trainers

We had a 'trainer' in today.

Nothing exactly physical or anything. She was in to train a few of us in how to work the copier that we've leased.

We've had it already for about a week, I guess. And we can make it work OK. But we might as well learn how to get the best from the thing. Which was why she was in.

Ari knew her stuff all right. She was good.

An enthusiast through and through. Patient, warm and putting things simply and clearly.

She wanted us all to be able to use and enjoy the equipment her firm had produced.

So there was a fair bit of explaining and a whole load of demonstrating. And the whole thing took quite a time.

I mean the morning was pretty much gone by the time she was done. And I was the last man standing, as it were. The others had all had to leave.

But that's training for you.

Ari's Roman Catholic, she explained. She was surprised to find so much goes on among us here through the week. She'd always had the notion that the Christian life is focussed on a Sunday. As in it pretty much begins and ends with that.

Like us with the machine - we thought we'd got it sussed and then found out there's so much more to learn.

That's how it is with many when it comes to the business of living. We think we've got it sussed. But there's actually so much to learn.

That makes me a 'trainer', too, I guess. Training people to get the most out of life.

Like the copier itself, our lives are not our own. They're not quite leased, but they're certainly given by God. And meant to be lived to the full.

Which is where I come in.

So today, for instance, I was doing some training myself. Spending time with a man who is 'learning the ropes' when it comes to being a minister within the life of the church.

He's a working man, so a Friday over lunch-time really suits us best.

And with Ari, the copier trainer, having done her bit this morning, what lies behind such training was still fresh in the front of my mind.

You've got to have studied yourself, of course, if you're going to be training others. There's no escaping that.

I've got to be a student, first of all. Permanently.

Sometimes when I get these forms you have to fill and it asks what it is that I do - I'm tempted to write the word 'student' there. Because that's what I am and what I have to be.

Much of the afternoon had me working away at that. The sheer hard graft of study. Getting to grips with the Scripture texts and getting my head round it all.

Because unless it's clear in my own little mind, I don;t stand a chance of making it clear to the people I'm called to teach.

Ari was good at that. Making it clear. Explaining things slowly and simply. Helping us understand. Giving us all a confidence to use the thing for ourselves.

That's what I aim both to be and to do. Giving understanding and communicating confidence.

So that people will gladly go out and then give it a try for themselves.

Living this life the way that God means we should live.

It's easier said than done. This 'training' that I'm called to do.

But it's more than worth the effort. Because what Ari's done is effectively set us free. We can do all our printing ourselves.

It feels quite liberating!

And that's what trainers do. They set folk free.

variety

The school's been back this week.

It was good to be back. In fact, it seemed like an age since I'd last been there, though in fact it was barely two weeks.

The assembly first thing with the upper school.

Then along later on for the SU group. They were there in their numbers again. Maybe as many as 20 were out. It's a rushed 30 minutes that simply flies by. But a chance to get something across.

This time we were on about the body of Christ. All the different members. All the different people. How everyone has their part to play.

Lessons we're, all of us, always needing to learn and be reminded of.

Variety.

My days are full of variety!

Today's seen me spending a good deal of time in writing.

E-mails to all sorts of folk. And not the sort you can rattle off in a couple of thoughtless moments. Ones that take time.

And letters too. Letters take time. They're a work of art. At least, that's how I always view them. Words are sacred, holy things. And combining words is always a sacred task, a work of art.

They carry enormous weight. The weight of the burdens that lie on our hearts. And transposing those heart-felt emotions into words that are typed on a page is a task that's demanding and hard.

But I'm always aware of how letters like that can have a huge and a lasting effect. Generations down the line even.

My Mum kept a letter her grandfather wrote when she was a young teenage girl. A letter which really shaped the rest of her life. I don't think that's an exaggeration at all.

So, yes, the writing of letters is something which always takes time. It's Cistine Chapel Ceiling work, except it's all being done in words.

And I got thinking again that all that I use are a mere 26 characters (excluding punctuation marks, of course). And some of them not a lot.

But these little characters combined with creative care are sufficient to change the world.

They're all different. None of them really amounts in itself to much at all. But put them together in creative ways and ... well, they've got the potential to reach and to stir the hearts of who knows how many different generations over time.

