Hurt people hurt people (sometimes)

I wrote this for work purposes but thought it might be worth sharing here. The main resources I used are credited in the last paragraph.

Bitterness

Bitter people often:
- have an amazing memory for the tiniest detail
- wallow in self-pity and resentment
- catalogue every offence and are always ready to talk about how much they've been hurt
- seem calm on the outside but inside are about to burst with pent-up feelings
- defend their grudges constantly
- feel they've been hurt so deeply or so often they are exempt from the need to forgive
sometimes have hearts so full of bitterness they're no longer able to love at all

Bitterness is more than just a negative outlook on life. It's a very destructive and self-destructive power. It's just like a dangerous, poisonous mould or spore because it thrives in the dark recesses of the heart and feeds on every new thought of spite or hatred that comes our way. Or it's like an ulcer which is aggravated by worry or like a heart condition that's made worse by stress. It can affect you physically and certainly it affects you emotionally. It also affects those around you.

Forgiveness

On the other hand, forgiveness is a door to peace and happiness. It is a small, narrow, hard-to-find door, and can't be entered without stooping humbly. But no matter how long the search, it can be found and it has the potential to lead to the most amazing freedom.

Forgiving has absolutely nothing to do with human fairness which demands an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, and it doesn't mean excusing and brushing things aside. When we forgive someone we still recognise the hurt for what it is, but instead of lashing out or biting back, we try to see beyond it and to view the person with good will rather than ill will, whether they deserve it or not, because forgiving them makes us better.

Forgiveness maybe won't take away all our pain, but the letting go will help. It might not even be acknowledged or accepted - but forgiving will stop us being sucked into the downward spiral of resentment and it can guard us against the temptation of taking out our anger or hurt on someone else.

Forgiving doesn't mean forgetting or condoning a wrong. It doesn't depend on a face-to-face meeting with the person responsible for it, which might not even be advisable. But it does mean making a conscious decision to stop hating, because hating can never help. Sometimes, even when we recognise the need to forgive, we're tempted to claim that we can't. It's too hard, too difficult - something for saints, maybe, but not for me. But it IS possible, and it IS worth it.

For further reading, you could try Jesus' thoughts on the subject - look in the Bible for Matthew, Mark, Luke or John, or if you are anti-Bible for some reason, I also recommend "Why Forgive?" by Johann Christoph Arnold, which has powerful and painfully moving and heroic stories of forgiveness in the most extreme circumstances.

Hanky Panky?

One of the tools of the trade of a prison chaplain is a box of tissues. When the said prison chaplain also has a cold she's had so long she's forgotten when it started, the need is all the greater, to have a box handy.

On my way to work this morning I called in at the village shop near the jail where I spotted five boxes of a well known brand of man-size tissues (wouldn't they be huge if they really were man-sized? And which size of man would they be the size of?)
The boxes were identical, and had the price already printed on them by the manufacturer. Four of them said "99p". The other, exactly the same in other respects, said "Special Price. £1.69". Isn't "special price" supposed to imply a discount not a Whatever-It-Is-Per-Cent increase (please someone work that out for me as I'm not fond of arithmetic) of 70p"?

And talking of man-size, it was my privilege to facilitate the provision of a pair of overalls to a very tall prisoner today (not really part of my job description of course) who was unable to fit into any of the overalls provided by his Work Party. A local minister found me a pair in his garage. You know who you are, M. Thank you. He's terribly pleased.

One cool thing about being Scottish...

One cool thing about being Scottish is that every now and again you get to see your flag in the sky.

I'm from Venus and He's from Mars but that's fun!

WICOE (Women In Charge Of Everything)

Is proud to announce the opening of its EVENING CLASSES FOR MEN! OPEN TO MEN ONLY. ALL ARE WELCOME.

Note: due to the complexity and level of difficulty, each course will accept a maximum of eight participants

The course covers two days, and topics covered in this course include:

DAY ONE

HOW TO FILL ICE CUBE TRAYS
Step by step guide with slide presentation

TOILET ROLLS- DO THEY GROW ON THE HOLDERS?
Roundtable discussion

DIFFERENCES BETWEEN LAUNDRY BASKET & FLOOR
Practicing with hamper (Pictures and graphics)

DISHES & CUTLERY; DO THEY LEVITATE/FLY TO KITCHEN SINK OR DISHWASHER BY THEMSELVES?
Debate among a panel of experts.

REMOTE CONTROL
Losing the remote control - Help line and support groups

LEARNING HOW TO FIND THINGS
Starting with looking in the right place instead of turning the house upside down while screaming - Open forum


DAY TWO

EMPTY MILK CARTONS; DO THEY BELONG IN THE FRIDGE OR THE BIN?
Group discussion and role play

HEALTH WATCH; BRINGING HER FLOWERS IS NOT HARMFUL TO YOUR HEALTH
PowerPoint presentation

REAL MEN ASK FOR DIRECTIONS WHEN LOST
Real life testimonial from the one man who did

IS IT GENETICALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO SIT QUIETLY AS SHE PARALLEL PARKS?
Driving simulation

LIVING WITH ADULTS; BASIC DIFFERENCES BETWEEN YOUR MOTHER AND YOUR PARTNER
Online class and role playing

HOW TO BE THE IDEAL SHOPPING COMPANION
Relaxation exercises, meditation and breathing techniques

REMEMBERING IMPORTANT DATES & CALLING WHEN YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE
Bring your calendar or PDA to class

GETTING OVER IT; LEARNING HOW TO LIVE WITH BEING WRONG ALL THE TIME
Individual counsellors available

Chavopoly!

Apologies for the bad language. I found this on Purpleplus's website (click link on right) and shamelessly nicked it. It's too sad to be funny, but it's really clever and well observed.

The dog is dead. Long live the dog(s)?

While away on a short family holiday in Edinburgh this week I had the sad task of taking our old dog, who was suffering from cancer and other ailments, to the vet to be put to sleep. I volunteered because Him Indoors was much more attached to her than I was - or so I thought. However I found it very distressing anyway and all six of us cried a fair few tears that day. She was a great old thing and gave us 14 years' unconditional love.

Next morning? The kids were discussing getting a new dog, possibly two (the theory being they'd be company for each other) and most of the rest of the week was spent coming up with possible names for these Potential Puppies. This seemed very disrespectful to have moved on so quickly, but children are like that. However, before we left the caravan site we were staying at, the kids made what could only be described as a kind of shrine to poor old Chloe, which looked exactly like a grave and led to us then having to go and explain to the wardens before we left that the dog was in fact left at the vet for cremation and was not in fact buried, without permission, under the tree in their woodland!

