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.

Spring has sprung.

One of the few "poems" I remember the words of:
De spring has sprung,
De grass has riz;
I wonder where dem boidies iz.
Day say de boid is on de wing,
But dat's absoid;
I always thought de wing is on de boid.

Lost is no longer lost.

Lost is back on tv! Hurray! I've just loved the last two hours tonight. Just fab. I've been so lost without it since last year.

100 years for a cup of tea.

The above is a treasured picture for us, especially for Him Indoors (left). A number of years ago, he had the opportunity, while in the U.S., in North Carolina, at a conference, to visit the famous evangelist Billy Graham (centre, obviously) at his own home, along with our friend Richard, on the right, who has now emigrated and is a pastor in Greenville, South Carolina.

I was thinking today about something I once heard Billy Graham say while on these shores of ours. We have heard him preach live in Scotland (Murrayfield, Pittodrie and Parkhead) but Him Indoors and I once upon a time, whilst still "courting" went all the way to Wembley in Englandshire too. It was something he said at Wembley that occurred to me today.

As everyone knows, the end of a Billy Graham meeting would be marked by an invitation to "get up out of your seat" and come forward and stand at the front, if you wanted to ask Jesus into your life and become a Christian, or if you wanted to rededicate yourself in your faith after a period of going astray, or indeed if you just wanted to know more. I've done the counselling on the pitch. I've led follow-up groups. I've seen people's lives permanently changed from the moment they "got up out of their seat" onwards. Although I'm by nature a total cynic, I can see God at work when it's as obvious as this. Sure, folk fall by the wayside. They don't all keep it up (isn't that what Jesus predicted in the parable of the sower?) but lots do.

Anyway, I'm not meaning to get involved in depending the credibility of Billy Graham as a servant of God. I just wanted to quote a funny wee thing he said all those years ago at Wembley, which has stuck in my mind.

Being of a cynical nature, every time I have heard him preach (and for that matter when I heard Franklin, his son, who came to Perth in 1999 - Him Indoors was heavily involved in the organisation of that visit) I have been of the opinion that "Huh! No one will come forward tonight. No one's going to get up out of their seat tonight. That message wasn't enough to overcome people's embarrassment and laziness and self consciousness and suspicion. I bet no one comes forward. Huh!" etc... I told you I was a cynic. Of course every time I've been amazed to see lots of people stream onto the pitch, sometimes including people I knew personally. Of course, I had never remembered to factor in the thought that most of these people had been brought by friends who'd loved them and prayed for them and shown them a godly example for many months.

Anyway, that night in Wembley, to the assembled throng who had got up out of their seats and come forward, Billy Graham said that he was sorry he would not be able to meet them all individually. However, there was the promise of all eternity yet to come, and that there would be plenty of time in that promised land for getting to know one another. Everyone laughed when he said, "Maybe I'll come to your house for a hundred years for a cup of tea".

I was thinking about that today because we are so busy these days. We don't get as much time to spend with friends as we would like.



Last night we had a "family night" in the church, with the best part of a hundred people at it. A bouncy inflatable assault course (which I didn't go on but would have if I could have done so alone with no audience), a magician, a Wii, a quiz and lots of freshly baked pizza. Excellent fun! I ended up in the kitchen for a bit, and missed the magician. Perhaps this was a good thing. Magicians make me irrationally angry. It's pride. It's the fact I don't know how they do it. But it was a good thing for a better reason too - I so enjoyed my time chatting with two friends, the chef and the sous-chef for the evening, who I see so much less of now I'm working full time. Much as I love my job, I miss my pre-full-time-work-social-life.

And then today, we went to Edinburgh to visit friends. They used to live round the corner from us and we saw them a lot at the school gates, and sharing lifts to various children's activities. Their five, and our four, children are the fifth generation of our two families to be friends. My 101 year old gran and my friend's late grandmother grew up on neighbouring farms near Airdrie and walked to primary school together every day. (My first job was as a turkey plucker on one of those two farms but that's another story). Now, partly because our friends have moved, but mainly because we are all so busy we only see each other once a year. It was so nice to catch up, to see how each other's children have grown, and to find we "started where we left off" as friends, as if we'd never been apart.

