Apologies to those who call into Mustard Seed Shavings for regular updates. It's been what is known in the trade as 'a silly week.' Sometimes I look ahead in my diary and think that a week looks as if it already has too much in it and I need to be careful. Then things arrive in that week over which I have no control such as funerals. I am about to take a short break and so anyone who wants to talk tends to get crammed in rather than put off for ten days.
Because I enjoy it, and think it important, blogging and social networking is usually the last thing I throw overboard. I explained this carefully to a group on Monday night. If you want to generate blog traffic then try to update every day, I said. We were doing a seminar on, yeah you guessed it, social networking and fresh expressions of church.
So if you are a new visitor after last Monday yes, your seminar was run by an incompetent hypocrite. Today I am trying to keep a bit work free prior to the Willow Creek Global Leadership Summit video-cast for the next two days, a highlight of my year and a great chance to spend two days thinking about leadership.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Ace Music
Today's dip into the back catalogue. The lovely soul singing and blues piano of Paul Carrack backed by Ace's tight r and b and harmony vocals. Enjoy.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Jesus on Wheels
Jesus on Wheels has been to Greenbelt and Tunisia in the recent past but as yet no photographic evidence. I gather he has been on a camel and met someone called Amen.
Now, anxious to be with people in difficulty, he is off to the Commonwealth Games in Delhi. As he is going with a BBC sound engineer and not a competitor he will be staying in a five star hotel.
Please pray for healing. His left arm keeps coming off.
Now, anxious to be with people in difficulty, he is off to the Commonwealth Games in Delhi. As he is going with a BBC sound engineer and not a competitor he will be staying in a five star hotel.
Please pray for healing. His left arm keeps coming off.
Love Come To Town
A few weeks ago Somerfield (latterly Co-op) supermarket sold out and left. Somerfield, Nailsea was the sort of place you could film a zombie movie simply by recording in real time with the regular crowd. It was slow and had a smoker's complexion. There was too much salt in the sandwiches.
After just six weeks we have a bright, friendly, well-stocked Waitrose. The green and grey clad, share-owning staff have a sense of urgency and purpose. I went for a Guardian and some skimmed milk. I bought a Guardian, some Duchy, organic skimmed milk, a bottle of English sparkling wine, two bars of fair-trade chocolate and some individually cut and crimped balsamic vinegar and sea salt crisps each of which has been butterfly kissed by an attractive blond checking clerk. I may have imagined this last bit but they are expensive crisps and will still kill me slowly.
Anyway £30 spent against a £1.85 budget so it's not looking good. Also they had run out of sandwiches at 3.30 p.m. so I bought a pasty. There are not enough car park spaces in Nailsea for all the people who now want to visit. It is a good retail experience if such is possible. Maybe walking there would be good and keep my purchases down to what I can carry.
We're not buzzing and happening yet but if the rumoured W.H. Smiths, Wetherspoons and Cargo happen then who knows. Who knows.
After just six weeks we have a bright, friendly, well-stocked Waitrose. The green and grey clad, share-owning staff have a sense of urgency and purpose. I went for a Guardian and some skimmed milk. I bought a Guardian, some Duchy, organic skimmed milk, a bottle of English sparkling wine, two bars of fair-trade chocolate and some individually cut and crimped balsamic vinegar and sea salt crisps each of which has been butterfly kissed by an attractive blond checking clerk. I may have imagined this last bit but they are expensive crisps and will still kill me slowly.
Anyway £30 spent against a £1.85 budget so it's not looking good. Also they had run out of sandwiches at 3.30 p.m. so I bought a pasty. There are not enough car park spaces in Nailsea for all the people who now want to visit. It is a good retail experience if such is possible. Maybe walking there would be good and keep my purchases down to what I can carry.
We're not buzzing and happening yet but if the rumoured W.H. Smiths, Wetherspoons and Cargo happen then who knows. Who knows.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
RIP John 'Dazz' Rankin
About 1993 or so I was approached in a bar by a slightly-worse-for-wear guy in a leather jacket who told me a few things that were wrong with the church. That was my first meeting with John Rankin.
Over the years that followed John came into the fold of St Paul's, Leamington and brought his battles with long-term addictions into that community. So well did he do that for a while he was employed as a caretaker and odd-job-man/verger. He helped out with Alpha courses. When fit and well he worked harder than anyone I have known. I found him cleaning the church lounge carpet at 1.00 a.m. once, so it would be nice for a funeral the next day.
He would do jobs for people with pleasure. I told him that local builders couldn't find a matching piece of my small-bore, bay-window guttering and had to replace the lot. John turned up next day with an appropriate piece he'd got from a yard and did the job for £15 and a sandwich.
