change of address

Having been in hibernation since the summer, this blog will be re-starting very shortly - but at a new address: www.latce.wordpress.com.

tornado

As I stand on the threshold of another Friday, I'm wondering where this week went!

But I think I know. Last week's storms have left a trail of devastation in their wake: and the challenge of trying to create a measure of order out of all the chaos and consternation thereby caused has been hugely time-consuming.

Meetings, e-mails, conversations by the score: hours and hours (quite literally) of working things through with a whole range of folk, confused, distressed, perplexed as to what's going on. And a great amount of prayerful reflection and painful, heart-searching thought.

In a former life, when I worked on farms in the summers, I once was asked to burn a field of straw. The day was calm and windless, but my tiny match, when its flame lit the straw, triggered a mini-tornado.

Don't ask me how exactly. I don't really know the physics or the chemistry of what was going on. All I know was that in seconds flat a raging fire had begun and a spiralling tunnel of flame was racing down the field at the rate of knots, creating a gale in its wake.

Scary. And the damage it caused was immense.

Strange how the tiny spark of a single 'match' (or 'mis-match': I'm speaking now in relational terms, and how these things are viewed by the Word of God) can fuel such winds of false and unscriptural teaching which then spiral into massive, big 'tornadoes', and wreak such rapid havoc on an unsuspecting land.

centenary

Today I celebrated a rather special centenary. The 100th anniversary of my father's birth.

Although he died many years ago now, his legacy lives on in the lives of many, I'd guess. Certainly in the lives of his family. And today we're glad of the chance which this milestone affords to acknowledge our debt under God to this gentle and most gracious man.

He helped us to see from our earliest years what a wonderful thing it is that the Lord has effected for us in the gospel, our belonging at last to a family, and our knowing this God as our Father. He made the security and dignity of that an easy thing for all of us to grasp.

Something the Lord once declared through the prophet Isaiah has been very much a word which the Lord spoke to me: and I often think of my Dad in this regard as well -

"All your sons will be taught by the Lord, and great will be your children's peace." [Is.54.13]

That's a fine legacy for any man to leave. And today once again we all salute him.

culturally correct

The Wednesday lunchtime service provides something of an oasis for us all. A chance to draw near to the Lord, take time apart and get our eyes on him.

The Scriptures are central to our worship. Not because they're treated as some idol that we worship: but because the Scriptures are the Word of God, and through them he still speaks.

Generally with alarming clarity and cogency and force. Today was no exception. There was again an immediacy to the preaching of the Bible. A directness.

A "this is that" sort of thing, which means that what we're reading from a whole long time ago is spoken with directness to the very sort of issues which we ourselves are dealing with today.

Sometimes it's almost scary how direct it is. It certainly touched a lot of raw nerves today and reduced not a few to tears.

It was the contrast between David, celebrating the mercy and grace of God as the ark of God was returned to the heart of the life of the people of God - and Michal, the woman to whom he was wedded, disdaining the show of delight which her husband thus had expressed.

David rejoiced in the gospel of grace, the transforming, renewing mercy of God extended at cost to the Lord to men such as him who'd done wrong. I received mercy. The mercy of God through the grace of his Son at the cost of the cross which he bore.

Michal's 'religion' was altogether different. Dressed doubtless in all her ecclesiastical finery as she watched, and looked down, from her window, she was always so culturally correct.

She didn't believe in conversion, she believed in being correct. She had little thought for the heart of God, her only concern was what others would think.

David. Michal. They lived on two different planets. Not the Mars and Venus sort of stuff. This was the difference between heaven and earth, the kingdom of God with its vibrant enjoyment of a righteousness known in the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the dominion of darkness with its counterfeit claim to correctness.

David going on to a reign of extraordinary scope. Michal, we're told, was without child until the day she died.

It's the difference between being blessed and being barren, being alive and being dead.

Where do we fit in that story? Out on the streets with David, whose living will impact the world: or up at the window, so very correct, like Michal, who now will be totally fruitless to the day she finally dies.

It's a stark and telling distinction the narrative makes. And, like all of the rest of the Scriptures, it's really very up to date indeed.

tacking

In the far off days of student life, when summer holidays went on and on for months, I sometimes worked on farms in Easter Ross.

The father of one of the guys I knew up there had a sailing boat. Not exactly a full blown yacht, but more than merely a rowing boat - though not by much. It had a mast and a sail, and a rudder.

My friend took us out one night to enjoy the delights of the Cromarty Firth from the sea instead of the shore. A pleasant evening sail.

At least it was to start with. The tide and thew wind were all in our favour as we headed out and down the firth right on out into the vast open spaces of the North Sea. We fairly glided through the water - a wonderful sensation being carried along at such speed by a little boat such as that.

And then it was time to come home. My friend swung the boat around.

The wind by now had got up, and something approaching a gale, I suppose, was blowing us out to sea. I think I inwardly panicked at that particular point. It hadn't quite dawned on my carefree mind that getting back could present a problem.

