Four Ahead

I was taught at quite an early stage of my ordained life that having four talks / sermons / presentations on the go at the same time was a good habit. Whilst drawing the beginnings of a sketch of the one in four week's time I could be polishing this week's. Great advice from the days when there was no more than one new presentation a week.

Last night I realised that the next four presentations I was working on only took me as far as the first of two services on Sunday morning. I had Wednesday night Alpha talk. Two Bible studies today (for one of which I prepared the wrong passage, durr), a major talk on Saturday to the 25th anniversary of my old venture (not too late to book, email the Godstuff office) and two different Sunday preachments. Help.

My personal aim for the next twelve months, as set out on Tuesday evening at our Annual Parochial Church Meeting, is to maximise the number of opportunities to speak to any groups of people who meet in the town. I didn't think it would happen that fast.

Leamington FC

MSS would like to pause to pass on congratulations to the Mighty Brakes on winning promotion from The Southern league (Midland Division). That's five promotions in eight seasons since they were reborn in 2000. Miss you guys.

Watch all eight goals in the recent hammering of Malvern Town here.

Anthony and Clepoatra

Enjoyed this production at Bristol's Tobacco Factory last week. Intimate theatre in the round is great. I always note that one or two expressions from everyday life today were either attributable to Shakespeare or, at least, in everyday use when he wrote. This time we noticed 'Take the hint.'

Plot summary. Everyone is a devious liar anxious to extend his kingdom or fight for the eventual winners. The central relationship is based on lust regularly undermined by jealousy. People die. Great fun.

Lawns

Because Liz and I, when shaken or stirred, become a cocktail of laziness and ecological-awareness in pretty much equal measures, we don't look after our garden with any rigour. There are other qualities (mainly hers), but the lawn gets fewer cuts than most.

We do not remove dandelions, daisies, teasels, moss or any other green stuff from our lawn. It simply has to succumb to the mower once a fortnight from May to September, once a month in October, November, April and March and gets December - February off. Last year I let a teasel grow in the front garden and we scattered the seeds around a bit and harvested the flowers for Christmas decorations. Goldfinches visited the while. Teasels grow roots in year one and produce goldfinch food in year two. Then they die. The teasels not the goldfinches.

This morning the lawn, ten days uncut, is a riot of white and yellow. A few of our neighbours trim theirs with nail scissors.

I believe Liz should come out of this article with a better reputation than it is giving her. She is the gardener. I do big pruning, chopping things up, moving heavy objects, reaching high branches and going to the tip. She knows the names of plants and keeps the garden tidy. I get hay fever. She can escape me by spending time in the garden from June to August. But we both believe that anything which grows up through the lawn deserves a chance.

Dandelion leaves are great in salads.

Reality Check

See more at Graphjam. Respect, acknowledgement and all.

Englishness

Dropped into Bishop Alan's Blog (I commend it) where I read his thoughts on St George's Day. He said, '... being English is something to do with fairness, scientific curiosity, a quirky passion for personal freedom, amateurism, tolerance, justice for the underdog, tradition and evolution, pragmatism, and creativity.'

I love being English and have always given that as my nationality if it was one of the choices, rather then GB or UK. I remember thinking as a child that I was incredibly fortunate to live here rather than anywhere else in the world. I stick with that, even if I might be Roman, Saxon or Viking deep down in the DNA.

What would I add to his lovely list? Being English is about never being far from the sea, undulating countryside, the colour green everywhere, understanding that sometimes it's good to be alone, that pints of beer or cups of tea are the first-stop help on the counselling route, that good ideas don't need a point and that aims and objectives are often over-rated, that good enough is sometimes good enough, that it's OK to chill even when you haven't finished and I need to go out for lunch now but I haven't finished yet.

State of Play

Watched the newspaper/political thriller State of Play this afternoon. Good escapism and Russell Crowe pretty much nails the dishevelled ace reporter role.

One thing. The part of a publicist, employed by a congressman's department to protect him from the fall-out after an affair, is played by Brennan Brown. Who? Glad you asked. Follow the link to see a pic.

Done that? See? Weird isn't it? The guy you see fronting the ubiquitous Orange commercials turns up in a straight role, albeit a cameo, in a movie and you do a double take. I think that playing the lead in a highly successful ad series may be career-ending for a serious actor, especially one with such a defined, almost cartoonesque bone-structure.

There's an interview with Brown here at the Orange site

Split Seconds

I hate the moment (and I am being a bit vulnerable admitting to it) when, having left the house for the day and without having any opportunity to change over the next few hours, you realise that your pants have become uncomfortable.

Those old faithfuls, those reliable undies, have ceased being M&S and become S&M. Why do they do that? I have a marker on my water filter that tells me when it needs changing. All my food has a best-before date on it. I get a reminder for my insurance, my driving licence and my need to scan my computer. Why not my pants?

