School's Out For The Summer.

I post this video in honour of the four very excited kids who left the house this morning and who finish at 12 noon for seven whole weeks. In the case of Blue Eyed Boy, it's a case of "Primary School's out for ever", to edit Alice Cooper's lyrics slightly. After the summer I will have two kids at primary and two kids at secondary, which if nothing else is satisfyingly symmetrical. Blue Eyed Boy didn't really bond with school (!) through the first six years and would much rather not have bothered, thank you very much. However, his last year has been a good one, and his two taster days at the secondary school have impressed him (mainly the bunsen burners really).

Do you remember that "school's out for the summer" feeling? I do. There's absolutely nothing like it is there? Adult time off work isn't the same because you still have all the responsibilities at home. I was reflecting this morning that perhaps it feels like that when you die and enter eternal life, free from sin and sadness and worry, for ever.

A Great Role Model.

If you've only time to read one post, please read yesterday's one instead!

We were privileged at church this morning to have Olympic swimmer Kirsty Balfour with us to present the prizes at the Sunday School prizegiving and to talk a little about her faith which has sustained her through the highs and lows of her swimming career. Our own Penultimate Child is a keen swimmer and was beside herself with excitement at this.

In the absence of a kitchen (we now have a working sink though, and the washing machine is plumbed in - woohoo!) we went out for lunch afterwards with Kirsty and her husband David.

Afterwards, Penultimate Child was given a present of a swimming cap with the Bejing Olympics logo and "Kirsty Balfour" on it, which will be a treasured possession. Then they had their photo taken together, then swapped tracksuit tops - just for the photo of course.

It's great for our daughter to have hsd this experience today of a really positive role model from the sport she loves and it's great that Kirsty and her husband are involved in the youth work in their own church so that they can be role models for their young folk.

Kids look up to role models; they can't help it. We are designed to seek role models as we grow up. Unfortunately our current celebrity culture doesn't always offer the best of role models for young folk but it's great that there are positive examples in our communities if we look for them.

What makes me sad in Prisonworld is that so many guys I work with haven't really ever had good role models in their lives and what makes me even sadder is when I see "STP"s (short term prisoners) look up to "lifers" (life sentence prisoners) and treat them with a sort of reverence, as if they were something to aspire to.

I'd like to see more mentoring for prisoners, people who would model a pro-social lifestyle but in an informal friendly way. Prison officers and social workers can't do it. The prisoners almost don't see them as human beings! But volunteers getting alongside them through playing football, doing artwork, participating in Bible studies, and just "chilling" would seem to me to be a good way to go. Unfortunately that's not as easy as it sounds to achieve, with all the security implications that go along with it. And the media seem to prefer to encourage society to adopt the "lock 'em up and throw away the key" approach.

But for those who haven't so much gone off the rails as who've never even seen the rails, it seems to me that positive role-modelling would be well worth a bit more experimenting with.

Calling all Pray-ers.

If you're at all the praying kind, please please please pray for our good friends and their lovely little boy.

Thank you.

Nightjack.

Mr Nighttime drew my attention to this article. I find it very very sad as Nightjack was one of my favourite bloggers. I didn't always agree with what he said, but I thought that he remained the right side of the line and was a super writer. I also felt that it was good that the police has people in it who care so passionately that the powers-that-be should act with integrity and wisdom.

Recently I've been frustrated by some of what is allowed legally to masquerade as journalism in our tabloids. There is so little redress if there are inaccuracies in a newspaper story. If you do manage to get a retraction, it's a tiny one-liner buried near the back of the paper. I know that compared to some totalitarian states we have "free" press and I'm grateful - very grateful in fact. However free doesn't mean fair and well-balanced.

Blogging gives people - ordinary people who aren't either journalists or politicians - a voice and Nightjack generally used his extremely well, I thought. People who work in the public service and who are passionate about their jobs and want to see the system be as good as possible aren't dangerous anarchists. They're ambassadors for their profession. We who read blogs have brains and can reject what we read. On the other hand we who read blogs may also have our horizons broadened and our understanding deepened. One of the things I love about reading blogs is that I get an insight into new spheres, and I'd be really sad if public servants felt that blogging was just too risky.

Incidentally you can hear his writing being discussed on this BBC program back in May when he won the Orwell prize for his writing.

Kitchen Sink Drama

Our current kitchen and our temporary kitchen.

I'm more worried about missing my washing machine than the cooker! Do you think I could use the prison laundry? In a couple of weeks it'll be worth all the upheaval though. The old kitchen was literally falling apart. The other week the drawer unit fell apart, all by itself.

Chris Moyles - our ambassador!

Various friends featured this on Facebook. It's just nice to hear positive, happy, fun, accurate comments about church from media rather than some of the frankly ignorant crap I've read recently in some newspapers from folk who'd obviously not been to church themselves for a hundred years. Chris Moyles hadn't actually been to this Peterborough church but had seen it on tv and was clearly impressed.

The commonest reaction to our church from people who come along to a special occasion and who hadn't been to church since childhood is much more along the lines of Chris Moyles' reaction than anything negative. When I take prisoners out to church, as I do sometimes, they are generally blown away.

Certainly some self-indulgent and luddite churches have turned themselves into stale museums where eveyone's pretending it's still the nineteenth century but there are others like ours who're GOOD places to visit. Happy, relaxed, cringe-free, positive, warm, non-judging and friendly.

Do you have a WEE car?

If you switch on our computer after the kids have been on, chances are the background (desktop wallpaper) will have changed. This one made me laugh. Thanks kids.

Exodus.

Here is a brilliant thing; good news amongst all the bad news which depresses us daily. Please, those of you who're the praying kind, get your praying muscles behind Exodus. I know some of those involved and it's fab, and so necessary.

Happy Pentecost, y'all.

We liked this video from Albert, one of our favourite ministers - well in the top 200 anyway (don't want him to get big headed).

Christians sometimes mump their gums about Christmas being an overcommercialised Santa-fest and then at Easter we're inclined to moan about society's fixation with bunnies, chicks and daffodils. We want folk to know about the incarnation, the crucifixion and the resurrection. We get opportunities at Christmas and Easter, as the Church, to tell the story, as the world does nod in our direction at these seasons.

At Pentecost, on the other hand, we're left entirely to our own devices. Given the huffing and puffing some of us do at Christmas and Easter we should be pleased to be left alone at Pentecost.

Pentecost is absolutely up there in importance with the incarnation, crucifixion and resurrection. But in my denomination and in my church experience, the "celebration" of Pentecost has been a pretty low key affair. I wonder if that's because I/we haven't thought enough about how vital and fundamental to the Gospel story is the bit about the coming of the Holy Spirit. I don't think that's it really.

Or are we so worldly that we take our cue for our family celebrations and feast days more from Hallmark Cards and Tesco's "seasonal" aisle than we do from the Church and the Bible? Something to ponder.

Last night's waterfight.

Firstborn and her pal upstairs at the bathroom window and Blue-eyed Boy, Penultimate Child and Youngest fighting back from below. Lots of fun.

Hats and tightropes.

I don't look like a tightrope walker. At least I imagine tightrope walkers would be usually shaped (and probably dressed) a bit like ballerinas. I am not shaped like a ballerina and as a result it's a very good thing that I'm not dressed like a ballerina. But I am a tightrope walker. Or at least I have to try to be a tightrope walker. Walking a metaphorical tightrope. I'm a minister of religion but I'm also a civil servant. I am, to change metaphors, constantly having to wear two hats and serve two masters (God and the Governor!). This is a tricky balancing act sometimes. Much of the time there's no conflict so don't be sorry for me or anything...