Variety again.

And, as I say, my days are full of variety. All sorts of different, 'liitle' things, which in themselves perhaps don't really amount to much. But planned and combined aright, they can somehow begin to make a massive difference.

The little points of contact that we have with different folk are just like that.

An isolated, fleeting point of contact here and there - its impact is at best but fairly minimal.

But strung out over years, in a range of different settings, those little points of contact build relationship. And things begin to happen.

We had a lady today, for instance, who's been coming about the place for years. We even really think of her as part of the team she's around so much. She's thoughtful, kind, appreciative.

Today she was in to book a hall. And the chat just flowed. And before that long it was the Lord who was being talked about and the woman was in tears.

Which is what we pray each day. Not that people end in tears. But that people encounter the Lord.

Which sometimes results in tears.

Good tears. Necessary tears.

There was that sort of thing at night as well.

The pain of God's healing grace at work in a person's life.

The whole thing is very humbling. It's wonderful simply observing the Lord at work. And you never know what to expect there's such variety.

When I was in at the school for the SU group at lunchtime there today, I was making my way through the dining room to get to the class where it's held. When I got stopped by one of the boys.

How many times are you meant to pray a day? he asked. And in among the sausage, beans and, no, it wasn't chips I think, there we were discussing the nature of prayer.

And when did you start believing in Christianity? An interesting way of putting it. As if it was a set of solid doctrines we're committed to. Instead of a person.

I explained how and when it was that I started to get to know Jesus. And how I wished I'd started sooner. Because the whole of life's an adventure when lived with him.

Variety.

I'd better let you get on! he said. And got back to his sausage, beans and ... I think it was actually some sort of pasta that he had.

The varied culinary delights of school lunches.

I think my variety's better.

pearl

"There aren't a lot of Margarets," the lady said.

Which, of course, in the most obvious sense is simply not true at all. Especially if you count all the Maggies and Peggies and Megs and that sort of thing.

But she didn't mean it in that sense.

We were talking at lunch, after the midweek service. This was the first time this lady called Joan had been there. She'd been brought by a friend who's been serving the Lord over many a year.

And, well, she's more than just a friend. She's sort of embodied Jesus, I guess, to loads of folk. Including this friend who'd been brought by her here today.

This 'more than just a friend' is Margaret.

And Joan was expressing her sense of the blessing that Margaret's been over all this time.

And, yes, I can see, there aren't many like her.

Joan was talking about the quality of relationship she'd known with Margaret over the years and the help and the strength such friendship from Margaret brought.

She was stating again how important relationships are. It's as much through them as anything else that the good news of Jesus becomes so real for so many different folk.

That's why we have the lunch as part of the package on Wednesday afternoons. The service of worship and the meal that we share together.

Engaging with God and engaging with one another. The two belong together.

Relationships.

There's always preparation to be done, of course, for the lunchtime service. And that took a bit of the morning.

We're seeking to learn. Seeking to see how the message the Bible proclaims relates to the world of today.

I think there were one or two present today who were slightly taken aback to see just how closely the message related to issues that are very real today. Eyes got a little bit opened.

Later I had to go and see someone on matters relating to work. At their place of work.

Now I know the lady a bit. I've conducted a family funeral. And over a period of years I've seen her and talked in a way that's ensured a bit of relationship's grown.

And today, though we started on 'business' things, she then got to talking about family cares. A situation that's arisen with an aunt (whom I've met).

I listened as she ran through the story. Then I said to let the aunt know I was asking for her and would be praying for her in this situation.

And as we chatted on a bit it became quite clear to me that I should take the thing one step further on. So I said how potent it is when two folk join together in prayer to pray for God's help in a given situation.

Would she like to pray with me? Like here and now.

So we prayed.

In her office.

She was grateful, and conscious, I think, that maybe a corner was turned. She cares for her aunt. And the Lord cares, too, of course. It was just a case of marrying the two as it were.

I doubt if I was there much more than ten minutes in all.

But it felt like a 'God-encounter'. One of those moments when the kingdom of God takes root in the soil of this world.

And the only way it happened was on the back of that relationship which has taken all these years to gradually build.

The name 'Margaret' means 'a pearl'.