The wind which had blown us so thrillingly right out to sea was still .. well blowing us out to sea. Only now it was stronger than ever.

"How do we get back?" I casually asked, with as much in the way of a jocular, nonchalant spirit as an ignorant land-lubber like myself could muster. I secretly hoped my friend would have an engine stashed away, unseen and out of sight: because it seemed like an awful long way we'd have to row back home - and I wasn't quite sure that we'd manage against the force of the wind and the tide.

"Same way we got here," my friend replied. "We sail."

I think I muttered a vague "Of course!" but the laugh was more nerves on my part than enjoying the joke I assumed that my friend had been making.

I mean, how do you sail right into the wind, when the wind fills the sail and drives you the way that it's blowing?

Logic was always a strength of mine, I thought. Though I started to feel that either my logic or my sense of humour must be failing pretty fast.

That was the day I learned my 'maritime logic'. A whole new way of living which defies the normal laws and means you can indeed go forward when the wind is blowing right into your face.

That was the day I learned about 'tacking'.

Sailing downwind is easy to understand. Sailing upwind, directly into the wind, is also easy to understand - it's impossible. The sail just flaps limply and the boat simply drifts downwind.

Tacking's the stuff of which heroes are made. It's the boldness which dares the impossible, the courage to go where all logic dictates you simply will never arrive.

Tacking's the skill which we're now going to have to acquire in the grave new world of our day, when we dare to fly (or sail) in the face of the powerful winds of a godless, defiant rebelliousness now sweeping right over our land.

If we don't learn this skill then we'll all be completely at sea.

We have to learn just how it is that we defy these gales and resolutely dare to press on forward back to solid ground again, against the wind.

Tacking's the skill of standing for truth when the winds of culture's godlessness are blowing in your face.

Tacking's the strategy of faithfulness when living in a society of godlessness.

Tacking's the maritime logic adherents of Scriptural truth must adopt when the winds of political correctness start blowing the church from her moorings and leave her adrift, all at sea .

Tacking is all about angles and getting those angles all right.

Tacking is all about patience and learning to think now long-term.

Tacking is all about boldness and daring to trust in a logic which reason suggests shouldn't work.

Tacking is faith in the raw.

I learned it first in the Cromarty Firth. And I'm learning it fast once again.

weather

Having been there all day, I walked back home from big church here in town tonight.

Transport had been disrupted. The country had been at a standstill. The travelling public was static.

No one was journeying anywhere.

The country had been hit by chaos.

A new and unusual 'low' had come.

It's been that sort of day.

The walk back home was long and hard. Against the wind all the way: a strong, gusting wind which sometimes drove me backwards and made the walking hard and very wearisome.

I'm only 58 years old, so my 'going home' is, potentially anyway, a good, long hike.

But that long walk home is going to be a thoroughly uphill struggle, going right in the face of a powerful secular wind.

That's what ministry now is going to be like.

Sometimes the weather itself provides a very graphic commentary on what's going on.

Indeed, I'll not be surprised if we wake up tomorrow to a Sodom and Gomorrah sort of landscape and find the land covered in a layer of thick volcanic ash!

suddenly I see

K T Tunstall may not be everyone's cup of tea, I appreciate. No matter.

She's a Scottish singer/song-writer. And among the songs she sings is one called "Suddenly I see".

I'm not entirely sure exactly what the song is about (though I've got a pretty good idea): but the powerful statement right at the heart of the song is crystal clear. Suddenly I see.

We had the song played on Sunday night by one of the girls in the crowd of young folk who meet here Sunday by Sunday.

They're a lovely, lively bunch: and part of each evening is given to one of these folk where they get the chance to play a bit of music which they like and draw out something of the spiritual significance of the song for them.

K T Tunstall's "Suddenly I see" was the choice of one of the girls this Sunday past. It's a catchy sort of tune, and the singer's voice is attractive.

So we listened until the song was done - and then the girl spoke: to explain why it meant so much to her.

Reason - that was her experience in three short words. Last year it had been. At a Powerpoint evening here in town (Powerpoint is a regular get-together from right across the town of Christian youngsters).

During the course of that evening it was like she 'suddenly saw': she suddenly saw that following Jesus was how she wanted to live the rest of her life.

It was powerful stuff. It reduced her to tears at the time - and the tears weren't all that far away from any of us the way she shared the thing.

Suddenly I see. That's how it sometimes is. Blind, or not really seeing the thing at all for long enough: then, suddenly, it all becomes clear: it all falls into place. And it's like how did I never see that before?

I knew a man whose experience was just like that back in the days when I was in Cumbernauld. Suddenly, he would narrate - suddenly one day, while he was right at the top of a ladder, cleaning someone's windows, suddenly he got it, the whole Jesus thing became clear.

Suddenly I see!

I knew another man back in those far-off Cumbernauld days, who'd been coming to worship for 25 years - largely for what he termed the aesthetic experience. And then one morning, sharing in worship, listening to Scripture being read and then expounded, suddenly it was like a veil was removed from his eyes, and it all became clear.