I'm saying this to explain why I've not been posting much lately. I've not stopped thinking and reflecting about Prisonworld and I'm still as passionate about guys getting out of jail free, truly free. However it so happens that most of the things that I've been thinking about or have been happening in recent weeks have been stuff I can't blog about in this public forum. I'm keen with my minister hat and my blogger hat (that's three hats I'm claiming now) to talk about prisoners at every opportunity. I'm keen to raise awareness of them in the public mind and in particular in the minds and hearts of people in the Church. But with my civil servant hat on there are obviously things I can't talk about in this arena. So I've been keeping a low blogging profile.

In Churchworld, there's been a big stooshie in the Kirk and I can't talk about that either as there's a moritorium on public comment at the moment. I'm really pleased that is so as there had been a most unedifying "debate" ongoing through the press which had been very unhelpful. Openness is a good thing but no one wants to watch someone else's dirty washing being washed. So I'm glad to say nothing on that subject.

All that makes for a boring blog though I will have stuff to say soon.

I do have a fourth hat (I'm going to stop this post before I think of any more hats and start to feel overwhelmed) which is family life, and that's such a blessing. The ongoing splendid and delightful pleasure and privilege of watching them grow is fun. Up here on my tightrope I have a really clear view of them all.

I came across this quote from Eugene Peterson on a forum today and I think it's so good I'll nick it and post it here:

"The churches of the revelation show us that Churches are not Victorian parlours where everything is picked up and ready for guests. They are messy family rooms. Entering a person’s house unexpectedly, we are sometimes met with a barrage of apologies. St. John does not apologise. Things are out of order, to be sure, but that is what happens to churches that are lived in. They are not show rooms. They are living rooms, and if the persons living in them are sinners, there are going to be clothes scattered about, handprints on the woodwork, and mud on the carpet. For as long as Jesus calls sinners to repentance – and there is no indication yet that he changed his policy in that regard- churches are going to be an embarrassment to the fastidious and an affront to the upright. There is nothing particularly glamorous about them, nor, on the other hand is there anything particularly shameful about them. They simply are.

Much anger towards the church and most disappointments in the church are because of failed expectations. We expect a disciplined army of committed men and women who courageously lay siege to the worldly powers; instead we find some people who are more concerned with getting rid of the crabgrass in their lawns. We expect a community of saints who are mature in the virtues of love and mercy, and find ourselves working on a church supper where there is more gossip than casseroles. We expect to meet minds that are informed and shaped by the great truths and rhythms of scripture, and find persons whose intellectual energy is barely sufficient to get them from the comics to the sports page. At such times it is more important to examine and change our expectations than to change the church, for the church is not what we organise, but what God gives, not the people we want to be with, but the people God gives us to be with – a community created by the descent of the Holy Spirit in which we submit ourselves to the Spirit’s affirmation, reformation, and motivation. There must be no idealisation of the church."

So true. At a recent service in the prison with members of local churches and prisoners all mixed together so that (apart from the women of course, as it's a men's prison) you couldn't tell who was a prisoner and who was "public", it was great to reflect on the unity of this huge, bizarre, flawed, beloved, worldwide, 2000-year old Thing that we call the Church.

The most moving and powerful thing I have seen in the two years I've been in the prison service wasn't actually in the prison at all. It was in a church service in a church not far from here (not the one I normally attend). I had gone along because a former prisoner who became a Christian in prison was speaking and he is a friend. I discovered that he was sharing the platform with two other men. One of these is a prison officer who is a Christian. The other is a prison-based social worker. They stood on the platform as brothers in Christ. I'm sure it was impressive to everyone but it was so much more impressive to those of us who have experienced Prisonworld because Prisonworld is such a divided place. To be fair, how else could it be run? Broadly speaking, the tendency is that the officers and prisoners (screws and cons) hate each other and both lots hate the social workers. This is a wild exaggeration, but there is commonly a "tension" there. It was such a powerful thing to see those three men standing there as brothers in Christ that I think I will remember it always.

I love the anarchic position of the church in society. We aren't part of the divided them-and-us culture. When God looks at our prisons he doesn't see screws and cons, but a whole random bunch of sinners, all of whom he loves. Some happen to be staff. Some happen to be prisoners. All of them need Jesus, because, actually, according to Romans 7, ALL of them - all of US - are prisoners!

We in the church are seen sometimes by secular society as self-righteous and arrogant. I may say that we sometimes deserve that. But in our better moments we acknowledge this wonderful anarchic truth that we're all wading through the treacle together. We're all struggling the same struggle. My set of temptations varies from yours. But that doesn't make me better than you. Or worse than you. Some peoples' set of temptations are also things that are against the law so they risk imprisonment. If that's not true for me I'm lucky. But I'm not superior. I'm a beggar telling other beggars where I've found food.

It's a privilege to work at the interface between church inside prison and church outside prison. They are part of the one Body, yet there's a gap. I suppose it's unavoidable. Chaplains can't really make the experience of a service in a prison exactly mirror the experience of a service in the commmunity outside. It's part of our role to try to facilitate the crossing of that (mostly cultural) gap with Christian prisoners coming out of jail, and it's a challenge but also a rewarding privilege. Even on a day like today which has been a hard one, I realise what an interesting position I'm in. The down side, compared to ministers in a "normal" church is that our congregations are constantly moving on and leaving us when they get out. When a guy tells me he's being released I have to appear pleased but (between you and me and don't tell anyone else) I'm sometimes quite sad as I know I'll miss them! But I've found that "Oh no!" doesn't go down well with the prisoner when he tells you he's getting his parole...

I've been neglecting my poor wee blog recently. Partly this is due to transferring my addictive personality's attention to Facebook and Twitter, and partly it's been because my poor brain seems to be too tired to do much thinking these days. At least I've been thinking a lot, but I've not been able to marshal my thoughts into posts here.

I've had an interesting couple of days though. Yesterday (though it seems longer ago) I was doing a bit of refresher bereavement training. It was really good to take some time out to think of these issues and reflect on the privilege that we as chaplains have in being with people in their sorrow. One (male) chaplain was reflecting to me afterwards that the hardest thing for him is to sit with someone and to feel unable to come up with anything useful in terms of answers or advice. I (only half jokingly) asked him if he'd read that "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" book - which he had, as it turned out. The point that is made in that book is that men like to fix things, but according to the book women get frustrated with that because when they want to have a good old moan, they want to have a good old moan. End of. They're not looking for a solution. When Him Indoors starts solutionising in response to my moaning I call him Mr Fix It and tell him to stop it! To be fair to him and other men who fit the generalisation, I'm sure he can't see the point of moaning if you're not looking for advice or a solution so I must drive him mad. I'm eternally grateful that he puts up with me. He's a good soul really.

In the terrible reality of bereavement and grief, what the person really wants, the ONLY thing they really want, the ONE thing that would make it better, is the ONE thing you have no power to grant and that is to have the person back. Any other words or advice is likely to be irksome rather than helpful. But what's needed is someone to listen.

Carl Rodgers said that three core conditions are required by the bereaved for pastoral support to work. One is empathy, one is congruence (genuineness, sincerity) and "unconditional positive regard". Isn't that a nice phrase? Unconditional positive regard. Love, I prefer to call it.

Since then I've been spending a lot of time with fellow chaplains from other jails discussing what we do, for purposes I can't go into without having to kill you all. Hush hush. Official secrets act, civil serpents, etc.. Anyway, one of the key things that it is our huge honour to do as prison chaplains, it seems to me, is to meet prisoners with "unconditional positve regard". LOVE. The offences of the offenders may be extremely offensive. Their attitudes may be offensive. Their very appearance may be offensive! (Not that I'm any oil painting myself). But, as an act of the will, we love them. This is not a core duty of any other category of staff but is our privilege and our challenge. With God's help it's really easy actually but don't spread it around or they'll pay us less.

