in touch with the 'S' drive

We had problems today with our computers. Pretty much all day.

The main office computer and the lap-top which I use. The computers were working fine. In themselves. They just weren't able to access any of the documents and data which we've created or are using day by day.

These are all stored on what's called our 'S' drive.

I should explain.

Our computers have gone through something of a 'conversion experience' in the realms of the cyberspace world. Our computers have humbly acknowledged a round-the-clock dependence on an unseen, outside body. That is, we've recognised the need we have for the computers to be 'supported' by a firm of IT specialists with the wisdom and ability to help us with the problems which we face.

The relationship is embodied in the 'S' drive. That's where all the data our computers need is stored. Our computers' own fountain of truth.

And today our computers were simply unable to get through to this 'S' drive at all. It's the cyberspace equivalent for computers of our not getting through to God.

A pastoral problem we, most of us, know something about. Those times and occasions when we're struggling to get any sense at all of our getting right through to the Lord.

Sometimes the problem is overtly 'intellectual'.

Sometimes that's the reason our computers can't get through. They simply do not recognise at all the existence of the 'S' drive which is there. They recognise the printer and all sorts of other 'outside' stuff connected through a bank of USB ports. But they admit to no knowledge at all of the 'S' drive.

Even though it's sitting there, bold as brass, and clear as the day is long, before our eyes.

The parallel is obvious.

Sometimes, as I say, the problem is simply 'intellectual'. We simply do not recognise that God is there. A foolish line to take, of course, as the Scriptures are quick to point out ("the fool says in his heart, 'There is no God!'"): but a line that people still take.

Where that's the case you have to go back to square one, I suppose, and re-establish connections at a pretty basic level.

That wasn't the problem today though. The computers were not having those sorts of intellectual problems with the 'S' drive. 'Conversing' with them both it was soon pretty clear that they both were plainly recognising that the 'S' drive sure was there.

Sometimes the problem is 'moral'.

A box comes up on our computer screens from time to time which declares with a painful bluntness - Access to the 'S' drive is denied: check that you have the correct password.

Access denied to the Lord. That can certainly happen; and sometimes, yes, the problem is really the 'password' thing.

'Password' is maybe not quite the way to put it. But that's how the thing translates into the mists and electronics of the cyber world.

A penitent faith is required to get through to the Lord. And the absence of such real repentance can lead to that access to God being denied.

The Old Testament gives some pretty graphic pictures of just this.

Access denied to the 'S' drive; 'S' for sanctus, holy ground, the pure and perfect realms in which God dwells. Think of the temple, for instance, and the 'Holy of Holies', the place which visibly signified the presence of the Lord. Heavily protected by a series of 'password' curtains.

Getting access was tough!

It was that 'password' curtain which was torn in two on Jesus' death. Access is now available.

But it's access through Jesus, and that means a humble and penitent trust, acknowledging just why it was, on account of our sin, that his death in our stead was required.

It is through Jesus alone we get access to God. We come 'in Jesus' name'. But that's always more than merely a form of words we use. It has to do with our lives, and with the attitude of heart with which we come.

"A broken and contritte heart, O God, you will not despise," as the psalmist said (Ps.51.17)

But 'access' wasn't the problem today. The computers acknowledged the existence of the drive on which they depend. The password was right. The problem lay somewhere else.

And sometimes that happens with us, as well. The struggle we have at times in getting through to the Lord are neither remotely intellectual, nor entirely moral: they're essentially spiritual.

There were things going on today in our 'cyberspace' about which I remain completely ignorant. I still don't know what exactly the problem was. I simply had to thole the inconvenience and accept by faith that somewhere further down the line the thing would be resolved.

How long my computer would have to wait 'til a normal sort of service was resumed - it was impossible to say. But be patient and be positive: it would be back to normal soon.

And I guess it's sometimes like that with ourselves as well. Times when the 'heavens seem like brass', and getting through to God just doesn't seem to happen as we've known it in the past.

Why? Well, it's not always clear just why. There are things going on in the spiritual realms of which we're not aware: all sorts of spiritual battles which we'll never maybe fully understand at all, but battles which may well have some big impact on our 'getting through' to God.

There are times when we just have to trust. Times when we simply fall back on the simple conviction that the Lord will sort it out and sometime soon we will indeed be revelling in relationship with God.

The psalms are a pretty good manual on this sort of thing.

"I say to God my Rock,'Why have you forgotten me? Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy?' ... Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?"

That's the not-getting-through-to-the-'S'-drive experience. But it's not the end of the road, and it's not the end of the story.

"Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Saviour and my God." (Ps.42.9-11)

pools drying up

There was a better-than-expected attendance today at the thanksgiving service I led at the crematorium. That, at least, was the view of the niece, the next of kin, of the lady who'd died. She hadn't expected that many.