And it's pearls of grace God gives to us. Mostly in relationship.

braving the waves

Nigel Pollock was in today and it was great to have the chance to see and chat with him.

He and his family moved across to the other side of the world to New Zealand about three years ago. In response to a clear insistent call from the Lord.

'Following Jesus' is no mere tag line which we sometimes use.

Following means going where he leads. Which can be wherever.

Across a lot of choppy waters.

In the course of chat he asked how things were here. I likened things here at the moment to the scene in the film 'Castaway' where Chuck, a bit of a whizz-kid guy who got stranded on a desert island, having lashed together a raft, at last sets off towards the open seas.

He has to get across the reef where the incoming waves are a massive sort of barrier designed to send all 'escapees' like him scuttling pretty quickly back to the island.

He's aware that the wind has changed. That if ever there's the moment to be making the attempt, then now's the time.

So he launches the raft and starts rowing for all he's worth.

And, sure enough, before too long, he's in amongst the waves. Wave after wave comes crashing down. And it's a question whether his make-shift raft will actually hold together.

Or whether he'll end up ship-wrecked once again.

I said to Nigel that that's where it feels like we are at just now.

We've been lashing together a (maybe rather make-shift) sort of raft as best we can for quite a while. The wind of the Spirit has changed. And now is clearly the time.

So we've launched off out towards the wide open spaces of the ocean of God's great purposes in these days.

And the waves come crashing down. Wave after wave, which threaten, each one, to break up the raft that we've built.

It's not an easy time. And every fresh wave that comes, you kind of hold your breath and hope and pray that this is not the one which finally sinks you.

Nigel sat and listened. He understood what I was talking about.

"I'm not an islander myself," he said. Neither by personality nor by calling.

He's not made for living on an island. Metaphorically (because, living in New Zeland, he does of course live on an island).

He's made for the wide open oceans which lap on the shores of the world.

He's made for that engagement with the world in which we live. That's what his work is all about.

And really what ours is, too.

I miss the guy, I have to say. And I miss his family, too. He's a leader. The same sort of blood flows through his veins as flows through mine. His pulse matches mine.

So it's great when he's here and there's even the briefest of chances to talk.

It fires me afresh for the challenges lieing ahead. For the next lot of waves that are breaking right onto our raft.

We had a leaders' meeting at night. A long one again. And not exactly easy in all sorts of ways.

It seemed to me that genuine progress was made. But then, maybe I'm an optimist.

I guess you'd have to be, if you took to the seas in a little raft and braved the force of the waves and the wide open spaces of water beyond that reef.

You'd have to be an optimist. I mean, leaving behind that life on the island where for years you've survived OK.

For what? The chance that you might die in either the waves of the reef or the vastness of an inhospitable ocean.

You'd need to be either a fool, a masochist, or an optimist.

Or be driven by a deep conviction that the island's not your destiny. The call of God to leave.

And trust him to sustain you through the crashing waves and lead you through the vast, uncharted waters to engagement with the world.

That's what Nigel and Ailsa are doing.

And even when they're miles away, the knowledge that they've put their lives on the line like that in response to the call of God, inspires me, too, to press on here in a similar sort of way.

The island isn't where he wants his church to be.

healing

The Lord is never in a rush.

I think he's pretty smart that way. He knows exactly what he's doing, doesn't panic and is quite prepared to take things really slowly.

Which can be a bit frustrating,of course, if you keep on asking the Lord to intervene and the time keeps marching on and there isn't a hint of any response at all from him.

At least, nothing that can be seen.

But he knows the time-frames we work to, the deadlines we have to meet.

And as often as not he waits until nearer the end of the time-frame before he takes centre stage.

Faith involves trusting that that's how it all will turn out. And most times, too, therefore, faith means being patient. Waiting.

And certainly not going too fast.

Pastoring people's a bit like that as well. It takes time.

Healing takes time. Restoring to wholeness takes time.

So the 'pastoring' I do is not like some 'whistle-stop' tour with a series of in-and-out visits to notch up impressive credentials of visiting done.

It's a relational sort of thing, rather than any merely 'formal' sort of visit. I'm not their dog-collar-clad cleric-in-the-cupboard. I'm their friend.