Some years ago these pants were checked by someone called G. Or was it W? Can't recall now. But if I know my car is good for a drive to the Moon and no further then why can't my pants have a warning:

Throw these away after three years. It will be for the best.

Tense?

Radio 4 News at 9.00 a.m. Lead item:

'Figures published in the next hour are expected to show...'

When did will this happen?

Japanese Traditional Theatre

Nothing quite prepares you for kabuki, one of the three styles of Japanese traditional theatre. I imagine in the same way that nothing would quite prepare a foreigner for pantomime. We did have the benefit of an English commentary (not translation) via an ear-piece but it was still one of the most inaccessible things I have ever experienced. And strangely, hauntingly, beautiful.

These images are of the theatre in Ginza. We had tickets for an afternoon performance. Performances last for up to five hours but the audience tend to come and go, pop off for something to eat or bring their own feast. This is not considered rude. In Japan I was, at five foot ten, somewhat of a giant and so the 90 minutes we did, with my knees almost touching my jaw, were plenty long enough.

In kabuki there are a number of standard works, a bit like the classical theatre canon in the UK. The play we saw was about a samurai being stirred from retirement to go and take revenge for a friend's death.

Costumes are elaborate and expensive. Movements are deliberate and slow. Black clad stage assistants run on from time to time to move props or help with the action. When one of the actors had to drop a child an assistant was standing behind to take the infant and lower it slowly to the floor. All parts are played by men. The language is an ancient text, difficult to follow even for those familiar with the tongue. Our Japanese-speaking hosts could only pick out a few words. The play also has a narrator who sings atonally against the contra-clash of a stringed, lute-like instrument. I am running out of language here. The audience appreciate the way certain movements are carried out and some lines delivered. At the entrances of the more famous stars they yell out that person's stage name as an appreciation.

I'm glad I can say I have experienced it.

It's a Motto

The word motto has been hanging around for a couple of days. First I paid a visit to the Prince's Motto in Barrow Gurney, a remarkable pub which has enough quirks to keep you in quirks for a while. The car park spaces are marked with the names of the regulars. I thought they'd misspelled an abbreviation for 'disabled' but I had parked next to Des's space. Brilliant.

You see few original signs over pub doors but we liked this one:

In case of fire
Don't panic
Pay your bar bill
Then run like hell

Good beer and nice, simple food.

But secondly, we have a new game in staff meetings. When someone says something which, once dragged screaming out of context would be an alarming thing to admit to actually meaning, someone else will shout, 'That should be our motto.' Yes, our staff team is developing a sense of fun and personality. Don't worry. I'll put an end to it.

Today's motto offerings:

Sometimes better isn't right

Many things brilliantly done aren't worth doing

If I'm going down I'm taking you with me

I expect this will continue.

The Old Rectory

Next to the ancient, parish church of Holy Trinity, Nailsea stands an impressive Georgian rectory. It is a listed building with the heritage-wallahs enthusiastic about its external appearance and any original interior features. It has been a money pit over the last few years and a new, modern rectory has been purchased for future Rectors. The previous Rector, who left last year, did explain that if he had been told when he came how much it would cost to live in this period-piece he may have reconsidered taking the job on.

So the Diocese of Bath and Wells, who own the property, plan to sell it. I believe they are right so to do.

Thing is, what we now call the Old Rectory and its garden are part of the historic footprint of Holy Trinity Church with its adjacent Trinity Centre. We also own a Church Hall some 100 metres down the road and have use of a medieval tithe barn opposite the church. There is a graveyard next to the Church Hall. In between the graveyard and the Old Rectory is a bungalow, in private ownership which was built when some of the diocese's land assets were sold off. The bungalow stands as a brick metaphor that if you sell off church land you can almost never get it back.

Part two of our conundrum is this. Holy Trinity church is stretched for space, especially on Sunday mornings, Tuesday mornings and various evenings of the week. Only last night two groups were denied permission to use any of the church plant for meetings because it was all taken already. Our parish profile has set out a vision of the church (by which we mean people here, not buildings) trying to be more involved in local community life and an intention to go for numerical growth. I believe that a church which has set out its vision for growth, and recruited a new Rector on the basis of that vision, should under no circumstances consider shrinking its historic footprint.

There are many things we could use the Old Rectory for. A small, and quite creative task group, met to consider the opportunities and within a short space of time had come up with the possibilities of:

• New offices
• New meeting rooms
• Accommodation for interns
• Accommodation for rent
• Accommodation, short-term, for people in difficulty
• Quiet space and garden
• Studio
• Retreat space
• Rentable board rooms
• Storage
• Freeing up some of the space in the church currently used for storage and office to be used for ministry, welcome and prayer
• An exemplary 'green' building, blending the best eco-friendly techniques with the beauty of the old

All, or some of these, would have clear advantages to the church and community but it was obvious that we couldn't do any of them if we didn't move sharpish to buy the property. Given the nature of the market we will probably never be able to pick up a seven-bedroom, detached Georgian rectory cheaper. Even if it turns out to be a duff investment a few years will surely see a return on the cost if we simply sell it on. We have one opportunity to buy it and will then have thousands of opportunities to plan how to use it.