I think it was probably the volume of neighbours who swelled the numbers present. They were out in force.

The lady had lived in the family home in that street for close on sixty years. And a lot of the folk who live nearby have been there quite a time as well. Most of them knew her, and most of them helped her out when need arose - and when she herself permitted it; which wasn't always, she was a pretty independent lady.

It made me aware once again that an older generation is now slowly dying out.

In the life of the congregation it's something I'm hugely conscious of. This older generation were able and willing to give themselves gladly to all sorts of different tasks which required attention.

But there aren't so many available now to take their place. Far more are out in employment now. And those who are working are often now working impossible hours.

Family life makes massive demands as well, of course; there are all sorts of great opportunities which children can have. All sorts of different places to go, all manner of different things for them to do. It's time-consuming stuff (and cash-consuming, too, I suppose - which can make the need to be working more pressing still).

And there's a lot of voluntary work out there in the wider community in which folk are rightly involved. Like looking after their neighbours. Things like that, and a host of other more organised, charity work.

End result is simply this - the pool of folk on whom the church can draw for all the different projects, tasks and commendable activities we'd like to do is shrinking fast.

It's a different sort of 'climate change' which is now seeing these pools of willing volunteers dry up. The social 'climate' is changing fast.

There are, I think, a number of major issues we need to be challenged about and address, as we recognise the rapidly changing 'climate' of our culture and society today. I don't have definitive answers. But I'm aware, I hope, of the issues.

The first has to do with lifestyle. The lifestyle of comfortable affluence which our society pursues is something we must question as we seek to serve our Lord. I'm wondering if at least some of the added demands upon our time and on our energies are related to, if not actually bound up with, the lifestyle expectations which we've gradually come to adopt.

Expectations which often derive, I suspect, far more from the values of a largely secular society than from the tenets of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Or am I being unfair in suggesting that?

Then there's the issue of commitment. There is, I think, an observable drift from the notions of commitment which our forbears generally had.

We prefer today to keep our options open. Our commitment is therefore the looser and more tentative. We don't want to box ourselves into a corner, as it were, in case we get a better offer down the line.

A better job, or a bigger adventure, or a more attractive partner, or a greater who knows what might come along in a few months' time - and, well, we wouldn't want to miss whatever it was, would we? So we're not prepared to make such firm, or long commitments.

We'll live with one another. But not get married. I mean, it is just possible someone even better might come along.

That sort of thinking can subtly get carried across to our notions of serving the Lord. We'll countenance perhaps a 3-month stint of service in some place abroad through the summer months; or a whole long gap year, it may be (whatever our age or stage in life).

And I'm not saying there's anything wrong with either of these. But I notice that these sort of Christian commitments are far more common-place (and far more appealing) than a life-long commitment to serving Christ in some hard, demanding place.

In this regard, insofar as my way-too-general observations are valid at all, we've again allowed our perspective to be informed more by the values our culture affirms than the values of the gospel. Or is that me being unfair once more?

As I say, I'm asking questions more than pointing fingers.

There's an issue, too, in relation to the view we have of ministry. Programmes and projects are not the same as ministry. Or at least not necessarily.

The pastoral exhortations in the letters of Paul, for instance, have far more to do with our conduct and manner at home and at work, and the way we relate to our family and colleagues and leaders and peers, than with any sort of 'programmes' which the church may run.

It's the former which constitute ministry. It's there - in the workplace, the home and the neighbourhood - it's there that our costly commitment to Christ is given expression each day. At least, that's its primary expression surely.

Or is that being too simplistic?

As a pastor and teacher my task is to equip my fellow believers ('the saints') for the work of ministry.

I need to be clear what it is I'm equipping them for. And they in their turn must be clear that that crucial work of ministry (at home, at work, in the street in which they live, etc) is, in the Lord, their work.

And of course, a God-given privilege, too.

knowing Christ

Someone remarked through the course of this evening what a difference it makes when the people who are serving the needs that you have are people you actually know.

Like a wedding, for instance.

What a difference it makes when the person who's driving the car, and the person preparing the flowers, and the person who's taking the photos, and, yes, the person conducting the worship, too - what a difference it makes when such people are people you know. And who know you, too.

Ministry (serving the needs of another) is something altogether different when you know the ones you're serving, and they know you.

The weddings we've had in the last few weeks have certainly proved that point all right - if it ever needed proved. What a wonderful difference it makes when you know the folk!

Today was the thing in reverse. Another funeral service. And apart from the grieving relative, whom I'd met for the first time last week once I'd learned of her mother's death - apart from her, I don't think I knew a single person there.