Incidentally suggestions for the names for the Potential Puppies are welcome. We may get two black labrador bitches or one black and one brown. Current suggestions (not all serious) are: Treacle and Toffee, Jack and Vera, Bennett and Darcy, Cheese and Onion, Mrs Thompson and Mrs Wallace (the head and deputy head at the kids' school)...

Randomness? Fate? God? Vote now.

My outlaws, sorry - that should read in-laws, last year celebrated their golden wedding. But before they met, as a young man Father-In-Law nearly emigrated to New Zealand. If he had, of course, their four sons would never have been born and neither would my four kids.

I find that sort of story interesting. I have lots of them, as no doubt you have too. Is it all just random? I tend to think not, of course, but lots of people would say yes.

I'm also interested in how couples met, as so often it seems they could just as easily not have done.

A few years ago I conducted two funerals, about a year apart, of an elderly married couple. I asked how they met and loved the story. He was a shepherd. She was a maid in The Big House. They were expected to get all spruced up (as you did in those days) and go to church on a Sunday. During the service, he bent down to pick up a dropped hymn book, and as he came up, banged his head off the book-rest shelf thing on the back of the pew in front. She, being only about eighteen, got a great fit of the giggles which carried on for ages, and led to them speaking after the service!


But for me personally here's a cracker of an "It could all have been so different" story:
A long time ago, an ancestor of mine once emigrated to America. He bought a bit of farmland and worked it for a while but then decided he was homesick, so he sold it and came home. The bit of farmland was part of Manhattan Island!!

Freedom!

Freedom!
by Sharron R. McMillan

The door is wide open
And yet the bumblebee
batters itself against the front window,
the side window,
and finally the window on the open door.

It amazes me
That a creature made to be borne
on the breezes of outdoors
does not instinctively fly
to the source of those breezes
flowing through the open door.

Instead
It batters itself
On the closed illusion of freedom.

The door is wide open
Yet people
batter themselves against their sin,
their own created religions,
and their unbending wants.

It amazes me
That those created to be borne
on the gentle moving of God's Spirit
do not instinctively go through God's open door to freedom.

A Disgrace to Women's Lib, I am.

I apologise to my cistern, er, sisters.

Today I took Penultimate and Youngest children for a bike ride. Well, they were riding the bikes Santa graciously brought them at Christmas but I was walking with Truffle, a chocolate (chocolate coloured not actual chocolate, sadly) labrador we are looking after for the week. About half way round, the chain came off Youngest Child's bike.

Did I even look to see if I could work out how to fix it? No (head hanging down in shame). I did not. I looked round to see if a man on a bike might come along who I could ask to fix it. This plan worked almost instantly and, ignoring all previous instructions not to talk to strangers, Youngest Child was asked, "What do you say to the kind man for fixing your bike?"

It is only now, hours and hours later that it hits me. What kind of 21st century woman am I? It's the fact I didn't even LOOK at the chain to see what to do... although when the gallant stranger fixed it in a nanosecond I did have the grace to be a WEE bit embarrassed.

The thing is, although I want equal pay and all that, I find it very delightful to leave all jobs I don't fancy (especially anything potentially involving getting dirty) to men. We caravan and I have never yet learned how to empty the loo, nor I have I the least intention of so doing. I have mysteriously forgotten how to cut the grass. And I'm not good with sick - dog sick or child sick.

I thought of telling you the truth - that it all started when I got a Christmas job in my last two years at school as a turkey plucker. You had to kill your own turkey. But I, and the only other female turkey plucker, let one of the men kill us one too. I thought of telling that story but in view of my post about the pheasant the other day it might be too much. I don't want folk thinking I'm anti-bird. So I won't mention it.

The only thing I have in my favour is that I ALWAYS vote, even when I've no idea who to vote for - my mum drummed it into me that women had fought so hard to get the vote I'd better appreciate it - and of course I do.

Yesterday, today, for ever...

As I've said before, I enjoy reading the blogs of police, paramedics and teachers, as many of these people are feeling the same sort of bewilderment I am (and no doubt you are too) about the ills of society.

Here, however, are some quotes from the days when blogs were presumably kept on paper or even parchment rather than in cyberspace:

"In every department of our nation, industry, commerce and agriculture, there is no hope."
Disraeli in 1852.

"The world is passing through troublesome times. The young people of today think of nothing but themselves. They have no reverence for parents or old age. They are impatient of all restraint. They talk as if they know everything, and what passes for wisdom with us is foolishness to them. As for the girls, they are immodest and unwomanly in speech, behaviour and dress."
Peter the Monk in 1274.

"When I look at the younger generation, I despair of the future of civilisation." Aristotle, in the year 300BC.

A long time ago a very wise man, in his interesting wee book called Ecclesiastes (found in the Jewish and Christian Bibles) said this: "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun."

I find that oddly comforting.

Three cheers for C.S. Lewis

C.S. Lewis is one of my favourite writers. Here's some quotes to illustrate why.



From his great autobiography, "Surprised by Joy" a fun one about a dog he used to have: "I think he had one friend of his own species, a neighbouring red setter; a very respectable, middle-aged dog. Perhaps a good influence; for poor Tim, though I loved him, was the most undisciplined, unaccomplished, and dissipated-looking creature that ever went on four legs. He never exactly obeyed you; he sometimes agreed with you."


Also from his autobiography, talking about his conversion, this one appeals to the Calvinist which lurks beneath the surface of me: "Amiable agnostics will talk cheerfully about 'man's search for God'. To me, as I then was, they might as well have talked about the mouse's search for the cat."


There are loads more I could mention, and may do another day, but here's a great one from "The Lion, the Witch and the "Wardrobe":
"'They say Aslan is on the move - perhaps has already landed.'
And now a very curious thing happened. None of the children knew who Aslan was any more than you do; but the moment the Beaver had spoken these words everyone felt quite different. Perhaps it has sometimes happened to you in a dream that someone says something which you don't understand but in the dream it feels as if it had some enormous meaning - either a terrifying one which turns the whole dream into a nightmare or else a lovely meaning too lovely to put into words, which makes the dream so beautiful that you remember it all your life and are always wishing you could get into that dream again. It was like that now. At the name of Aslan each one of the children felt something jump in its inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realise that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer."

Twisted thinking

Prisoners' thinking can be very twisted.

Recently I was talking to a prisoner who was arguing that if he had his way all "junkies" would be given an injection in the neck and put down. This man is an alcoholic. In my usual diplomatic way (!) I pointed out that alcoholism was an addiction too. He wasn't pleased and said that no, alcholism is a disease. I was unable to persuade him that there were any similarities between the addictions.