And friendship takes time. Trust takes time.

And healing involves a huge amount of trust.

Because part of the process involved in the healing that has to be done means becoming really very vulnerable. And that takes trust.

The sort of trust that's fashioned out of hours of genuine friendship.

I wouldn't win any prizes if it came to the number of visits made. As though each visit made was a sort of spiritual 'scalp' being gained.

To me that's close to anathema.

The kingdom of God's not like that at all.

Jesus spent time with people. He became their friends. Sat with them, ate with them. Listened to them, chatted with them, laughed with them. Shared their troubles and tears with them.

Which meant he wasn't rushing round, notching up a record number of visits. As though he was on the election trail and pressing the flesh in as many different places as he could.

I mean, that sort of thing is high on visibility, but low on relational quality.

There were loads and loads of people that Jesus didn't see or spend time with. Because of the ones he did.

Relationships need time. Because only through time does trust begin to grow. And only where there's trust does healing start to happen.

"Your faith has made you well."

Jesus used that line quite a bit. Your faith has made you well. Your trust.

That's what he needed for healing to happen. Trust me, he'd say.

Trust.

It's been a day a bit like that.

A fair bit of time with a few different folk.

Healing taking place. At least, I pray that's been the case.

It's a humbling thing to see the Lord at work in people's lives, restoring spirits which have been so cruelly shattered by the things a person's had to bear.

Sometimes way, way back in the past.

Hidden things. Things they've never dared to mention to another living soul.

And the first tentative steps to the healing they long for from God involves easing such things to the surface.

Which leaves a person feeling highly vulnerable. And involves a lot of trust.

And an awful lot of time.

But when the healing begins to happen, it's a very wonderful thing.

Seve Ballesteros has just had a third major operation on his brain.

This last one was some six hours long. Healing of any sort takes time.

And surgery of the soul is no less demanding.

hijacked

It must be something about Thursdays.

They rarely go to plan. And they seem, somehow, to rapidly disappear, with little of what I'd planned to do being done.

'Conspiracy' theories begin to form in my mind.

It starts to feel like there's 'someone' out there really keen to keep me from discerning what it is the Lord is purposing to say come the services this Sunday. 'You know who' as they say.

Like the devil himself has somehow got a whiff of what it is the Lord's intent on doing in our midst - and uses every trick he's got to try and stop it happening.

That's what it feels like.

I've a growing sense the Lord is set on doing something really very special at our worship here this Sunday, as we celebrate again his being the resurrecting God.

A sense that won't go away, but grows by the moment. And seems to be focussed on Sunday night particularly.

There are things, I suspect, he'll be saying that the devil would rather just didn't get said at all. Which is maybe why I'm kept from having time to do the needed preparation.

Like today. I'd thought that (at last) today would afford me the time to get alone with the Lord and hear just what it is that he is eager to be speaking to our hearts.

I'd planned my day like that (tomorrow, I know is already getting pretty much spoken for, with people to see, and a funeral service to lead), and blanked out one large section of the day for just that vital exercise.

It felt like the day got hi-jacked. Which sometimes happens.

Nothing sinister or anything. Just things that crop up.

A lot of the morning was spent with installing the new copier which we've leased.

Getting the old one out of the room, bringing the new one in. Setting it up. Doing all the 'network' stuff, to be able to print things off from another room.

Which meant getting hold of a range of different passwords, codes and 'keys' we have to use for all the different systems that there are.

And then trying to get some copies of the magazine run off.

I mean, it's all good stuff. And the machine itself is amazing! It colour prints our magazine, then folds it all up and staples the thing without us lifting a finger.

But, yes, it felt like the day just got hi-jacked. In fact, it's starting to feel like the whole work of God is in danger of getting hi-jacked.

And late afternoon a crowd of us gathered together and simply spent some time in prayer. There are problems we face that only the Lord can resolve. There are things going on which it's hard to know how to stop.

We were kind of driven to prayer. Reaching the point where only the Lord's intervention will actually do. The point where all we can do is cling on to him for dear life.

Like Jacob had to do a long, long time ago. Clinging on for dear life.

Since, apart from the blessing of God, the guy was a goner.

We're not any different.

