Its been some time since my last confession

My first year of ministry has been rather hectic so I have not really had time to blog.  Hopefully I will get back in the swing of it again soon.  I was encouraged recently by one of my deacons telling me that her friend had been reading my blog and suddenly realized who I was.  At least I know my words have not been completely wasted. 

We had a great week of prayer a couple of weeks ago.  Everyone was encouraged to try as many sessions as they could and to try different ways of active praying, such as, praying through art, praying through walking, praying through music, and praying through writing.  Here is my contribution from the day on writing.  God does speak in some mysterious ways - here is my confession, however, I would point out I have never done drugs....!

Its been sometime since my last confession.

I don't know how long its been.

I know I missed the bus last week and shouted out and screamed.

If only I'd have been on time.

If only that man from number forty-nine hadn't made me read that sign.

What was he trying to tell me?

What was he trying to say?

'Keep off the grass' it read.

Its been sometime since my last confession.

Gargoyles

Gargoyles always seem to amuse me - but then I'm easily humoured.  Designed to stop the rain water from the roof falling directly onto the stonework below.  Designed to look evil or at least menacing to remind us that evil can be found outside of the church or cathedral and not inside it or perhaps to ward off evil spirits.  

These were all taken at Gloucester Cathedral.  It was a beautiful sky that day.

Do Youthful Tears Still Flow?

DO YOUTHFUL TEARS STILL FLOW?

Each November we remember those

who gave their lives for us.

Those remaining from the wars

without complaint or fuss,

Will bow their heads in homage and

think of those that died.

Up and down the country they will

            lay their wreaths with pride.

Some will talk in ageing voices of

comrades buried young.

And recall a distant land where

those boys did not belong.

Many have seen the unnamed graves

where crimson poppies grow.

They have seen the price of freedom,

where youthful tears still flow.

As images reel round and round

            in their ever fading sight.

Let us bow our heads and give thanks

            to those who fought for right.

copyright Maggs Payne

Crossing the line

I'm back!  Sorry I've been gone for a while but life has got in the way of blogging.  Something to do with living in Gloucestershire and pastoring a church in Burton Upon Trent and the 105 miles in between.  

I ventured into Derby for the first time the other week and made the mistake of parking in a 'car park' in Crompton Street only to be clamped for 'being over the designated bay'.  I dispute this as only one tyre was on the white line.  As as certain tennis player would say, 'You cannot be serious... the ball was on the line!'   Here is the picture to prove it.... and a cartoon that caught my eye from asboJesus that seemed to strike a chord.  Lol (laugh out loud).  http://asbojesus.wordpress.com.

The line was crossed!

Hop, Skip and Jump

Hmmm well it has been a while since the last blog.  Please forgive me. I seem to have been up to my eyes in dissertation, trying to sell the house and thinking about my future ministry in Burton upon Trent.  


On the house front we have found somewhere in Burton that seems ideal.  It was amusing to find out that the house is owned by a retired Anglican vicar and his wife.  The downside is we still haven't sold our house yet and so we are not in a position to make him an offer.  Our neighbours of 15 years moved out last week it seems it is an end of an era.  The new neighbours are very interesting though.  He is a Methodist minister from the other side of Derby, Matlock I think, due to retire in a couple of years time.  When he asked me over the fence what I did for a living he laughed and did a little gig around the garden at my reply.  God really does move in mysterious ways and certainly has a sense of humour.  I am convinced God is playing a game of chess with me.  Well I am obviously not a bishop but am I a mere pawn or a more strategic piece?  A rook perhaps, you never know where they will move next, or at least it is difficult to keep up with their next moves.  One hop, skip and a jump and I will be in Burton an who knows what hopping, skipping and jumping for joy will take place once I'm there.  I can't wait...

So is cheque-mate the end of the game or the beginning?  (There seems to be a recurrent theme going on here.)  Are there lots of rematches to come?  Is there any point in playing when you know God is going to win?  Or does the game say more about free-will and our ability to choose the next move?  My theology is more Arminian than it is Calvinist.  Which means that I do not have any strong beliefs in predestination.  We have a choice.  We can serve God and do His will or we can go about our own thing leading a wild life.  Whilst I have on occasion opted on the wilder side of life nothing compares with the sense of fulfilment that I have now.  Even when we serve God it is not the case of being puppets to the puppet-master in the sky.  We are part of God's mission and have our own roles to fulfil.  (I am currently looking at Evan Roberts' role in the Welsh Revival - more on that in the next blog.)  Was New Church Burton upon Trent the only church that I could serve God in as pastor.  No, I could have served God in another church.   Is he calling me to New Church Burton upon Trent - Yep!  For this is the Church who have said, 'Yes' to God and 'Yes' to trusting me to lead them in.  Who knows what is in store for us but I am in no doubt that God is going to bless us big time.    

    

A Last Supper

So does the Last Supper represent the end of the journey or the beginning?

Having lived in Nailsworth for some 15 years (I only meant to stay for 2 or 3) and the fact that I shall be leaving soon (when I eventually sell the house) I thought it was about time that I went to St George's Church.  I can never work out what page I am suppose to be on but I seemed to manage reasonable well to follow the communion service.  Some of the communion was sung and although I couldn't join in, as I didn't know the tune, I really enjoyed the change.  The church seemed friendly and warm and some of the faces seemed familiar - I guess I have been passing many of them in the street on a day to day basis.  

The big draw to the church however, was the painting that hung over the altar....

   A Last Supper by Lorna May Wadsworth

The painting is magnificent, a modern interpretation of Da Vinci's Last Supper.  

Unlike Da Vinci however, the central figure is a black Jesus.  Having been commissioned to paint the piece, following a legacy given to the church, Wadsworth retained artistic license to interpret the Last Super as she saw fit.  She chose to make all the disciples good looking with Jesus himself based on a  supermodel by the name of Tafari!  Why not?  It certainly makes you think.  

The painting hung for a time in St Martin in the Fields, Trafalgar Square but has now found its way home to Nailsworth.  If you get a chance to go and look at the painting yourself then go - apparently the light is better about 2.00pm when the summer sun finds its way through the stained glass window as it searches out the altar.

Communion is all about remembering the man who hung on the cross so that we may be reconciled to the Father.  Whilst this may be my first, and perhaps last supper in Nailsworth it is a memorable one...