But jail's like that. There is a pecking order of crime. In a jail containing only sex offenders, the rapists (i.e. rapes of adult victims) see themselves better than the paedophiles. In other jails, prisoners classify themselves as better than some other class of offence. Prisoners often lie to one another about the nature of their offence to make it more "acceptable". Incidentally, murder, which we might (hopefully DO) see as very bad, isn't looked down on so much in jail whereas other offences, like mugging an old lady, are seen as beyond the pale.

I have found this very interesting, and yet I have also found myself wondering if perhaps ALL human beings do exactly this. According to our own various personal measuring schemes we rate others as above or below us. A dear and very ancient relative of mine openly judges people on how good their speech is (she once studied elocution herself).

I heard a prison officer recently refer to all the prisoners collectively and dismissively as "scrotes" - I think he validates himself, in a way, by finding a group of people he feels superior to.

Do I do it? I hope not, but I fear I do.

Admiring God's Creation, Return of

Just for balance, for male heterosexual readers of this blog I thought I'd make up for yesterday.
This, if you didn't know, people, is Deanna Troi, ship's counsellor on Star Trek in the days of Jean Luc Picard's leadership. I used to find her a bit annoying because I felt her role was much less important than all the others busy on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise trying to save the universe. However, occasionally at work I find myself thinking of Deanna Troi and wondering if, as a prison chaplain, I'm perceived in the same way - a wee bit purposeless! Not by the guys, I don't think, but perhaps by some staff. Once a month I sit at the Top Team management meeting and listen to all these very experienced managers trying to work out how to run the jail and tick all the thousands of audit boxes whilst still doing it all on twenty pence a year. My job is so very different from theirs, and since much of it involves apparently chatting (in reality very committed listening) I appreciate I must seem kind of superfluous. And not only that but at least Deanna Troi was a feast for the eyes - I'm just concerned that if the SPS eventually brings in corporate dress I might have to wear that outfit! Time to get back on the diet?

Admiring God's Creation...

Which Mr Darcy is the best? I like 'em both, for the record. It's the character as written by Jane Austen that I really like, actually, though these two fine examples of God's creation do a good job in the roles.

I was discussing with a friend the other day our favourite classics (hers is Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy) and I was saying that my daughters are all hooked on Pride and Prejudice too. Indeed they've now also discovered the brilliant Bollywood version, "Bride and Prejudice" and we've been enjoying it too recently.

What I'm now wondering though is whether I'm doing the right thing, as a mother. The thing I like most about P and P, and perhaps to some extent it reflects where I work, is that it's all so NICE. Even the baddies speak like gentlemen and there's no swearing, no violence, no gritty reality at all. But life's not like that. Should I be preparing these girls for the general absence of Mr Darcy's out there, or should I be encouraging them to set the bar high? I don't know.

Dangerous killer on the roads.

I decided to go the scenic route to work today, and killed a poor pheasant which walked out from the hedgerow at precisely the wrong moment. I felt bad. So, since confession's good for the soul I'm now telling the world. (Don't think this means from now on I'll be telling you all my sins though). However, I don't feel so bad about the chicken whose death contributed to my chicken salad sandwich at lunchtime. What a hypocrite I am. Perhaps I'll become a vegetarian.

The Devil's Beatitudes

Here are the "devil's beatitudes":
Blessed are they who are too tired and busy to assemble with the church on Sunday; for they are my best workers.
Blessed are they who are bored with the minister's mannerisms and mistakes; for they get nothing out of the sermon.
Blessed is the church member who expects to be invited to his own church; for he is important to me.
Blessed are they who do not meet with the church on Sunday; for they cause the world to say, "The church is failing."
Blessed are they who are easily offended; for they get angry and quit.
Blessed are they who do not give to carry on God's work and missions; for they are my helpers.
Blessed is he who professes to love God but hates his brother; for he will be with me forever.
Blessed are the trouble-makers; for they shall be called the children of the devil.
Blessed is he who has not time to pray; for he shall be easy prey for me.

Incidentally, the right version, for those of you unfamiliar with it, is as follows:
Matthew 5:3-11 (The Message)

You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
You're blessed when you're content with just who you are—no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.
You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.
You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'care-full,' you find yourselves cared for.
You're blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.
You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.
You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom.
Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.

Hello Dad I'm In Jail

Hello Dad I'm In Jail by Was Not Was is just great. Watch it if you've never seen it. Weird, was not was it?!

I'm struck by the line, "I like it here". It was probably meant sarcastically but the truth is some of our guys do like jail better than life outside. If you've been in jail for years, being outside is seriously scary and even crossing the road or catching a bus is pretty daunting. Above all, in jail, everyone else is in the same boat as you and there's a sort of "fellowship" there. Yesterday I was talking to an officer about a certain prisoner and we were agreeing it's kind of a shame that when his sentence is over he couldn't just be given a job and allowed to stay! He gets on fine in jail but makes a pig's ear of life outside.

20 years ago I worked as a visiting officer for the Dept of Social Security at the time when under "Care in The Community" institutionalised adults with learning difficulties were being put out of their institutions into flats in the big (and in places wild) council housing estate. Good news for those on the look out for vulnerable people to relieve of their benefit. Some of them perhaps should never have been in an institution but, given that they had been, the transition was tough. Many had the mental age of children and just because they had been taught to shop and cook and clean didn't mean they were going to be happy living by themselves.

Before that I worked in a night shelter/ day centre for single homeless men. One fellow, D, had done really well and was drug free. Aged 34 he was allocated a flat and I was sent off to The Barras in Glasgow to help him spend his DSS grant of £500 (this was before loans came in) on everything he needed for his flat. I said, "Right you definitely need a cooker". "Oh no", says he, "I'll just light a fire". "D, you can't do that, you're on the twelfth floor of a multi-storey block. You must have a cooker". "Okay, but can I light the fire on top of the cooker?" He had lived in children's home followed by List D school (as it was then called) followed by Young Offenders Institution followed by jail followed by the Night Shelter. He was definitely institutionalised. And yet D actually did really well and got on fine, even with his cooker!

Lots of guys (and women) do get on fine, even if they've been institutionalised for a long time but an awful lot don't. I know prisons are overcrowded as it is, but sometimes I just think, you know, can't we just keep this guy and give him a job and a home? I'm not really being serious. Obviously we can't. But, expensive as it is to keep folk in jail, how much more costly in every way not just financial, to have them out wreaking havoc on themselves and others?