John could talk. He had seen the world and life. He told great true tales. I never knew if he had obtained any qualifications apart from in the navy but I somehow doubted it. I think he was the smartest and best-read unqualified guy I ever knew. He knew his Bible well and shared his faith humbly. He never said 'Nice sermon' to me but would talk about something that was good or bad. If he spotted an error he would point it out gently.
He was always good humoured with me and my family and we became friends. He called me up every six months or so for a chat after I left Leamington. Despite the fact that from time to time when we lived near each other he used to call round for a chat when it was inconvenient, at six months intervals I always cheered up when I answered the phone to him. He told me of his plans to visit the West Country (his spiritual home and roots) when he got his health and bike fixed. He never made it.
I met some of his other acquaintances and picked up tales of 'Dazz' the ex-matelot. Occasionally friends of Dazz wondered why other people called him John; and vice-versa. The identity change had been part of shaking off the past and starting over.
John came for Christmas dinner for a couple of years and we wondered which of him or my mother would crack first in a talk-off. Victory for Mum. Only time John ever got out-talked.
Two jokes he told me:
Steve I've got a computer now but it's so old windows are still being taxed.
St: Hi John where you been?
John: I'm back from 'nam .
St: Eh?
John: Sydenham
Back in 2003 or so we met for an hour a week for a term. John was aware he could be short-tempered and wanted to talk it through. He was good at disclosure and self-analysis but aware, as an alcoholic, that he was only one failure to resist temptation short of a disaster. He struggled to have sympathy for others who let petty difficulties get on top of them. We had so much in common.
I will miss him. He was an antidote to dullness in every way. My sons, who wondered what had gone wrong the first Christmas he didn't come for lunch, have both sent their condolences. RIP John. The world just got less interesting.
Over the years that followed John came into the fold of St Paul's, Leamington and brought his battles with long-term addictions into that community. So well did he do that for a while he was employed as a caretaker and odd-job-man/verger. He helped out with Alpha courses. When fit and well he worked harder than anyone I have known. I found him cleaning the church lounge carpet at 1.00 a.m. once, so it would be nice for a funeral the next day.
He would do jobs for people with pleasure. I told him that local builders couldn't find a matching piece of my small-bore, bay-window guttering and had to replace the lot. John turned up next day with an appropriate piece he'd got from a yard and did the job for £15 and a sandwich.
John could talk. He had seen the world and life. He told great true tales. I never knew if he had obtained any qualifications apart from in the navy but I somehow doubted it. I think he was the smartest and best-read unqualified guy I ever knew. He knew his Bible well and shared his faith humbly. He never said 'Nice sermon' to me but would talk about something that was good or bad. If he spotted an error he would point it out gently.
He was always good humoured with me and my family and we became friends. He called me up every six months or so for a chat after I left Leamington. Despite the fact that from time to time when we lived near each other he used to call round for a chat when it was inconvenient, at six months intervals I always cheered up when I answered the phone to him. He told me of his plans to visit the West Country (his spiritual home and roots) when he got his health and bike fixed. He never made it.
I met some of his other acquaintances and picked up tales of 'Dazz' the ex-matelot. Occasionally friends of Dazz wondered why other people called him John; and vice-versa. The identity change had been part of shaking off the past and starting over.
John came for Christmas dinner for a couple of years and we wondered which of him or my mother would crack first in a talk-off. Victory for Mum. Only time John ever got out-talked.
Two jokes he told me:
Steve I've got a computer now but it's so old windows are still being taxed.
St: Hi John where you been?
John: I'm back from 'nam .
St: Eh?
John: Sydenham
Back in 2003 or so we met for an hour a week for a term. John was aware he could be short-tempered and wanted to talk it through. He was good at disclosure and self-analysis but aware, as an alcoholic, that he was only one failure to resist temptation short of a disaster. He struggled to have sympathy for others who let petty difficulties get on top of them. We had so much in common.
I will miss him. He was an antidote to dullness in every way. My sons, who wondered what had gone wrong the first Christmas he didn't come for lunch, have both sent their condolences. RIP John. The world just got less interesting.
Beer Off
As you travel the country you find that there are strange local names for the:
The very good news - 2% discount for cash.
The very bad news, and talking of puns for names - it's called Aimee's Wine House.
I shall drink in memory of my friend John Rankin who died on Monday. Obituary to follow.
- Off Licence
- Offie
- Outdoor
- Beer Off
The very good news - 2% discount for cash.
The very bad news, and talking of puns for names - it's called Aimee's Wine House.
I shall drink in memory of my friend John Rankin who died on Monday. Obituary to follow.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Alpha Begins
I'm not sure I would pass muster if the OffAlpha inspectors came round but I love the course. We have ten weeks and a Saturday to introduce people to what Christians believe, with an opportunity for questions and discussion over a meal. My doubts about my authenticity are largely because I don't tend to present such a dogmatic version of Christianity as the course does. On the ethical or divisive issues I tend to say, 'Some Christians believe this; others believe that, what do you make of it?'
