I have a meeting soon. I have finished what I was doing earlier today (writing a sermon) and have got the coffee going for the participants in the meeting (except for my colleague Lynsey who drinks fruit tea. I must boil the kettle soon). I find myself with about 20 minutes before the meeting starts in which to ruminate, cogitate and exfoliate (couldn’t think of a suitable third ‘-ate’ word).
So what to do? If I start reading a book I will undoubtedly be at a good / important bit when people arrive and will have to put it down, possibly losing my place or at least having to re-read that bit in order to pick up where I left off.
I could vacuum the floors, but I did that earlier (see how I subtly dropped in a bit of housework credit).
20 minutes is not long enough to watch a TV programme I missed while at the conference earlier this week.
play with practice some more of my new magic tricks, but when people arrive I will have to put them away hastily otherwise they may see some aspect of the trick they are not supposed to.
I have thought about surfing the web for some illustrations for my sermon, or for some pictures to brighten up the PowerPoint that will accompany it (so people have something nice to look at as they fall asleep). But having just completed the sermon I need to have a break from it before I come back to it afresh.
There’s always Facebook. But I am trying to be more disciplined with myself about how often I go on FB. In my self-designed weaning off procedure, not going on now is good for me (so I can go on for longer later).
It’s also possible that someone will arrive ten minutes early (it happened last time) so I had better not go to the loo now. (Should have thought of that sooner. Rats.)
So what to do? I know. I can always spend the time blogging… [short time elapses as I answer the doorbell. HONESTLY, it rang just as I typed the word ‘blogging’ but it was my daughter not bothering to use her own key.]
The only problem is I can’t think of a witty way to end the blog [cue doorbell].
As I have just survived another birthday I had the joy of spending some birthday pennies on some new magic tricks. Some of them were waiting for me when I got home from the Ministers’ Conference (see earlier posts). After sorting out emails, messages and other important stuff waiting for me I opened them up and have had a
I am pleased…
I am chuffed…
I am excited…
I am frustrated.
You see there are three others in my nukelear family and they have varying attitudes towards my tricks. My wife’s approach could be summarised as ‘tolerant indifference’. “Hmm, yes, it’s a magic trick. Very good dear, now let me get on with the important stuff.” My son’s response is clinical and investigative. “Let me work out how you did that.” My daughter is a better audience. “Oooooh! Do it again!” (although worryingly as she grows older she is now adopting aspects of both my wife’s and son’s attitudes). In short, I run out of audience very quickly at home.
I’d like to perform these tricks for other people but am wary of becoming a magic trick bore. I even took some with me to the conference in the (vain) hope that someone might be interested in my interest and ask if I had any with me – at which point I could go ‘Tadaa’ and perform a couple of prestidigitations that would leave them speechless.
So if any of you ever feel the need to be an audience for me, please don’t feel reticent about asking. I would prefer it if you were more like an early daughter, or even better my niece who performed the most spectacular double-take I have ever seen at the climax of one of my tricks. But if you are more like my wife or son I can cope (just don’t expect me to show you how it’s done).
At the risk of being accused of teaching about an old God with new tricks… a thought occurred to me. If I get frustrated by being ignored / patiently tolerated / investigated how must God feel about the way we treat him?
At our Ministers’ Conference we have been blessed by both the main speakers. Viv O’Brien has been challenging and inspiring as we consider preaching styles and looking after ourselves pastorally.
Stewart Henderson (www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/presenters/stewart_henderson.shtml) has been equally inspiring and also engaging as he has shared some of his life and experience and (brilliantly) some of his poems. I love the way in which he paints such evocative pictures using unusual and unexpected combinations of the 26 letters in our alphabet.
I confess to being an amateur amateur poet myself and have been in awe of the creativity and power of the poems which Stewart has written and performed for us. There is a wonderful juxtaposition of humour and sobriety in some of the poems that is delicious to behold. The humour disarms and then the point is made while the defences are down so that it strikes deep and true. Jonathan Miller described humour as “a sabbatical from reality” that enables us to see things from a different perspective and then re-evaluate reality. That seems to be what is happening in the poems and I love it.
One of the points Stewart made was how different people receive different things from the same poem, some of which may not have been intended by the poet at all. I guess that’s because we all receive the poems through the graphic equaliser of our experiences and personality that diminishes the volume of some aspects of the poem and accentuates others. I had this experience a while ago when I read a poem at the start of a sermon. The poem was intended to be a light-hearted poke at my own inability to find things I have mislaid in comparison to my wife’s apparent ability to know where everything is in the house at any given time. I was using it to open a sermon on the Lost Sheep and Lost Coin (Luke 15) by illustrating how hard we look for things.
I had not anticipated that the opening line might cause upset for a member of the congregation who had divorced from his wife and whose ex-wife had been verbally abusive towards him. I apologise again to him (if he should ever read this blog) and anyone else who is offended by the poem but I am going to take my courage in both hands and reproduce the poem for you here in the confident hope that Stewart Henderson is highly unlikely ever to read it (at least not until after the conference, when I will be a long way away!).
My wife says I'm a loser
I'm inclined to think she's right.
I don't know where my things are but
She doesn't share my plight.
Though my keys aren't where I leave them
She always finds them there.
Somehow they're invisible
Despite how hard I stare.
My mobile phone IS mobile
I'm sure it runs around:
I can look in vain for hours but
In seconds she has it found.
She says I don't look properly
When I overlook it
And start an inquisition
To find out just who took it.
I'm sure my searching's thorough:
That I look in the right places
Which is why I get so ratty
In my oh-so frantic chases.