We don't have the money and need to raise it. We are finding it hard to raise the money without putting some flesh on the bones of the plans. But it is too early to go definite on what we might use it for. It is not that we have no plan. It is that we have many and don't need to commit to one yet. But a more definite vision will probably help us to access grant aid. Impasse.

The task group met again last night to think on. We have no power and authority - simply an interest in the project. The result is that, over the next few weeks, we will show and present some drawings and rough plans (done by volunteers at no cost) of the sort of things the Old Rectory space could be used for. We hope that this will capture enough imaginations to persuade people to invest in the project before we commit to one specific idea. If it doesn't then we will have to face the criticism of being the generation that let the building slip through our fingers.

What does all this come down to? Is it trust? Is it vision? Maybe communication, or leadership? Probably all four. It is interesting that this is all happening during our vacancy when there is a leadership vacuum at the very top and several of us from a few rungs down are doing our best to steer.

If you read this and have a question or observation please post a comment or drop the church office a note.

The other members of the task group know I am posting this but the words are all my own. I'm biased. I think we should go for it and dig deep to stump up the cash. I am committed to chipping in. Let's talk.

Evangelism and Africa

My colleague Mark pointed me to this article Matthew Parris wrote in The Times last December. I missed it at the time and didn't pick up that it was much discussed. Fascinating insights, from a professed atheist, on the place of faith.

CEN March 2009

My web-watching column for the Church of England Newspaper last month:

When the going gets tough the British go shopping. So it used to be said, but increasingly this is done on-line. Here are some shopping sites that are a slightly better-kept secret than they ought to be.

Notonthehighstreet is a one-stop shop collecting many different retailers. It is an especially useful place to find an appropriate gift for birthdays, weddings and the like. Worth a look.

Getting Personal is also a gift service but every product can be personalised for the recipient. The products are cleverly organised by occasion. Free delivery on orders over £30.

Traidcraft tends to be a place I only remember to visit at Christmas but they have good gifts all the year round. Its nice to know that every purchase deposits a fair return in the hands of the worker who made the goods. They support a hundred or so producer groups in thirty countries. Purchases change lives.

Red Letter Days sell outings, events and experiences rather than things. Here you will find gastro-holidays, theatre breaks, balloon rides and the like.

If help is needed to stop spending much has been said recently about financial advice on-line, little of it for younger adults. What About Money is an easy-to-navigate site full of tips and hints about mobile phone deals, transport costs, budgeting and much more. If you self-same young adults have enough money for a year out then Gap Year Travel Store is a must-visit.

If you want to find a few last minute resources for Holy Week and Easter try Family Worship, which has ideas for songs, drama and other resources with downloadable free MP3 files of backing tracks. Reep promotes connections between religions and the environment and has an Easter resources page.

As Easter holidays beckon children may be looking for entertainment. If you'd like to tell your tonking from your festop and your festoon from your forktop visit Making and Flying Kites.
People seem to be becoming more and more interested in the history of their home patch (or maybe I'm just getting older). Whatever, Vision of Britain will give maps, statistical trends and historical descriptions of Britain between 1801 and 2001, searchable by postcode.
Tired of googling? Feel like a change? Try Clusty. It's very quick.

If you fancy wandering around a few blogs over the Easter break may I recommend Crooked Shore (the name taken from the County Down coastline). It's a place to '...expect comments on books and movies. Sometimes, though not often, a rant. Often biblical or theological reflection. Maybe a poem.' Good pictures too.

Doug Chaplin used to blog at Metacatholic but he has laid that one down to become Blogito Ergo Sim. He still muses on faith and life in an informed and intellectually stimulating way. When blogs end do they sound the last post?

Justin Lewis-Anthony is '...a priest in the Church of England, with an unhealthy interest in film and theology, and an inability not to see the long view.' He blogs as the 3 Minute Theologian, 'Making words about God for the attention deficit generation.' Fun and thoughtful. It was via this blog that I found the work of Slacktivist. The theme that holds it all together is 'knock, breathe, shine and seek to mend.' I'll be back. Sometimes chaos is riveting.

In a greying world Green Patches mixes the ecological, theological and illogical. The biography says, 'Married, middle-aged, immature, living with keep-fit and cycle-sportive fanatic, teenage son, dog, cat (late), birds, gerbil (very late) and bearded dragon - with student daughter away in The Big City. Half Scottish, with a touch of Welsh and French somewhere in the mix, I'm a quiet, retiring, MBTI INFP, cleaner up of other folks messes and part-time mature student. Currently exploring a vocation to The Society of St Francis (Franciscan Third Order).' Bloggers are a bit like this. Enjoying this script will help you to work out if you have what it takes to surf the blogosphere.