Suddenly I see!

That's not always how it is. But more often than maybe we dare to think it could be, it is. The Lord opens eyes and people suddenly see.

There's a man in the Bible like that. In fact there are loads of folk in the Bible like that. But I was thinking about a pretty important and high up man, religious through and through, who went into the temple one day and - well, suddenly he saw.

He saw the Lord as he really is, and was driven to his knees - Woe is me, he declared.

He saw glory. And in that very same moment he also saw sin. It's the sight of the awesomenenss of the glory of God which enables us to see the awfulness of the sin in our lives.

Maybe that's how it always is.

So I'm praying in these days for that suddenly I see sort of thing: praying that in God's grace and mercy he would give us eyes to see the beauty of his holiness, that we might see as well the folly of our sin and our presumption in ignoring what God says.

May there be many who find themselves saying - suddenly I see.

excited

I love what I do.

I love engaging with the Scriptures. And I love engaging with people (which you may find quite surprising since I'm essentially a bit of a 'loner', and more than content with my own company).

Few things are more rewarding, therefore, for someone like myself than the opportunities to teach and apply the Bible: bringing the Scriptures to bear on the lives of ordinary people. And seeing the difference that makes.

But all of that involves hard graft. Getting to grips with the Scriptures. Getting alongside people. And figuring out how best to build the bridges between the two.

There's a lot of such preparation required this week. The midweek service tomorrow. A teaching session with a grooup of people tomorrow evening. The chance to speak at the ladies' weekly meeting at a church in town on Thursday morning. The Scripture Union group at school that same day over lunch. The morning and evening services this coming Sunday. And the young folk's meeting on Sunday night.

Seven separate bits of preparation. An average kind of week!

As I say, it doesn't magically happen. The Lord gives us his Spirit, for sure. And without him we'd be lost (in every sense!). But the promised work of his Spirit is no excuse for lack of preparation, and no reason to shirk the rigorous disciplines involved in handling the Word of God.

A fair bit of time today has been spent in that work.

Not all of my time, certainly. I've had meetings with folk - over coffee, at lunch, and again up town this evening. I've had some fairly lengthy telephone conversations with a number of different folk (e-mails are great in their way, but they're never the same as speaking with folk). And there have been people I've been out to see as well.

That engaging with people goes hand in hand with my engaging with the Scriptures. The two belong together.

I had a note the other day from a couple who've recently come to the point of radical faith in the Lord. "We have taken these vows very seriously and are excited by the future as our relationship with the Lord grows and deepens. .. New beginnings - we can't wait!"

And, yes, although it's the end of that process of bringing the Scriptures to bear on the lives of such people, they're quite right - it's actually just the beginning! And it is, as they say, so exciting.

You can see why I love what I do!

the how question

I was AOL rather than AWOL.

Absent on leave. I took some holiday after Easter and vacated the realm of cyberspace.

There's a wonderful freedom in doing so: but a price to be paid when you re-enter that realm, and find a mountain of (e-)mail piled up behind the metaphorical letter-box on your cyberspace front door.

Someone asled me Do you manage to switch right off? And when I replied that I do, they then went on to ask How? I was interested by that, because a number of other people had also been asking me questions - on all sorts of different themes - but alwasy the question was how?

They know what they ought to be doing. They just don't know how to be doing it.

I remember being warmly accosted, a long time back, after a Sunday service, by a good and godly young man, always full of encouragement, who said - You know, I really appreciate what you said today, and I know that's what I must do: but I need you to tell me not just what it is that I'm meant to be doing - I need you to tell me how to do it as well.

Practical application.

Remind me, yes, that I need to switch off: but tell me how to as well - because I'm not really sure how to do it: and therefore often don't.

Remind me, yes, that I need to forgive: but tell me how to as well.

It was C S Lewis who once remarked - “Every one says forgiveness is a lovely idea, until they have something to forgive.” The theory's fine. It's the practice with which we struggle.

And, yes, it's the practice which is the key. None of these things comes naturally. We have to practise. And practise hard and long.

So you learn to play music by practising hard. You work at certain disciplines (called 'scales' I believe). They may not seem much fun at first. But you work at these irksome disciplines, and bit by painful bit you find that the music is slowly beginning to flow. It starts to come quite naturally.

It's the same with driving a car. All that reversing round corners. All those 3-point turns. A multitude of vehicular exercises, until driving the car is something you do more naturally.

The so-called 'spiritual disciplines' are that sort of thing. They're not an end in themselves. They're not a set of rules you keep to earn yourself some brownie points.

They're a set of practical steps you can take to help you start living the life of the kingdom of God: until your living that life like that comes altogether 'naturally'.

You remember the song There's a hole in my bucket?

The inept Henry pesters the saintly Liza (well, she must have been a saint to cope with the incessant demands of this man). With what shall I mend it? he asks. With what shall I cut it? And so on.

It's the How? question dear Henry is always asking.

I guess there's a Henry in most of us as well. We know what we're meant to be doing. We just aren't sure how to do it.