'God-incidences'

An elderly lady died out at Kirkliston earlier on this week. And when I say 'elderly' I mean it. She was 96.

I was out to see the family tonight. What a humbling, privileged thing it is to tread on what in truth is often really very sacred ground.

The contours of bereavement.

The family spoke a lot about the lady who had died, of course. But they also spoke about the manner of her dieing and the circumstances attending that.

All the smallest details, so it seemed, had, each and every one, been carefully attended to by God.

Like her son had been singing his way through his mother's favourite hymn, 'Rock of ages', and had reached the final verse and the lines that run - 'While I draw this fleeting breath, when mine eyelids close in death...' - when he was rung by his wife to let him know his mother had just that moment passed away.

Like her daughter-in-law holding her in her arms and committing her into the arms of the Lord at the moment when she died.

Like the way she'd come north in the past few years and had through these final years of her life been surrounded by her family.

Like the care she'd received from those whom the Lord had brought in to meet her growing needs.

Like the fact her son had gone up to his room and had prayed that his mother would somehow be spared a prolonged and a lingering death: and his prayer being answered in such an immediate manner.

Like the lovely way it almost seemed as if the Lord himself had bit by bit just taken this elderly lady like a little child and drawn her to himself, enveloping in successive layers of care within his arms until at last she simply went to sleep.

Like a whole load of other little things which meant I could have easily been there with the folk all night.

'God-incidences' they called them.

Even sort of second-hand, the sense of God's presence was palpable.

That's what I mean about 'sacred ground'. You kind of want to take your shoes off.

And that's what I mean about the privilege that it is as well. I get to be with families at times like this when the Lord is so very close. It's very humbling and fills my heart with awe.

It set me thinking again along the lines I'd been thinking throughout the day. About how it is we get to be ourselves the means through which God blesses all the nations of the world.

Which is what he promised Abraham - 'through you all the nations of the earth will be blessed'.

Something like that.

I was on about that at the lunch-time service today.

The story of Joseph and how he ends up being the one through whom the nations of the earth are blessed by God at a time of massive famine.

And how so many different features of his narrative somehow mirror the experience of Jesus himself.

Being stripped of his cloak, the sign of his father's favour.

Going down to Egypt.

Being sold by his brothers.

Becoming a servant and slave.

That sort of thing.

Long before Jesus ever came, this guy Joseph was sort of carrying him around in his own life.

In the same sort of way that we as well, so many lengthy centuries beyond the years that Jesus spent on earth, we too get to carry him around in our lives day by day.

So that we bring the presence of Jesus to those around. And because of that, we too get to bring the blessing of God to the nations of the earth.

I was in at the hospital earlier on. Seeing a couple of folk who are there.

I was struck by the difference one of the nurses made. To me.

She looked like she was the ward sister, though I'm not that good on the uniforms and what sort of clothes mean what.

Sometimes they can be a bit protective of their charges - especially if I'm visiting beyond the usual hours. Which I was. 'Protective', yes: and a little bit scary, too. Like they're none too chuffed that you're there.

But this nurse was different, she simply smiled and warmly said, 'Hello Sir' as I walked on past.

Not much, but she let me know she was glad that I was there. Pleased to see me.

And it crossed my mind what a difference those two short words, and the smile with which they were spoken, actually made.

It felt like I was noticed, and, indeed, was welcomed. Like they were glad that I was there. It was a kind of 'Jesus' moment again.

Because that's what he did. He noticed people, had time for them. He saw the smallest details and he made it clear he was glad to be there with them in their lives.

And I think that's what's impressed those folk who mourn their mother's passing at Kirkliston.

The Lord has been there with them and has made his presence known.

I don't think you need a burning bush to make it holy ground.

Just him.

working hard?

The guy fired an interesting question at me as he sat down for a coffee.

"Is this you working hard?" he said.

I'd just sat down myself to have a coffee with his Mum. She's slowly getting back on her feet again after surgery to her back. This was her first time along to the halls since then.

It was good to see her. A coffee together seemed right.

Is this you working hard?

When she'd first come in I'd been speaking with one of the ladies who, at least now twice a month, brings a crowd of patients from the local stroke unit along to our halls for a coffee and scone in the morning.