At the meeting this moring was a "high heid yin" who's not a chaplain. It was good to have someone who could see us as others see us. He said that he thought that the distinctive thing that we have to offer is HOPE.

The other thing which we offer is the "ordinances of religion". And the Gospel. We are the God Squad in the prison. We bring the message of Jesus to anyone who is open to hearing it. We facilitate the believing prisoners' worship opportunties. We encourage them im their spiritual growth and understanding. FAITH.

What are we about as chaplains?
Faith, hope and love. And the greatest of these is love.

There's been a murrdurr, surr.

A dismembered skeleton was this evening found under our table. The chief suspect has shiny black fur, four legs and a long tail and should not be approached unless you like cuddles.

In case readers overseas don't get the reference in the title of this post it's a quote from the UK television crime drama Taggart, set in Glasgow.

More years than there were dalmations!

My gran was 102 on Sunday. It's an amazing age to reach when you think of all that has happened in the world in her lifetime.

Fourteen of her closest family, plus our dog, gathered in her little room to mark the occasion. Unfortunately she doesn't hear very well so we have to take turns to speak close to her ear. Meanwhile of course the rest of us got caught up in conversations. Penultimate Child, who's very fond of her great-gran, was sitting on her bed beside her for most of the time. On the way home in the car she said, "Mummy. TWICE, Great-Gran said, "Thank you all for coming. I hope you have a safe journey home" but we didn't leave. Why was that?" Oops! None of us heard, except Penultimate Child, who was the only one listening. I think there's a lesson in there somewhere.

People Get Ready.

On Good Friday (10th April) I posted about the doings of the local church here in Perth. Nathan, our very lovely drummer, who is also a talented film-maker, put this together and said it was okay for me to post it here.

Easter poetry, Steve Turner style.

Happy Easter one and all. Isn't it great, those of you who share my faith, to think about the fact that people in every corner of the world have been celebrating the resurrection of Jesus today? Actually I think most of them must have been in our church as we ran out of seats and some of us had to sit in an improvised overflow area. Good problem to have, though. Incidentally the headless boy in the foreground of the second of these photos is my son. I'm so proud.

Here are two Easter poems from Steve Turner, my favourite poet, even better than Ogden Nash.

The Cast of Christmas Reassembles For Easter

Take the wise men to the Emperor's palace.
Wash their hands in water.
Get them to say something about truth.
Does anyone know any good Jewish jokes?
The one about a carpenter
who thought he was a King?
The one about the Saviour
who couldn't save himself?
The shepherds should stand with the chorus.
They have a big production number -
'Barabbas, We Love You Baby'.
Mary? She can move to the front.
We have a special section reserved
for family and close friends.
Tell her that we had to cut the manger up.
We needed the wood for something else.
The star I'm afraid I can't use.
There are no stars in this show.
The sky turns black with sorrow.
The earth shakes with terror.
Hold on to the frankincense.
We'll need that for the garden scene.
Angels? He could do with some angels.
Avenging angels.
Merciful angels.
He could really do with some angels.
Baby Jesus.
Step this way please.
My! How you've grown!

Steve Turner

- and -

Poem for Easter

Tell me:
What came first
Easter or the egg?
Crucifixion
or daffodils?
Three days in a tomb
or four days
in Paris?
(returning
Bank Holiday Monday).

When is a door
not a door?
When it is rolled away.
When is a body
not a body?
When it is a risen.

Question.
Why was it the Saviour rode on the cross?
Answer.
To get us
to the other side.

Behold I stand.
Behold I stand and what?
Behold I stand at the door and

knock knock.

Steve Turner

Joke.

This made me laugh, on Annette's blog, so I nicked it:

Black Tarmac and Concrete are arguing in a bar.
"I'm harder than you! I built the M1" Said Concrete.
Black Tarmac retorts: "I'm harder than you, I built Heathrow's runways."
Just then the door bursts open and Black Tarmac and Concrete go quiet.
The barman notices this and asks them why.
"We might be hard.", says Concrete, "but he's a bloody cycle path."

A New Ensemble.

My new dressing gown and my new welly boots match! I bet not many of you could claim to have matching dressing gown and wellies. I didn't set out to have them matching, although perhaps I was in a blue-and-white-stripey mood today...

Anyway what's even more bizarre than having matching dressing gown and wellies is having a place to wear them. Next week we're going off with our caravan and I'll be walking to the shower block each morning in my new outfit. (If you've never camped or caravanned, you need to know that this is socially acceptable behaviour).

Note: wellies from Asda, dressing gown from Matalan. Nothing but the best will do, you know.

It's Friday but Sunday's coming.

Look what was happening at our church today:


Actually it wasn't just at our church. There were six similar scenes set up round the town/city (its current status is a matter of dispute but that's another story) as a joint project by a few of the churches, between 9am and 3pm. The purpose was simply to cause people to remember Easter as being about something other than Easter Eggs, delicious though they are, and daffodils and rabbits, delicious though they may be also, though I've never tasted either.

Also, there was a "walk of witness" in the town centre:


I missed the whole thing, being, as I was, in prison. However, I did get to watch the Jesus film with the second batch of prisoners this week. It may be the most watched film of all time since its appearance in the 1970s but it's probably not the best film of all time, to be honest. Yet, it's a faithful version of Luke's gospel and it really brought home to me how relevant the Christian message is to our guys. Jesus was so subversive. He wasn't impressed by puffed up human authority and loved the underdog so passionately.

Good Friday this year is kind of special to me. It's 30 years this year since Good Friday 1979. I was thirteen - strange, that, since, 30 years on, I'm only 21, but I'm a slow developer. I was at a camp in St Andrews run by Scripture Union. It was on Good Friday 1979 that I understood for myself that the cross was to do with Jesus taking the punishment for my sins, on my behalf, so I could be forgiven and adopted as God's child. In the process I would be promised eternal life in heaven when I die. For years I said that was the night I became a Christian, but, since I grew up in a Christian home, I think now it was rather the moment when I owned my inherited childhood faith for myself. (All who grow up in Christian homes need to do that because God has no grandchildren). Anyway, all these years later I remember it as a significant moment, and it was quite nice to spend the thirtieth anniversary watching the same message that I understood then be dramatised before these men. I hope it did some good for them too.

Incidentally, as I was telling guys round the jails that the film was being shown this week, the common witty retort (from staff too) was that "I don't need to watch it. I know what happens. He dies in the end". How funny. NOT. I was amazed how many times I had to say, "No! He comes back to life after that!" to which I got, "Oh yes. I forgot". That's why I picked the title I did for this blog post. Today is a sad day for Christians, but it's not the end of the story.

Maundy Thursday synchro-blog

Today, to mark Maundy Thursday, there is a synchronised blogging thing happening. I signed up to it earlier today with a plan to write something tonight. This plan has changed thanks to Him Indoors inviting folk round. I don't mind - I like the folk!

So instead I'll go for a teeny weeny little thought on the Lord's Supper.

Theologically minded types reading this may spot that I'm a bit of a Zwinglian Memorialist, but it doesn't hurt, it's not against the law, and it works for me. Basically that means that I think that when we have communion, it is an act of remembrance. I don't believe in transubstantiation, consubstantiation or anything else, personally. However, I bristle slightly when those who disagree with me say that I believe in communion as a MERE memorial. There's nothing "mere" about memorial services. We don't call funerals "mere" memorials. Okay, so there's a body being disposed of, but even if there's not - if someone's lost at sea and there's no body, we don't disparage the importance of the memorial service by calling it "mere".