And a large part of learning to live out our lives as followers of Jesus Christ is getting to grips with the how? question.

'Til we start to live the new life in an easy and natural way.

Holiday Club - thank you!

It's difficult to measure the significance of last week's Holiday Club.

Those who are involved as part of the team find it very hard work, but they all immensely enjoy it, and there's a wonderful sense of the Lord himself being at the heart of it all.

It's humbling, and itself a powerful testimony, to have so many of our teenagers involved, giving up a week of their Easter holidays to this: and as humbling to see such a number of adults, already employed in tough and demanding jobs, setting aside this week of holiday time to serve as a part of the team: and humbling, too, to have such a number of retired and older folk pouring their all into doing what the week requires.

We receive some feedback, of course. Here's a note that was pushed through my door today -

"Dear All,

I meant to send this card as soon as 'Holiday Fun Club' finished but have been struggling to find a quiet minute to do so!

I wanted to say a HUGE thank you to all who were involved with making the church week such fun. What a massive effort from everyone and my children enjoyed every minute they were there. As a teacher, I know how much fun it is to be in the company of children, but I also know how exhausting it can all be! Your hard work is greatly appreciated!

I myself particularly enjoyed the games night on Wednesday and we all look forward to it all next year already!

Thanks again."

That from a family who aren't along at the church at all - apart from this Holiday Club week. It gives them a feel for the life that we live in Christ. Fun, commitment, joy, service.

I'm often wanting myself to say a huge thank you to all the countless individuals who, throughout the year, and not just through that week of Holiday Club, pour so much of themselves into this epic adventure of following Jesus and serving him in this our generation.

What a thrill, and what a privilege, to be surrounded by so many friends who give their all to further Jesus' purposes and make him known to others.

Mike Campbell - obituary

This is the obituary which appeared in The Times today, highlighting something of the courage and convictions of Mike Campbell, the white African who dared to challenge Mugabe. It's a powerful testimony to a man who dared to act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with the Lord.

Click on the picture to read it.

alone

It's often remarked that 'growing old never comes alone'.

It's a euphemism, of course. A kind way of acknowledging that as the years go by and we move into that stage of life called 'old age', all sorts of issues begin to emerge which we haven't encountered before.

Aches and pains which never used to be there. A decline in our physical stamina. A stiffness in most of our joints. A loss of that sharpness of vision. A slowly increasing deafness. Limbs which will no longer do what they're meant to do. A mind which starts to function less than coherently. A memory slowly going AWOL.

It's simpler, and kinder, I suppose, to observe that growing old never comes alone. We all know what's intended by the phrase.

And yet, a very large part of the struggles of increasing years is that fact that growing old does in fact 'come alone'. An aloneness is often a feature of those advancing years.

The folk who were always there for us, are often no longer there. A person's spouse has maybe died. Their friends have often likewise now departed this life: and those that are left are less able themselves to be out.

And, increasingly confined as often those well up in years can be - at home, in a Nursing Home, or for long spells in hospital - the out-of-sight-and-out-of-mind phenomenon sets in. Folk no longer visit as they used to do.

You can feel very much alone.

Seeing folk today has impressed that on me again. An elderly man in the Hospice. A lady confined in a hospital room on her own. A lady moving up in years whose husband has now died.

Growing old doesn't come alone. Except, of course, it does. Very often with our growing old comes the experience of being alone.

It's an aspect of our pastoral care whose pressing demands lie much upon my heart these days. We're an ageing population - and an ageing congregation, too.

It's a ministry more needful now than ever! We must find the ways to make the words of the song our own - You'll never walk alone!

Holiday Club - day 3

There are close on 160 children now who have been registered for the Holiday Club. The place is simply swarming with children these mornings! It's a wonderful sight, and a wonderful privilege we have in sharing the gospel with them.

The morning starts with them all crowded into the church.

There's a comedy sketch to begin with. Our local hero, Orran McSporran, comes on to compete in a games contest against two other competitors from the team. Today the guy is thoroughly pentitent. He'd been cheating the first two days, which the children all spotted - and so they've been jeering him since. Today the girls who were leading out front changed the script, got Orran McSporran to say he was genuinely sorry, and managed to get all the jeers turned to cheers!

We sing the theme song, Undefeated Champion - a fast-moving, knee-slapping, arm-waving event which all of them certainly love.

After that it's time for the puppets. The puppet show tells the story straight from the Bible. Today it's the story of the feeding of the 5,000 and Peter walking on the water. The children watch and listen with rapt attention. Sometimes you could hear a pin drop it's so quiet.

And remember that's a hundred and fifty high-as-a-kite children!

They split into groups after that - "remember to follow your leader!" - and head off for their games, and crafts and 'group times', when they also get their snack. We've a hard-working 'kitchen staff' and folk who've fed in their home-baking. The miracle of the feeding of the 5,000 doesn't seem a million miles away from where we are!

At the end of the morning they all come back to the church.

More singing.