We'd been sorting out the way they wanted the chairs - to allow for some wheelchairs, too. That sort of thing.

And having a chat as well. She used to live nearby. I remembered the family vaguely from the past. It's good, as they say, to talk.

But is this you working hard?

Yes, well, it's hard to say!

Because before coming in and seeing her there in the halls, I'd been over the way in the other set of halls we have, sweeping the floor, sorting things out for the folk who'd been in later on to use the hall.

I'd gone off to do that once we'd had our time of prayer. The 9.40 thing.

Is this you working hard?

And before that I'd been in the main set of halls, tidying that up as well and setting the tables out for the various different activities that were going on today.

Is this you working hard?

And prior to that I'd been making the soups for the day - pumpkin and carrot, and broccoli and courgette. Orange and green, for those who are not real soup purists.

Is this you working hard?

I guess the answer's 'yes' and 'no'.

I don't really see any of what I do as 'work'. I'm not really paid to 'work' as such. I'm enabled (in financial terms) to 'minister'.

To serve. When you dispense with the Latin and put it in good old English.

That's why I'm called a 'minister', I guess. Because above all else I'm simply released to serve.

And that can take a thousand different guises through a day.

From making the soups to shifting the chairs to meeting with others to pray to sweeping the floors to speaking with folk to sitting and having a coffee.

And that's all before 10.15. I've another 12 hours to go before my day is done!

I love what I do. I guess that's why I never really think of it as 'work'.

Jesus came to serve. And I'm at heart his follower.

So my day again was filled with a whole long list of different things.

From telephone calls to e-mails needing written.

From meeting different people to arranging funeral times.

From planning future services to pondering Scripture texts.

From sitting in long lines of queueing traffic as I drove across the town to folk in hospital, to sitting at their bedside and to praying with them there.

From the contact with a lady who's bereaved to a meeting with the Nominating team out at Kirkliston.

Is this you working hard?

And I forget what else there was besides!

Except I remember discussing at some length with the guy who asked the question first of all (I know the guy quite well!) the whole environmental challenge that we face these days.

Is this you working hard?

It's kind of 'yes' and 'no' always.

Work's not the word that I use. I don't think I 'work' at all!

I'm a 'minister'. I serve.

And I revel in it all.

signs

"It's a sign!"

Annie (Meg Ryan), the heroine of the film 'Sleepless in Seattle', is forever coming up with the line. Everything is maybe a sign, so far as she's concerned.

Which is not a million miles removed from the underlying (and mostly implicit) theme of another of those feel-good films, 'Serendipity'.

You can easily get a little bit suspicious of these so-called signs.

Maybe they're just coincidence. Maybe the whole big thing about 'signs' is all in the head.

Maybe.

But maybe not.

I believe in signs. Not in an over-the-top sort of way. At least, I hope not.

But, yes. I believe in signs.

I lost my debit card today. Bad enough at the best of times but in the middle of a global financial crisis it feels a whole load worse.

One moment I had it, the next time I came to use it ... it was gone.

I've long since learned to ask the Lord about such things. Because I hadn't a clue where the thing might be and I didn't want all of the hassle of sorting the whole thing out with the bank.

I mean, they've got enough on their plates at the moment as it is.

So I asked the Lord and set off out to look in all the places where I thought I might have lost it earlier on.

And the first place I went, just as I drew near to the place, this most amazing rainbow sort of suddenly appeared, its base located firmly on the building where I'd thought that I should look. I knew before I even entered in that this was where it was.

A sign.

Not quite 'gold' at the end of the rainbow. But the next best thing. And for the likes of me a reminder of who God is and how he makes that promise of his love and care.

Committed to his people, in the face of all the storms we have to face. Even little (and very local) financial crises such as mine.

It was the only rainbow I saw throughout the day. And as soon as I'd found my card it was gone.

Maybe just coincidence.

But it certainly felt like a sign. The sort of sign I needed in the midst of a whole load of storms that there seem to be at present.

My 'storms' are light, I guess, compared to those that others have to face.

I called on a lady this afternoon who's facing the toughest sort of storm there is to face. Terminally ill, and knowing that it's months at best she's almost certainly got. Or not got.

She's still a young woman in relative terms. And it's hard. Very hard.