No matter how many times I do Alpha though I have to say that the nervousness at the start of a new course doesn't go away. By and large this is not to do with the content or the discussions. I love the opportunity to do the talks and take part in the groups afterwards. Most of my hesitations are to do with admin. What if people don't turn up and we've ordered too much food in the pub for which we will have to pay? What if the atmosphere in the room is wrong? What if I've told everyone the wrong time? (I'm sure I haven't.)
Over the years I've been OK at admin but that is, I think, because it causes me so much more stress than most people that I go over-the-top in double-checking. It's not my best side.
What if someone who I booked in to tonight's guest supper three weeks ago is sitting at home expecting me to confirm? What if someone has forgotten to tell me they are a vegetarian? Help.
Could the next five hours pass quite quickly please?
Oh, and it's too late to come to the Nailsea guest supper tonight (unless you beg) but if you wanted to join our Alpha course, or bring a friend you can come to week one next week when the course proper begins. Just give me a call or drop me an email, message or tweet.
No matter how many times I do Alpha though I have to say that the nervousness at the start of a new course doesn't go away. By and large this is not to do with the content or the discussions. I love the opportunity to do the talks and take part in the groups afterwards. Most of my hesitations are to do with admin. What if people don't turn up and we've ordered too much food in the pub for which we will have to pay? What if the atmosphere in the room is wrong? What if I've told everyone the wrong time? (I'm sure I haven't.)
Over the years I've been OK at admin but that is, I think, because it causes me so much more stress than most people that I go over-the-top in double-checking. It's not my best side.
What if someone who I booked in to tonight's guest supper three weeks ago is sitting at home expecting me to confirm? What if someone has forgotten to tell me they are a vegetarian? Help.
Could the next five hours pass quite quickly please?
Oh, and it's too late to come to the Nailsea guest supper tonight (unless you beg) but if you wanted to join our Alpha course, or bring a friend you can come to week one next week when the course proper begins. Just give me a call or drop me an email, message or tweet.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Cafe Create Set List
And for those who wonder what music we play each café, here's last night's set list:
DJ Lazy Dog Volume 2, part 2 incorporating:
At the River - Groove Armada
The Haunting - Roots Manuva
Love Goes Down - Plan B
Walkin' on the Sun - Smash Mouth
Intro - The xx
VCR - The xx
Suspicious Minds - Elvis Presley
Nowhere to Run - Martha Reeves and the Vandellas
Burning Love - Elvis Presley
Lazy - X-Press 2
Bang Bang You're Dead - The Experimental Pop Band
Hello... I'm Johnny Cash - Alabama 3
Amassakoul 'N'Tenere - Tinariwen
Oualahila Ar Tesninam - Tinariwen
Chatma - Tinariwen
Untitled - Six.byseven
Radiohead - There There
Total Life Together - Foals
DJ Lazy Dog Volume 2, part 2 incorporating:
- I Can't Wait - Andy Caldwell
- RocSette's Groove - Unsolicited Dubz
- Been So Long - Kim English
- All That I Give - DJ Sonic
- Sereia - Mundo Azul
- In Your Arms (We Gonna Make It) - Benjamin Diamond
- I Know You, I Live You - Yolanda Wyns
- Supernova - Nova Fronteira
- Tha Music - Phunkie Souls
- Summer - Bibi
At the River - Groove Armada
The Haunting - Roots Manuva
Love Goes Down - Plan B
Walkin' on the Sun - Smash Mouth
Intro - The xx
VCR - The xx
Suspicious Minds - Elvis Presley
Nowhere to Run - Martha Reeves and the Vandellas
Burning Love - Elvis Presley
Lazy - X-Press 2
Bang Bang You're Dead - The Experimental Pop Band
Hello... I'm Johnny Cash - Alabama 3
Amassakoul 'N'Tenere - Tinariwen
Oualahila Ar Tesninam - Tinariwen
Chatma - Tinariwen
Untitled - Six.byseven
Radiohead - There There
Total Life Together - Foals
Cafe Create Poetry Challenge
The challenge last night - a poem about chewing gum, incorporating:
The Pope
Sausages
Tortoise
Mothers-in-law
Dandelions
Trades Union Congress
The only thing I added this morning is the title.
When Gum Goes Wrong
I work in a modernised factory
Confectionery songs we all hum
For we make boiled sweets and dark chocolate,
Mints, candies and great chewing gum.
But it isn't all sweetness I tell you
We down tools if we find a mess
And we strike without warning especially
In the week of Trades Union Congress.
For the rest of the plant is a factory
Where other foodstuffs are the biz;
What gum possibly aids concentration
If the flavour is of sausages?
So we strike if the contamination
Changes the raw stuff they've brought us.
For a mouse or a rat, a spider or bat,
A hedgehog a snail or a tortoise
Will spoil any chance of a profit
And make reputations turn poor.