I am hugely comforted by the thought that time for each other won't be at all restricted in eternity.

It's thrilling that we don't have to earn our way to heaven. Just as well since we've all "nae chance" of so doing. No other religion has the same astonishingly good deal, because we're offered something much better than trying to earn God's approval. Whilst still squelching about in our own mess, we're offered pardon for our sin, the debt of that sin cancelled by Jesus, and help to get out of our mess, if we'll just hand over the controls and stop trying to run our own lives.

Anyway, I want to say that you're all (especially those of you I've not yet met) invited to join me for an extremely unhurried cup of tea (or in my case black coffee/diet coke/red wine/cider as I wouldn't thank you for tea) for a hundred years and we can get to know each other.

One last thing, which is not at all unrelated. A friend of mine, W, is dying. He needs the hope that believing all this would bring him. If you're the praying kind, please please please pray for W. THANK YOU.

Late Lamented and Dear Departed.

I don't know where the following originally came from but I found it on/ nicked it from the Scottish Banter website (see my blogroll to the right) and it made me smile, in a sad-smile sort of way:

London Times Obituary

'Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm; life isn't always fair; and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.

It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an Aspirin to a student, but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant, and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses, and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home, and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

Common Sense was preceded in death, by his parents, Truth and Trust, his wife, Discretion, his daughter, Responsibility, his son, Reason. He is survived by his four stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, I Want It Now, Someone Else Is To Blame, I'm A Victim.

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.

LHCrap.

Are we still remembering the Hadron Collider out there in CERN, Geneva? Back in September, I posted this post, and I mentioned in that post my host on the tours of CERN I had in 1979 and 1990, my parents' best man, known to me as Uncle Ken.

Well, via a text today from my mum - I assume in response to my post this morning - I got the hat tip to this Youtube video.

If you think preaching and rapping are an incongruous mixture, wait till you hear scientists having a go.

Just add rhythm.

We were sent a link to this video from YouTube. This is where I've been going wrong with my preaching all these years. I need to rap it. No, not wrap it. Cheeky lot for thinking that.

Finding.

This picture makes me laugh. It's funny. That's why. And of course the relative sizes of the cat and "Jesus" make it funnier. One of my chaplaincy colleagues in another jail is fond of remarking that he doesn't "take Jesus into prison" as people are fond of suggesting, sometimes in a bizarrely starry-eyed way. Jesus is quite able to make his own way in thank you, and indeed was in there long before any of us mere human chaplainy-types.

And Jesus doesn't need "finding". He's not lost. We're the ones who need to come out of hiding, realising that with him, hiding is like standing on the other side of a big glass patio door and expecting not to be seen. Or like a baby who hasn't realised that when he puts his hands over his eyes and can't see you that doesn't mean you can't see him.

Also on the subject of finding, my devoted fans often ask how I come by the blogs on my blogroll. That's a lie. One person once asked me that.

Usually, as fellow bloggers know, it just builds up over time, as you check out blogs after reading comments on your own or other blogs.

Today a new find though, and a slightly different story:

Someone who works in one of "my" prisons asked if I would be available to conduct her sister's wedding in a local hotel, as they were needing an officiant. I gave her my work and home email addresses to pass on to her sister. I was having a senior moment at the time, because I gave her the wrong home email address. My home one ends "dot-co-dot-uk" but I put "dot-com" instead. Later on I got an email from the owner of the email address with the "dot-com" ending, pointing out my error. Her email included a link to her blog! I've visited it and added it to my sidebar. It's called "Telling Stories and Learning Faith". As well as having a similar email address she is also, like me, a minister married to another minister. They live across the pond from me, in Americaland.

It is from her blog that I nicked the picture for this post.

Making an Exhibition of Myself.

I was being an exhibitionist this week. Well, in a way. I was at the Church Without Walls conference in lovely Aviemore (actually I don't think Aviemore's totally lovely but the surrounding countryside and Cairngorm mountains are totally awesome) with Him Indoors and two of my favourite friends from our church too. Grandma and Grandpa manned the fort at home. FAB.