It's a strange sensation, ministering thus in a sort of relational vacuum.

Who are you? What are you? Where are you? How are you?

I'm addressing a crowd I don't know the first thing about.

Now, sure, my fall-back position is always the solid conviction that the Lord knows these people: and I may certainly trust him to give me the words which these people need to be hearing.

But even he is hampered and frustrated by the lack of real relationship. I was thinking again, as I pondered this crowd, of the words which Jesus once spoke - I never knew you.

Of course, an all-knowing God, by definition, must know everything, and therefore everyone as well. But that's 'intellectually', as it were. Not relationally.

The God who knows all things, can still declare with a pain in his heart, I never knew you.

Relationship is always what's important. It makes the world of difference. At events like a wedding or funerals, it's plain to see what a difference relationship makes.

I read from Philippians 3 and 4. Paul's plain and challenging words - my desire is to know Christ ...

What we don't sometimes see 'til it's way too late is that knowing God, and letting him know us, is what will make a whole eternity of difference for us all.

If we won't let him close, if we keep on refusing to open our hearts to the Lord - well, the great all-knowing God is forced to say those dreadful words, I never knew you.

And, if you know your Scriptures at all, you'll know the simple verdict which accompanies those words - Depart from me.

Which in a way is what happened today with the crowd who were gathered to share in that service. They just went away. There was barely a word that was spoken to me. They never really knew me: and I knew not a single one of them.

And so they just .. well, departed at the end. Understandably so.

A strange and sobering experience.

preaching Christ

There have been a number of deaths in recent days.

If I'm not seeing and meeting with folk who've been bereaved, I'm preparing for funeral services. And if I'm not preparing these funeral services, the chances are I'm conducting one!

There wasn't a huge big crowd at the one today. Enough to make the singing loud and strong. Enough to give a real sense of occasion. But not a huge crowd.

Most of the folk who were present I didn't know. Which is often the case. Some knew the man who had died. Some were the friends of his wife. And some came along, as her friends and her colleagues from work, in support of his daughter.

I don't know who they are or what their different circumstances are at all. All I know is that this may be the one chance that they have to be challenged to think through what life's all about, and why it is that Jesus is important.

A lady came up at the end and thanked me for the service and, as she put it - "arguing the case for Christian civilisation."

I fear that maybe slightly overstates the thing. I don't want to rise above my station.

But she's right in a sense. I won't just speak about the person who has died. I'll try and put that person's life and death in context, and point folk to the Lord.

That's what I'm called to be doing, after all. Not to be saying nice things about people who're no longer there (although I try to do that as well, of course). But to be bringing the word and the call of the Lord, who is always emphatically present.

In the end, and at the end, it's with him that we all have to do.

lifestyle

Most of my time is spent with people.

Sometimes it's planned, sometimes it's anything but. People call by unannounced. I meet folk out in the street. Things crop up and the whole day gets turned inside out.

It's right that it's like that, of course. I mean, that most of my time's spent with people.

But it does mean there are most days a hundred and one other things which are always being put on hold. A list of tasks which need to be done, and ... well, where will I find the time that I need to be doing them all?

Letters, preparation (there's a lot of that this week with two funeral services also requiring attention on top of everything else), planning, reports, references ... The list goes on and on!

When I met with Douglas at lunch today I asked him a simple question - what complicates your life?

Meaning by that, I suppose - what keeps you from simplicity in how your life is lived?

It's been much on my heart this past little while. And it's plainly much on his heart, too. We talked and, then prayed, at some length about that. And we'll doubtless return to it, too. When, and if, we ever find the time, of course!

Why are our lives so often hugely complicated things? Where has the lifestyle of Jesus got lost? And how can that lifestyle be found by us all once again?

'snapshots' from a weekend on the road

Here are some 'snapshots' from the last few days 'on the road'.

Friday. Another memorable wedding.

The sun shone - despite the forecast of rain. And that, again, seemed like a sign of God's defiant grace. More, by far, than we might have ever expected.

The whole occasion was steeped in God's grace and goodness. Palpable stuff. Everyone present was conscious the Lord was there. Surely.

The couple themselves had sought God's will and wanted to honour him. People had prayed and sought the blessing of God.

And he drenched the day in his grace. Wonderful.

Saturday. Off up north.

Traffic on the main trunk road to the north, the A9, is slow on a summer Saturday. Saturday is 'change-over' day during the holiday season: the start and end of the letting week. Everyone's out on the roads, either coming or going.

I'm wondering more and more if we're not ourselves at a kind of 'change-over' day in the course of our nation's history. Spiritually, rather than politically. It can be frustrating, slow and demanding.