Just recently, within days of each other I've attended two very interesting training sessions in the jails. The first was about how to watch out for being conditioned and manipulated by prisoners. (It is undoubtedly the case that many a prisoner would sell his granny, and lie his head off, to achieve his own ends, and all staff are fair game). The second was about how to manage prisoners who are in a frame of mind where they are tempted to self-harm or attempt suicide, with some consideration of the types of prisoner and the types of circumstances that can lead to such a state of affairs (anyone, any time would be a slight exaggeration, but not much).

It's interesting that in a way these two courses highlighted almost opposing attitudes which prison staff must hold in tension at all times. First of all we need to be suspicious and never to forget that we are staff and they are prisoners and they may be manipulating us (of course staff may also be manipulated by staff, prisoners by staff, and prisoners by prisoners but let's keep this simple). But secondly, and at the same time, we need to be caring, respectful and observant, picking up on signals about how the prisoner is feeling.

A challenge? Indeed.

Life's like that, though, isn't it? People that don't hold opposing things in tension and swing to one extreme position are not usually right to do so, in my opinion. The older I get the more I haunt the middle ground. When I was a young hothead divinity student I had such ready opinions and was way too judgemental. Now I feel like some kind of chameleon. Whoever's company I'm in, I'm thinking about stuff from their angle, if I'm able. I've recently started to read and enjoy blogs by police, ambulance crew and others who're so often dealing with the same section of society I run into every day at work. When I'm reading their blog I'm totally into their perspective. If I were reading a victim's story, or was with a victim I'd be right into their story. But if I'm talking to a perpetrator, then notwithstanding I'm on the lookout for whether he's trying to manipulate me, I'm standing with him too. Not liking what he's done. Not offering mindless support of the, "Yeh, yeh, yeh, poor you" variety, but nonetheless seeing, when I can, how he got to where he got to, and seeing, when I can, how he might make the rest of his life better than the bit so far.

Sometimes I worry about this chameleon brain thing that's befallen me (I didn't do it on purpose) but lo and behold I'm in kinda good company. Paul, one of the most important leaders of the early church said this: "I am a free man, nobody's slave (clearly he'd done the SPS course about not being manipulated) ; but I make myself everybody's slave in order to win as many people as possible. While working with the Jews, I live like a Jew in order to win them.... when working with Gentiles, I live like a Gentile... in order to win Gentiles.... Among the weak in faith I become weak like one of them, in order to win them. So I become all things to all men, that may save some of them by whatever means are possible".

Polis!

A prison officer at work told me that one day when she was supervising the visiting, a wee 2-year old who was in visiting his dad came up to her, pointed at her white shirt with black epaulettes and said, "Polis" (Scottish for police). She said, "No, my name's ....., what's your name?" The wee fellow couldn't yet say his own name, but already he could say, "Polis". She thought, "there goes one of our future customers". Hopefully he won't be, but I know what she means. Sometimes you feel some kids haven't a chance, don't you?

A prisoner I've got to know well, who claims to be a Christian, will be "libbed" (liberated, released) this year, and although I've spent a lot of time with him, I've yet to be persuaded that he has the faintest idea how to live honestly and within the law. The more I learn of his background and the number of his relatives in jail, and so on, the more I think that he actually doesn't know how to live honestly. And yet, he's never been in jail before, he's hated it and he's determined never to be back. He wants to provide for his family. He plans to work. He plans to go to church. But I think he's like a grown up version of that wee 2-year old and won't succeed unless he can somehow unlearn all he learned as he grew up. I am really really really thankful for my upbringing, in which I learned right from wrong, and I worry for this guy's wee ones, that he'll be equipped to teach them right from wrong.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Him Indoors celebrated a significant birthday this weekend (he's catching up with me) and, not wanting a party, chose instead to have those who wanted to join us for a five mile walk at the Hermitage, Dunkeld, on Saturday. It wasn't warm, but was fine if you kept moving, and it was sunny, and we had a lovely time. The photo of the "empty tomb" I posted for Easter Day yesterday is in fact the hermit's cave that you pass on the walk. Apparently there was never a real hermit in it. The Duke of Atholl allegedly paid a servant to pretend to be a hermit whenever he was taking his guests out for a walk. Shocking, eh? If you look closely at the photo you can see our kids' Auntie P. Here's the crew who assembled to help us mark the occasion.



And, finally, yesterday I was allowed to take 3 prisoners from the jail to our church for the Easter Day service where, at the coffee time afterwards, one of our members who is in his day job a Chief Inspector in the police (but at church is a Sunday School teacher and family man) gave them a creme egg each (left over from the ones that were given out to the kids). That's one of the things I like about church - it brings together wonderfully random combinations of people. I love the fact that even in just our church I have friends of all ages and from all types of background, in all levels of maturity in the Christian faith, and with problems and hang-ups and obstacles, just as I have, though not necessarily the same ones. Church is a great leveller. The guys enjoyed the service and indeed it was a great service yesterday and the church was bursting at the seams. The songs were good ones anyway but the big crowd made them sound even better.

Happy Easter!

The stone was rolled away, not so that he who was in could come out, but so that we who were already out could see that he who was in was no longer in but was now out!! Clear?


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

Guess what. It's Easter at Church.

Christmas is really
for the children.
Especially for children
who like animals, stables,
stars and babies wrapped
in swaddling clothes.
Then there are wise men,
kings in fine robes,
humble shepherds and a
hint of rich perfume.

Easter is not really
for the children
unless accompanied by
a cream filled egg.
It has whips, blood, nails,
a spear and allegations
of body snatching.
It involves politics, God
and the sins of the world.
It is not good for people
of a nervous disposition.
They would do better to
think on rabbits, chickens
and the first snowdrop
of spring.

Or they'd do better to
wait for a re-run of
Christmas without asking
too many questions about
what Jesus did when he grew up
or whether there's any connection.

Steve Turner

The Passion of the Christ

Today I at long last screwed up courage to watch Mel Gibson's "The Passion of The Christ". I don't do Certificate 18 films at the best of times, being more of a Pride and Prejudice gal, and this is particularly gory. I think the critic Mark Kermode, who must have seen many a film in his day, said it was the most violent film he'd ever seen.

But I wanted to show it to the prisoners, and so I sat with six and a half men (well seven to start with then one left before the end!) and watched it with them this afternoon. The bits with "the mum" (Mary) got to us all and I confess I didn't physically watch every second of the film. I had to stare at the floor or the wall several times, and for longish periods, particularly during the scene where Jesus is whipped mercilessly. But I did my best. I kept thinking, "if he went through all that, and I have benefitted so spectacularly, the least I can do is give up two hours to watch this".