My thought on the Lord's Supper as instituted by Jesus on the night on which he was betrayed is simply this:

Every time I conduct a funeral service, I try to find out what I can about the person, if I didn't know them, in order to say something meaningful about their life. I try to encompass a bit about their childhood, their parents, their working life, their hobbies and interests, their achievements, their personality, and so on. And yet when Jesus planned his own memorial service, even though his life was far more remarkable than any of ours, in terms of his birth, his miracles, his message, the ONLY thing he wanted for his memorial service, even though he was to be raised to life (and that too was astonishing), was his death.

This is my body, broken for you. This is my blood, poured out for you. Whenever you eat this bread and drink this wine, you proclaim - what? You proclaim my death until I come.

Amazing.

Our deaths don't generally accomplish anything. They bring to an end our accomplishing stuff, in fact. But the death of Jesus was the most important thing about him, and he doesn't want us ever to forget that.

Happy Marriage to You, Happy Marriage to You...

It was my privilege to conduct a wedding this afternoon. I am a fan of marriage and really believe in the whole two-becoming-one thing. It's borne out by folk referring to their spouse as "their other half" and, more poignantly, by the widow/widower who says (s)he feels as if (s)he has lost part of her/himself.

However, conducting a wedding's kind of scary too. Scarier than conducting a funeral. Funerals don't tend to be filmed. But with weddings there is the real and present danger that if things go a bit wonky, then you will end up being seen endlessly for all eternity on You've Been Framed or on Youtube.

Anyway, in amongst the serious stuff, and the beautiful poetry the bride had chosen, and the lovely vows they'd written themselves, and all the general loveliness, I thought it wise to inject a touch of humour and reality into the thing, because marriage is such an everyday practical thing, for all that it's also a mystical magical mysterious and miraculous union.

So I turned to one of my favourite poets, Ogden Nash (author of such delights as:

Parsley is gharsley;

Candy is dandy
but liquor is quicker;

and:

Sure deck your lower limbs in pants; Yours are the limbs, my sweeting.
You look divine as you advance — Have you seen yourself retreating?

It was not these "poems" of course, that I chose, but the following:

"The glances over the cocktails
That at one time seemed so sweet
Don't seem quite so amorous
Over the shredded wheat".

and my favourite,

"To keep your marriage brimming
With love in the loving cup
Whenever you're wrong admit it
Whenever you're right shut up".

Many a true word has been spoken in jest, don't you think?

As I reminded them of the Biblical saying never to let the sun go down on your wrath, it struck me that in Scotland in the winter that must mean you can't argue after about 4pm. Hard! Maybe "don't go to bed angry" is a more realistic target!

In nearly sixteen years of marriage, we've never had a cross word. Huh? Course we have. We've had arguments, fights and differences of opinion too. But we have tried not to let the sun go down on our wrath. And we've tried not to remember the other's past mistakes and cast things up. I suppose the one bonus of getting older is that forgetting stuff seems to come more easily - in fact remembering is the tricky part...

I wish the pair well for their marriage, and am very grateful to have been part of it. Incidentally, lest there is anyone in the world who's never had the pleasure of watching "The Vicar of Dibley" on television, the picture above is her. Not me. I've never worn robes. Otherwise we're a bit alike though, I suppose.

Have cross, will travel.

Him Indoors in Easter-y mood:

Take a bow, fellow bloggers.

The lovely Dickiebo, the man who puts the "wey hey!" in Wales, has awarded me an award, the Lemonade Award. It's very kind and much appreciated. I'm supposed to pass it on. The trouble is that I'm prone to indecisiveness and sometimes it's at paralysing levels. I honestly can't decide today which of the many brilliant bloggers on my blogroll to choose. So you can all share it jointly, with my very sincere thanks for all the enjoyment I get from reading your blogs.

One of the things I like about blogging is that you get glimpses into the lives and thoughts and world views or literal photographic views of people anywhere in the world. I like that. I've often thought it's a pity I had to be me ALL the time. Although I'm not miserable and I like being me, generally, I regret the fact that I can't go and have a shot of being someone who lives on a ranch on an American prairie, or of being a police inspector, or of being a paramedic, or even of being a fellow prison chaplain only in another part of the world, or of anything. Blogging's the next best thing to being Mr Benn, I reckon.

And talking of Dickiebo, I've nicked these from his recent post because they're so good.

Mental Health First Aid.

Recently I attended a Mental Health First Aid course. It was really excellent and although I knew a lot of the stuff already, I didn't necessarily know that I knew it (if you see what I mean) and the course helped me put my knowledge into a clearer framework. The Scottish government are keen to get as many Scots as possible to do the MHFA course, which is 12 hours over two days, in order to help improve the mental health of the people of Scotland, by raising awareness and by helping us to be equipped to help one another. Our country's statistics are none too impressive as far as our mental well-being is concerned. It occurred to me that a church pastoral team, or the leadership of a few churches in an area, could get the course delivered to them, as in-house courses are offered.

Anyway, that's the plug for the course. But for me the most touching bit of what we heard was on a video clip from a lady called Abigail who has had serious mental health problems for many years but who said this, or something like this anyway: "Some people have the idea that the brain needs to be perfect because that's where I live. And if that gets disturbed, then, you know, I've been obliterated, or I've been damaged. You know, me, me, the essence of me. And that's not true".

I once heard that whereas animal charities are very well supported, mental health charities are the worst. I'm sure it's not lack of compassion. I'm sure it's fear. People don't like to think about mental health, because we're all aware instinctively of the truth that mental health/ill health isn't an either/or but a continuum and that we're none of us immune from mental illness. Thus we choose not to think about it, and isolate still further in the process those who've not been so lucky, and who're already isolated by their condition. Abigail came across as a lovely person and I thought that what she said, and what I've quoted here, was one of the sweetest, most positive and most profound things I've heard about mental health ever.

Poor ducks and geese.

Spring continues to be sprung.

Got out and about again today. I was at a meeting all day just about three miles from home so I got dropped off there in the morning and walked home cross country afterwards, enjoying more sights of spring including some lovely wee lambs which I had to hold the camera above a hedge to get a photo of. Back to prison tomorrow, though.

More gallivanting.

Him Indoors had a day off today and went for a walk up the Knock, which is the hill behind Crieff Hydro hotel (which of course we had to pop into for coffee afterwards). It was chilly but lovely and sunny and it was great to be out and about instead of in jail, which I normally am on a Monday!

I love spring and the last week has been particularly lovely - who knows what's still to come, mind you. "Ne'er cast a clout till May is out", and all that. Daffodils are my favourite spring flowers as they're so big and jolly after the bleakness and dreichness of winter (also they don't take any effort or knowledge of horticulture on my part). These ones on our front step are the miniature variety but they're cheery all the same.

Perfect Day.

While Him Indoors was at the pub with an English friend watching England lose at rugby to Scotland, and Firstborn was down the town with her pals, Blue Eyed Boy, Penultimate and Youngest Children, Flora and myself climbed East Lomond hill today. It's in Fife rather than being anywhere near Loch Lomond, and it was new to me as a place to go but we'll definitely go back, especially since you climb quite high in the car first before you have to get out and walk! It was lovely and it was so nice to be out and about after our winter hibernation. I got the tip off about the existence of this walk from Flombo, the big cheese over at Scottish Banter, where I'm inclined to hang out while housework-avoiding, unless I've something to say here, or unless I'm on Facebook playing Bejewelled yet again (just how empty IS my sad life?). It was great to have a day to please ourselves and with no reason to clock watch. (Good thing too as I've, hopefully temporarily, lost my watch. I was bought a watch in October on the Champs-Elysees, which was then eaten by a certain puppy and an identical replacement was bought for me but now I've lost it. Should I have the dog x-rayed?). Here's a few photos from our walk:



Next we headed back down into the nearby village of Falkland.The village of Falkland is very pretty and historic. The blossom lifted my spirits still further. I hate winter! I love spring! Yeay!