It's a fair old distance and a good long time. But I get up to my destination - a B & B way out on Strathy Point - in reasonable time.

Strathy Point juts out into the Pentland Firth. It looks on the map as if it's about right in the centre of the northern coast, and the most northerly point of the Scottish mainland. It feels like I'm out at the extremities and I'm wondering if there's significance in the Lord taking me up to this furthest point.

Patsy MacAskill's a marvelous host. There's a lovely, warm welcome for a total stranger, with a cup of coffee and a plateful of home-baking. I've a room to myself - which is just as well since I've a load of preparation still to do.

Sunday. Along the coast to Tongue and Melness.

The early morning mist and rain soon lifts, and I've ample time to tour the area, trying to get a feel for the place and for what the Lord is doing there.

A causeway stretches out across the Kyle and a bridge then links the two communities. Melness and Tongue. Two congregations, first linked, then latterly united.

The causeway and the bridge are a picture of the reconciling grace of God, a picture of the work to which Stewart has been called. Building bridges to unite a people in Christ.

And building bridges, too, over which, by his holy Spirit, the Lord himself may come - in power, in grace, in love.

Fittingly, it's a united service at Melness. There are folk from Tongue, and folk from the various scattered settlements along the strip of land which is loosely termed Melness. There are folk who've stayed on from Stewart's Ordination and Induction on Friday night - folk who were up to support him at this time and who've made the trip a holiday. And there are family and visitors, too.

A fair old mix of people. And a wonderful spirit of worship. The Lord is present in power. People find themselves being spoken to. It's an auspicious start for the ministry Stewart and Liz will be exercising through these coming months.

It's after 5pm by the time I leave the manse at Tongue and wend my way back down through Lairg and Bonar Bridge, to stay for the night with a friend from school whom I haven't seen for years.

He's thrilled to see me - and the feeling is very much mutual. He takes me along to a party he's been at himself, celebrating the 60th birthday of a farmer friend a couple of miles down the road. I meet a whole big crowd of folk whom I haven't seen for maybe 30 years or more.

It's great to pick up from where we left off, way back in the days when I was still at school and on into my student days. I worked on the farms up there, and we shared in all sorts of adventures. It's a trip down memory lane for us all.

But it feels as well like the Lord is the one who is orchestrating this 'friends re-united'. There's something going on in my being there.

Monday. We'd chatted a while through the evening last night. The friend with whom I was staying had rung another guy with whom I used to chum around a lot back then. He's that keen to catch up with me that he's along at the house this morning before it's even 7.30am.

An early start, and a couple of hours worth of chat over coffee. He's genuinely pleased to see me again. And I'm as pleased myself. It's almost as if the dimension of life for which I stand is one this man is seeking. As if he somehow needs this sort of contact with myself.

Or, more to the point, with the Lord.

It's 37 years, he says, since he last saw me. He hasn't changed a bit. At least, I'd have recognised him straightaway if I'd met him walking down the street.

It's an interesting experience. The Lord once again making connections: picking up on these threads from long, long ago and starting to weave something with them.

I've a good long time to think about it all on the journey back, of course. Re-tracing my steps back down the A9.

The Lord is pulling the strings. It feels like the start of a whole different era in terms of what the Lord is doing. As if the Lord is tying all sorts of knots.

Not just that 'tying the knot' at the wedding way back on Friday afternoon. Not just that 'tying the knot' as minister and congregation are joined in the work to which they're called.

But the Lord picking up all sorts of these threads from the past, and begining to pull them all together again. Completing the circle in some sort of way. Concluding what long since he'd started.

Whatever it is that he's doing in these days, the Lord is definitely now out on the road.

painting a masterpiece

The local schools started back today. Another year begins.

I was along to our local primary school three times. Not bad for the first day back!

It was meant to be only twice, but when I went for the 9am assembly which I'd been told would be on, I learned that they'd switched it to 1.30pm instead. 9am on the first day back was never going to work. I should have sussed that out.

Great to see all the children again. One girl came up to me after the later assembly and asked Did you bury a Mr and Mrs Brown?

In the course of the years, with a name like that, there's more than a few people 'Brown' whom I've 'buried' (the term is used loosely, of course, since most folk here are cremated).

But I figured I knew to whom the girl was referring. I gave the girl their Christian names and asked if these were the couple to whom she was referring. They were. Her great-grand-parents no less.

It must have been maybe as many as fifteen years ago since they died, but I still remember them well. A lovely couple. They'd died, of course, before the girl had been born, so I think she was glad to hear what I had to say about them. A link with a past which she'd not ever known for herself.

There's something going on in her mother's life as well. A seeking, a search for meaning and purpose in life. Trying to figure out just what the whole thing means and how to make sense of it all.