If you're the praying kind, please pray for the guys who watched it, some of whom I know and some I don't, that it won't be just another violent film, but that they'll understand. It was Good Friday 1979 when I first began to "get it" about what the cross was all about. I pray they'll all "get it" too.

You're on a beach. Er, no I'm not!

Advance, sincere, apologies to those of you who really love guided meditation.

This is for all those like me with monkey brain and a touch of the smart alec thrown in, who just can never get into them. I got it from the Ship of Fools website and it's by Andrew Rumsey. It made me laugh.

The Beach.

GOOD EVENING. I'm just going to be leading you in a brief guided meditation, to take away the strains of the day: a chance to remember that with faith, nothing is possible.

It might help if we begin with some simple breathing exercises. Just become aware of the rise and fall of your breathing and allow the stresses of the day to leave you as you exhale. You may immediately feel the need to breathe in again. Try to resist this temptation and, so that you are completely relaxed, simply continue to breathe out as I count: one... two... three... four... five... six... seven (continue counting for as long as you feel is necessary for people to be resting in peace).

And now, having relaxed, I want you to shut your eyes and imagine that you're on a beach, a lovely sandy seaside, somewhere in Britain. In the quiet, perhaps you'd like to name which seaside it is – either out loud or in the silence of your hearts (feel free to mention one or two locations to encourage others – Frinton... Cleethorpes... Clacton and so on.)

What's the weather like on the beach? Is it raining? Yes, of course it is... What do you notice as you wander along the beach? Looking up you see a flock of lovely seagulls swooping and diving overhead. It's almost as if they have been put there just for you – a lovely feathery gift. And one of them appears to have a gift for you, too. Something inside you wants to raise your hand to your forehead to wipe it off, but how wrong that would be. No, you will leave it there, you will accept the gift – and perhaps say aloud with me – thank you, my seagull friends (repeating with emphasis) thank you, my seagull friends.

In a way you are now one of them, and so you begin to gently jog along the beach and, with your new friends, start to flap your arms up and down... Perhaps you'd like to do this now – just flap your arms up and down like... like a nutter. No one will mind – all our eyes are closed...

NOW THEN, HERE'S A LOVELY SCENE. In front of you is a family group building a wonderful sandcastle. What time and care they have taken with it – all those seashells gently pressed into the walls, the seaweed and driftwood carefully collected and pushed into place. A little flag flutters from the tower – and the father and his children step back to admire their work. But something is wrong; somehow you feel sad... And then you notice what it is – their sandcastle has walls around it... walls to keep others out. All that beauty and creativity – shut in behind high walls. How sad...

In an instant, you realise that you cannot leave this scene – these people need your help- to take their walls down. So, with the seagulls' lovely gift freshly dripping from your forehead, arms still flapping up and down, you gently swoop across... and flatten the walls of the sandcastle – freeing the seaweed and driftwood from its sandy prison and strewing them around the beach to share with everyone.

A strange feeling of peace comes over you – but not, you notice, over the father and his children who you have helped. What do you notice about them – are some of them crying? Are some of them cross? How hard it is for others to break down their walls – how hard it is for them to thank you for having helped them. But a seed has been sown in their lives, nevertheless, something they won't forget. And as they pick you up and hurl you bodily into the sea, you realise the need to flap your arms again – in a different way... Amen.

It's a gift!

I worried for many years when I heard sermons in church about using your gifts etc. For many years I just thought to myself, "What gifts?"
I couldn't do anything artistic. I have no artistic gifts, unlike my dad.
I couldn't do anything musical. My piano teacher used to hit her head off the piano.
I couldn't be a nurse. I am squeamish and can't even watch Casualty.
I couldn't be a policewoman. I'm not brave.
I couldn't be a teacher. I'm not patient enough. My own kids exhaust me.
I couldn't be in catering. I'm not domesticated.
I am quite good at spelling and jigsaws but I don't know how to make a living out of those gifts.
However! In prison chaplaincy I have found I do have two gifts which I use all the time.
I'm good at drinking coffee and I'm good at listening to absolutely fascinating stories. Who knew?

This is fab!

Check out this poem. I think it's great and I've read it to prisoners in three different prisons over the last few days. Him Indoors read it in church on Sunday too. Powerful stuff.

Two decades already...

20 years ago today me and him decided that perhaps after all we were not content to be just good friends...!

This was something that had been patently obvious to everyone around us for many months. We were the last to know. Even then it was two years more till we were engaged and another three after that till we were married!

Even after all these years, I'm still quite pleased with what I got. Beats me how he puts up with me.

"My son makes aliens", and other stories

"What does your son do?"
"My son makes aliens".
Of course he's only ten and one he grew out of some gunk in a test tube and one he made out of magnetix, but I think "My son makes aliens" has a good ring to it doesn't it? I wonder what he will do.




Youngest Child was dead proud this week because she got to go with her fellow Primary-3ers to Pizza Hut and make her very own pizza. All pleas from her siblings for a bit went entirely unheeded and the child who supposedly doesn't like pizza had it for tea, with a big side-helping of pride.




Penultimate Child is also a proud wee bunny having got through this morning's trials (8am on a Saturday - woe is me!) for the Swimming Club.

Firstborn? Well, no photos to prove it, thankfully, but (whispers) she's not in a great mood. She had two pals for a sleepover last night (that should read "wakeover") and between armfuls of sweets and some late night video watching, followed by having to be at the school at 8am today to get to an away hockey match, we are now all suffering. To be fair I admit I'm jolly grumpy when I'm tired too. (I appreciate you'll struggle to accept this is so.)

We went to visit my mother-in-law today, whose cancer which was in remission, has taken a poorly turn. It's sad. Please pray for her, and my father-in-law too. He's very anxious. Despite their best efforts to appear the opposite, they really are devoted to each other.

Workwise, it's been a good week, with some meaningful conversations, interesting meetings, and a good service on Friday. The previous Friday was the leaving night out for the outgoing Governor, which was a great laugh. Jail humour is something else! On Sunday I was conducting the service in a Perth church and, as I always do in these circumstances, I seized the chance to try and recruit more Christians to pray for prisoners. The obstacles these guys have to overcome to reinvent themselves as normal law-abiding citizens can be really huge, and although the media encourages us to condemn them, that's not God's way. EVEN, though, EVEN IF people have no sympathy for prisoners at all, they must surely see that efforts to help them integrate into society and "better themselves" will pay dividends in terms of our own safety, and the protection of potential future victims... But as Christians we're not called to have that motivation. We've to love because God first loved us. Sometimes I think the main distinguishing feature of the chaplain in a prison is that they exist outside the traditional "them and us" culture of staff and inmates. We're ALL sinners. It's a great leveller.