We will have to crawl back to our families;
Go live with our mothers-in-law.
Perhaps there's a culprit insider
Committing a series of sly cons?
Putting weeds in the chocolate hopper;
'Stead of cocoa we get dandelions.
Or maybe a demon is present
With mischief, confusion and blame?
If the problem has spiritual backing,
We'll never get rid of the same.
So how do we exorcise flavour?
Who can give us industrial hope?
Shall I call in the Priest or the Bishop?
No. I'll go to the top. Get the Pope.
The Pope
Sausages
Tortoise
Mothers-in-law
Dandelions
Trades Union Congress
The only thing I added this morning is the title.
When Gum Goes Wrong
I work in a modernised factory
Confectionery songs we all hum
For we make boiled sweets and dark chocolate,
Mints, candies and great chewing gum.
But it isn't all sweetness I tell you
We down tools if we find a mess
And we strike without warning especially
In the week of Trades Union Congress.
For the rest of the plant is a factory
Where other foodstuffs are the biz;
What gum possibly aids concentration
If the flavour is of sausages?
So we strike if the contamination
Changes the raw stuff they've brought us.
For a mouse or a rat, a spider or bat,
A hedgehog a snail or a tortoise
Will spoil any chance of a profit
And make reputations turn poor.
We will have to crawl back to our families;
Go live with our mothers-in-law.
Perhaps there's a culprit insider
Committing a series of sly cons?
Putting weeds in the chocolate hopper;
'Stead of cocoa we get dandelions.
Or maybe a demon is present
With mischief, confusion and blame?
If the problem has spiritual backing,
We'll never get rid of the same.
So how do we exorcise flavour?
Who can give us industrial hope?
Shall I call in the Priest or the Bishop?
No. I'll go to the top. Get the Pope.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Is God Still an Englishman?
He discusses, amongst many things, the death of a Princess, the life and death of Jade Goody, the millennium, 9/11, the Toronto blessing and women priests.
Anne Atkins' review in the Daily Express was that it was beautifully written but tragically flawed. Well that would have made me want to read it even if I hadn't stumbled across it by another route. There's no flaw.
For me it raised the question of how to be a contemporary priest. If, as Moreton says, people no longer want to be told things, how should I help people to make progress in faith matters? And should I mind what sort of progress they make? Is all faith progress good progress? Can we all find new soul within the established church?
I wondered where Moreton was going with all this but stuck with it - the ride was very enjoyable - and was deposited in two wonderful final chapters.
If you want to think further before purchasing then there is a blog associated with the book here. Much on which to ponder.
Prayers for Healing
Here's the problem. I have a torn cartilage in my right knee and am on a waiting list for simple, effective day-surgery. From time to time it hurts like blazes; on other occasions - sometimes a few days in length - it is symptomless.
Last Sunday I had a good gym session and felt fine afterwards. During the periods when my knee feels better it is my prayer that I might know clearly whether this is healing or respite. I don't want to go for surgery if I don't need it. But almost the only way to find out if I need it is to have my knee opened up. Torn cartilages are notoriously difficult to see but they can be diagnosed easily enough with a pain-response to particular movements. Which I have.
I go to the gym to keep fit and to keep my back symptomless. Since I tore my cartilage back in February I have had to avoid running, rowing and lower-body weights but I've got by and the back's been OK with one minor tweak.
In my bedroom, removing my trainers, (the showers at the gym have been out of action for a wee while) I jolted my leg and a terrible pain tore up it. I have to say that I was disappointed but also happy. If you take an annoying car-noise to a mechanic it is dreadful when the squeak don't squeak.
So last night someone had a 'word' that there was a person to pray for with a right knee problem and a left elbow problem. I asked if this was thought to be two problems in one individual but they weren't sure. I tend to dismiss 'words from the Lord' if a statistical analysis would give me just as much chance of a hit. So I had hoped this 'word' was about one person. That would be less likely to be down to pure chance in a room of 30 or so people.
So they asked about me and I explained about my knee and that even if it was healed I wouldn't know without the surgery so I would be going ahead with the operation anyway so if they didn't mind I'd rather go home (it had been a two and half hour meeting at which I'd been taking notes as secretary most of the night) and cuddle the wife for ten seconds before bed. I had a feeling (forgive me) that these people would not be able to pray short-windedly.
Lack of faith or renewed mind? Your call.
Last Sunday I had a good gym session and felt fine afterwards. During the periods when my knee feels better it is my prayer that I might know clearly whether this is healing or respite. I don't want to go for surgery if I don't need it. But almost the only way to find out if I need it is to have my knee opened up. Torn cartilages are notoriously difficult to see but they can be diagnosed easily enough with a pain-response to particular movements. Which I have.