These fleeting, and seemingly idle, conversations in the passing - like the one with this girl today - are somehow part of a much bigger work of the Lord.

Like tiny little dabs of paint upon an artist's massive masterpiece - these small and simple contacts, insignificant in themselves, serve to make a stunning picture in the fulness of the time, whereby a person finally gets to see the Lord.

Very little of what we ever do is a one-off coup-de-grace. It's more like one small further thread sewn through a tapestry, or one more simple brush-stroke down the canvas as a painting slowly forms.

All the countless conversations that we have - today there's been a visit to a woman who's bereaved, a call to see about a baptism in the coming months, some time spent with a lady in a nursing home, a run-through with the couple getting married here tomorrow - all the countless conversations that we have are careful little brush-strokes in the hand of God.

One day when we get to see the masterpiece we'll see just how significant what seemed so very insignificant has been!

building a dynasty

My great grandfather was a minister. John G Train.

By all accounts he was a fine, godly, prayerful man, who preached a powerful sermon. I've a little book he wrote, and in it he warmly but urgently expounds the summons of Jesus.

He had quite a large family (I mean in terms of the number of children he had). And I don't for a moment doubt that the man prayed long and hard for that family down the years. For his children, and his children's children - and for who knows how many generations down the line.

Certainly down the generations his family has remained quite remarkably close. So with my brother across from Zimbabwe for a couple of weeks, there was a chance to meet up with some at least of that family.

Something a bit above 30 pitched up today. Old and young alike. From far afield. From England, from Wales, from east, from west. One had not long since flown in from South America. A bit of a miniature gathering of the clan.

This man, my great-grand-father, built a sort of dynasty of faith. And it's that sort of thing that is needed again today. Not just individuals coming to faith. Not just whole families growing to know the Lord.

But a long and lasting dynasty of faith being built down through succeeding generations of a family's life.

all over the place

These have been unusual days, so far as I'm concerned. Sufficiently unusual to make me wonder if there's somehow some sort of a message for myself.

I 'travel' very little. Most of the time, almost all of my time in fact, I'm here in the small patch of Scotland which in church-speak gets called a 'parish'.

It's here that the Lord has called me. And it's here that I'm glad to serve.

This is my 'garden of Eden', the place where the Lord has set me with the charge to 'work it and take care of it' (using the phraseology of Gen.2.15). It's more than enough to keep me occupied, happy, and fulfilled.

These, then, as I say are unusual days - for I'm on the road a lot.

Wednesday evening last week it was down to Stow, in the Borders. Victoria had done a placement here as part of her training as a Church of Scotland minister: Wednesday evening saw her installed as the new minister at Stow and Heriot. A super occasion, marked by a sense of God's presence and filled with an air of expectancy.

Back from there to Edinburgh, in time to hop onto the night train to London. Thursday and Friday in London. Back Friday evening to Edinburgh.

Sunday morning back down to the Borders, 'preaching in' Victoria, first at Heriot Kirk and then (a quick dash down the ten mile road at a rate that would have made a rally driver feel pretty good!) at Stow once again. Warm services, marking the start of her ministry there, in both these country places.

Yesterday, it was through to Glasgow, for a meeting there. Then on Saturday coming it's up to the northern climes of Melness and Tongue, right on the northern coast of Scotland.

Stewart and his family have been members with us here for a good number of years: he's being 'inducted' on Friday as minister of the church up there (I can't be at the induction as I have a wedding here that day), and I'm to 'preach him' in on the Sunday morning.

North (Melness and Tongue), south (London), east (Edinburgh) and west (Glasgow). The four points of the compass. Encompassing the whole of the land.

Out of the blue, and all packed close together, the Lord takes me out 'on the road'. A whistle-stop tour of the four corners of the land.

I can't help but feel there's a message in that for myself. No longer am I to be thinking in purely parochial terms. What we do here is part of a much bigger picture. We're involved in these days in something of nation-wide significance.

We must learn to think in those terms.

Something rather big is going on. And we're called to be a part of it.

The coming days are going to be very different.

growing old

There are a lot of older folk in our congregation. I spend a fair bit of time with them, calling by to see them in their homes, and seeking to be a pastor to them in these 'twilight' years of their lives.

It's not easy growing old, that's for sure. I was seeing a man today who's hearing is going, whose sight is going, and whose mobility is also going.

He can't really read any more (he was a great reader): he can't really engage in conversation much (he was great company): and he can't really get around (he was a very active man).

Growing old is hard.

I came across this the other day from a guy called Kevin DeYoung. Kevin DeYoung is a young man (by which I mean he's younger than me!), but he's wise with it. And what he has to say about this business of growing old is perceptive, challenging, and (I hope) really helpful.