Hold still. It's for your own good.

Today I had a tooth extracted. Alongside the flu I've been nursing an abcess and now I'm on a dose of antibiotic strong enough for a horse.

My brother is my dentist, which is wonderful because he generously treats me for free. I am really grateful to get rid of the source of the toothache that had me up at 3.30 this morning. On the other hand, it wasn't a straightforward extraction. It was ROUGH! The question is whether that really couldn't be helped or whether it was payback time for when I whacked him with a garden hoe as a child, or when I hit him with my hockey stick for that matter... There are guys in the jails I work in who were sentenced for less violent assaults than today's!

Incidentally, before you go rushing to report him - I AM joking!! Thank you, bro, honestly!

Woman Flu

Here's an interesting fact I have just learned. Apparently, if you work with a large number of men, you can get Man Flu even though you're female. Astonishing. What I thought was a cold that was lasting for weeks got worse and the Doc said it was in fact flu and signed me off for a week. Boy, day-time television is RUBBISH. And my head's too groggy to read a book or hold an interesting thought. But then, if you're enjoying yourself you shouldn't really be off sick. As soon as I start to enjoy myself, I promise I'll go back to work!!

Whew! Made it to the Weekend!

That was the week that was, and I'm glad it's Friday. On Monday I was in both jails followed by an evening visit to a prisoner who is seriously ill in hospital, so was away from home for thirteen or fourteen hours, this on a day when the kids were off school. Don't panic, their dad was in charge, but of course I felt like a neglectful mum.

The children were off on Tuesday too - an in-service day for the teachers - so I took Tuesday off and we went down to the church cafe and they got, not only a hot chocolate and a scone, but the chance to play in the sports hall with various other random kids enjoying the freedom from school, while I had lots of chatting time with pals. However I had to "pop" into work in the afternoon (if half an hour each way is really popping) for my health screening. Hurray, I have a pulse and am officially alive!

On Wednesday it was the SPS Chaplains' Away Day. Yes, I know it sounds like buckets and spades and off to the beach but it's actually in a meeting room in the SPS college at Polmont, probably just as well in February. Wonderful talk on "disenfranchised grief". Grieving is very difficult in prison, and I will blog about that some other time as there's so much to say about it. I had to leave early, though, as Big Chief Him Indoors was at a CofS Special Commission meeting in Glasgow and I had to be home for the kids getting out of school. Of course I felt guilty for leaving early.

On Thursday I was in Edinburgh for a conference on Restorative Justice. Again, absolutely fascinating, and so much to say another time... I was planning to leave a bit early to be home in time for the first appointment (5.30pm) at our Firstborn's school Parents' Night, and I felt guilty about that. However it got worse than that because about 2.15 I suddenly remembered I had forgotten to go out at lunch time and top up my parking meter. I bolted and when I got to the car found I had a parking ticket for a cool £60. My distress at that was about to be put into perspective though when I looked at my phone which I had left in the car. There was a text message from Firstborn's school to say that she had not registered and where was she? It took me an hour to establish that she was in fact fine and had just been late and missed registration. It was a long hour!

Today, Friday, there was an all-day management meeting. I felt guilty for going because I hadn't had time really this week to spend with prisoners, which is what I regard as the bread-and-butter of my job, but I went anyway, and in spite of feeling guilty was finding it very interesting and worthwhile, when I got a text from Him Indoors to say that our Penultimate child had a sore tummy and had come home from school. It was so sore that although he had obtained a GP appointment for late afternoon he was now taking her up to the hospital's Accident and Emergency. So, I felt guilty for being at work and left early, feeling guilty for leaving early.

She's okay and home, with no diagnosis but the hope that it was "one of these things". She was hugely cheered by the arrival today of a Blue Peter badge the same as the one her brother got last week (the fruit of some pictures they did which their dad posted off for them).

Firstborn and Blue Eyed Boy are off for the weekend to Scripture Union camp, embarrassed no doubt by each other's presence but otherwise sure to have fun.

What a week, and I'm sure you're probably feeling the same about your own past week. Lots of our lives are the same. When you're dealing with the one thing, you're feeling guilty about neglecting the other things, and so on. But it's not an appropriate guilt, is it? Guilt's the thing you should have when you're sinning, not when you're just busy. So begone, false guilt! Cheerio! We don't need you!

Looking forward to a guilt free longish lie in the morning, and hopefully (!) a guilt free trip to the slimming club. Meanwhile I'll pray the end of Psalm 139 and ask to be shown the things I'm happily oblivious to that I OUGHT to be feeling guilty about and ain't!

"Search me, O God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thaoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting".

Oh look who it is!

I took the kids to the cinema yesterday (to see Alvin and the Chipmunks if you want to know). We walked there and then we got the bus home.

As I was paying for one adult and four children and watching all the tickets come shooting out like a ticker tape parade, I heard "Hello, Anne!" behind me. I turned round and there was a fairly recently liberated life sentence prisoner I had come to know well!

A couple of weeks after liberation this man had phoned me at work to say he was missing jail. And yesterday he said that, over the first six weeks or so, he'd experienced a few panic attacks. He has found being out of jail very difficult. This is someone for whom prison is no punishment really - he is "jail-wide", which means he is so experienced in prison life he knows all the dodges and tricks. He knows how to get by in jail. He is looked up to by younger or more inexperienced inmates who come to him for advice. In jail, he IS someone, in a sense. Out of jail, he's - well, he probably feels he's a nobody. And the world has moved on, and he struggles. Alcohol's a big issue for him in the community whereas in jail he's not surrounded by the stuff.

If you're the praying kind, please pray for him. He used to come regularly to the services in jail but I wasn't always sure why! I would hate for him to resort to crime specifically in order to get back to jail where he feels comfortable. He lives within walking distance of our church and has promised many times to come "some time".

And pray for youngsters everywhere who're on the path to where that man is today. He's not particularly young - I believe he's a grandfather - but there are youngsters today in secure units who will get out briefly, get into more trouble, be re-arrested, will graduate to Young Offenders Institution, will get out briefly, get into more trouble, be re-arrested, go to Big Men's Prison, and become as institutionalised as my friend whom I've described. It's not right.

I Love Googling!

Put "(Your name) needs" into Google and see what you come up with. No reason. Just for fun!

For instance, when I did it I found that:

Anne needs this yesterday.
Anne needs to win sexiest veg!
Anne needs to unequivocally apologise for entering an arena...
Anne needs to be at least pardoned for the crimes she didn't commit.
Anne needs a group of at least 6 people.
Anne needs help and her parents decide medication is the best alternative.
The elephant Anne needs to retire.
Also I give and bequeath unto Anne Needs the lower house and garden.