Green Patches linked me to The Mercy Blog, the writings of a Franciscan ex-herdsman. I found it a lovely place to read and meditate.

Iminacoma.org is currently not responding.

Mustard Seed Shavings has an archive of previous columns.

Transport in Japan

It's hard to be fully prepared for the east-meets-west experience of Japan. You can read about it but it's so much more.

In this first shot we were sitting in a Costa-like coffee shop in central Tokyo, watching the western-dressed, ethnically mixed passers by, the flashing neon signs mainly in English and the cars driving on the left. We could have been in Regent Street. Go into one of the shops and the quality of the greeting, the tidiness of the place and the appearance of the staff leave you in no doubt this is another world. And that's before anyone opens their mouths to thank you for visiting.

Despite the press suggestion, not everyone wears a face mask in urban Tokyo. About one in twenty do, I'd say. This is less to do with the air quality and more to do with avoiding hay-fever (bad at blossom time). It is also about not spreading germs if you have a cold. It is a courtesy. One of many.

Cars drive on the left because the first batch of Fords delivered to Japan were from the UK not the USA and thus right-hand drive. The sign in this next picture says TOKYO MARATHON 2009.3.22. It is the course Jon and Carys ran.

Public transport is excellent and so there are few cars in the suburbs. Most people get the train or cycle.

Trains are crowded at rush hour and people board them by flinging themselves through closing doors and settling to the floor like retiring stage-divers. Everyone is too polite to criticise and simply shuffles around until there is space. In Japan personal space is smaller than in the UK so two people having a conversation will have their faces much closer together than we are used to. That said, few people talk on trains. Using a mobile phone is frowned upon. Many simply feign sleep. Most passengers had very clean shoes, I noticed. Pride again. Look at how clean this station entrance lobby is.

The announce-ments on an underground train are in crystal-clear American English. For instance 'The next station will be Oji the doors on the right hand side of the train will open.' A computer display over each door tells you the names of the next seven stations or so and the exact time of arrival.

Trains are very punctual and stop exactly so that the doors are alongside platform-marked boarding places. At one point we boarded the 1232 from Kyoto to Tokyo in error when we should have caught the 1229. We were asked, politely, to leave it at the next station and board the correct train. This meant waiting at a station 250 miles down the track for 12 minutes while the slightly slower train we should have boarded caught up with us. Two trains going one 400 mile journey at slightly different paces leaving within three minutes of each other. Both pretty full. Journey time, including change, was 2 hours 45 minutes. Brilliant.

At the mainline stations, armies of immaculately-uniformed cleaning staff come on board and take away litter. At the front of one of the underground trains for one journey I noticed through the glass panelling of the cab that it was incredibly clean and tidy and the driver wore white gloves. No half-eaten pasty or rolled up Sun here.

There was an amazing contrast between the efficiency and tidiness of Narita Airport and Heathrow. On the outward journey our plane failed a security check because a can of drink was found which had not been brought on board by any of the passengers. We all had to disembark again. Delay of one hour and a half. Despite this the service at Narita was perfect. Baggage handlers and maintenance staff were positioned in line at various points around the plane's final resting place to get on with their work. We taxied straight into position despite arriving at a non-scheduled time. A long queue for passport checks was dealt with efficiently and fairly - no guessing which queue would go down quickest here. We were in a single queue at the end of which we were escorted personally to the next free position of six or seven. We were finger-printed and photographed and our bags were on the carousel waiting for us by the time we reached it.

Returning to Heathrow we left Narita on time but on arrival had to wait because our stand wasn't free. The queue for passport control was unfair, the checker chewed gum at us (this would appear very rude to a Japanese visitor), the carpets were held together with tape and a coach driver called Scott on the Heathrow to Reading shuttle was extraordinarily rude to a bunch of Americans (first experience of the country? Sorry guys) and then drove like an idiot.

As a contrast to long-haul flights and bullet trains one touristy thing to be done, especially by the natives, is to be made up like a geisha and pulled through the streets on a rickshaw. These two girls in Kyoto were clearly having a ball doing so.

And when you finally shuffle off this mortal eastern coil? Here's the hearse. Some style.

We probably walked more miles in our eleven days than we usually do but they had a zen-like quality as we observed our surroundings. Buses were pretty good too.

Back in the UK a train manager on the reading to Bristol service took some time out to show two bored children a card trick, then phoned ahead on behalf of a stressed customer to find out the platform number for the connection they were going to find it tight to make. We spoke to strangers on the train. It felt good to be home.

By the way there is a lot of Siberia. I looked out every half hour for ten hours and it was still there.

Legal Changes

'Ministers faced demands last night for legal changes to protect public officials who leak material embarrassing to the government as the secrets case against Damian Green, the Tory shadow immigration spokesman, was thrown out by prosecutors.'

