that description for a group of people who witnessed the whole episode.
You see all of this took place right next to the 18th Tee of Carluke Golf Course. A group of golfers were tee-ing off at the time my daughter's car spun out of control and did its tumble across the field towards them. They paused for a few seconds to look over...

... then promptly carried on with their game!!
Can you believe it?

Up and away

My friends' house is less than 10 miles from the Kennedy Space Centre (as the crow, or pelican, flies) but about 17 miles from the launch pad 39A.
It is still close enough to ensure that you don't have to go anywhere, except to the end of the road, to get a pretty spectacular view of a launch. Unfortunately, though, I don't have the sort of zoom lenses that the professionals use to photograph the event.
If you want the real thing visit the NASA site.
The launch of Atlantis was (I think) the fifth space shot I have witnessed. (Four shuttle launches and the 1975 launch of the Viking mission to Mars are what I have seen so far. I missed the very last Apollo launch by just two days.)
It is a still, to me, an awe-inspiring sight and I have nothing but admiration for the folk who allow themselves to be strapped into that vehicle on top of millions of tons of high explosive then fired upwards into the sky.
Mind you, I think it pretty routine to strap myself into the seat of a Boeing 747-400 aircraft weighing anything up to 870,000 lbs and allow myself to be launched above the clouds, entrusting the pilots, crew and ground-staff to deliver me safely back to earth exactly as planned. I guess most people a hundred years ago would have considered this to be pretty crazy.
How long, do you think, before we see space travel as routine?

Trying not to drop a clanger

My recent visit to Florida coincided happily with the launch of the Space Shuttle Atlantis (STS-122) - more of which another time. I have seen a Space Shuttle launch a number of times before and while it is always an exciting experience it was not (as I've said) an entirely new one to me.
However, what was new for me on this trip was the opportunity to be part of a bell-ringing ensemble. (The picture above shows my one-and-only 15 minute rehearsal for the event.)
I now have a little lapel button which proclaims a bit dubiously that I am a bell-ringer!
I had been asked to fill in for a regular member of the bell-ringing team who, unfortunately, was not able to take part that Sunday.
To my own surprise I found it a thoroughly enjoyable (if slightly nerve-wracking) experience. What I did not want to do was to muck up things for the rest of the ensemble. In spite of the fact that we were situated in the choir loft and invisible to most of the congregation I did not want to "drop a clanger" if you pardon the pun.
I did get the opportunity to have a 15 minute rehearsal/lesson which was just as well for there were three things that I discovered were essential: technique, timing, and (perhaps most important of all) teamwork.
There is a certain technique involved in making sure that your bell sounds its note clearly, only once, at the right moment in time and not for any longer (or shorter) than necessary. You have to start with the bells (one in each hand) facing upwards then in a sort of circular motion, down and up again, time it so that the clapper (clanger) strikes the bell once at the right moment, then you have to rest it against your shoulder at the right moment to dampen the sound. It's not too difficult but you do need to practise it a bit to get the knack. The most complicated bit is when you have adjacent notes to play and you have to dampen one bell at exactly the same time as you strike the other.
I was actually asked if I could play a third bell. Only having two hands that would have required me to put one down and very, very quickly pick the other up without accidentally ringing either bell. I declined.
I know my limitations!
Teamwork, as I said, is probably the most important thing because unlike any other musical instrument I have ever played no single bell-ringer can play the whole tune (unless the tune consists entirely of two notes!) but each single bell-ringer is required for the tune (and harmony) to be played at all.
Like the pianist who must co-ordinate the action of his/her ten fingers the whole group has to act as one.
It was an interesting, and educational experience; for in fact the same lessons can be applied to most group activities, and certainly to church life. Nobody can do it all, but everybody has an important part to play in the overall scheme of things.
oh... and sometimes... we do drop the odd clanger!

It's snow bad!

Sorry I've been away from the blog for the last week. I was visiting some friends who, it just so happens, live in Central Florida. Now I know what you are thinking: - why one earth would anyone want to forsake the rain and snow and frost of a Scottish February for sunny blue skies and temperatures reaching into the 80's?
I know it is inexplicable. But there you go.
When I left Edinburgh Airport last Tuesday morning it was about 7 deg Centigrade (i.e. 45 Fahrenheit.) When I arrived in Orlando just after 7pm it was 29 Centigrade (84 Fahrenheit.)
But, of course, I wasn't there for the weather... so there's no need for any of you to feel jealous.
Mind you, what I did enjoy were the sunrises. The photo above was taken at the Indian River one morning last week just after 7am.
The tranquillity of these mornings was truly therapeutic. And so too was the opportunity to catch up on long-lasting and ever meaningful friendships.
The American friends I am talking about are a retired minister and his wife, whom I have known for the last 34 years.
My friend, who is now in his 80's (years this time, not degrees!) was preaching on Sunday at the church where he had been minister for many years and which was now celebrating its 50th Anniversary. During his sermon he spoke about a number of people who had been a great influence in shaping his own life and Christian faith; people who had somehow passed on the love of God from their experience to him.
As he spoke I felt that I was part of a very long chain going right back to the command of Jesus to his disciples that they should love one another, and the following idea formed in my head:
The true apostolic succession is the passing of the love of Christ from one generation to the next.
Some journeys are definitely worth making.

Thank you for the music

From time to time we have various concerts in the Church. On Friday night we had a return visit from Stonehouse Male Voice Choir, and a thoroughly entertaining evening they gave us. An excellent performance full of good humour and good singing.
Ordinarily I think I prefer a 'choir of all the parts' but, having said that, my tastes in music are pretty eclectic, as even a quick glance at my CD collection would show.
To me music should only be divided into "good" or "bad." (Well, maybe there's a middle category of "mediocre.")
Actually in Scotland we also have the phrase "no' bad" (which believe it or not can mean any of the three, depending on the inflection in your voice and the expression on your face.)
If you say it in a downbeat way it means "it was probably alright but it didn't do anything for me, and I wouldn't want to hear it again" (which in anybody's else's book is probably a diplomatic way of saying 'pretty bad.'
If it said with a slight shrug of the shoulders it means something like "I could take it or leave it."
If it is said with a bit of enthusiasm it actually means what it says on the tin, i.e. "not bad" = "good."
All in all, it sounds like the "not proven" verdict that can be dished out in Scottish Courts which can mean anything from guilty to innocent, or somewhere in-between.
So maybe I should just have said that the Stonehouse Male Voice Choir are 'no bad' and leave you to decide for yourself which of the above applies to you; but for that you'll have to go and hear them for yourself.
You can get a wee taste from their website.

It's snow good

Earlier this afternoon we had our first proper snowfall of the year - though not much and not for long.

I know there has been some significant snow in other parts of the country but each time it seems to have by-passed Carluke, much to the annoyance of my youngest daughter.

Well, this afternoon the snow DID fall, though (as I said) it didn't hang around for very long but it loitered enough to (temporarily) make my garden almost tidy enough to look at. That's one thing I like about the snow.

Am I the only one who thinks this... (or am I looking back with white-tinted spectacles?) but didn't we used to get quite a lot of snow in winter time in Scotland? And did it not sometimes hang around for weeks on end?

It's not difficult to convince anyone in this part of the world that global warming is a reality (of course, not in summer time: only in winter!)

Snows no' what it used to be when it used to snow.

The other thing that seems strange to me is that the less snow we have in this part of the world, the more problems it seems to cause, or at least people seem to have more difficulty in coping with it when it does appear, especially with respect to transport. Why is that, for goodness sake?