We had a walk round the inside of Falkland Palace. You're not allowed to take photos inside, but I recommend it for a visit. It's owned by the National Trust and is rather nice.No matter where you go in Scotland, all statues are similarly attired. This one, just up the road from Falkland Palace, was no different. It's our Scottish sense of humour at its best and most typical.
We finished off with a fish supper at the seaside, at St Andrews. The dog thought the beach was a wonderful place.

How do you go to church?

Last year a young woman at the hairdresser, on finding out that I was the wife of the minister of the church, asked me, "how do you go to church?" I didn't understand what "how do you go to church?" meant but it became clear she didn't know if you booked, if you got a ticket from somewhere, if you had to be invited, if you just turned up (the right answer by the way!) I was amazed that she didn't know. But of course, why would she know? Because I'm so used to the whole business of church in all its combination of weirdness and marvellousness and lunacy and glory, I take for granted things that I really shouldn't. I grew up as a minister's daughter and am quite at home in Churchworld. I can even cope with the variety of different types of church that there are and can worship as happily (almost) in most settings from charismatic to ultra-reformed to Roman Catholic mass to whatever. But I have my preferences of course, and 21 years to the day after Him Indoors and I decided that perhaps after all we weren't destined to be just good friends, I fortunately am able to say I particularly like the church of which he is minister. What a relief, eh?!

Recently it was my privilege and joy to take a few prisoners to church. We have services in the jail of course and I'm at great pains to stress to them that they are part of the worldwide church even in prison. However, it's good for them to experience "church outside" before release as a preparation for them to help bridge the enormous cultural gap that undoubtedly exists for them to cross to settle in a local church after liberation. I tell them that when they get released they need to find a church if they want to stay strong in their faith and that picking what church you go to is a bit like picking which pub will be your local - you have to try a few and find the one you feel at home in.

I used to think it was desperately sad that there were so many different church denominations and that we should all be able to agree on one way of doing church. But I've changed my mind. Certainly it's sad when there is a split, say, because folks' egos have got in the way, or there's been a power struggle, or because too much importance has been attached to one person's interpretation of how church should be. But perhaps the upside of that is that, since God is so awesomely awesome and amazingly amazing and wonderfully wonderful, no one group can express everything there is to express about who he is and what he has done for us and how his nature is. We should try to maintain the balance point of all the rich paradoxes of Church and of our faith. But we're always at risk of unbalancing.

Those who emphasise the love of God are perhaps at risk of not taking sin seriously enough and being too flippant about approaching God. Those who emphasise the holiness of God are perhaps at risk of not taking seriously enough the close Father-child relationship with us that is on offer.

Those who like a very ordered and formal style of worship are perhaps at risk of trying to overrule God's leading. Those who like a very fluid and spontaneous style of worship are perhaps at risk of making people feel distracted and uncomfortable by the unpredictability and chaos.

I've taken two pairs of two things there as examples but it's a lot more complex than that of course and only God could possibly understand it all.

I think the important thing is always to be aiming to be real. Church leaders throughout history, being human beings, have often got it wrong. And sometimes that's been through going for what looked good, for the latest thing, for the most fancy robes, or the most academic qualifications, or whatever would massage their egos and their pride. The best church leaders I've met are those who're good at being real, who talk in their own voices (not fake preachy pious church voices) from their hearts and mean what they're saying.

Tonight, a former prisoner visited the jail and spoke to some of the guys about what the Bible says and about how God loves them and wants to be in their lives. He is so real that it is a pleasure and privilege to listen to him, and the guys were hanging on his every word. He has an authority that comes from his realness and from the fact of course that he's been where they are. He has made the transition successfully from church in prison to church on the outside, though he admits that it has been a real struggle at times. Sadly church folk on the outside aren't always as real as church folk on the inside.

From our back gate, shortly ago.

Stay In Jail Free.

This is another of Dave Walker's brilliant cartoons. Those of us who've participated in any kind of Bible study group/home group/similar or even secular groups will relate, I'm sure.

Leading a small Bible Study group in prison is this, but taken to a whole new level. And I love it.

Somehow you've to juggle having people who know NOTHING about the Bible and know it, people who know NOTHING about the Bible but think they do, people who know quite a lot about the Bible but for whom it's all theory, and, thankfully, people who know about the Bible and also personally know the author of it (who perhaps I should explain is God - for those readers who know NOTHING about the Bible!!)

But I just love the randomness of it and the fact they'll interrupt and have a sudden round of making tea in the middle of trying to get a point across. Or argue so fiercely with each other that I wonder if a fight will break out and I might need to press the staff alarm. Or go off on a tangent to have a discussion about aliens, or the parole system, or something on tv. (I do try to control it, but you've to pick your battles and let some red herrings swim for a bit, to mix my metaphors). The air can be blue with some of the language but you get used to that. It's crazy and impossible and hilarious and weird. But it can also be so incredibly profound. There can be moments of utter honesty, or of a light going on in a head (and often it's my head), or of that sweet love/joy/fellowship thing which suddenly, though maybe fleetingly, engulfs a ragbag group of Christian folk with otherwise apparently very little in common.

Occasionally guys have said of these meetings that for that time in the week, it's as if they're not in prison. How wonderful. It's not just, I realise, that I want guys to Get Out of Jail Free. I want them to experience freedom while they're still incarcerated. "If the Son shall set you free, you shall be free indeed".

Drunk to the point of leglessness?

This made me laugh.

On Being Fruity.

One of the Bible verses that for some reason I find I keep coming back to with prisoners in Bible study times with them - and if I've blogged about it before I apologise for my rubbishy memory - is Galatians 5:22-23, "But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law." I don't know why I find myself bringing it up so often. But it is such a beautiful list. And it immediately follows such an ugly list: "The acts of the sinful nature are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God".

The contrast in the two lists is striking, but I think what's most appealing to me of all about this, and I found myself enthusing about it yet again tonight with two prisoners is that the first list above (the second list in the original context of course) is a list of fruits not a list of commands. It would be a bit overwhelming to be commanded to be loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle and self-controlled. But we're not. It's a list of promises. If we hitch our wagon to God's (to mix my metaphors) we're promised that along the way the natural by-products of our walk with Him will be love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. "AGAINST SUCH THINGS THERE IS NO LAW". If, as is the case for many of our guys, you've spent your life looking over your shoulder for the police (or "polis" as we call them in Scotland) how lovely to swap all that for this instead. And it's not OUR effort that achieves this fruit. It's the work of God through the Holy Spirit. Wow! How cool! The love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control also have little to do with our immediate circumstances. We can be full of love, joy, peace etc even in the midst of dark times. As I was explaining tonight in relation to peace in particular, the peace that Jesus gives, the "peace that surpasses all understanding" is a supernatural thing; it's not dependent on what's going on around us or where we are. So the guy who's gutted by his parole "knock-back" can still experience peace, if he puts his trust in God. I believe that for the guys when I'm talking to them. Sometimes, though, I forget to believe it for myself.

Perhaps I'll get a mural painted on the chaplaincy centre ceiling (don't be imagining the Cistine chapel now, think cr*ppy Portacabin) of a vine with nine bunches of grapes from it with these fruits of the Spirit attached. Then I'll be reminded every day of what God's got planned for these guys and me.