This is what he wrote -

2 Chronicles 16.10-14 record the last stubborn days of a great king. Asa was a grumpy old man. His major offense? He got a disease in his feet and didn’t ask the Lord for help. Now, there’s nothing wrong with going to doctors. God wants us to be wise. But he also wants us to trust him – more than counselors, therapists, doctors, and pills – and trust him to the end.

There are two types of old Christians. There are those who fret and fuss about how bad things have gotten and how rotten kids are these days. These cantankerous old rascals don’t like the church’s music, people, or pastor.

But then there are Christians who, like fine wine, get better with age. They pray more. They get wiser and kinder. They understand what really matters. They love the Lord and every day they read their big print Bibles with the devotional tucked in as a book mark. They pray for their kids and grandkids without ceasing. They’re a pastor’s best friend and they long to be with Jesus. These are the un-Asa-like believers the church desperately needs.

So for all those out there heading into life’s last lap, what type of senior saint will you be – crotchety or Christlike?

It's challenging, that. But it's also meant as an encouragement. If you get to live into those 'senior' years, you can choose to be a blessing or a burden. And it's not our health or our needs which determine that choice.

It's our attitude.

no regrets

There was a lady I called on today whom I've not really known before.

I've seen her before, but not much more than that. She's now in a home, getting on in years; frail and weak and none too well.

But still entirely with it, so far as her mind is concerned.

"I've no regrets," she said, as she reflected on a life that's been long and full. Even if hardly spectacular. Just another very ordinary individual, living her life in the context which was given her.

Finding work and doing a job each day throughout her working life for those who paid her wages.

Caring for her parents, with whom she'd lived for the bulk of her life, while they were still alive. And bearing the brunt of the burden which that care increasingly brought.

Tending the garden and keeping it trim through the 57 years she's lived there.

Coping with loss, in the deaths of her parents, her sister, and the untimely death of her nephew.

As I say, nothing exactly spectacular.

A civil servant. A spinster.

No high profile career. No fulfilling romance. No remarkable dramas.

A very ordinary life.

But one in which, as she nears its close, there were no regrets as well.

She had a good home, good friends, and a good life.

And now she's not afraid to die. We chatted about that for a while. The God who does us good through life enables us now, through Jesus, to have a good death. To die well, at peace, assured, and confident of a surging resurrection hope.

Sometimes the biographical books we read make us think that there needs to be drama in our lives. All sorts of thrilling, exciting things to punctuate our lives with all the mundane routines they comprise.

Not so.

There won't be a book being written about this lady's life.

There were no great dramas, no romance: no fame, no honours, no headlines: no notable achievements, no rags to riches story.

But no regrets.

A very ordinary life.

Act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God. That's all the Lord requires of us.

It's not complicated.

no ordinary wedding

Michael and Brenda were married here on Friday.

Some weddings are self-evidently special. The Lord pitches up and makes the day his own. It's exhilerating when it happens and you know you wouldn't have missed it for the world.

This was one of those occasions. We had sensed in advanced that it would be so. And had prayed accordingly.

The service of worship was wonderful. The singing of the spine-tingling variety.

One lady from another part of the country (something of a 'veteran' of worship and weddings, I took it from the way that she spoke: she was certainly 'veteran', anyway) remarked that she had never heard singing like it - and certainly had never been at a wedding where the organist dared to leave the congregation to sing a verse unaccompanied. And that without any warning.

If ever you'd wanted to know the meaning of the phrase in the psalms - "the Lord inhabits the praise of his people" - this would have been a good place to start! If you'd been there on Friday, you'd have understood all right.

The forecast had anticipated rain. Instead there was sunshine.

It was that sort of day.

And it all continued on throughout the reception as well.

The hotel remarked afterwards that they had never had a wedding reception like that. Everyone plainly so enjoyed themselves from the outset. Everyone was so pleasant and courteous. Everything ran so smoothly. No one abused the free bar. And no one at all got drunk (not even remotely).

What explains a day like that? Two things, I think.

First, the Lord was making a statement. There are marriages he plainly goes out of his way to 'own'. This is my doing, he insists. My servants, my purpose, my call, my work.

This was that sort of marriage. He was glad to go public and make it quite plain that this was all his doing.

And then, as well, there had been for months such a huge volume of prayer rising to the throne of God. Such a cry from so many folk that the windows of heaven were opened and a deluge of grace was poured forth.

That happens. It's the real 'marriage'. The King and his bride. The purpose of Christ and the prayers of his church combining to effect an extraordinary day such as Friday proved to be.