Thus spoke the first paragraph of the lead story in today's Guardian. And I have a question.

You see, after due legal consideration by prosecutors, the case against Christopher Galley, the leaking home office official (what is the collective noun for home office officials? A leak?) has been thrown out. So, what changes are being demanded? Surely an investigation that finds there is no case to answer is about as protective as protection gets. Why change anything? And who is doing the demanding? Only stupid people I should imagine. And probably only stupid Tories at that. Ah, I see what the Guardian did there. Clever.

In the Loop

The Thick of It was a wonderful piece of TV political satire. In the Loop takes many of the same characters and manages, unusually, to be a laugh-out-loud movie, and, more unusually, to benefit from being allowed out from behind the small screen.

Writer Armando Iannucci is savvy enough not to pin down the subject matter of the film to the war in Iraq and that dodgy dossier. So it's about a dodgy dossier, a potential war and a secret war committee which has nothing to do with real characters alive or etc.

Go see it. Sensitive Christian readers might want to allow themselves a night in front of real language. Cope.

Food in Japan

So it's our first night in Japan and we pop out to a local restaurant in Urawa. There is a menu, held by Carys in this photo, and a hand-held, table-top device in front of Jon. I chose the photo of Carys and Jon. There exists one of Liz and I, who thought we were doing quite well after being awake for over 24 hours but the picture suggests our eyes were only open by a millimetre. You have done nothing to deserve seeing it.

We order our food by intranet. A selection of waiters and waitresses bring the meal to our table, delivering it with a sing-song Japanese speech which we don't hear anywhere except restaurants the whole of our trip. Jon and Carys tell us there is a formal, almost oldie-worldie, style of speech in a restaurant, not used elsewhere and especially in traditional Japanese restaurants, so the staff are saying something such as, 'Kindly bless us with the joy of consuming our delectable food.' We did. It was lovely. Small portions of several fish, vegetable and tofu dishes to share.

In a sectioned-off area of a large department store these children were being taught to cook. I'd guess they were aged about 5 to 7. They sat perfectly still and attended to their teacher as we watched through the glass. Love the chefs' hats. They seemed so proud to be wearing them. Pride in performance is a theme we noticed again and again. Whatever people were doing they did it with pride, as if it were the most important task in the world.

There is as much space given to tofu and other bean-curd products in a Japanese food store as a medium Tescos in England would allocate to cheese. Most of it is delicious. My experience of tofu is that it depends very much on the flavour of its accompaniments. In fact there is more subtlety and complexity than that.

That said, bean curd did provide us with the one 'won't swallow' moment of our holiday, although we did taste.

The white, central bowl in this illustration contains natto. Natto achieves something quite remarkable. It is a dish that is unpleasant to all five of the senses. It looks disgusting, like regurgitated porridge with green pesto. It smells ghastly. As you remove a spoonful of it from the bowl a squelchy noise can be heard not unlike pulling a wellie out of mud. To the tongue it feels like wallpaper paste with tadpoles in it (you may be getting an idea here and you'd be right). It tastes of very little with added salt. Best avoided. It was available as one of the options at breakfast in our two hotels. Then again so was pasta with meat sauce and an unimaginable attempt at a British sausage.

One style of restaurant, a bit Indonesian, is to griddle your own pancake from selected ingredients, although it turns out they don't trust westerners with such a task and bring it to you in aluminium foil and simply use the griddle in the centre of the table as a hotplate. Here I try to get hold of a piece of egg, fried cabbage, prawns and a sort of barbecue sauce. Mayo was an option but we all turned it down. It was a bit sickly but a fun time. Note the extreme concentration of the inexperienced pancake quarterer.

Food at simple, station-based outlets is marvellous. I have already mentioned I had a wonderful, avocado and shrimp hot sandwich which I will remember until my dying day.

The presentation of packaged food in a food-court or supermarket is brilliant. Here is a bento box - a packed lunch of sushi if you like - the sort you can buy at a station before a journey. The bullet train is so smooth you can eat this safely, with chopsticks, at 220 mph. The major distinction between this and a British version is that the rice is several times more sticky and gorgeous and the fish is immaculately fresh. Oh and the wasabi (Japanese horseradish) takes a wire brush to your sinuses. To compensate, you can drink the water from the taps in most places.

On our final day we visited Asakusa - a shrine with a bustling hinterland of shops, restaurants, take-away food stands and market stalls. We watched this guy making buckwheat noodles in a restaurant window. He started with a huge ball of dough and then, constantly changing up to the next size of rolling pin, produced a single, thin sheet which he folded and cut by hand. Brilliant dexterity. We had to go in and eat and the food was lovely. I had my noodles in a duck broth. My companions suggested that the paste in a jar in the centre of the table was black-bean sauce. It was black and it was sauce. I should have been more guarded as the bowl was small and the spoon tiny. One taste took the plaster off the walls of my previously wasabi-brushed sinuses. The paste contains delayed action chillies. An hour later and I had a lovely sorbet-style blackcurrant ice cream which I could feel heating up inside me as it went down. The only joy is that I digested whatever it was entirely and felt no ill effects as it came out the other end. Either that or it has been inside me for a fortnight and is biding its time.