"Where did you last see it?"
She asks me through my bile.
"If I knew I wouldn't need your help."
I sulk back like a child.
My wife's knows where to start things:
"I've already looked there twice"
Means that's her quest's beginning
And where she finds the prize.
As I'm reunited with what I lost
And turn off my pressure cooker
I consider it a huge blessing
That I married such a looker.
Being at this Conference Centre reminds me of another previous occasion when I was here. It was a meeting of the Baptist Union of Great Britain’s Younger Leaders’ Forum (snappy title!). There was another gathering here at the same time – a gathering of members of a Christian singles’ network. They had a bewildering range of activities organised for the weekend that enabled people to get to know one another.
The meal tables were set out with cards showing where the BU group should sit and where members of this singles’ network should sit. At one meal three of the female members of the YLF were sat at a table waiting for others to arrive. One of the men from the singles’ network sauntered over to the table and started to sit down, announcing his arrival with the immortal chat-up line: “I don’t think I have inflicted myself on you yet.” The three young women were rather flustered by this and panicked. The only defence they could muster was to point to the card on the table and say, “We’re Baptists!”
The man left.
A number of thoughts occur to me from this encounter. One was to ask what the thinking was behind “I don’t think I have inflicted myself on you yet.” Was it intended to come across as casual and self-deprecating? Was his self-esteem that low, or was he simply very self-aware?
The second thought was to ask what sort of defence against unwanted advances “We’re Baptists!” is. Is being a Baptist the dating equivalent of Kryptonite to the prospective superman lothario, causing him to lose all allure unless he flees immediately. Do Baptists not participate in dating rituals thus rendering the approach unnecessary? Is declaring oneself to be a Baptist a way of pouring cold water on a suitor’s ardour?
And thirdly, why did the man give up so meekly? Was it the fluster and panic in their voices as the young women declared their Baptist allegiance? Did he realise he was sitting down at the wrong table? Or was he allergic to copious amounts of water?
Since Baptists owe their denominational origins to John the Baptist* I thought I would leave you with one more question:
Q. What do Winnie the Pooh and John the Baptist have in common?
A. They both have the same middle name
**Irony doesn’t work in written text
Today I am off to a three-day conference for Baptist Ministers in the Eastern Baptist Association. It should be a good time of refreshing, sharing of ideas, chatting, eating and all the rest of the important things that happen. Oh yes, the main sessions look good too, being led by my old friend Viv O’Brien.
Going to this conference reminds me of an experience I had a while ago when I went to a conference centre when there was another Christian conference running at the same time. I knew one of the participants, who was running a stall in their ‘marketplace’ and he invited me to come over and see him during one of the breaks. As I was interested in the subject of that conference I gladly accepted the invitation and was happily looking over the different stalls (wallet in hand) when one of the leaders of that conference approached me and asked if I was a member of the conference.
I sheepishly admitted that I wasn’t and he started to ask me about why I was interested in their conference. He told me about their themes and what the organisation did. He listened to my interests related to the subject of his conference and finally he invited me to join them for a couple of sessions. Before I knew it lots of the members of the conference were chatting to me and invited me to rejoin their organisation. (I had been a member in the past but had let the membership lapse). What a great analogy of what church should be like.
Or at least it would be if that whole last paragraph wasn’t a complete fabrication. What actually happened was that the conference leader approached me and asked me to leave (politely) as I did not belong there. I left feeling unwanted and decided that I did not want to renew my membership of an organisation that was so unwelcoming. I hope that is not an analogy for churches!
So what sort of welcome will we get in heaven? An exasperated mother, whose son was always getting into mischief, finally asked him, “How do you expect to get into Heaven?”
The boy thought it over and said, “Well, I’ll just run in and out and in and out and keep slamming the door until St. Peter says, ‘For Heaven’s sake, Jimmy, come in or stay out!'”
A while ago I read Ellen MacArthur’s inspiring book which tells some of her life story in the context of her Vendee Globe race. She truly is an inspirational person and reading the book made me aware of how often I am restricted by what I perceive to be my limitations.
One of the most extraordinary things is that Ellen MacArthur survived the race around the world on ‘power naps’, never sleeping for more than two hours and often only grabbing a few minutes at a time. Apparently it’s something to do with the quality of the sleep rather than the quantity. As someone who feels like I need at least 8 hours of sleep a night I find it difficult to comprehend. Of course, I should not knock it until I have tried it.
Following yesterday’s pathetic exertions on my new bike I have decided that I need a power nap. I will finish writing the blog later.
Note to self – do not power nap with head resting on keyboard.
Today I rode my new bike into town and back for the first time. I can’t believe how many different muscles now hurt. Surely there should be some sort of law preventing such self-inflicted torture. It’s all very well Queen singing ‘I want to ride my bicycle’ but they missed off the verse about all the bits that hurt afterwards.
Okay, it’s evidence of how unfit I am, and I know that if I persevere it will get easier (life lessons there if you want them), but right now I am discovering muscles that hurt in places that I did not know I had. It’s not the bike’s fault. I partly blame the roads and cycle tracks for being so uneven. Bumps that cars take in their stride (figuratively speaking) feel very different when the shock is transmitted up through your handlebars and seat. (More life lessons there if you want them – does God cushion us from the impact of some of the bumps of life?). But I mostly blame myself for not taking the time or effort sooner to get up out of my comfortable seat and get some exercise.
I thought I would leave you with a pothole joke. I feel able to share it as I am an ex-lawyer. What’s the difference between a lawyer and a pothole? You swerve to miss a pothole.