Davis Cup Glasgow 7 March 09

My first attempt at uploading a Photobucket album:

Photobucket Album

Uncle Buck.

Family film night tonight. After Penultimate Child and her dad had done Swimming Club and the rest of us had done Asda, we cuddled up to watch a DVD. Tonight it was one of Him Indoors' top five favourite films, namely "Uncle Buck" with the late great John Candy. Him Indoors and I have always liked it, but now as parents there's a whole new resonance that wasn't there when we first saw it. Same with "Father of the Bride" with Steve Martin. When I first saw it, I was the bride to be and I thought it was funny. Now as a mum, I actually find it incredibly moving. How our situation changes our perspective. Uncle Buck probably isn't entirely suitable for children, tbh, but I think we got away with it; the unsuitable-est bits were often over their heads. Even though I've seen the film before sufficient times not to have had any urge actually to watch it again, there's nothing to beat Friday night plus your pyjama-clad kids plus your glass of red wine to generate a glowing sense of bliss, in spite of the laundry backlog. The following is one of my favourite bits:
Buck: Did you brush your teeth?
Miles: Yeah. You can even feel my toothbrush.
Buck: You know, I have a friend who works at the crime lab at the police station. I could give him your toothbrush and he could run a test on it... to see if you actually brushed your teeth... or just ran your toothbrush under the faucet.
[Miles imagines hearing sirens, Buck leaves]
Maisy Russell: If that's true, we're gonna REALLY have to start brushing our teeth.
and this is funny:

And Another Thing.

As a follow on from yesterday's post, here's an interesting article. "I will tell you this, boy" (to quote Rab C. Nesbitt): this isn't right either. Our jails have far too many prisoners in them who are mentally unwell or who have pronounced learning difficulties and/or personality disorders. Are we just to say that this is what is to be expected? Or is there a better way for these individuals too?

I have seen so many guys who are comfortable in jail but scared s***less by the outside world. Is that okay? I don't think it is.

Could we as a society be a bit more sensitive to people who are less equipped than the rest of us to cope with daily life? (It could be argued that I'm not sufficiently equipped myself at times either, to be honest, but I manage to fool enough people enough of the time to muddle through. And at least I'm not running scared).

A hundred years ago, I was a visiting officer for the Department of Social Security. One task I was presented with was during Maggie Thatcher's "Care in the Community" drive. I visited lots of people who had been rehoused from a long stay hospital into flats in a very socially deprived area of Glasgow. Admittedly they didn't belong in a hospital, and they had certainly been shown how to cook, clean, shop and catch buses. But they were like children. My 13-year old is very able in many ways, but I wouldn't pop her into a flat and leave her to get on with it.

I don't in any way blame social services for not providing enough support for vulnerable adults. They are so far from adequately resourced that it would make you cry.

But the result is that there are people in prison who have committed crimes, certainly, but who are themselves vulnerable and worthy of our compassion and care.

From those to whom much is given (the rest of us) much is expected.

Jailing "Junkies"?

Today I was at the Chaplains' Away Day. When I started as a prison chaplain, I was delighted to hear that a couple of times a year there was a "Chaplains' Away Day". I thought it was a great idea that we could have a day when we had a break away from the intensity of what we do and go off and enjoy ourselves and get to know chaplains from other jails socially. What a numpty I am. A Chaplains' Away Day turned out not to involve a bucket and spade (shame), but to be a meeting in a conference room, in a less than glamorous setting, at which important matters of interest to chaplains can be discussed and through which we can be kept informed of developments on the national horizon that are of relevance to us. Very worthy. But not the same as a day out to have fun!

I don't know what the collective noun for a group of prison chaplains would be (suggestions welcome) but, honestly, what a bunch we are. Lots of different ecclesiologies and personalities and histories all gathered together make for interesting debates. Yet we're united by our passion to care for prisoners and to love them through their sentences, regardless of what they've done and whether they deserve it or not, just as God loves us in spite of everthing too.

One thing we are all agreed on, of course, is that it's really sad that so many people are in prison. In Scotland we've been around the 8,000 mark recently for the first time.

Last week I was at a two day course run by STRADA. Most of the particpants weren't prison service but workers in the addictions field. In my naivete, I was absolutely shocked to learn about the waiting lists there are for many drug rehabilitation interventions in many parts of the community. One said that in her area people had to wait for a year to get onto a methadone detox programme. What a lot of awful things can happen in a year for a drug addict and, it must be said, what a lot of victims they may create in their hunt for money to feed their habit.

Lots of people who have never taken drugs unfortunately leave prison with a drug habit they picked up in jail. Lots of people who used cannabis switch to hard drugs in jail because cannabis stays in the system much longer and they have a higher chance of failing a drug test. Both of these facts are tragic. To think we are sending out people with drug problems they didn't have when they come in is awful.

And yet an opposite scenario isn't exactly good news; I have heard on the grapevine that both males and females who have drug habits are deliberately offending because they know that in prison there is good drug rehabilitation on offer, without a waiting list. I didn't entirely believe that before but now I think I do. And I've certainly heard from many many prisoners themselves, statements along the lines of: "I'd be dead if I hadn't got the jail". It's not good enough. Putting money into addictions work might not be a vote winner for Parliament, but not doing so is creating yet more victims of crime, and amongst the children of addicted people further damage is being caused that will manifest itself way into the future as these kids grow up in distressing circumstances.

I don't know what the answer is exactly, but there must be a better way than this. And, although we weren't discussing drugs in particular, but incarceration in general, it seemed today that my chaplaincy colleagues probably feel a similar frustration.

Prayers for Me.

image from Kairos Prison Ministries

March 2009's "Prayer Topics" sheet was handed out at church this morning. There are seven topics - one for the Sundays of the month, one for the Mondays of the month and so one. I'm Miss Monday, so to speak.

I was supposed to submit a prayer request and, being the dopey auld wifie that I am, I forgot. However, I was thrilled to read the following:

Mondays
Pray for AnneDroid in her work with prisoners. May her life be an open book for You. Give her wisdom as she brings Your hope to the prisoners and listens to their problems.

Well, okay, it didn't actually say AnneDroid; it used my Sunday name instead. But what a truly WONDERFUL prayer. If I'd remembered, I'd have submitted a prayer request for the guys rather than myself. However, I'd be absolutely thrilled to think people might pray that for me. I'm praying it for myself!

The Bible in a Nutshell.

My friend Claire sent me this today:

A child was asked to write a book review on the entire Bible:

"In the beginning, which occurred near the start, there was nothing but God,darkness, and some gas. The Bible says, 'The Lord your God is one, but I think He must be a lot older than that. Anyway, God said, 'Give me a light!' and someone did. Then God made the world. He split the Adam and made Eve. Adam and Eve were naked, but they weren't embarrassed because mirrors hadn't been invented yet. Adam and Eve disobeyed God by eating one bad apple, so they were driven from the Garden of Eden.... Not sure what they were driven in, though, because they didn't have cars. Adam and Eve had a son, Cain, who hated his brother as long as he was Abel. Pretty soon all of the early people died off, except for Methuselah, who lived to be like a million or something. One of the next important people was Noah, who was a good guy, but one of his kids was kind of a Ham. Noah built a large boat and put his family and some animals on it. He asked some other people to join him, but they said they would have to take a rain check. After Noah came Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Jacob was more famous than his brother, Esau, because Esau sold Jacob his birthmark in exchange for some pot roast. Jacob had a son named Joseph who wore a really loud sports coat. Another important Bible guy is Moses, whose real name was Charlton Heston. Moses led the Israel Lights out of Egypt and away from the evil Pharaoh after God sent ten plagues on Pharaoh's people. These plagues included frogs, mice, lice, bowels, and no cable. God fed the Israel Lights every day with manicotti. Then he gave them His Top Ten Commandments. These include: don't lie, cheat, smoke, dance, or covet your neighbour's stuff. Oh, yeah, I just thought of one more: Humour your father and mother. One of Moses' best helpers was Joshua who was the first Bible guy to use spies. Joshua fought the battle of Geritol and the fence fell over on the town. After Joshua came David. He got to be king by killing a giant with a slingshot. He had a son named Solomon who had about 300 wives and 500 porcupines. My teacher says he was wise, but that doesn't sound very wise to me. After Solomon there were a bunch of major league prophets. One of these was Jonah, who was swallowed by a big whale and then barfed up on the shore. There were also some minor league prophets, but I guess we don't have to worry about them. After the Old Testament came the New Testament. Jesus is the star of The New. He was born in Bethlehem in a barn. (I wish I had been born in a barn too, because my mum is always saying to me, 'Close the door! Were you born in a barn?' It would be nice to say, 'As a matter of fact, I was.') During His life, Jesus had many arguments with sinners like the Pharisees and the Democrats. Jesus also had twelve opossums. The worst one was Judas Asparagus. Judas was so evil that they named a terrible vegetable after him. Jesus was a great man. He healed many leopards and even preached to some Germans on the Mount. But the Democrats and all those guys put Jesus on trial before Pontius the Pilot. Pilot didn't stick up for Jesus. He just washed his hands instead. Anyway, Jesus died for our sins, then came back to life again. He went up to Heaven but will be back at the end of the Aluminum. His return is foretold in the book of Revolution".

Scotland 26 Italy 6.

Scotland 26 Italy 6.

The Gas Man Cometh

It has been decided that our manse is to get a new kitchen. We are delighted of course. Lots of different trades are involved in the installation of a new kitchen so I hope the following doesn't happen:

A Song and Dance About It.

I don't normally advertise on my blog. In fact this advert had failed thus far actually to fix in my mind who it was an advert for, but I've secretly rather enjoyed it every time I've seen it:



Mobile phones are rather a sore topic with me because I recently washed my almost brand new phone in the washing machine and whilst it is now nice and clean it is as useless as a chocolate teapot. More useless in fact. A chocolate teapot is still chocolate after all, which is always useful.

Anyway, I secretly like this advert because I like musicals. Calamity Jane, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Oliver, Hairspray, Joseph and his Technicolour Dreamcoat, Bride and Prejudice, you name it. I have often thought how cool it would be if everyone in Tesco, or everyone in the jail, for example, every now and again suddenly broke out into perfect choreography with some great feel good music. Okay, "cool" is probably the wrong word, technically. "Cheesy" or "gay" (in its third manifestation, rather than meaning homosexual or indeed happy as it was before that) would be more accurate than "cool". But coolness and image aren't my raison d'etre and never have been.

It seems as though I'm not the only one who's been taken with the advert above, though.

I notice on facebook that my husband's cousin's partner (that sounds complicated but break it down - she's basically my cousin-in-law) has accepted an invitation to a silent rave at Glasgow Central station. This seems to be an event where people bring their iPod (that rules me out then - I haven't got one yet) and at a certain time have a private yet communal dance. The one at Glasgow Central station won't be the first. There was at least one in Englandshire before that, also organised through the anarchic "flashmobbing" capability of Facebook. I suppose "flashmobs" are technically dangerous and the police would be worried about sudden crowds assembling without warning to them. I suppose, too, that innocent commuters may be hampered in going about their lawful business of commuting. But a bit of me says, "YESSS!!! Go for it!" In such depressed times, a bit of fun's extremely welcome, IMHO. And it gets me one stage nearer Life Being Like a Musical. Just a pity I can't actually sing. Or dance. For toffee, or indeed chocolate.

In Royal Robes I Don't Deserve

Recently, a member of the royal family visited one of the prisons I work in. I can't say which prison, which date, or which member of the royal family or I would have to kill you, which would be a shame. Official secrets act and all that... However this is a picture of him/her in 1982, although this is not how he/she arrived at the jail.

This is the second royal visit I've experienced. I used to be chaplain in a cancer care day centre (part of the hospice movement, though it had no in-patients). Prince Charles came to visit there. It was at the time when Camilla was what Scots call a "bidey-in", and I was teasing the other staff in advance that I was going to offer to make it legal. (I didn't offer any such thing, of course, in case I was beheaded in the Tower of London or something).

It has been said by many before me that the royal family must think the whole world smells of bleach and paint. It is extraordinary the lengths that people go to when a member of the royal family is to visit - even folk that aren't all that royalist take it very seriously. The advance party of security guys of course help to ensure that all is just tickety-boo. Some of the prisoners and I were entertaining ourselves looking for the tell-tale bulges of guns under the jackets of the bodyguards.

All the time leading up to, and during this most recent royal visit, I was thinking about the totally amazing illustration all the fuss and effort that's made is for us as Christians. It reminds us of just what wonderful, ludicrous, mad and awesome stuff we are actually taught in the Bible, summed up in the line "..in royal robes we don't deserve..." in this song (which, by the way, I want at my funeral please):

Tired of Being The Bad Guys?

It was very strange indeed this weekend to be down to one child only. This is a picture of Youngest Child (for it was she) and Him Indoors, outdoors. The necklace Him Indoors is wearing, by the way, is the dog's lead, as she was roaming free at this point. I mention that just to establish that it is not true that I have Him Indoors on a lead, even a metaphorical one. Whatever he may tell you!

Anyway, Firstborn, Blue-Eyed Boy, and Penultimate Child had a lovely time at a Scripture Union weekend camp led by our aforementioned friend. There were six other kids from our church there (that makes nine altogether, as I'm sure you are able to work out) and three leaders from our church, including our church drummer. So the service back at the ranch was literally quieter without the twelve of them this morning.

I think it's fab that almost all the leaders (and there was a huge team of them as it was a big group of kids aged from 9 to 17) come on these weekends as volunteers, even though they have been working up till the Friday afternoon and have to go back to work (knackered) on the Monday morning. Their commitment to the kids and to God is amazing.

I was thinking today about a prisoner we used to have who came faithfully every week to the Prison Fellowship. He didn't often come to the services (which I conduct) but was regular at the Prison Fellowship meetings, run by a committed and wonderful and dedicated volunteer. This fellow (who eventually did a runner, but that's another story) was an atheist. He didn't believe in God and yet he came to Prison Fellowship because, he said, he couldn't believe that Isobel came in every week without being paid. He couldn't figure out why she would travel, as she wasn't local, at her own expense, in all weathers, and for the many years she'd been doing it, for no money. It impressed him and mystified him and so his curiosity led him to keep coming.

So much of the time people will say, "Religion just causes wars. If we didn't have religion we'd be much better off. Most wars are caused by religion. Religion's a bad thing". Etc.. John Lennon's "Imagine" is on that theme.

I agree that lots of wars have been in the name of religion. It'd be daft to disagree. But generally they're tribal and racial and cultural and political and are just called religious. If you're born in "Norn Iron", for example, you are born into a tribe. The protestant tribe. Or the catholic tribe. And there are plenty of people on each side who don't actually have any kind of living faith or relationship with God, who never pray or read their Bible, who are nonetheless bitter in their hatred of the other "team". Neither lot, in any real sense, are "Christians".

Certainly lots of horrible stuff has been done in the name of Christianity, and those who dismiss religion on that basis have some foundation for what they say. But I often think that the other side is never put. The truth is that Christianity, in spite of the fact that all those following the Christian faith are ordinary flawed human beings who stuff up on a frequent basis, is a huge force for good.