Our conclusion would be that, as ever, the key to great cooking is great shopping. Simple ingredients. Fresh ingredients. Not very many ingredients. The Japanese get a lot of this right. In fact they only get it wrong with attempts to placate western stomachs in hotels. And with natto.

I've noticed this week that I've put fewer herbs and spices in my cooking and let the ingredients speak for themselves. Why bother to get a fresh, organic veggie box delivered every week if you're going to keep things in the fridge for ages then disguise the flavour?

Jesus Laughed

If we are not careful we read too much into the slim pickings of the gospels concerning Jesus' humanity. A few decades ago Hugh Montefiore, an eminent theologian, got into some trouble by suggesting that there was nothing in the gospels to say Jesus wasn't gay. Montefiore was right but it was a step too far (and I'm about to find out if it still is). Maybe if a good Jewish boy hadn't found a wife by age 30... I'll stop. You can't argue from silence.

Thing is, speaking about Jesus' humanity, we often fall back on those slim pickings. He was hungry. He was rude. He got tired and angry. Look how normal he was, we say.

I wish the shortest verse in the Bible was 'Jesus laughed' not 'Jesus wept.' Again you can't argue that because the Bible knows nothing of Jesus splitting his sides (oops) he never did. But the gospels appear to be a humourless place. Planks and logs - possibly amusing. You can get a camel through the eye of a needle given an industrial strength liquidizer but Jesus wouldn't have known that.

There is, as a piece in last Saturday's Guardian pointed out, a tradition of telling jokes at Easter services - the long, dark nights of no-fun Lent are over. But there are many people for whom, faith is no laughing matter and to whom jokes have to be pitched carefully. I'll never get the hang of that, as you know.

For Lent I was challenged by my colleagues to give up the knee-jerk put-down; the sarcastic and belittling response that comes so naturally to me. I failed about six times (I may have missed some) but I spent the whole of Lent trying. Trouble is, unlike the chocolate denyer who can stuff themselves on three chocolate eggs on Easter Sunday afternoon, I feel somewhat bound to keep going. I did consider visiting all my colleague's houses and indulging in drive-by contempt whilst they snoozed after Sunday lunch. Somehow that seemed churlish.

So Jesus, if you're listening, I intend to carry on assuming you laughed as well as cried. Let me know if that's wrong. I'll strap the humour back on again now and recommit to using it in assertion of my humanity. I'll tinge it with occasional outbreaks of mercy but don't hold your breath.

Strange Encounters in the Street

It never ceases to surprise me that people will say the most remarkable things to a stranger in the street if that stranger happens to be wearing a dog collar. Today:

Stranger (male aged about 40)
My God, you're a priest!

Me
Are you surprised?

Stranger
No, I'm delighted.

(He walks on)

Good Friday Music

The three pieces of music used at yesterday's Holy Trinity Good Friday afternoon service were:

In The Olive Garden by Ian Anderson, taken from his album Divinities: 12 Dances with God (1995). Yes, that Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull.

Ghost Hardware by Burial from the album Untue.

















Falling by Nitin Sawhney from the album Human.

If you click on the links or pictures you should be able to buy them from Amazon .

W

Conspiracy theory? Dangerous gift of prophecy? You decide. The following story is true:

Last Sunday those of us leading worship were asked to give out a notice explaining that there were no more tickets available for a particular event, although due to a misprint in the parish news-sheet we had accidentally suggested that there were.

I am aware that people become bored by my voice. Hell, I get bored with my voice. So, aware that the notice had already been given out three times that Sunday, at the evening service I joked it up a bit. I said that the letter W, which had crept into the text turning the word no into now, had been banned from the parish office for one week. Some people, not enough, but some, were kind enough to chuckle.

On Monday morning I picked up the lovely special order of service for Holy Week which my colleague had painstakingly prepared. The words of the Gloria now read:

As it is in the beginning, is not and shall be for ever.

Come back W, all is forgiven. Otherwise it will be Lo Sunday followed by Hitsun.

Going Up

I'm not sure what strange, inner compulsion persuades people to go to one of the most earth-tremor ravaged countries on earth and climb a high building with the durability of a pick-a-stick but hey, that's tourism for you. So we spent two nights in the Kyoto Tower Hotel, an ordinary, western-style hotel with a tower on the top. Part of our booking gave us a free trip to the viewing platform which is the orange and white sticking-out bit.