I go to the gym to keep fit and to keep my back symptomless. Since I tore my cartilage back in February I have had to avoid running, rowing and lower-body weights but I've got by and the back's been OK with one minor tweak.
In my bedroom, removing my trainers, (the showers at the gym have been out of action for a wee while) I jolted my leg and a terrible pain tore up it. I have to say that I was disappointed but also happy. If you take an annoying car-noise to a mechanic it is dreadful when the squeak don't squeak.
So last night someone had a 'word' that there was a person to pray for with a right knee problem and a left elbow problem. I asked if this was thought to be two problems in one individual but they weren't sure. I tend to dismiss 'words from the Lord' if a statistical analysis would give me just as much chance of a hit. So I had hoped this 'word' was about one person. That would be less likely to be down to pure chance in a room of 30 or so people.
So they asked about me and I explained about my knee and that even if it was healed I wouldn't know without the surgery so I would be going ahead with the operation anyway so if they didn't mind I'd rather go home (it had been a two and half hour meeting at which I'd been taking notes as secretary most of the night) and cuddle the wife for ten seconds before bed. I had a feeling (forgive me) that these people would not be able to pray short-windedly.
Lack of faith or renewed mind? Your call.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Meaning of Life
Echoes of the answer from Douglas Adams' Deep Thought computer in the reply from the lovely guy on Today yesterday morning, a man who had travelled the world seeking the secret of happiness in different groups of people. He had journeyed far and wide but eventually found himself standing next to a bearded pagan character on Glastonbury Tor one solstice.
This guy said he had heard that the traveller was seeking the secret of happiness. He said he had found it, strangely, printed on the side of a bottle of bleach. As the traveller took out his note book he heard the advice:
Keep upright and stand in a cool place
Well that will do for me for a few weeks. It should be accompanied by the great warning about life contained on the side of many food products:
May contain nuts
I have found this to be true.
This guy said he had heard that the traveller was seeking the secret of happiness. He said he had found it, strangely, printed on the side of a bottle of bleach. As the traveller took out his note book he heard the advice:
Keep upright and stand in a cool place
Well that will do for me for a few weeks. It should be accompanied by the great warning about life contained on the side of many food products:
May contain nuts
I have found this to be true.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Luke 15 and the bad Dad
Yesterday's lectionary Gospel gave us the first two stories from Luke's triptych on lost things. In anticipating this I referred to the final story as being about a bad Dad, and, expectedly, someone questioned this. It was naughty of me because the Dad is not, it turns out, bad, but the Pharisees are suckered into thinking this in order to get them to listen to the story.
First the context. Jesus is accused of keeping dodgy company. In response he asks which of his questioners, on losing 1 of 100 sheep, wouldn't go search and party when they found it. Well none of them. Because sheep finding is not the excuse for a party. Shepherds are never mentioned although the Old Testament imagery would have been inescapable. If we work out who the characters are in the parable we will get the point. God is like a person who has a party when he finds a lost sheep.
Then Jesus asks his hearers to consider a woman having a a party because she has found a coin she lost. If it is a silver coin it is, as the commentators point out, probably about day's wages so she has lost 10% of her cash. Nevertheless calling the neighbours round for a drink to celebrate seems a bit extreme.
That was where our readings left us yesterday. God is like a shepherd; God is like a woman.
And so when we get to the longer parable we know so well, the prodigal son in vv11-32, we imagine the Pharisees saying, 'At last, here is a picture of God we can identify with. God is like a good, disiplinarian, Jewish abba. Hooray.'
But this Dad is bad. When his younger son asks for his share of the family fortune, in effect saying 'Dad, I wish you were dead now' he is given not a beating but the bounty. They are really listening now.
Because that Dad remains willing to welcome back his spendthrift son when he comes to his senses and returns, and is equally willing to give a ticking-off to the older son who has, apparently, done no wrong.
The Pharisees are meant to be shepherds. Instead they police more and more ridiculous rules for the sheep's behaviour. The Pharisees are meant to be happy about repentance. Instead they are out-partied by a woman who finds a lost coin. The Pharisees are meant to seek and save the lost. Instead they mutter when Jesus keeps company with them.
God gives freedom to his creation to ignore him if they want and even to wish him dead and still holds a party if anyone changes their mind.
Today we may, as a church, be a bit Pharisaic from time to time but I hope we desire not the death of a sinner but rather that he or she may turn from their wickedness and live. Then we can party.
And that's only bad news for one. The fatted calf.
First the context. Jesus is accused of keeping dodgy company. In response he asks which of his questioners, on losing 1 of 100 sheep, wouldn't go search and party when they found it. Well none of them. Because sheep finding is not the excuse for a party. Shepherds are never mentioned although the Old Testament imagery would have been inescapable. If we work out who the characters are in the parable we will get the point. God is like a person who has a party when he finds a lost sheep.