But it crossed my mind in seeing her and having the chance to speak and pray with her - it crossed my mind that in a sense she herself is a sign.

To her family, most of all.

The manner in which she's borne this illness over now a good few years - that's been a sign.

The way she's lived, and the way she's dieing - that's a sign as well.

A kind of rainbow from the Lord, dressed up in all the frailty of human flesh.

A sign in the midst of the storms of life that the sun still shines and the Lord still saves.

a channel of your peace

My feet barely touched the ground today!

One constant rush from one thing to another from beginning to end. Not that I mind! The things involved were great and it's good to see God wonderfully at work.

The morning was mainly the school. With other bits interspersed.

The P4-7 assembly, first of all. Marking the end of the first half of term. The school gets a break next week.

The P7 pupils were 'running the show' (in the main). And at the end they all got up and sang the lovely song, "Make me a channel of your peace", with the preface that this was a prayer associated with St Francis.

One of the guys I'd been teaching the pupils about a few weeks back.

To hear them all singing as well as they did, like a set of contestants for Last Choir Standing, was brilliant. I mean, P7 pupils generally don't sing at all. The definition of 'cool' precludes it.

But these youngsters bucked the trend and sang their hearts out and it was like some choir from heaven!

A quick turn-around and in came the younger children again. The P1-3 assembly.

There's a service for them tomorrow as well, with a harvest theme. So this was the 'value for the month' sort of thing. 'Caring' again.

The Head is good, the way he works through these values with the children every month. And bit by bit I think they're catching on.

I get to do the prayer most weeks and tie it all together in that way. And the children all join in. Enthusiastic prayers as they thank the Lord for everything he gives us all each day.

The mid-morning break I get time with the staff. And today there were teachers to see. There's quite a bit to do in connection with the service here tomorrow which they'll hold.

When I got back here the man who's sorting our database was in, hard at work already on the little, final tasks that're needing done. So a quick word with him and then another rapid turn-around to get out to see a man whose sister died - the service being held tomorrow.

Again.

Not that there's been a thanksgiving service already - I mean that's another service I've got tomorrow!

This man is up in his 90s now. 94 in fact, I think. His wife of almost 60 years was the one who died just two or three weeks ago. Now he's bereaved again.

It must be hard and sore for the man.

From the old it was back to the young. On to Scripture Union across at the school again over lunch.

This was the first time we'd met this year. And there must have been close on 20 children there. It was great.

We don't get long, by the time they've all arrived and settled in, and before the afternoon starts.

But they all seemed to have a wonderful time and they're always so eager to learn. We were on about Solomon today, the choice he had when, early on, God said to ask him for just whatever he wanted.

The man chose wisdom. We gave the children a choice. What did they think he chose. And why? Sort of multiple choice. Wealth, fame or wisdom.

One boy said he thought that he'd choose wisdom, since that would always help him when he had any other choices, later on in life - it would help him to make good choices every time.

The boy's pretty smart already, it seems!

Either that, or he's read the bit in the Bible himself before.

From there it was back round here, touching base with our computer guy, then out and off to call on one of our members here who's had an operation and is now back home.

From there it was back round here, a run round the halls to sort things out with the next lot of bookings in mind. Then back with the school line of work. This time round here.

Some teachers came round with a car full of gifts the children had brought in to school. Harvest gifts.

So we took them all in to the church and set up a massive display and got all the food from the bags and the trays and set it all up at the front. It looked pretty good!

The evening, I thought, might afford me some time for a bit of a catch-up on things that I hadn't got done. But it didn't work out like that at all.

The meeting up town, which I thought might be over quite soon, was in fact really long. And that's me just getting back now.

Another day gone. I don't get it back again.

I remember my Dad used to tell me that. Don't fritter away any day - you don't get them back.

It's something akin to our aiming each day to live life to the full. Filling each day to the brim, so that all of the corners get filled. And filled with the presence of God

What Francis himself was on about as well, I think.

gone away?

"We've had 6 deaths, 5 have gone away."

I was out at Kirkliston tonight for a meeting of the leaders there. And the guy who deals with the roll of members was giving his report.

It was the way he said it that made it sound remarkable.