A talk on the story of the day. Today it's my turn. Nothing is impossible for God. Feeding 5,000 with a few small scraps of food? Walking on the water? I tell them of how God met our needs in a previous church in a quite remarkable way. It seemed completely impossible: but he did it. To this day I don't know how! We want them to know how great this Jesus is, and learn to trust him too.

There's a memory verse to follow. We want to get the truths of the Scriptures stored in their sponge-like minds.

The children then pray. Groups of the children come out and say a short prayer. Some of the prayers are quite moving. With child-like simplicity they hit the mark.

Another song. This time quieter. I have a Maker.

There's a game with some of the children out front competing against one another. Today it's who can blow the most bubbles.

Some more singing and then we're done for the morning. Power and might ends the morning on something of a high again. He is the King of kings! He is the King of kings! He is the King of kings!

Louder and louder! A great noise - and a great sight, to see these children praising the Lord like that with all that they are and have.

And that's just the morning!

There's a games night tonight as well. Hundreds are out at that. Twenty different games and twenty different groups of folk moving round the hall. The place is packed. It's a wonderful opportunity to get alongside a range of different people - children and parents alike, all having so much fun.

I've preparation to do, and visits to make as well. People and families to see as ever. And a meeting late on as we work to move things on along the many different 'fronts' on which the work of the Lord progresses in these days.

Sometimes I wonder how it will all get done. But I've to remember as much as the children themselves - "nothing is impossible with God!"

undefeated champion

Our annual Easter Holiday Club started today.

Undefeated Champion is what it's called. And it's a thrill for all of the team to be part of what the Champion continues to do.

It's a busy, full, fun, and presence-of-God-unmistakeably-in-our-midst sort of week.

And this year it features Orran McSporran as a wanna-be champion. Our John missed his career in acting! He's brilliant, and the children all love him.

He won today. And he thinks he's the champ. But is he really? Truly?

Of course not. There's only one undefeated champion. The children are quick on the uptake.

the white African

You remember the Channel 4 film, Mugabe and the White African?

At some considerable risk to the producer, director and camera crew, the film narrated the bold and godly way in which a farmer and his family in Zimbabwe dared to challenge Mugabe.

Mike Campbell, the white African of the film, died today. [See the details in The Zimbabwean]

My brother told me a while ago (and he should know, since he's married to Mike's daughter, and sees them all the time) - he told me that the whole experience aged the man overnight about 20 years.

Mike and his wife have sought to live their lives in obedience to the call of Jesus Christ, and dependence on his promised help. They knew that that is costly. But they also always knew that the cost which they might be called to bear was as nothing compared to the cost that their Lord had borne already for them.

They took to heart what the Lord insists is the heart of his call in Christ - to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God. Mike and his wife did just that.

They looked to the Lord for everything, and over all the many years they've proved God's loving faithfulness again and again. They've followed where he led. And in challenging Robert Mugabe's attempts to oust them from their home, they were not only convicted of the need to act justly and seek justice in the face of cruel and violent oppression, they were conscious as well of the huge responsibility they had under God for the 500 or so workers and their families who were also being harmed and destroyed by the actions of that leader.

They knew that to walk humbly with their God meant acting justly and loving mercy. And they knew that it might well be a costly thing to live like that and follow Jesus Christ in latter day Zimbabwe.

They were not afraid to walk with the Lord. Indeed, within their hearts, like Paul of old, their desire has always been -

"to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead."

Well, today Mike died, a man whose earthly frame bore the scars of the cross of his Lord.

Those who honour the Lord, the Lord in his turn will honour. Be sure of that.

Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord henceforth. Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours, and their works do follow them.

To God be the glory.

dark riders

Dark riders from 'the land of Mordor' stalk the land these days.

The moment we start to follow the Lord, we find ourselves caught up in a massive cosmic conflict. We are born (when we're 'born again') into battle. It's as simple as that.

Everything in hell reacts violently to the work of the Lord. If the legions of hell were less instinctive in the way they invariably react, it might well be harder to see what was going on.

But hell is anything but subtle when the Lord starts progressing his work.

Hell cottons on, far quicker than sometimes we ourselves may do, to what the Lord is doing. There's little doubt in my mind these days that the Lord is on the move. Locally and nationally. Something big is afoot. There are tremors all over the place, little, almost imperceptible tell-tale signs of the footsteps of the Lord.

Stirrings in the hearts of different folk. Marvelous works of power. God's Word released in energising, Spirit-powered grace.

Hell takes notice and, convulsed by a certain desperation, panic and horror, reacts in violent fashion.

But the devil invariably overplays his hand. The way that the same assault is replicated in one context after another gives the game away. He's plainly out to undermine that work of God, and between today and yesterday there's been a constant barrage from the pits of hell against the church of God. A vicious, mean and underhand endeavour on the part of hell to set God's people one against the other and fracture any oneness we may have.

The devil knows there's so much strength in unity. So the dark riders from the land of Mordor start galloping out across the varied contours of our corporate life, intent on tearing huge long trenches of ill-feeling and division through our ranks.

