Category: living wittily

Sitting in the car waiting to turn right at the yellow boxes.

Murky early morning drizzle makes visibility a bit of a challenge.

Car coming the other way stops and the driver waves me across. Courtesy & Invitation

I see a cyclist coming up the offside of his car and wait for him to pass.

The cyclist waves his acknowledgement and I wave back. Gratitude & Courtesy

At the same time the driver behind me starts leaning on the horn. Impatience & Anger

Four travellers meet at a busy intersection, three of them see each other.

The fourth can't see beyond the car that's in his way.

I'm glad God didn't answer my muttered prayer for the horn happy motorist.

Would have been far too painful.

But I hope God will answer mine –

that the God of mercy

will bring to maturity

that one fruit of the spirit

of which, after decades of practice,

and serial prayer marathons,

I still have a serious deficit.

Now which one is that?

Conformitas Christi!

In response to my post of a couple of weeks ago, Angela has sent me an unlooked for gift. Thanks Angela – your gift arrived on a day when I was at the kind of meeting which I call a suit meeting, and it gave me an option for later in the day! So, I'm now the proud owner of a sport shirt with the motto "Conformitas Christi!" embroidered in red! With a hoodie carrying the College Logo, and a sport shirt making theological statements of experiential fact, I'm wondering if clothes that either say our convictions explicitly or in code, or that say who we are by advertising, are forms of brand awareness promotion. Only thing is – you wear something that says you're a Christian, there is a question of being consistent with your clothes. Which was what Paul meant when he spoke of Christian believers, having put off their old garments and being clothed with Christ – I think, maybe, as one exegetical option…

Then last night Sheila and I went to a concert in our local church, sponsored by the Arkleston Singers. Local folk who make up an amateur singing group, help raise money for local and wider based charities through public concerts. This one was on behalf of Country Holidays for Inner City Kids (CHICKS). Children and young adults who are disadvantaged, have experienced abuse or neglect, or where parents are not able to cope with them at home, are provided with a week's holiday in Devon and Cornwall. The short video was a beautiful thing to watch and hear. Most of it was the young people themselves telling what their holiday meant – the first time a 14 year old had seen the sea and wanted to know where the deep end was; the young girl who had ridden a horse, the lad who had climbed the climbing wall twice, and come down twice without falling, he said. And they canoed, had water fights, long climbs up hills, and all in the company of trained adults and volunteer carers. One youngster, who had arrived frightened and withdrawn, pointing to the CHICKS logo on a carers shirt and saying it meant being safe. At the end of the holiday they get a personal photo portfolio of them and their friends, a lasting memory of how life can be, that can become hope giving and something to hang on to.

For years I worked within the children's hearing system in Scotland, and I understand the hugely affirming and renewing impact of supported fun, the gift of freedom and friendship somewhere else, for children whose ususal living place is heart breaking – for whatever reason. Sometimes God has to dunt us in the ribs to notice something significant is happening. Standing in the middle of the Arkleston Singers was someone I'd met for the first time 6 hours earlier at the meeting of suits in the University! She too had changed clothes in order to be part of the occasion – and we agreed that the evening was the more significant event, when measured by the criteria of the Kingdom of God in which the valuing and cherishing of children is a key competence – and a sign of Conformitas Christi!

As to the concert – well Mozart's 'Ave Verum', the spiritual 'When I go down to the river to pray', Abba's 'I have a dream', the more contemporary 'You lift me up', Howard Goodall's soul touching arrangement of 'Love Divine', John Rutter's 'Gaelic Benediction' – and Billy Joel, Lloyd Weber. The singing was polished and passionate, the accompanist more than icing on the cake.

Yesterday was one of those days when you live through it and don't realise how much living was in it till you think about it and even blog about it. Hard work verging on tedium in the morning and afternoon, and enjoyment verging on tears in the evening – and in both places folk trying to do their best to make the world work better. In different ways, for different reasons, but the seed often grows secretly, and the Kingdom mindset is to believe in the life potential of seeds. Whether one growing secretly, or countless scattered on rock, among thorns, hard worn paths and good soil – whenever and wherever, seeds grow. The birds, thorns, the trampling feet take their toll, but with life bursting force, seeds grow.