6 dead, 5 gone away. I wondered what happened to the other one! Where is he now?

Our message is a bit like that. This one man, Jesus, simply will not go away. Even if you nail him to a cross and dump him, once he's done for there, in a tomb.

Dead? You'd think so, after all the guy's been through.

But gone away? No chance. He's still very much around.

Risen from the dead. Alive. At work.

That's the bottom line in all I seek to do. If that's not true, if Jesus isn't really still around, then I'm well and truly done for and I'm wasting all my time.

If he's not there I've had it. Simple as that.

My life is built on this reality. That though he died, he hasn't gone away. He rose again.

I rely on him for everything.

People think it's pretty much a dawdle for me standing out the front and teaching folk the Bible as I do. But I couldn't do that without him.

I wouldn't know what to say. I'm not a 'natural' speaker. It wouldn't work.

So every day, I'm starting from the premise that he hasn't gone away. He's there.

Like the lunchtime service today. I needed him there for that.

When I say that I prepare for a time like that (and it took up most of the morning), I mean that I'm having to get it from him.

When I say that I spent some time giving thought to the message for Sunday morning coming, I mean that I'm having to toss the thing over with him.

I love these lunchtime services. But I love them most of all because I recognise he's there. He hasn't gone away.

I think I'd die if he did. It's that basic.

A lot of the time I'm trying to establish just what it is that he's doing. I want to be where the action is, and the action's where he is. I don't want to go away from him.

So this afternoon I was meeting with folk in regard to the life of the church in this whole larger part of the city. The whole North West of the city.

It gets called 'North West Churches Together'. Except it's not really.

It's really 'North West Churches (of Scotland) Together'. Which is subtly different.

And maybe enough of a difference to completely miss the point. At least, if this guy Jesus isn't there.

Because I don't think he is really into denominational life. I think he kind of walks away from that. It smacks too much of empire-building.

And I think that brings back painful memories for him. Since it was the troops of the Roman Empire who got him nailed to that dreadful cross.

So if he's not really into the whole denominational thing, where is he - and what is he doing - in this whole part of the city? That was the sort of thing we were tossing around this afternoon.

At length.

And we needed him there for that of course, as well!

He once spent some time with a couple of folk as they walked back home from Jerusalem. They were trying to figure things out, a bit like we were, I guess.

He said to them after a little while - "How foolish you are, and how slow of heart...". Like he doesn't mince his words or anything. He tells you as it is.

Sometimes I think we're pretty much the same. As the folk he spoke to, I mean. A little bit foolish: and a little bit slow on the uptake.

It isn't always easy to suss the whole thing out. So half the time, I guess we're lagging behind. Playing catch-up a bit.

He hasn't gone away. He's simply gone ahead.

I, for one, don't ever want to let him out of my 'sight'!

good news

By the time I'd made the soups, seen to all the setting up of the halls and got things ready for the school - it was time to go to school again!

The last of the sessions with primary 5 today. And it's always brilliant, this one!

There are various things we have to cover through this course, to keep 'on-side' with the curriculum. And those things include discussion with the children about 'gospel', 'miracle', 'parable' and 'sacrament'.

You'd think that 'sacrament' is hardly the way to bring the whole course to a climax. But it works a treat. It's a massive, multi-sense experience, and the use of all the senses makes it wonderfully appealing to the children.

They love it! The feel and the smell and the taste of the bread (as well as the sight and the sound - when I break it in two). And the same with the wine (well, red grape juice!).

Like last time, I rounded the whole thing off by giving each class a trailing plant. A way of their remembering the times that I've had with them - and what the message is all about.

Water. They have to water the plants. And the water reminds them of life.

Feed the plants and they'll grow. And being trailing plants, they'll grow quite a bit!

Which, I said, is what the followers of Jesus have been doing ever since he first broke the bread and drank the wine with them! Spreading the message, I mean.

There were things to sort out here in the afternoon. And people to see.

And then in the evening, I popped in to the Brownies who were having a kind of 'talent' night and they'd begged me a little while back to be there and see it all.

I was glad to be there. It helps to get the message across. A God for whom there's no one small or insignificant. A God who has the time to share our fun.

Even though there's a lot of other serious stuff going on.

Which is 'good news'!