In Scotland, for instance, Crossreach, the social welfare arm of the Church of Scotland, is the biggest voluntary social care body in the country working with: Addictions, Children & Families, Counselling & Support, Criminal Justice, Homelessness, Learning Disabilities, Mental Health and Older People. Lots of people volunteer with Crossreach, and whilst others are paid, all the money comes from the sacrificial giving of Christians. And that's just the Church of Scotland. The Roman Catholic church and other protestant denominations are doing the same sorts of things.

And in individual congregations all over Scotland, lots more voluntary stuff and good works are going on: Parent and Toddler Groups, Pensioners' Lunch Clubs, Youth Work, Kids' Clubs and all sorts. Churches are providing volunteers to do good things in the community, in schools, hospitals and prisons.

Atheists are doing good works too. Of course they are. (In my experience not on anything like the same scale though...) But my point here is simply to reflect that when you who are Christians hear, yet again, about how religions are responsible for all the wars, and so on, perhaps you should be less shy about telling the other side of the story. Not to boast, because "it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose" but just to set them straight.

Good Day.

In the Bible, in Luke 15, we read the following (I've chosen "The Message" translation):

"By this time a lot of men and women of doubtful reputation were hanging around Jesus, listening intently. The Pharisees and religion scholars were not pleased, not at all pleased. They growled, "He takes in sinners and eats meals with them, treating them like old friends." Their grumbling triggered this story.

"Suppose one of you had a hundred sheep and lost one. Wouldn't you leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the lost one until you found it? When found, you can be sure you would put it across your shoulders, rejoicing, and when you got home call in your friends and neighbors, saying, 'Celebrate with me! I've found my lost sheep!' Count on it—there's more joy in heaven over one sinner's rescued life than over ninety-nine good people in no need of rescue.

"Or imagine a woman who has ten coins and loses one. Won't she light a lamp and scour the house, looking in every nook and cranny until she finds it? And when she finds it you can be sure she'll call her friends and neighbors: 'Celebrate with me! I found my lost coin!' Count on it—that's the kind of party God's angels throw every time one lost soul turns to God."

In honour of that great passage, and in honour of G, for whom this was a special day, I post this video. Sometimes I don't "get" classical music, being an ageing rocker really, but I "get" this and was playing the Prom Praise recording of it at full bung in the car today.

Snowy Scotland and Alpha Scotland.

The kids and I had lots of fun this afternoon when we took the sledges up to Glenshee. Even I, in spite of my love of being warm, clean and dry at all times, had a couple of goes. The reason I look even cuddlier than normal in this picture is that I was wearing nearly every item of clothing I own. I very nearly demolished a couple of three year olds that had made the mistake of standing in my way and also went over a ramp/jump that someone had made - accidentally as I didn't see it. Also at one point after falling off the sledge into some deep soft snow found I was almost entirely unable to get up because of all my layers rendering me as stiff as a board. On a previous occasion here Blue Eyed Boy cut his ear so badly that we had to drive to Accident and Emergency (to the grave annoyance of the other kids who hadn't even had their first shot on the sledge). No incidents this time, and it was worth the mountain of soggy laundry now awaiting me, definitely.

Even the puppy got out for a run about in the snow. She was moving way too fast for me to get a decent picture of her, and the light was fading too. As there were so many folk around she was stuck in the car for the first while but we'd gone late in the day, having been at church, so she got a good run around before we left. As soon as a child set off down the hill on the sledge she was after them. You wonder what goes through their heads: "What's this all about? No idea! But it's fun!"


Yesterday, I had a completely different sort of experience - and not just because I was warm, clean and dry throughout. I was in Edinburgh at the Alpha Scotland Vision Day. I really enjoyed it. I've never been on an Alpha course, though I attended one session of one in a prison as I'm thinking of running it in "my" jails. It's been very effective in enabling the Christian faith to be shared in a very friendly, gentle, warm and natural fashion - there's prison Alpha, schools Alpha, workplace Alpha, youth Alpha, student Alpha and even hotel Alpha, as well as the local church ones. It was also really good to meet two fellow bloggers there, That Hideous Man , whom I DO meet from time to time, and Lynn at Help I Work With Children whom I haven't seen for more than two decades, and who, incidentally, was one of my mum's maths pupils at school. Perhaps I'll go on a world tour in search of meetings with all those whose blogs I read - tricky with some who don't give much away. First I should hire a private detective, I guess.

My Ickle Bwuvver.

My very clever baby brother.... well okay, he's had his 40th birthday* and I need to face the fact he's an adult, has a blog now, related to his business as a dentist. I've added it to my blogroll and forgiven him totally and completely for ever suggesting that my blogging fixation was a waste of time. Lol.

He's a twitterer too, so perhaps I should consider twitter-world too as a whole new possible avenue of housework-avoidance for me to add to Bebo, Facebook, the Scottish Banter website and Blogging.

*How can a 21-year old have a baby brother who is 40? It's to do with time travel, guys, and it's a secret only known to me and a select team of scientists from NASA. Better not to ask further. Walls have ears.

The Extra Foolish Man.

Although snow has been the theme of the day in Blighty today, it's sand that made me laugh in this cartoon. It seems appropriate in the context of a global financial recession which, it could be argued, is the related to the choice of foundations (greed, individualism, instant gratification, etc.) that we humans have chosen on which to build our financial houses.

Matthew 7:21-27 (the Message translation):

"Knowing the correct password—saying 'Master, Master,' for instance— isn't going to get you anywhere with me. What is required is serious obedience—doing what my Father wills. I can see it now—at the Final Judgment thousands strutting up to me and saying, 'Master, we preached the Message, we bashed the demons, our God-sponsored projects had everyone talking.' And do you know what I am going to say? 'You missed the boat. All you did was use me to make yourselves important. You don't impress me one bit. You're out of here.'
These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on. If you work these words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter who built his house on solid rock. Rain poured down, the river flooded, a tornado hit—but nothing moved that house. It was fixed to the rock.
But if you just use my words in Bible studies and don't work them into your life, you are like a stupid carpenter who built his house on the sandy beach. When a storm rolled in and the waves came up, it collapsed like a house of cards."

Joys, plural.

Today was a special day for friends of ours. The daddy of the wee one in the picture is the new minister of the church in the other picture, and this was the first Sunday since his ordination and induction into the charge. Their extremely adorable daughter was baptised during the service.

Firstborn and I travelled to celebrate the occasion with them, staying overnight with other friends last night who this time last year were also new to a congregation and are now old hands at the game. It was great to see them again too as we miss them now they're further away.

I am so thankful that we were able to be at the service today. Pay attention as you'll get confused now, and, for all you know, I may be setting an exam at the end. The wee one's grandpa used to be Him Indoors's and my minister. He was kind of responsible for us getting together as he asked us to run a youth group in his church and you could say that one thing kind of led to another. But off and on for a few years before that, I had babysat his two daughters, since before they were at school. The older of the two is now the mother of the wee one in the picture and the wife of the new minister of this church (whose dad is also a minister).

It was great to grab a photo of our photo-shy Firstborn and the wee one. Both have a middle name in common - Joy. Hence the post title. During Firstborn's first year in this world, the mother of the wee one was studying nursery nursing at college and as part of that followed Firstborn's progress during her first year and then after it was assessed, presented us with the project to keep. She also babysat a bit. It's just a pity they're not nearby enough for us to reciprocate again with the babysitting. On the other hand they're in a very pretty location - we may just have to invite ourselves down for another visit some time.