This is what sporting stars do – help our children dream dreams, celebrate life in the body with a laughing crowd, say yes to fun and friendship, and smile at the thought that given another 15 years this wee boy might be an Olympian – that's right, the gift of a dream.

Is this not the best sporting photo of the year so far – at least in the category of athletics and PR?

Augustine, Dante, Bunyan, Jonathan Edwards to name only four. They all used their descriptive powers to create unforgettable images of Hell. A whole genre of fiction describes various manifestations of Hell on Earth. But to my knowledge no one has written an entire novel, or a terrifying sermon, or a poetic masterpiece of epic proportions on one of the most vivid and diabolically convincing contemporary images of life rendered futile, of hope intentionally made sterile, of soul corroding and mind dissolving frustration, of that concatenation of circumstance and coincidence of misfortune, of that collaboration of evil purpose and collective ignoring of consequence, that is the M5 and M6, on a Friday afternoon, as it lies before the Scottish pilgrim journeying from Malvern to the celestial city of Glasgow -  334 miles away.

Because fellow travellers and pilgrims together, that's what I did yesterday from 3.00pm arriving home around 11.p.m. The exquisitely moderated anguish of travelling miles in first and second gear, viewing thousands of traffic cones – (are they self-replicating these things?!) -  is now enhanced by overhead messages informing you well ahead of time of the six mile tailback, the serial congestion at consecutive junctions. So you turn on Radio 2 for the travel update from Sally Travel and find that the roads around the M5 and M6 are likewise congested – beginning to sound like a motorway system with a serious chest infection and the antibiotics are not working. So no escape routes or less stressful diversions. It isn't any comfort to know that once you are past Birmingham and Machester there is a further 6 mile tailback in both directions south of Lancaster, result of an earlier accident and long term roadworks with closed lanes. And yes I did consider trains and planes but serial meetings in different parts of the country at different times of the week meant nothing came close to working.

Nevertheless. And I mean nevertheless in the biblical and theological sense of a truth that reconfigures reality, that offers an alternative worldview, a happening or utterance that, despite present circumstances, nevertheless construes existence in a new way and points towards hopefulness. So. Nevertheless. That eight hour journey had its moments of revelation. Somewhere between Birmingham and Manchester, across miles of hazy autumn dusk, spread one of the most glorious sunsets I've ever seen. For ten minutes liquid gold cooled across the clouds in a slowly worked filigree of light and shadow, woven in various shades and tones of yellow, orange, and red. This happened as I was listening to Brahms' violin concerto just as it closed the heart wrenching slow movement and the finale took off. It's hard to sit on the M5 and M6 fuming and thinking black diabolic thoughts about hobgoblins and foul fiends in the shape of traffic cones, when an impromptu performance of a Creation makeover, with musical accompaniment, is put on gratuitously for anyone prepared to see and recover a sense of perspective, and be grateful for life, beauty, love, Sheila, Victoria Plums (I bought a box at the M&S in the Services), Brahms, God, and a home to travel to – and even Sally on Radio 2 whose job is to read that litany of despair every half hour, to drivers, the modern pilgrims, and to do so every blessed day. Yes, every blessed day. Sunset is a stressbuster – not the best strapline for God's creative extravagance but worked for me.

The sunset photograph can be found at Trucking Photographs – where there are other sunsets captured along the motorway – hopefully taken when the trucks were stationary….. Thanks to them though, for the free use of their images. 

Just back from a brilliant holiday in Crail. say what you like about weather, if it's good Scotland's the best place for a holiday. Say what you like about Scotland, but if the weather's good ye cannae beat it.