It is modelled on a lighthouse, supposedly looking out over land-locked Kyoto. Kyoto used to be the capital of Japan until someone with dyslexia in government accidentally wrote Tokyo.

I'm not sure why they feel the need to illuminate the name Kyoto Tower Hotel. In St-world the sign would say 'Take a wild guess.'

Another express-lift ride and then a wonderful view of the region at dusk. The platform publicity boasted that it recently hosted a conference for all thirty Japanese towers. I guess they meant the managers. Now that's what I call a niche-market venue.

The telescopes on the platform are very high-powered. We noticed you could not only see to the mountains and the sea but also into the coffee shops at ground level in the station opposite. Espionage possibilities were endless. Cosmo you'd love it but we'd be able to tell what you were reading.

One of the reasons why trains in Japan are so efficient (more on this later) is that the railways own the malls around the stations. These are not like the small range of shops we tend to have at British stations but galleries of designer stores, food outlets and specialist shops. One of my favourite meals on our trip was a lunchtime shrimp and avocado hot sandwich from a station shop (more on food later). The efficiency of the trains (which apparently make little money) generates the footfall to get people shopping.

The view from our hotel window (a mere eight floors up) was of this illuminated Hitachi sign. I wondered if the word 'generation' continued round the corner. It didn't. Inspire the next what? Answers on a comment.

The soundtrack to all this was of the pedestrian crossing at street level which, from 7.00 a.m. to 10.00 p.m., sounded like someone trying to shoot a cuckoo with a laser gun. You don't mess about on Japanese pedestrian crossings. For starters the journey is long and you need to make good progress to make it in time. For some of the central Tokyo ones I'd advise taking refreshments. Secondly, it is an offence to walk unless the green sign is illuminated. You can be arrested for this.

Having been listening to David Mitchell's Radio 4 programme The Unbelievable Truth I smuggled one lie into this piece. Did you spot it?

The Blossom Thing

Japan is incredibly densely populated. Although there is a large land area (made up of four large islands and thousands of smaller ones) much of it is uninhabitable. The population of 130 million or so huddle in strips near the coast.

Jon lives in Saitama City but there is little agricultural land between his flat and central Tokyo. You cross a couple of rivers but no fields. Imagine suburbia in Britain with no gardens and the houses right next to each other. Then add a few blocks of apartments every fifth or sixth house and you get the picture.

This first view is from Tokyo's Sunshine tower. It is the second highest building in Tokyo - we tried to go up the highest but it was closed to the public on the day of our visit. You will notice we look down on a thirty storey office block. The express elevator up the sixty storey tower did 60 floors in 30 seconds. The first five floors are marked, off, then floors 15, 25, 35, 45, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60. My ears popped twice on the way up and once on the way down. I'm one pop short of equilibrium. In the corners of the viewing floor the glass goes right down to the floor and you can stand next to it and look down. If you want to. I didn't.




So, as few people have
gardens, the parks are very popular. As spring arrives it becomes warm enough to sit in the park and the custom has grown up of picnicking under the blossom of cherry trees. People go crazy photographing blossom. They'd rather have a blooming cherry tree in the background of a family photo than anything else in all the world. Here are some pictures of some blossom, of us watching people photographing blossom (Jon joining in). And one of me being ironic. Can you guess which, viewers?

The parties in the parks seem gentle enough with families and groups of friends pitching up with blue plastic groundsheets. You can see our rather poor effort at same. Also Carys with a cherry blossom flavoured ice-cream. A sort of Vimto Mr Whippy if the truth be told. Jon says that as dusk falls the parties turn into massive binge drinking affairs. There are side stalls selling fast food products which vary from their take on toffee apples, to barbecued herring or bean-curd in pastry - a delicacy.

Come the autumn the whole thing is repeated with maple leaves being the focus of attention although, as Jon says, this is a nation which has a ceremony when they turn on the air conditioning.

Thoughts from Saitama

I thought you'd be very bored by my holiday stories so I'm going to publish them in short posts. Seems more blog-like to me.

For those who don't know, or haven't kept up, my son Jon lives and works in Japan. Liz and I recently took the opportunity (of a lifetime) to visit before he comes home for good, and have a guided tour. Jon speaks very competent Japanese now. Our ability to have bred successful, independent beings is a source of great joy.

We spent some time experiencing ordinary Japan in and around Jon and his girlfriend Carys' apartment. Whilst we did do the tourist thing of ancient monument and gift shop visiting it was this local stuff (off the tourist track) which we really appreciated. Many visitors would simply miss this.

This is me and the lad in front of the Golden Pavilion (Kinkaku-ji) in Kyoto. Although the structure looks really old it is the same age as me, having been completely rebuilt in 1955. The Japanese tend to describe a building as 'centuries old' and then add, 'In that time it's only needed three new sets of walls and four new roofs.' Like the old joke about the spade you've had for twenty years and has only needed two new heads and three new handles.
As many of these ancient places are made of wood, and the winter temperature plummets, it is no surprise that fire has been the major cause of damage to old buildings in Japan over the years. War and earthquakes have also taken their toll. Some of the grounds around temples, pavilions and shrines are beautiful havens of stillness, especially those with koi-laden pools.