As I say, it's the fact that this has been replicated at point after point these last two days - in all sorts of different contexts - it's that which gives the game away. It's really rather obvious what's going on.

Especially on the back of a significant word from the Lord on Sunday, which all of us were deeply conscious of: especially on the back of folk from different backgrounds coming together from right across the country on Monday.

Hell is roused in anger.

We must be more alert than ever and constantly on on our guard.

We must learn to plead the cross of Jesus and apply it moment by moment.

The dark riders are done for. But not by any magic.

life

No two days are ever the same. Except for their being pretty full!

I have the enormous privilege of sharing with folk in the highs and the lows of their lives.

This morning again I had time with Calum; he's shortly to be starting as minister up at Macduff, and this was really his last main chance to touch base with me here before he goes. It's a daunting prospect for any young man - but exciting, too. And there's lots he wants to talk about.

I forget sometimes that I'm actually getting older: and I suppose as well it sometimes doesn't really cross my mind that a younger generation wants to tap in to the reservoir of decades-long experience I've gained.

The time that we have flies by. There's never the time to pursue all we want to be covering. But I share his keen expectancy, and have no doubt that he'll be greatly used by God in following through that calling to Macduff.

There's the lunch-time service next. The last for a while as we take a bit of a break through the next few weeks as the schools move into holiday mode.

Being the last of the 'term', we celebrate the sacrament. The bread and wine are passed along the pews. There are those for whom this is, I think, the first time in long years that they have taken part in this; a tangible way of their welcoming Jesus himself into their hearts and lives.

It's a simple, moving service, centred round the briefest exposition of the Word, remembering that Jesus Christ has brought us near: to God - and also to each other. A communion service.

There's something very fitting in our sitting round the tables in the hall and sharing lunch together once the service in the church is done. A sense of belonging, being bound to each other in Christ.

There are 'lows' in life as well, of course. And through the afternoon I'm spending time with people who have recently been bereaved. Mainly those well up in years, for whom their own impending death must plainly be quite soon. I mean, when you're up in your nineties you know you don't have ages still to go.

We talk about Jesus, and why he's so different from anyone else, and why it's because of all that he's done that we're able to cherish the hope that our death isn't really the end.

One lady hasn't been at worship for long years. She used to be at worship in the dim and distant past: but 'other things' crept in. Things which made it hard for her to share in weekly worship, so the habit of a worship-less observance of a Sunday slowly formed. A very hard habit to kick.

She seems glad to be able to talk about Jesus again. It somehow helps to buttress what small hope she has been fostering in her heart. But there's masses of ground to make up with her. Years and years of the soil of her heart remaining simply fallow and unploughed.

It's best that our hearts are being 'ploughed' and 'harrowed' and sown with the seed of God's Word when we're young. Or at least a good deal younger than ninety!

So I'm meeting with folk in the evening as well and we're working away at the Scriptures. Seeking to learn what they mean. Seeking to see how the Scriptures apply to our lives. Bedding the seed of the Word in the soil of these teachable hearts.

And seeing the growth which then follows is a privilege, joy and delight!

giving

As the heat of the sun melts the glacier ice, so our hearts are finally melted by the warmth of God's love in Christ. Giving best flows from gratitude, not guilt.

We've been working at this for a while, the issue of our giving. Not just giving in financial terms, of course, though that as often as not is a good and helpful guide to the state of our hearts.

We want to cultivate a culture of giving, a pattern of living where generous, costly giving is very much the essence of our way of life.

We want to preach Jesus, in other words. We want him to to be seen and honoured and known.

But how does that cutlure of giving come about?

Certainly not through guilt. Guilt is to giving what duty is to doing. As a motivating factor, it only ever gets you just a little way along the road at best.

I saw someone tonight who exemplified that pretty well. You're making me feel guilty! he said, when I asked him, a member elsewhere of Christ's church, where he'd worshipped since coming here four or five years ago.

It wasn't a loaded question at all. But it felt to the man like the question was laden with guilt. Such guilt can make a person pitch up at our worship, I suppose. But I'm not under any illusions that such feelings of guilt will really effect major change. Guilt may get him to worship: but it won't ever keep him there.

Guilt like that may chip little bits of the glacier ice away. But it won't ever melt the whole mass. Something more is needed. The warmth of the love of the Lord. A profound and overwhleming sense of gratitude.

Grace is a pre-requisite for a culture of giving.

The grace of God being preached. The grace of God being lived. The grace of God being felt and known. The grace of God pervading all our life. Our words, our conversations. Our friendships, our relationships. Our actions, our reactions. Our outlook and our attitudes.

Grace in every single fibre of our corporate life.

A group of us here have been meeting together a few times now to think this whole thing through. We were meeting again this evening. And, again, I think we made some progress.

It's not just giving as such which we want to promote - though there are good practical reasons at present for needing to do just that ('balancing the books' is the phrase which springs to mind)! It's a culture of giving which we're wanting to foster and grow.

And that always starts with grace.