Excellent!! (I'm particularly amused - or should I say hugely amused - by "the elephant Anne needs to retire") as on the same day I've joined a slimming club!

I AM a fellow prisoner, actually!

“The best way to judge a society is how it treats its prisoners”, said Winston Churchill.
“The degree of civilisation in a society can be judged by entering its prisons”, said Dostoevsky.
The Bible gives us a pretty good basis for treating prisoners well even if their crime, their attitude and their behaviour offend us. We've to remember prisoners as if we were their fellow inmates but why?

Here's an EXCELLENT reason! We ARE their fellow prisoners!

Romans 7:21b-23 says: "When I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God's law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members." What was that? I'm a prisoner too? Well, yeah, I suppose I am. And if I am it's certainly easier to remember those in prison as if I were their fellow prisoner. Too right I am. "For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do - this I keep on doing" (Romans 7:18b,19).

I guess I'm just lucky that the things that tempt me aren't illegal so my sins are not crimes. But I'm in prison just the same, like good old Paul before me.

No need to pick my Desert Island Discs!

January in Scotland in 2008 was wet, dark and "dreich". Big Chief Him-Indoors and I have been tired and fed up, and fantasising about chucking it all in and going off to the Bahamas... We were amused/amazed/chastened to find in today's "Daily Bread" (Scripture Union Bible reading notes) the following:

"So Moses takes his problem to God - the only proper place for our pain and difficulties. And God says, "There, there, never mind, you tried your best... Have a nice holiday in the Bahamas to get over all the stress." Or not! No, God repeats his amazing promises... and Moses faithfully takes God's words to the people".

Er, oh well, ok God. Head down again, and chin up! (Not sure how you put your head down AND your chin up but I guess I'll try!)

Prison Overcrowding

Open Prisons

The Sun and various other newspapers seem to hate the Scottish Prison Service's open estate, referring for example to one of them, HMP Castle Huntly, as a "bouncy castle" and a "country club" amongst other things.

What is the "open estate"? It is the name given to two Scottish prisons which are open in the simple and obvious sense that they have no big fence and no walls.

They are controversial, there is no doubt, and particularly in the last week or so when we have heard the shocking news that a prisoner from the Open Estate who was allowed out failed to return, went on the run, and committed a very serious violent crime. My thoughts and prayers have mostly been with the unfortunate victim.

There have been a number of "absconds" from the Open Estate in my time but this is the most serious and alarming case by far. It has sparked off (yet) another round of calls for the end of open prisons.

However, I really hope that doesn't happen. And I feel sad for the many prisoners currently at the Open Estate who are working extremely hard, holding down work placements (sometimes the first time in their adult lives they have worked at all), or undertaking education, or winning a long-standing battle with addiction, or making plans for the future and committing themselves afresh to their partners and children. Certainly not all of them will succeed in living up to their good intentions, but plenty will, and they really deserve our respect for the distance they have travelled, often guys who have had an awful start in life.

Since starting work in the prison service I've developed a sudden interest in a genre of tv I would never have looked at before: "America's most violent jail"-type programs have me glued to the seat! Are there a lot more of these programs at the moment or did I really never notice them before? Even "Ross Kemp on Gangs" has me totally intrigued. This week there was another similar documentary on gangs in Glasgow and London that had me nearly in tears.

The Louis Theroux program recently on an American jail showed inmates who had sentences of over 500 years. Our tabloids would love most criminals to be locked up and the key thrown away. But we don't do that. Our prisoners are going to get out eventually. So, given that that's the case do we want them prepared for release or not? Do we want to release totally institutionalised people who haven't seen anything of the outside world for years, or do we want to re-integrate them in a staged way? I vote for the latter.

Now, some prisoners behave so badly in closed jails that they are not allowed to progress to open conditions, and of course eventually they are released anyway, but I don't think that negates the good that can be done for those who are able to make the progression and benefit from it. Also, the carrot of getting to the Open Estate with its Home Leave Scheme is an incentive to tow the line in closed jail.

I think of a man at the Open Estate whose drug history in the past was totally chaotic, who is into his forties and has spent most of his adult life in jail. Now? He's clean. He's established good relationships with his family (I think for the first time) and he's had a couple of home leaves. The first time he had one, he couldn't cope, totally panicked and took a non-prescribed drug (valium) to calm himself down. He came back to jail, failed a drug test, owned up, got counselling, and has since accomplished a couple of home leaves drug free and feels a whole new self-confidence. His story is not untypical. I am as confident as I could be that he will do well on release.

I could tell you lots of stories of success, and quite a number of failures too. But we're in the business of risk. And I get tired of the bad press. And so do the prisoners. And their families.

Do you know what I wish made the news on the average day? "Today across the Open Estate nearly 500 prisoners stayed in jail even though there is no big wall or big fence". But that kind of news doesn't sell papers.

Incidentally, if you read this in time, watch BBC1 at 12.30 tomorrow (Sunday) lunchtime - Castle Huntly is on Politics Today!

Ax

Porridge!

Today I had a coffee with the Human Resources Manager at the prison, at the end of which he said, "Anne, did you know there's really only one manual you actually need to read cover to cover to work for the SPS?"

"No", I said, wondering which manual would be the one that was so indispensible. Then he said, "I've got a copy here. I'll lend you my copy" and produced a three-stories-in-one book of the BBC tv series Porridge!!!

And he's right, actually. It tells you everything you need to know to work in jail (in the UK anyway). I've always loved Porridge (the series - not porridge the cereal which I think is disgusting along with all cereals which I maintain are of the devil!)... But I never dreamt when I watched it as a kid I'd one day have an inside perspective - thankfully a staff rather than an inmate perspective. And the funny thing is there are almost as many laughs in jail as the series would suggest. Lots of banter amidst lots of angst. And the endless "game" of officers and prisoners (screws and cons) trying endlessly to outwith each other with "measures" verses "dodges"! God gave us a sense of humour partly because He is nice, partly because He's got one Himself, and partly, I'm sure, because it is such a help when we're in horrible places like jail. Incidentally I've worked in a night shelter and a hospice-type day centre in the past too - and in the DSS - and it was the same there - jokes and banter interspersed with tears and trials.

I got this from Jon Birch's "The Ongoing Adventures of Asbo Jesus", and it just nails an element of some parts of the Church which drives me bananas. Here's what I said about it on the ASBO website:

"Thanks for that cartoon. Can’t you post it to culprits everywhere, like one of those messages with all the letters cut out of newspapers?

