royal family

It was really too late - even for me - to get any sort of post put up yesterday.

It was that sort of day. Pretty non-stop, from (an early) start to (a very late) finish. Today's not been all that much different.

Varied, certainly. And lots that's been good and positive. But, like the dress of some royal bride, pretty full and long.

Not that I'm a connoisseur of these things, mind you, or what you'd call a royal watcher at all.

Except, I've been aware that they've been in the news, and have been getting a whole load of stick for what they call their chums.

The occupational hazards of those who're in the public eye. You have to watch what you say these days.

A line which I'm not always sure that Jesus himself was all that bothered to tow.

An awful lot of what he did and said was far from being 'PC'. A point that they finally made to the guy with the three long nails that got hammered through his limbs.

He can live with that, of course. He did and he does. He's alive to this day.

And I guess it's that we have to learn to do as well. Live with the flak that goes with our being always far more resolved to be 'true' than merely 'correct'.

How on earth did I get onto that?!

Yes, a couple of days which have been full and long.

Jesus had days like that. So did those early followers of his. Judging by what they say.

But they didn't seem to mind it one small bit. They revelled in it all. And so do I!

I mean, who wants to drop off to sleep or take a break when the Lord is so clearly at work? There's loads going on, and it's all so good.

I was having some lunch with my friend from down the road (or up the street, depending on your geography), and the noise all around was something else. There were so many different people in and such a lively chatter, it was wonderful.

The Lord must love it, I thought. When people come together in that way. Old and young, from all different walks of life. All bundled in together and enjoying such eager chat.

We pray that people coming in will get a sense of heaven. Something different, brighter, fresher than what normally they know. Like life.

But it takes a bit of organising. There was the soup to make on Tuesday, for one thing.

When it comes to making soup, I do things without thinking which seem really very natural to me and then folk say - oh, that's quite adventurous!

And they're not quite sure if you can do things like that with soup. And I'm thinking to myself - I just did!

But they turned out OK, and in fact they thought it was fine. Carrots, lentils and mango was the basic mix they weren't too sure about.

No one was any the worse for wear, though (to my knowledge). And in some small way I maybe encouraged a few to be starting to be more adventurous in how they live their lives.

There are the halls to be readied as well, of course. Shifting tables and chairs and sweeping floors. That sort of thing at the start of the day.

It's a simple sort of therapy. And to have the place clean and looking good and to be readied like that for all the different people who'll be coming in, so that they're glad to come in and like the place - well, it makes all the work worthwhile.

I'm thinking that when I'm getting the place prepared. A bit like the Lord must have felt when he shifted things round and sorted things out in his universe to have the place ready for us.

We're all his children, of course. So that creator's instinct's in us all. And any creativity involves as well hard work.

Michaelangelo could spend three months simply looking at a block of stone and say that he'd been 'working'. Quite validly. But he also then spent months and months just chipping away and chiselling out and shaping, smoothing, teasing the stone into shape.

And that was part of the work as well.

Some of our time is spent in the 'thinking' mode of work. I mean here, as followers of Jesus in the world in which we live.

Looking at that block of stone which is the massive institution called 'the church'. Reflecting, pondering, discussing. Until the sort of shape of things envisaged for the future starts to get a bit more clear.

And then there's the long, laborious task of chipping and chiselling away until a work of art appears. A church which displays for the world of our day the beauty and glory of Christ.

It's called a work of art. And rightly so. Artists have to work.

The meeting we had of the leaders last night was a bit like that. Long, hard work again.

I think we're at the chisselling stage these days. We know where we'd like to be, and we're having to do all the chipping away 'til it starts to assume the shape we believe it requires.

The meeting went on until almost 10.30 at night. Way past bedtime for some of the folk. But I think the meeting was good. All those chip-chip blows of the metaphorical chisels in our hands helped us shape the thing some more.

We resolved to create a leadership body of 20 or so. Which is quite a major change for us and a sizeable reduction in its size (we have maybe 60 or so at the present).

But we've done the Michaelangelo bit of thinking over months. And we've figured that the way we exercise our leadership is something that must change. Its size, its role, the means by which that leadership is given - all that must change.

It's one of six (at least) big areas in the church's life which we recognise is vital to get right. What I've broadly flagged up for the people as essentially 'a servant leadership'.

So though the meeting went on and was way too late in finishing, it was nonetheless good.

I was speaking with one of the leaders again today and he used the word 'exciting' to describe how things now are beginning to look. And yes, I think it's exciting, too.

But the progress is not without cost. And the joys and excitement we know are matched in their turn by the griefs and the sorrows there are.

I've been out to see some folk again who know the pain bereavement brings.

Sheila died on Sunday. She was a sort of one-woman-instutution on her own. In the nicest sort of way. Warm and friendly, generous and kind. And you felt like the woman had been in with the bricks.

It's not that the whole place collapses when she died. But it feels like a huge big void is there. Almost like a subtle sense of child-like 'insecurity' starts creeping in.

Because somehow she was always there. Always up for a laugh. And yet with a keen, perceptive mind as well and able to articulate her thoughts so well. And now she's no longer there.

So we share and feel her family's grief as well. We're 'family' here and she was always an integral part of that throughout her life.

Not quite, in the literal sense, the 'royal' family. Thankfully.

But in the best sense truly so.