The most extended treatment of this theme which Scripture gives is found in Paul's second surviving letter to the church at Corinth. For two whole chapters the guy goes on at length about the principles of giving. He starts with grace.

"We want you to know about the grace that God has given the Macedonian churches."

It's a work of God, a work of God's grace in the hearts of these glacier men.

"Out of the most severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity."

Not the most auspicious set of circumstances, you'd have thought - severe trial and extreme poverty. But it's joy which prompts their giving. Gratitude and sheer delight in God: not guilt or any sense of duty.

Grace.

"For you know the grace of our (note that possessive pronoun!) Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich."

The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ.

It's where he begins, and it's where he ends as well.

"Because of the service by which you have proved yourselves, men will praise God for the obedience that accompanies your confession of the gospel of Christ, and for your generosity in sharing with them and with everyone else. And in their prayers for you their hearts will go out to you, because of the surpassing grace God has given you. Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!"

Grace and gratitude.

A potent combination!

revolution or evolution?

If you want to move forward, is revolution preferable to evolution?

The one is high-risk, often quite painful and costly, but at least has the merits of speed, closure and certainty. The change has been effected and everyone knows where they stand. They may not like it, but at least there's no confusion.

The other is gentler, slower, and more overtly sensitive to need people have for time and space when countenancing change. But it suffers from the danger that the time of transition can often be very confused, and the change may never actually happen.

It's the classic how-do-you-get-into-the-swimming-pool sort of question. Do you take a running jump, or gingerly ease your way in down the steps at the shallow end?

Is change meant to be a gradual thing? Or a sudden and radical turn-around?

I guess there's no simple answer. In most places the sun rises slowly and the light of dawn creeps bit by bit across the morning sky. But at the equator both sunrise and sunset are quick. Dark becomes light in an instant almost.

It depends a bit where you are.

Most of the time the change which takes place in God's world is gradual and slow. Spring comes slowly. The flowers take time to grow into blossom and bloom.

But sometimes it's sudden and rapid.

My day's been spent debating such issues in one sort of context and another. How does change happen? How do we bring it about?

Do we go for broke (the spirit of the revolution)? Or do we work away with patient grace and faithfulness, content to seek a merely slow and incremental growth (the way of 'evolution')?

They're not easy questions. And there aren't ever any easy answers.

Jehovah Jireh

Wednesdays mark a mid-point through our week.

I always know the benefit of the chance to pause and to join with others in worship. It's not long - a mere half hour or so - but those moments of worship together are manna to the soul.

We've quite a large number of elderly folk for whom that sort of service works well. Right time of day, and right length of time. Plus there's a shared lunch afterwards The full package: fuel for the soul and the body. What we all need, no matter our age or stage.

It's another service to prepare for, of course. And there are all sorts of things on the go today, with much to be done with a view to the time on Friday with the children from the school, and people to be seen, and issues to be worked through.

And the 'annual meeting' of the congregation at night to be prepared for too.

There aren't that many out at the meeting tonight. I'm never quite sure why that's so. People have busy lives, I know, and the prospect of another evening out is often not attractive one small bit.

But it's good to take stock from time to time. And in doing so tonight for the first time in all of the years I've been here it's clear that we're now being obliged to be looking in faith to the Lord. The sums don't add up in terms of our giving these days. We're having to look to the Lord to provide.

We've found ourselves constrained by the Lord to appoint a Development Ministries Leader. But when you check our income for last year and factor in a salary for this new post - well, you're left asking the sort of question Isaac asked his Dad when climbing Mount Moriah.

I can see the fire and the wood, okay, Dad. "But where is the lamb for the burnt offering?"

Translated into our own situation - Where's the money to pay for this post?

An awkward question for Dad to be having to answer. Abraham was very clear about God's call. This is what the Lord had said to do.

It made no sense from a merely human point of view, it simply didn't add up. Sometimes that's the way it is in following Christ.

But the call of God was clear. And so the answer that he gave his son was pretty clear as well. "God himself will provide..."

It became a pivotal moment in the life of Abraham's family: a foundational truth in the way they lived their lives.

They called that place The Lord Will Provide.

That's where we're at ourselves these days. And it's no bad place to be. Scary, for sure. There must have been a sick feeling in the pit of Abraham's stomach. Humanly this was him pressing the self-destruct button.

But that dying to self and living entirely for Christ is the platform for his resurrecting power to be released.

Hudson Taylor, the pioneering missionary to China, had two plaques on his sitting room wall, I seem to recall. One said Ebenezer - "hitherto the Lord has helped us." The other said Jehovah Jireh - "the Lord will provide."

He's not let us down in the past. We'll trust him for the future!

Are you up for the ride?

Aslan on the move

Tuesdays always start at speed these days.

The soups have to be made before I'm off to the school for the first of the two assemblies at 9am. By the time I'm back from the school it's after half past ten, and half the morning has gone!