Re the subject of healing, some very obvious points for those tumshies (Scottish for turnip) who peddle this lack of faith poison:
1. Quite clearly the statistics on death are very compelling. One out of one dies.

2. So (duh!) how can it always be God’s will to heal? Why don’t any of THEM manage to escape dying of something in the end? CLearly it is NOT always God’s will to heal.

3. Death is horrible (my heart goes out to some of the commenters above whose loss has been made even harder).

4.Human beings like to deny the reality of death. (Have you noticed how people say, “If anything happens to me…”, like there’s a chance it might not?! Therefore I reckon all this business of God definitely wants to heal is borne out of the natural desire to deny that death is inevitable.

5. We don’t believe (at all? enough?) in heaven.

Re the subject of wealth: I SO HATE THOSE GOD CHANNEL MONEY GRUBBING SO AND SOs. My natural delightfulness and placid joyful graciousness (ha ha) evaporates at the mere thought of them…
Ax"

Hurray! That's better. It does feel so good to "vent your spleen" from time to time!

Do you want to be a famous blogger?

A dilemma. He who hesitates is lost? Look before you leap?

On Thursday we were privileged to be present at the ordination and induction to his first charge of our (now ex-) probationer. I am both a daughter of the manse, and a wife of the manse, but with great effort I refrained womanfully from telling him what someone told Jim the night of his induction, "Enjoy this now, son. It's the most popular you'll ever be"!

When I was a divinity student in the early nineties someone gave me the following and I've kept it ever since. It's half very funny, half desperately sad!!

The Preacher's Dilemma

If his address is a few minutes longer than usual: "He sends us to sleep".

If it's short: "He hasn't bothered".

If he raises his voice: "He's shouting".

If he speaks normally: "You can't understand a thing".

If he's away; "He's always on the road".

If he stays at home: "He's a stick in the mud".

If he's out visiting:" He's never at home".

If he's in the manse: "He never visits his parishioners".

If he talks finance: "He's too fond of money".

If he doesn't: "Nobody knows what he's up to".

If he organises a fete: "He wears everybody out".

If he doesn't: "The parish is dead".

If he takes time with people: "He goes on and on".

If he is brief: "He never listens".

If he redecorates the church: "He's spending too much money".

If he doesn't: "He's letting everything go".

If he is young: "He lacks experience".

If he is old: "He ought to retire".

And if he dies?... Well, of course: "Nobody could ever take his place".

This morning I was preaching on Esther and her brave statement as she faced the prospect of going before King Xerxes to plead for her people, "If I die, I die". What courage. And what an antidote to the pessimism of the above, when we tell ourselves, "If I don't please everyone, I don't please everyone. So what?!" It is inspiring to follow Esther's courage, isn't it? And at the same time as we reflect on "The Preacher's Dilemma" perhaps we can hold back a bit more for our judgemental criticisms of our brothers and sisters in Christ, who like us, can't win, but are following not our whims and tastes but what they perceive as God's leading.

Church Without Walls

At the weekend Jim and I and six and a half (I'll explain about the half) members of our church went to the Church Without Walls "Re-energise" conference in Aviemore. The half member is the Roman Catholic husband of one member who we made an honourary member of our church just for the weekend because this was, technically, a Church of Scotland event. But it that conjures up a stuffy dry image for you, then forget I said that! It really was a dynamic, alive, inspiring and yes, re-energising, weekend. (A bit de-energising too because of the up-to-the-wee-small-hours chats in the bar at the end of each day!)

I went back to work with renewed enthusiasm this week, and thinking less about what I was going to do and more about wondering what God was planning to do and praying I'd be vigilant to spot where HE is at work. It's such a blessed relief, isn't it, when God gently reminds us (YET AGAIN) that it's His work not ours. I don't have to take God into prison. He managed to find His way in all by Himself long before I came on the scene. What a relief! On the other hand, without taking any of that back, it's okay to feel a burden. Not the burden of carrying the responsibility of the thing, but the burden of compassion. It's okay, indeed necessary, surely, to feel the burden of concern for the lost, to long for their coming to faith, to be inspired to pray and to seek and to take opportunities. It's even okay - more than okay - to love them, though that doesn't seem a civil-servanty thing to say and I know we are government employees! But that's a different thing from feeling crushed by the weight of concern for 500 men and imagining that I am responsible for all their relationships with God. They and God have primary responsibility. But I'll be accountable for the times when to be honest the compassion's gone and the praying's not happening.

For those non Church of Scotland folk reading this, by the way, Church Without Walls, the logo of which is above, is the title of a marvellous report that was produced in 2001 and is now less a report than a movement. It encourages the Church of Scotland congregations to think out of the box, or more accurately out of the building, and break down any barriers they have allowed to build up which make church so alien to the people around it that it is virtually inaccessible.

Prison chaplaincy certainly take the church of Jesus Christ out of the walls of the church and try hard to break down barriers of culture and understanding. On the other hand there are great big physical walls in most prisons. So I reckon we are "Church Without Walls And Yet With Great Big Walls"!!!

If that was Christmas we've had it.

I've had these Christmas slippers for about twenty years now, but because they only come out for one month of the year they're still showing no signs of wearing out!! They are showing signs of being taken over by my oldest though!

Well, I've just experienced my first Christmas and New Year in jail, though thankfully not as an inmate. I've always really enjoyed the festive season but then I've always had family stuff and parties and socialising and presents and cards and food and drink and decorations and trees (yes trees plural in this house). Now I've met a portion of the population who by and large see Christmas as something to be endured rather than enjoyed. Many didn't get a single Christmas card. Not all of them have no relatives, but rather, over the years of addiction and crime, they've alienated all of them so that they're not in contact at all, even with their own children. The regime in prison over Christmas is quiet, with less to do than usual. On the other hand if Christmas in jail was wonderful they might be less inclined to want to stay out when they get out!

For us as a family we've had a mixed time. The kids got a great haul of stuff from Santa and the relations and we had a great time at my brother's on Christmas Day, playing with their baby twins. But we've had several bereavements too - two or three from church, one relative and one good friend.

However, Christmas is about light shining in the darkness. Winter in Scotland is pretty dark, but now we're past the shortest day (ironically my birthday!) and there will soon be the promise of spring. How much more wonderful that the Light of the World has come too, and all the dark places we sometimes have to inhabit can be flooded with His light. These people I mentioned, who have died, who we will miss, are now somewhere where artificial light isn't needed at all, where the light of Jesus is everywhere, all the time, and there is no more sadness, or pain, or indeed death.

Please pray with me that the prisoners (and staff too) I see at work, could, in 2008, see the light, and then move from darkness into it.