A heron sits at the side of this one, watching for the next course. Pictures all by Liz.

A visit in spring is ideal - I will post some thoughts on blossom some other time though. It's complicated.

I Fibbed

The last few items have been auto-posted. As some of you know, I have been in Japan visiting my son and his girlfriend, who work there as English teachers. Whilst I alluded to this on Facebook, for those who were in the know, my home address is so easily found by googling that I prefer not to write posts saying 'I'm in Tokyo' when the house is empty.

I am a bit weary after 23 hours of travelling yesterday so will not attempt prose for the moment. Suffice it to say that it was the opportunity of a lifetime and Liz and I really enjoyed our experience.

I think we learned lots about how to co-operate in a densely populated country that would make a huge difference here. How do you change a culture?

Oh and by the way, the trains are very precise and extremely clean.

How do you preach in a Postmodern World?

How do you preach in a Postmodern World?

To begin with
Know your audience. Some churches seem not yet to be postmodern. Yet like it or not the members inhabit the postmodern world.
Have confidence in your Bible. God’s word is alive.
Dip your toes in the world your congregation inhabits. Read the Sun occasionally; 10 million people a day do.
Don’t try too hard to compete with the world. In a high-tech world, low-tech works. The sales staff of postmodernism care more about products than people. We shouldn’t.
Look at Paul’s example of preaching in a strange culture (Acts 17:16-34).

Some negatives
Don’t assume you know what questions your audience is asking.
Don’t assume a background of Bible knowledge; not everyone knows the stories of David and Goliath, or Noah and the flood these days.
Don’t show off your knowledge of the postmodern world until you have one.
Don’t look for the key to the scriptures outside scripture.
For each new Bible passage ask yourself, ‘What seems odd to me?’

Some positives
Use visual aids to help your listeners remember the most important 5%.
Write your conclusion first. This is where you want to leave your audience.
For each of your main points try and have a story, a picture and a question.
Love God’s word and love his people; pastor and teacher are linked in the New Testament (Ephesians 4:11).

Some useful resources
Preaching to a Postmodern World
A Guide to reaching twenty-first century listeners
Graham Johnston
IVP 2001

When God’s Word is Heard
Essays on preaching presented to Dick Lucas
Ed. Christopher Green and David Jackman
IVP 1995

Connect Bible Studies
What does the Bible say about…
Various authors

Scripture Union
Studies available on Harry Potter, the Matrix, superheroes, football, U2, Destiny’s Child and many more. Also available as a download from http://www.connectbiblestudies.com/

www.vurch.com
A web-site for people who don’t go to church any more. Read why.

homepages.ihug.co.nz/~mriddell
Mike Riddell is a theology tutor in new Zealand with lots to say about being human and being church. Start from his home-page and browse his world.

Preaching in a Post-Modern World

Sometimes it's good to revisit your training. I did the following session in Coventry in 2003. I wonder how people think it has stood up.

Preaching in a Postmodern World
Modernism (14th – 19th centuries A.D.)
Merriam-Webster online dictionary. Noun 1737 ‘modern artistic or literary philosophy and practice; especially : a self-conscious break with the past and a search for new forms of expression.’
Typical features
Belief in progress
Emphasis on reason
Rejection of tradition
Faith in science
Confidence and hope
Urbanisation
Development of liberal democracies

Postmodernism
Merriam-Webster online dictionary. Adjective 1949 ‘of, relating to, or being any of several movements (as in art, architecture, or literature) that are reactions against the philosophy and practices of modern movements and are typically marked by revival of traditional elements and techniques.’
Typical features
Nostalgia
Despair of meta-narratives
Respect for all traditions and opinions
Images
What works rather than what is real
Everything is a text – FCUK preaching
Spirituality good; absolute truth bad
Changing loyalties, attitudes to possessions, relationships, aspirations, ideals, interests, attention spans, styles and reactions

What will a postmodern church culture begin to look like without correction?
Feel-good factor. No place for suffering. Pastoral care expected as a right.
Goodbye brand loyalty. Christians, already happy with a more nomadic working life, will shop around for a new church when they move, regardless of denomination.
People will be disappointed if faith doesn’t work. How being a Christian saves your marriage seems to be more important than doctrine.
Me-ism. Centralisation of individual needs.
Tradition mixing. Two parts Celtic to one part charismatic. Hold the incense.
A desire for certainty alongside a comfort with variety.
A demand for new things.
Short term programmes and courses more popular than long-term commitment.
Dualism – one rule for church and another for life.
Networks not churches.
Liquid church.

More tomorrow.