On behalf of chaplains in prison, the workplace, healthcare, universities and the armed forces, I put up a display stand. The purpose of it wasn't to recruit but to remind the Church that there are other types of clergy than those in parish churches, and to remind everyone to pray for prisoners, for the sick, for those in the armed forces, for those who're worrying about work and for those at university.

Chaplaincy is ministry at the coal face. But so too is being a Christian generally. ANYONE reading this post who's a Christian is also a chaplain, although unlike me you may not get paid for it (lol). You are the representative of your faith, like a foreign ambassador only the kingdom in question is the kingdom of God. It's a challenge. You (like me) will find yourself misunderstood, questioned and even ridiculed. So be it. Jesus took the same treatment, and warned us it would come our way. But when we get the chance to be the living representative of God's love in someone's darkness it's all more than worthwhile.

Once a wee boy woke up afraid, because a big thunderstorm was raging. He went through to his dad. "Dad, can I come in with you? I'm scared."

"Son", his dad said, "you know you always have God's love, and you can always pray about your fears".

"Yes dad", came the reply. "I know that. But right now I need God's love with skin on".

As paid chaplains like me, or as unpaid chaplains like us all, in our different contexts, we get the chance to be God's love with skin on. And there's no better feeling in the world.

Glued to the telly.

Not much blogging this week, but more than my usual amount of goggle-box viewing of an evening after work.

I watched BBC's version of "The Diary of Anne Frank" which was serialised every night at 7pm this week. The children watched it with me. Blue Eyed Boy has been watching it at school as well as they've been studying the Second World War as a topic. The last episode was tonight, finishing with the eight of them being found by the Gestapo and taken away. BBC Four followed it with a two-hour program about Anne and her diary.

It was so interesting, and of course the whole thing is profoundly moving. Of the eight who hid in the house, only Anne's dad survived the war. He went back from his concentration camp to the area and lived for seven years (having lost everything and everyone) with the couple who had helped them all hide. Only after he found out, at long last the fate of his two children did Miep, one of the couple, present him with Anne's diary which she'd been keeping in a drawer. She had never read it herself. Peter, who was in the house too and became Anne's boyfriend for a time, died such a very short time before his camp was liberated by the allied forces that this too was heartbreaking. The BBC Four program showed, also, a meeting between Miep (the helper who brought them food each day when they were hiding) and the grown up son of the one of the eight (the one who was a dentist and was there on his own although he had this son back in Britain). He thanked her for what she had done for his dad, and was understandably overcome with emotion. Two months after that scene was filmed, he died of cancer.

I also watched this week a program about "the world's worst prisons". There were two candidates shown, one in Peru and one in Mexico. I think I'd like to suggest that some of our more moaning-inclined prisoners go there for just half a day to see just how well our prison service in Scotland, despite its imperfection, treats them. That sounds more unsympathetic than I actually am, generally. I have huge sympathy with, and compassion for, prisoners. But they are a moany bunch and some of their moans are, to say the least, a bit unreasonable.

I've just watched more than half of Mel Gibson's Apocalypto - I wandered off and left Him Indoors to see the end of it. It's gory and I don't really do gory films if I can avoid them, but it was refreshing to have a film without any white guys, and what I saw seemed to be well done. I have an interest in missionary projects in various parts of the world, and this for some reason made me think of some of my missionary acquaintances, especially two very heroic single ladies who for many years have lived a large part of their time in the Amazon region, doing Bible translation in both Monkey River and White Lake villages. I receive their newsletter from time to time and it's such a different world from mine that I love to read it.

And then, last but not least, this week, I watched "The Mask of Zorro" with Antonio Banderas. I can offer no explanation of why I like this film so much, as it's not my usual thing at all, but I just love it.

If I could re-model myself, I'd settle for looking like Catherine Zeta Jones, too!

In my defence, for those of you who don't approve of "The Mask of Zorro" as a good use of one's time, I did also knit most of a scarf during it - a present for my mum for a bit of babysitting next week.

Nice Things to Think About When I Go Back To Work Part 1.

Saturday 27th December. Family Gathering at my Parents' Home.

My cousin (second from right below) and her husband (third from right below) were here from the U.S. for a holiday.