Then Jesus asks his hearers to consider a woman having a a party because she has found a coin she lost. If it is a silver coin it is, as the commentators point out, probably about day's wages so she has lost 10% of her cash. Nevertheless calling the neighbours round for a drink to celebrate seems a bit extreme.
That was where our readings left us yesterday. God is like a shepherd; God is like a woman.
And so when we get to the longer parable we know so well, the prodigal son in vv11-32, we imagine the Pharisees saying, 'At last, here is a picture of God we can identify with. God is like a good, disiplinarian, Jewish abba. Hooray.'
But this Dad is bad. When his younger son asks for his share of the family fortune, in effect saying 'Dad, I wish you were dead now' he is given not a beating but the bounty. They are really listening now.
Because that Dad remains willing to welcome back his spendthrift son when he comes to his senses and returns, and is equally willing to give a ticking-off to the older son who has, apparently, done no wrong.
The Pharisees are meant to be shepherds. Instead they police more and more ridiculous rules for the sheep's behaviour. The Pharisees are meant to be happy about repentance. Instead they are out-partied by a woman who finds a lost coin. The Pharisees are meant to seek and save the lost. Instead they mutter when Jesus keeps company with them.
God gives freedom to his creation to ignore him if they want and even to wish him dead and still holds a party if anyone changes their mind.
Today we may, as a church, be a bit Pharisaic from time to time but I hope we desire not the death of a sinner but rather that he or she may turn from their wickedness and live. Then we can party.
And that's only bad news for one. The fatted calf.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Luke 15
I am also very much looking forward to Sunday because Luke 15 comes up and I am at a lectionary-using church. It is one of my favourite chapters of the Bible. I love preaching on lost things mattering to a God who is either like a stupid shepherd or an old woman. He's also like a bad Dad but we don't get the prodigal son this week.
I posed the question to an audience yesterday:
If you could keep only ten chapters of the Bible, what would they be? I always find eleven necessary so how about:
Genesis 1-3
Exodus 3&4
Exodus 20
Isaiah 53
John 1
Mark 16
Colossians 1
Revelation 21
Which one shall I leave at home?
I posed the question to an audience yesterday:
If you could keep only ten chapters of the Bible, what would they be? I always find eleven necessary so how about:
Genesis 1-3
Exodus 3&4
Exodus 20
Isaiah 53
John 1
Mark 16
Colossians 1
Revelation 21
Which one shall I leave at home?
Looking Forward
One of the little things that makes me feel happy is the knowledge that something special is coming along. I like having something to look forward to. So it is good to have tickets for things. Currently I am looking forward to the comedian John Richardson, the band The Foals, the show Shlomo's Boxed (an evening of beat-boxing at Bristol's Old Vic, still tickets left) and the possibility of a couple of decent bits of Shakespeare in the spring once Tobacco Factory tickets go on sale. What do you await with eagerness?
Why is There Something?
I love the idea, widely being talked about as a result of Stephen Hawking's latest publication and conversation, that the universe bears witness to its own self-creation. The complex physics and maths necessary to grasp this so-called M-theory (no-one is quite sure what the M stands for) are only understood by a very few theoretical physicists in the world. As far as I (O level physics 1971 - fail) grasp it, the existence of a vast number of other universes is implied by the maths.
I do find it fascinating that the never-ending, never-starting universe is both more complex and more simple than we could ever imagine. And I am appalled at the inadequate understanding of the creator and sustainer of the universe that this theory should be alleged to disprove such.
Back in the 1960s, theologians got to grips with the increasing reduction of the size of God caused by childish Christian philosophy and scientific progress. If God is only what remains when you have explained everything you can, then it is not surprising that that God gets smaller and smaller as progress is made. Such a God is like something which slipped down the back of the sofa never to be seen again. In fact the 'God of the gaps' is no understanding of God at all.
Every children's Christian action-song seems to have some way to suggest that God is pretty big. The observation that you don't need an understanding of God to explain how the universe works doesn't mean there is no God. It is a logic-failure of massive proportions. Christians are often criticised, rightly, for saying 'because God could have done something he did do something, therefore the Bible is history, Adam and Eve were real and we can carry on looking for Noah's Ark.' Or some such. M-theory says, 'God needn't have been involved in this process, so wasn't.' God is big, right?
I agree that the creationist bubble gets well and truly pricked by this latest round of thinking. And by creationist I mean all young and young(ish) earth theories. All Christians are creationist to some extent because we believe there is a God who is involved in and somehow loves creation and creativity.
Psalm 14 says 'the fool has said in his heart 'there is no God.'' However clever he might be, whatever unbelievable progress he has made almost single-handedly to fathoming the mysteries of the universe(s), the judgement of Scripture is that Stephen Hawking is a fool.
Once upon a time Hawking said, '...if we do discover a complete theory ... Then we shall all, philosophers, scientists, and just ordinary people, be able to take part in the discussion of the question of why it is that we and the universe exist. If we find the answer to that, it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason - for then we would know the mind of God.'
