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Archive for February, 2020

Things have been tough in parish life lately. Tougher than usual. I am bad at concentrating on things in the normal run of life, but recently I’ve often struggled to find a way to rest my mind.

I have found some things that have helped though. So I thought I’d share them in case your life is also causing your head to scramble like the only version of eggs that the Engineer will eat.

First off, I found that, of course, my pattern of daily devotions had gone completely to pot. I can’t even remember what I was doing – some large chunk of Scripture a day I think. And since I couldn’t think, I just couldn’t absorb a thing. And even turning the light on in the mornings was a challenge.

Last July, before the Church Society podcast took a break, I’d had to read A Tender Lion – a biography of Bishop J C Ryle – for the book review slot I’ve been part of, alongside our good friend Song. And since reading that I’d been thinking of going back to Ryle’s Expository Thoughts on the Gospels. I remembered reading them as a student and finding them heartwarming. And reading the biography reminded me that Ryle had written and preached in an accessible style – in short sentences with simple vocabulary. And I wanted to read a gospel – to go back to basics.

So I downloaded a copy of Ryle’s Expository Thoughts onto my Kindle (other e-readers are available). My version had the Bible passage as well as the Thoughts. And I read through Mark, blessed by the good bishop’s clarity and simplicity, and also by my Kindle’s backlight that meant that it helped me to wake as I read. I really got quite boring with friends, and the poor Vicar, telling them (rather too many times) how much I was enjoying Mark with Ryle’s help.

Ryle portrait

The refreshing Bishop Ryle

I also have three of Andrew Case’s prayer books on my Kindle – and when my head can’t get into prayer, written prayers always help. This is the value of liturgy too – to ‘pray until you pray’, as Don Carson puts it in A Call to Spiritual Reformation. So I would read Mark with Ryle’s help and pray those prayers, and I wouldn’t be distracted by my phone, which would happen if I went to my PrayerMate app or opened the CofE’s Daily Prayer app. So I would pray a prayer for me, one for the Vicar and one for the kids. Then I’d pray the Lord’s Prayer. And sometimes I’d pray some more. And sometimes I wouldn’t. But I was still hanging in.

It was simple. And it was something. And so I’ve been able to slowly reconnect to the Lord and anchor my thoughts in the truth of the love of Christ. Reading a gospel in the company of a clear thinking bishop, some written prayers to use when I couldn’t think of words. I’m thankful.

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Storm Dennis decided that the Vicarage needed a bit of break. So our phone line stopped working two weeks ago. The winds had whipped around the Vicarage and dislodged the wire precariously attached to the side of the house as it makes its way into our junction box and wifi hub.

The phone fixer chap arrived this evening and made some interesting observations:

  1. We had two defunct cables hanging off the house.
  2. The current cable had frayed as it swayed in the wind – which is why we had occasional wifi but no phone.
  3. The wires to the house have been there for about 40 years.
  4. The wire inside the junction box was of a type made during the First World War – the insulation is a giveaway apparently.

The information about the wire reminded me of a snippet I read just the other week in a bound collection of church magazines I found in the churchwardens’ vestry. These magazines were published in 1925, and so I can tell you that the first phone line was installed in our house in October 1925. Don’t forget our number: West Bromwich 172. Sadly, our telephone number, unlike the wiring, has no continuity with the original. And I doubt the Church of England will give you advice if you’re moving overseas either. And alas, we have no choir, for ladies or anybody else, but any offers of help in the matter of church music would still be most welcome.

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We’ve been here in our parish for eleven years now – we moved in February half term in 2009. Almost since the beginning I have hosted a weekly coffee morning for people from the church and the community – including school gate mums, bringing baking from the Vicarage kitchen. We call it Cake and Chat, which captures the essence I feel.

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Pistachio and citrus peel cookies and blondies were on offer this week

The group who meets includes those who’ve been coming for eleven years and others who’ve joined us in the last few months. We moved last year from meeting in the hall  which is tucked away from the road and has an echoey floor. Now we gather in the church itself, where we now have some café seating and can have the main doors open.

Over the last few weeks we’ve discussed what we’d do with a lottery win and the allure of gambling machines, we’ve chatted about the local lads who race their cars up the dual carriageway on Sunday nights, we’ve wrestled with Bible verses and with questions of identity and relationships. Our group includes Christians and Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs and people of no faith at all. Mostly we speak English but other times you can hear Polish, Punjabi and Patois. We begin around 8.30am and can still be chatting at noon. Some of my most precious times in parish life has been spent with this group.

The God of the Bible is the God who speaks, who breathes everything into being through his Word of life. Is it any surprise that chatting brings such joy and delight? Speaking makes things – it can make relationships. As we seek to build relationships of love in our community, time taken to chat (especially when there’s cake aswell) is never time wasted.

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I’ve not written here for a long time. Life intruded into my writing – it’s been a challenging year (or four) here in our messy parish in all sorts of different ways. Mess has a way of occupying my head, crowding out coherent thought and motivation.

But an online friend announced yesterday that she was going to be doing #lentowrimo – a take on the #Nanowrimo hashtag, where people try and write a novel in a month in November. My friend has suggested writing non-fiction every day apart from Sundays in Lent.

So here is a post that has long lain in my drafts folder. About our parish. About something I love about this place. A reminder to dwell on the gifts that the Lord has brought and not on the struggles of life and ministry. A tiny reminder that God hates nothing that he has made and that he brings us mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Our parish smells of bread and spices. Like, seriously smells. Strongly. Often on a morning dog walk, if the wind is in the right direction, I’ll inhale strong scents of rising dough or of star anise. The other week spices flavoured our worship on Sunday morning in church, so pungent was the aroma.

The mundane reason is that this is because of two local factories – Allied Bakeries, making Kingsmill bread amongst others, and East End foods where spices are milled.

But I have found that the bread and spices lead me to thoughts of the aroma that brings life:

The bread that was broken for our salvation. Our mess exchanged for his perfection.

Daily bread. All that we need. All that we pray for. For today. For life. For the ministry. For the mess.

The bread of life. Bringing power and joy into lives. Sustaining and building.

Spices for the tomb. Fragrant and sweet. The smell of grace. Still carried by the women. For the tomb is empty.

A parish that smells of bread and spices: one where the brokenness of the cross and the beauty of the resurrection are in the very air we breathe.

Bread

Vicarage bread: a bit messier than Kingsmill

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