You can catch the service on-line. The reception? Well, I'm afraid you've missed that!

heading north

In a couple of weeks' time or so I'll be heading up north to Melness and Tongue to conduct the Sunday morning services there.

One of our members has been called to minister there, and he's kindly asked me to 'preach him in'. (That's just means that I conduct the first service he's there, and in that way sort of introduce, through the preaching, the ministry he's going to be exercising).

Not being that familiar with those parts (I've been there once before I think), I thought I should check it out a bit. And try and fix up some accommodation for the Saturday night.

I went onto the internet and googled 'Melness and Tongue'.

In a couple of clicks I was on to a site which spoke about the church.

I clicked on the heading MINISTERS on the menu bar.

And, no kidding, this is what I got -

Just a bit alarming!

Do all their ministers end their days washed up on the shore like this, an absolute wreck?!

I'm sure it was a mistake (though I did try the process again with the same result); but it did make me think of the 'brokenness' of Jesus himself and the cost of all ministry in his name.

I was really looking for a place to stay. Checking out the many Bed & Breakfast options that there are up there.

I eventually called a lady in a place a bit along the coast from Tongue. Once we'd conversed for a while she asked why I'd decided on her - there were other places a good deal nearer to Tongue, she said.

So I told her about 'Trip Advisor' and the consistently high praise which she and her B&B place had received from those who have sampled her hospitality. She was surprised, I think, to learn how much folk use and rely on resources like this.

Personal testimony.

It's an interesting phenomenon.

An establishment's website is one thing. There you'll get the 'official' line, the doctrinal statement, as it were: how many rooms, what like they are, the tarriff, the rating, and that sort of thing. And all of that is helpful, of course.

But you really want to know from those who've been there, from those, that is, who've exercised faith, and sampled the place first hand. What do they have to say?

'Trip Advisor' gives a global dimension to that whole 'word of mouth' sort of thing. It was that which sold the place to me in the end.

The power of personal testimony.

That's what's always needed in relation to the Lord. The "I once was blind, but now I see" sort of testimony. Not just the formal teaching of the Scriptures from the pulpit, important though that is. But that website-like exposition being supplemented and complemented by the 'trip-advisor' comments of practitioners.

I'd love us to be more and more that sort of 'trip-advisor' congregation!

thank you

It's very easy in the maelstrom of 'catching up', when I'm trying to hit the ground running, to forget to say 'thank you' to those who've been filling in for me while I've been away.

A neighbouring minister covers for me in terms of any major pastoral work which requires to be attended to. That's on top of everything else that the guy is doing day by day. I'm grateful for his willingness to 'stand in the breach' and field these additional tasks.

And then, as well, I have a number of visiting preachers conducting our worship when I'm not there. It's not just the Sunday, of course, that's involved for them, but long hours of preparation too. I'm grateful for that, and glad to be able to leave our Sunday worship in their hands.

They know that, I'm sure (the fact that I'm grateful). But it helps to be said, and, indeed, to be put in writing. So today I made sure that before any more time has elapsed I dropped them a note to convey a sense of my thanks.

I recall a long, long time ago visiting an elderly couple in their home in Cumbernauld. They had their daughter staying with them, along with their son-in-law. They were glad to be able to help like that.

And with the two young folk being out at work all day, the lady of the house would make their evening meal each day and have it ready for the two of them when both returned from work.

She was glad to do so, but I remember her, in a slightly unguarded moment, remarking that it would be nice if at least on occasion her daughter and son-in-law simply said 'thank you'.

I don't mind doing it at all, she said. In fact I really enjoy it, it's something I'm good at and I'm glad to be able to help. But it would be nice, it would make it all seem so much more worthwhile, if at least from time to time they actually thanked me for it.

Not once in all the months and years she'd been doing this for them had a word of thanks been uttered. And not, I'm sure, because they weren't profoundly thankful. It was just that they hadn't got round to saying it.

There was a book we used to read to our children which had as its climactic punch line - "... but he never once said thank you!"

It's a line we need to learn. Our culture is not all that good when it comes to giving thanks.

The Scriptures, by contrast, are full of the theme.

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.

Whatever you do .. do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

.. Always giving thanks to God the Father for everything.

Always.

Jesus once healed ten lepers who went off to the priest and found as they went that they were cleansed. Only one came back, throwing himself at the feet of Jesus and giving him thanks. And he, adds Luke rather pointedly, was a Samaritan.

Where are the other nine? asked Jesus.

Good question.

They were thrilled to bits. I don't doubt that. They were profoundly thankful. I don't doubt that.

But where were they when it came to giving thanks where thanks was due? They were nowhere to be seen.

Ours has become a culture of complaint. Finding fault has taken the place of giving thanks. We take too much for granted.