Today I'd agreed to meet with folk at 11am, with a view to the 2 hour 'Easter presentation' which we hold for the P7 pupils on Friday of this week. There's a team of about 8 of us who'll lead the children through that time: we need to get our act together, know what each is doing, and how it'll all fit together. It's a useful time, and we're all looking forward to the time with the pupils this week.

It's great fun, a wonderful opportunity to help get clear what Easter is really all about, and it's lovely having the children along at our halls. So it's more than worth the effort to ensure that it all runs smoothly and well.

But it's almost time for my weekly meeting with Douglas. The morning again has flown.

It's good to have the time to talk and pray things through each week with Douglas. There's a certain sort of buzz about the place along the road at Holy Cross these days, where Douglas is. Things are happening. Maybe the outside observer would miss it all. But to a man like Douglas, attuned to the work of the Spirit of God, it's thoroughly unmistakeable. He hasn't known anything like it in all of the years that he's been here.

In a strange sort of way it mirrors what's happening here. Something's afoot. In the language of the Narnia Chronicles, Aslan's on the move. We're glad of the chance to pray, and are conscious in praying God's purpose is thereby being furthered.

Once Douglas is gone, there's another member of the team involved in Friday's 'Easter presentation' to be seen. She couldn't manage this morning, and this is her first time involved in the thing, so I need to work the whole thing through with her and put her mind at rest.

Prayer reflects our dependence on the Lord. Preparation reflects his involvement of us in his work. We are his co-workers. We have to do the work.

At night there are two rather different meetings to attend. The first up town, with big church leaders from around the city of Edinburgh. The second a team of folk from wee church here, applying our minds to the practical issues relating to our giving as a people in these days.

And before I know it, another whole day has gone by!

There's a lot going on. Aslan's on the move. That's the deepest truth about these days.

It's important for us to be ready.

attractive

A meeting day. Meeting different people, at different points, all through the day.

Folk were coming from all over the country to a meeting here from late morning through until mid-afternoon. One arrived good and early - before I was back from seeing some other people. He was highly impressed by the welcome he received from the lady who does our cleaning here.

She's a marvel. Her cleaning is top of the range in terms of the work that she does. And she's always so amazingly warm and welcoming - to absolutely everyone. This guy was so impressed by her that he felt obliged to comment on the welcome that he was given.

That's how it's meant to be.

The gospel lived out in the lives of his people. it's very powerful stuff.

We were reading the other Sunday morning what Paul has to say to Titus about teaching his people to translate the gospel into every sphere of their lives, including their working lives -

".. so that in every way they will make the teaching about God our Saviour attractive."

That's exactly what this lady invariably does! An object lesson for us all.

thankfulness

There are all sorts of very real privileges that go hand in hand with being a parish minister.

Not the least of which is that of sharing with a family in a time of sore bereavement, and leading the service of worship to mark the passing from this earthly life of one who's been so dear to all of them.

It is, for sure, a privilege. Hard work, far from easy, and often thoroughly draining. Yes. That goes with the territory. But a privilege, very definitely.

This morning there was a service of thanksgiving along at the crematorium. The man who'd died was 92 and the chapel was filled to capacity - standing room only. There would have been a good 70 people present - perhaps a few more. Not bad for a man that age, and indicative of the esteem in which he was held and the impact that he'd plainly had on many folk.

When you reach that age most of your own contemporaries are no longer there. It's getting to be the last man standing sort of thing.

His grand-daughter read a poem: and his son spoke, too. Not an easy thing for either in the swirling of emotions in their hearts. But they both did really well. Another sort of tribute to a man they loved so much.

It was that sort of life that he'd lived, I think. People warmed to him. Family, friends, colleagues and neighbours - all alike were drawn to him.

My perception was that it all stemmed from his gratitude - an outlook and an attitude to all of life which at its core was thankful for the many varied blessings that he'd known. It does something to a person when there is that deep-seated sense of gratitude within. And it almost invariably warms folk to the person, too.

No wonder that we're always being exhorted to that gratitude ourselves.

"O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good:

his love endures for ever."

That latter line is the potent refrain that runs through every verse of one of the songs in the Bible. Line after line after line. Driving home this fundamental truth into our hearts. The Lord loves us. And his love is enduring and strong.

A multitude of different things each day bear witness to that love. And none more so, of course, than that supreme expression of his love - the giving of his Son, the Lord Jesus Christ.

Those who know Jesus - they above all will be thankful.

To have been rescued and saved and delivered by God - how can a person be anything other than grateful? And how can each day be seen by such folk as anything other than truly a gift from the Lord?

Our whole perspective on life turns around when we cultivate this sort of gratitude deep in our hearts.

The tasks to be done, however routine and mundane, become an act of worship whereby our thanks is being continually offered up to God.

The challenges and problems that we face, however hard and tough, become, not one more cause for big complaint, but rather one more context for reliance on the Lord.

The whole of life is altered when there's thankfulness like that. We become the sort of people folk are glad to have around. Warm, uplifting, humorous, fun: kind, understanding, patient and true.

There's really nothing quite like being a part of such a fellowship where genuine, heart-felt gratitude to God is at the core of who folk are!