And this past week we had sunshine seven days out of eight; and three of them were unbroken glorious effusions of vitamin conferring, spirit lifting, mood enhancing, emotion enriching, holiday enjoying sunshine. And if that wasn't enough what about pear and cinnamon scones, eh? And Anster mature cheese on centimetre thick oatcakes, eh? And a Fisher and Donaldson peach and cream gateau shared with Stuart and Suzanne? Oh, and the home made quiche pies, bought just as they came out the oven and consumed half an hour later, sitting on the rocks looking across to the Isle of May – and a glass bottle of traditional Victorian lemonade with bits in it? Not to mention the Highland burgundy red, ever tried them – naw, it isnae a wine, it's a tattie! Visited Kellie Castle where they grow old varieties of seed potatoes and sell some of them as home produce – and these tatties are red on the outside and red on the inside – and delicious…with butter.

And just so you don't think I live on my stomach – we also did the Pittenweem art festival where some of the art was just brilliant, and some of it just good – but the folk were welcoming, interesting and interested.  Read a couple of books as well – the new biography of Calvin and re-read Anne Tyler's Patchwork Planet, a deeply satisfying novel, a playfully serious view of providence without blaming every detail on God. As my immersion in Colossians continues, I read it a few times as well – a kind of early morning mind expansion exercise. talking of exercise, we also walked a bit – longest was 8 miles in one day (that was when the quiche was consumed). All in all – a great holiday.

Recent visit to the People's Palace where we took some photos. A recent post became an essay on sectarianism, social justice and the coloured history of Glasgow. Here's a couple of the photos – it should be clear from the title of this post which refers to beauty……

Apart from the fact they were taken in the same place, the connection is my father's wide and eclectic horticultural skill. He grew cacti and succulents as a hobby, and introduced me to the beauty of the Himalayan Mountain flower, the Hibiscus. I enjoyed a meander around this mini-sub tropical garden and encountering both – brought back memories of helping to riddle leaf mould, peat, sand and soil in varied measure to make up the requisite compost for my dad – whose compost recipes involved quantity measurement as finely calibrated and as securely kept as the recipe for Irn Bru.

Me with cactus growing out of my head – deliberate pose adopted during an attack of childishness.

These are amongst the most beautiful flowers in the world – way ahead of orchids for me, though the flower only lasts a day or two.

Two scenarios observed, and one reported, on the same day.

Walking behind three visitors to Old Aberdeen, who were wandering three abreast on the pavement. They are engaged in conversation with each other when one is called on their mobile. He answers, just as a second mobile rings and she too answers. Leaving the third, who promptly took out her mobile, punched a number and started talking. Three people move from one conversation with each other to three conversation with three different other people. But then they start talking to each other again, while each is still on their phone. Is this a modern parable of the tower of Babel, or is this the evolution of multiple conversation?

Walking in Crathes Castle we come across a woman playing cricket with her son. He is bowling and she knows how to handle the bat. Half an hour later we are walking past again, this time the boy is batting and mum is – well mum is bowling, while talking to someone on her mobile (not hands free!). Now I don't know a lot about cricket – but I think when bowling, the non bowling arm is supposed to come down before the bowling arm, to allow balance, alignment and accuracy. Anyway, the lad was becoming frustrated because mum is multi-tasking instead of paying attention to the fine art of bowling. The mobile conversation is more important than attentiveness to her son.

Talking with a friend later the same day about a minister who last week was leading a half day church conference. At the time for quiet prayer together in which the participants had been asked by the minister to reflect on the significance of listening to God, the minister was observed thumbing away on his Blackberry.

All of which makes me ask – when the choice is between a person and a mobile, which is to be given priority? I know – there is also a person at the other end of the mobile. Yes – but that just makes me ask the same question another way – how important is it for us to be present to those who are in our presence? Including God, who as far as I know doesn't require ICT to speak – just our attention. By the way, this post isn't an apologia by a luddite, or a swipe at technology as such – just some shared observations on changing patterns of behaviour that seem to me to have important implications for our practice of what used to be called courtesy.