This was the final paragraph of A Brief History of Time. Looks like he has changed his mind. Well if he can do that once...
Us Christians do talk disappointing clap-trap about our faith. Maybe we ought to go back to the foot of the mountain and leave God in awe and mystery for a few hundred years. Until the fuss has died down.
I do find it fascinating that the never-ending, never-starting universe is both more complex and more simple than we could ever imagine. And I am appalled at the inadequate understanding of the creator and sustainer of the universe that this theory should be alleged to disprove such.
Back in the 1960s, theologians got to grips with the increasing reduction of the size of God caused by childish Christian philosophy and scientific progress. If God is only what remains when you have explained everything you can, then it is not surprising that that God gets smaller and smaller as progress is made. Such a God is like something which slipped down the back of the sofa never to be seen again. In fact the 'God of the gaps' is no understanding of God at all.
Every children's Christian action-song seems to have some way to suggest that God is pretty big. The observation that you don't need an understanding of God to explain how the universe works doesn't mean there is no God. It is a logic-failure of massive proportions. Christians are often criticised, rightly, for saying 'because God could have done something he did do something, therefore the Bible is history, Adam and Eve were real and we can carry on looking for Noah's Ark.' Or some such. M-theory says, 'God needn't have been involved in this process, so wasn't.' God is big, right?
I agree that the creationist bubble gets well and truly pricked by this latest round of thinking. And by creationist I mean all young and young(ish) earth theories. All Christians are creationist to some extent because we believe there is a God who is involved in and somehow loves creation and creativity.
Psalm 14 says 'the fool has said in his heart 'there is no God.'' However clever he might be, whatever unbelievable progress he has made almost single-handedly to fathoming the mysteries of the universe(s), the judgement of Scripture is that Stephen Hawking is a fool.
Once upon a time Hawking said, '...if we do discover a complete theory ... Then we shall all, philosophers, scientists, and just ordinary people, be able to take part in the discussion of the question of why it is that we and the universe exist. If we find the answer to that, it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason - for then we would know the mind of God.'
This was the final paragraph of A Brief History of Time. Looks like he has changed his mind. Well if he can do that once...
Us Christians do talk disappointing clap-trap about our faith. Maybe we ought to go back to the foot of the mountain and leave God in awe and mystery for a few hundred years. Until the fuss has died down.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Goldbrick House
Half way up Bristol's Park Street on the left is a bistro-like café bar called Goldbrick House.
We have eaten in the ground-floor shop window café before although only coffee and cake or a quick lunchtime snack.
Last Saturday was a sunny day and as we were walking past we noticed that there was a special offer of a two course meal for £10 in the rooftop restaurant. Well why not?
Friends, it's a gem. Whilst the view from the rooftop is mainly of other rooftops, unless you stand on a chair and gaze out towards South Bristol, the food and service is outstanding for the price.
I had a hake and squid salad with cumin-dressed rocket; Mrs M linguine with parmesan, pine nuts and, I think, basil. Then we both had excellent summer pudding and ice cream. Two glasses of wine at £6 each (there were cheaper), a bottle of sparkling water and a small service charge (to which we added) took our bill to £37. Still an absolute bargain.
To reach the rooftop involves climbing several staircases and negotiating a couple of corridors. There were two private parties going on in separate rooms and, all in all, the place is much bigger than you might expect. Unlikely to be many more days when eating on the roof is sensible, but it is lovely.
We have eaten in the ground-floor shop window café before although only coffee and cake or a quick lunchtime snack.
Last Saturday was a sunny day and as we were walking past we noticed that there was a special offer of a two course meal for £10 in the rooftop restaurant. Well why not?
Friends, it's a gem. Whilst the view from the rooftop is mainly of other rooftops, unless you stand on a chair and gaze out towards South Bristol, the food and service is outstanding for the price.
I had a hake and squid salad with cumin-dressed rocket; Mrs M linguine with parmesan, pine nuts and, I think, basil. Then we both had excellent summer pudding and ice cream. Two glasses of wine at £6 each (there were cheaper), a bottle of sparkling water and a small service charge (to which we added) took our bill to £37. Still an absolute bargain.
To reach the rooftop involves climbing several staircases and negotiating a couple of corridors. There were two private parties going on in separate rooms and, all in all, the place is much bigger than you might expect. Unlikely to be many more days when eating on the roof is sensible, but it is lovely.
Monday, September 06, 2010
Tilley leaves Stains
When I was a young teenager I played music with a couple of mates. We called ourselves the Gravystains. All songs ended with that mash-up of excessive noise until the drummer indicated that we should finish. Sadly we had no drummer. Sid, the guitarist, suggested that I should leave the band so that the title of this post could become a newspaper headline. We never performed apart from in my parents' lounge when they were out and we never made lines let alone head ones.