That simple phrase, "Thank you", can mean so much. To the Lord as much as to anyone else.

no ordinary year

This coming year will almost certainly be an important and significant one.

In exactly what ways, and precisely why - well, I'm not entirely sure I could tell you that. I'm simply aware of a God-given burden that's laid on my heart that these next twelve months are going to be hugely important.

I suspect it has something to do with events taking place in the life of the church at large. I'm not naive. I'm aware that issues arising, and decisions being made, next May (when the Church of Scotland meets in General Assembly again) will potentially have major ramifications.

I suspect, as well, it has something to do with the state of the country itself. This is not as unrelated to the life of the church as some might like to think, of course. There's a connection. There always has been in this our land, for long generations back.

The clear and deliberate departure from our spiritual roots is there for all to see. We have turned our back on the rich, Christ-centred heritage which our forbears sought to secure. We are at least far on in the process of becoming an essentially godless nation; if we're not already there. We have chosen, and presumed, to become the masters of our own fate; to run our life ourselves.

The whole thing's getting messier by the minute.

Rembrandt's painting of 'Jeremiah lamenting the destruction of Jerusalem'

I feel more and more like my namesake Jeremiah as the time goes by. I'm drawn to the man, sensing a certain affinity with this giant of a prophet from the past. Our times are far too close for comfort like the times in which he lived. Our call, as the servants of God, is more and more like his.

We live, I suspect, in the end times of a favoured nation's life. Just as Jeremiah did, in days long past. We've a lot to learn from the man.

And one of the things we will need to learn is just what following Jesus Christ really means. We will need to learn what it means to be a member of the church of Jesus Christ. We will need to learn discipleship.

So one of the things I've been praying is that the Lord would indeed, in his mercy, be opening the eyes and opening the hearts of many folk to respond to the message of grace in Jesus; that there'd be many who are brought by the Lord to faith in these days - and strengthened thereafter as new believers in Christ.

There's a part we have to play in that, of course. But it's the Lord who alone, in his sovereign mercy, effects that in people's lives. I believe he means to do that. I believe he longs to do that. I'm praying with real urgency that he would do that.

It was, you'll appeciate, therefore, a real encouragement today when, walking through the local shop, I got to talking with a lady whose daughter's at the primary school. It was the daughter who saw me and called out after me, "Hello, Mr Middleton."

I think the whole shop looked around. Such is the price of celebrity status a local school chaplain can have!

It wasn't like meeting a stranger, of course. I know the mother a bit. But there in the shop, in the midst of a whole crowd of shoppers, she was wanting to know both whether and how she might come to be part of Christ's church.

It seemed like a sign. A gentle indication from the Lord that this is what he will indeed be doing through these coming days.

Lord, have mercy upon us.

seaweed

After some weeks away on the island of Harris, it's something of a culture shock to return to life here in the Athens of the north.

I think it's the all-pervasive awareness of the presence of God which there still so often is on these outer Hebridean islands - it's that, I think, which ensures their life is lived in such a different manner. And I think it's the widespread absence of that which I notice most on returning.

Yesterday was technically my first day back. But today's been the day for starting to pick up the bits. Responding to e-mails. Giving some thought to the upcoming services which the next few days will involve. Catching up with a number of folk.

Ordinary, routine, humdrum things, in the main. But it's out of the ordinary, inconsequential things that the Lord does extraordinary work. Sometimes we forget that.

When the wheat is finally harvested, it's a wonderful feeling. I've worked on farms in my time, so I understand how fulfilling, exciting and altogether satisfying harvest time can be. Seeing all that grain being loaded onto the trailers, taking it up in your hands and running it through your fingers - there's something almost magical about it all. The miracle of growth.

But most of the process which leads to the time of this harvest is very mundane. There's nothing very exciting about the thing at all. A lot of ordinary, routine sort of work, where you don't see much in the way of any immediate results.

God doesn't deal in fireworks half as much as our high-octane, excitement-seeking culture would wish. He's a lot more careful and sparing with the fire that he brings than we'd maybe have thought.

He's far more content with the ordinary, seemingly inconsequential things than most of us are.

I was struck by that on holiday, when I 'walked' along the beach with my 9 month old grand-daughter. She was fascinated by the ordinary. A little strand of seaweed. The feel of the thing. The intricate design of the thing. The way the thing could move and dance around in the wind.

All of it intriguing, fascinating, engrossing for a little infant girl. Her perspective so different from that of an adult. (When did you last take a good long look at a bit of straggly seaweed?)

A girl content with, and delighting in, the ordinary. Very much like the Lord.

A lot of our time is given to tasks which are of the straggly seaweed variety. Ordinary in the extreme.

But ordinary doesn't mean inconsequential.