But I do leave stains a lot. Only the other day, in trying to help Mrs M clear up a minor red wine spill, I exacerbated it into a major red wine incident.
Since the last red wine fight, when redecorating of walls became necessary - it costs to live in a cool, neutral-coloured environment - we have discovered a new product. It is called Wineaway and it does what it says. Carpets, clothes and curtains are all pristine.
If you are as clumsy as us you will wish to invest.
But I do leave stains a lot. Only the other day, in trying to help Mrs M clear up a minor red wine spill, I exacerbated it into a major red wine incident.
Since the last red wine fight, when redecorating of walls became necessary - it costs to live in a cool, neutral-coloured environment - we have discovered a new product. It is called Wineaway and it does what it says. Carpets, clothes and curtains are all pristine.
If you are as clumsy as us you will wish to invest.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Sermon and Pastoral Letter
If you are not a member of Trendlewood church step back from the blog. This really don't concern you. (Although how could I ever stop you being nosey?)
I have posted a pastoral letter and a copy of today's sermon to Trendleblog.
I have posted a pastoral letter and a copy of today's sermon to Trendleblog.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Litter and American drama
All my life, or at least for as long as I can remember, I've hated litter. A piece of scrap paper blew out of the car as I was driving along the road this week and I can't tell you how mortified I was. I'm still beating myself up about it. I guess that was an accident but in general terms it is the very small amount of effort that people don't put in that annoys me. Our Nailsea Millennium Park after a summer's day looks like a thousand people have been whisked off without warning.
In The Wire Baltimore is litter-strewn. The cops, relaxing with a beer after a long day, throw their empty cans onto a flat roof. The camera tracks away to show the cans of many years piled high. They behave the way everyone behaves in Baltimore. How did it get like this?
I have also enjoyed watching Mad Men but am proceeding slowly through this as Mrs Mustard enjoys it too and so we are watching no more than one or two a week. We are half-way through Series 2. It is the story of the birth of the advertising industry. Mad Men are ad men in the 1960s with all the racism, sexism and smoking that went with it.
In this week's episode a family went on a picnic. At the end they tipped their paper plates, unfinished food, old cans and bottles on to the beautiful, pristine grass slope and drove off. America's lovely open spaces spoilt by people. America - so big the litter won't matter. It was shocking. Upsetting even. We developed this behaviour and fifty years on it is still in the system, even in a densely populated country like the UK.
I don't know if people were really like that in the USA in the early 1960s but the metaphor was clear; these are the people who dirtied up America.
Gotta do better.
In The Wire Baltimore is litter-strewn. The cops, relaxing with a beer after a long day, throw their empty cans onto a flat roof. The camera tracks away to show the cans of many years piled high. They behave the way everyone behaves in Baltimore. How did it get like this?
I have also enjoyed watching Mad Men but am proceeding slowly through this as Mrs Mustard enjoys it too and so we are watching no more than one or two a week. We are half-way through Series 2. It is the story of the birth of the advertising industry. Mad Men are ad men in the 1960s with all the racism, sexism and smoking that went with it.
In this week's episode a family went on a picnic. At the end they tipped their paper plates, unfinished food, old cans and bottles on to the beautiful, pristine grass slope and drove off. America's lovely open spaces spoilt by people. America - so big the litter won't matter. It was shocking. Upsetting even. We developed this behaviour and fifty years on it is still in the system, even in a densely populated country like the UK.
I don't know if people were really like that in the USA in the early 1960s but the metaphor was clear; these are the people who dirtied up America.
Gotta do better.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Baltimore
Funny how you can know nothing of a place and then it crops up twice in quick succession. I have been a late entrant to The Wire fan club but am now two episodes off the end of the fourth and final series. If you like character-driven drama and can cope with bad language, sex and violence then this is for you. Gritty is an over-used adjective for street-cop stories but I'll allow it in this case. It's set in a corrupt, drug-fuelled Baltimore.
I've also been reading the biography of H.L.Mencken, the great American journalist, by Marion Elizabeth Rodgers. He was a wonderful mapper of the change of language use, a great satirist and a poker-of-fun at all fundamentalist Christianity - he also, for some reason, had it in for osteopaths. He worked for the Baltimore Sun and Baltimore Herald newspapers. There's the link. One city, two stories. One true, one fiction. 100 years separate the two. Fascinating.
I've also been reading the biography of H.L.Mencken, the great American journalist, by Marion Elizabeth Rodgers. He was a wonderful mapper of the change of language use, a great satirist and a poker-of-fun at all fundamentalist Christianity - he also, for some reason, had it in for osteopaths. He worked for the Baltimore Sun and Baltimore Herald newspapers. There's the link. One city, two stories. One true, one fiction. 100 years separate the two. Fascinating.
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