Quite Chubby!!

My wife has just informed me that my profile picture shows me as 'quite chubby'.  Hmm, well rest assured that I am on a diet and I don't look like this any more - honest. As you can see from my new picture here, you may struggle to recognise me were you to come across me in the street.
The diet is more of a Lenten semi-fast.  In my attempt to walk alongside Jesus on the approach to Easter in my very imperfect way I (I should say my wife, friend and I) have pledged to eat healthier meals.  In practice that means smaller meals and more headaches.  If fasting is supposed to transform us, all I can say is that I am sorry for my churches over Lent.  I am feeling either ravenously hungry and clock-watching for the next 'meal' or light-headed and not sure of what I am supposed to be doing.  I've not asked for any sermon feed-back of late.
I wonder if Jesus' friends failed to recognise him when he returned from the wilderness
(Matt chapter 4) -  perhaps like the two disciples on the Emmaus road who failed to recognise a transformed Jesus.  I'm looking forward to Easter Sunday as much as being transformed!
Chubby indeed!

May I sit down please?

I'm at the District Minister's Meeting (Methodist Minister's Synod for those in the know) and as such it has some quaint ways.  One is that ministers can't just retire but have to ask for permission.  They call it permission to sit down (presumably from riding one's Methodist horse around the circuit).
One of the retirees (all of which were allowed to sit down by the way - I guess one day we will be refused on account there are fewer and fewer of us now) gave thanks for all those people who had been influential over the years and who had encouraged them and 'I wouldn't be here today had it not been for their support...'.What will people say about us?  Encourager? Supporter? Helper? Friend? I am concerned that with our selfish society (and I include our  churches here) this vote of thanks is likely to be heard less and less.

Marcus Borg

I came across this blog concerning Marcus Borg.  It struck me because, like the blogger, I too like to read Marcus Borg and find his (and Dominic Crossan's) approach to explaining the Scriptures generally very useful.  But then his take on the resurrection is hard to accept.  I read one of Borg's books recently when he was talking about St Paul being a mystic which made me wonder about my God.  I am looking for more of a real experience of the Trinity via a spiritual encounter.  These two - real and spiritual - aren't always happy bed-fellows for most of us.  I mean I want to experience God and have a real encounter.  Does that mean he has to be physically real or is the spirituality I'm seeking expected to transcend our three dimensional world?  Hmmm.  Maybe

It's not all bad then...

There's a lot of bad news in the world and if you're not careful it's easy to become cynical and suspicious of everything and everyone.  I saw this story of fair play which challenged me.  Having gained a goal in an unsporting fashion, the lucky manager of Borham Wood FC, Mario Noto, directed his team to allow the opposition to score a goal against them.  You can see the incident here.  See, it's not all bad!

Wally

I had a dream.  Last night I dreamed I was a lift engineer.  I shan't say too much more or someone will analyse it and tell me I need a week in the sun due to stress etc.  However, it reminded me of Wally.  Wally was a friend I knew in Boys Brigade.  When I lost contact with him he was training to be a lift engineer.  I liked Wally because he was a sincere person.  When he was about 19 he believed that God was there but couldn't see him so he set off to find him.  He had a brand new Honda 250cc Super Dream so distance was no object and he went to every big Christian meeting he could to find God.  I thought he'd give up after 6 months of searching and not finding him but he didn't.  After about a year of travel across the country God was still elusive and he was feeling rather low.  However, he knew God was there somewhere and he persevered.  One day I heard that Wally had 'found God'.  Wally was never the same.  The last I heard he qualified as a lift engineer.  I lost touch when I moved away from London but Wally's searching for God has stayed with me.  He doggedly looked for what he could not see and touched the untouchable.  God does that. 

Last Retreat

And finally on the retreat...this was my final retreat.  You are only allowed to go in the first three years of ministry - then you have to go with the grown ups for much deeper contemplation - a bit like junior school to senior school I suspect.  But then I wonder if they will have the same feel.  One of the strangest aspects of the retreat was the key.  By that I mean there was no key to your room.  In fact the only key I saw was in the outside door.  Whilst you were kept safe from pirates and marauders from the outside, you had to trust all your worldly goods to the honesty of your companions.  If you don't have much to begin with, then you've not got much to lose.  I, however, disobeyed the rules (no work to be done - at all!) and took my lap top and did work.  It was a peculiar feeling to walk out of the room with lap top and external hard drive and all my work therein, on the bed (it was a small room) and trust the rest not to pinch it.  I never thought they would, but it was a strange feeling never the less.  On Monday evening I'm leading a service of Christian unity.  Somehow I think this story may feature somewhere.

Never one to make a tradition, the next day I tried the coffee house three doors down.  I wish I had gone there first, it being warmer and more friendly. As I settled back and unfolded my newspaper I had this uneasy feeling...I raised my eyes to see the couple come through the door who, yesterday, had been so keen to sit in my chair with me.  Now, I was beginning to think uncharitable thoughts like, 'do people who go to more than one church have more than one reserved seat?' and 'were they going to forcibly evict me from this chair as well?'  They eyed me closely and had that look in their eyes.  I stared back and gave them the Clint Eastwood look - go ahead: make my day.  I was up for a fight over that chair and lost my appetite for my morning coffee.  They backed off and I claimed the victor's spoils!  I wanted to go but felt obliged to remain and make the most of the hard-fought battle of the chair.  So I stayed there for a good 10 minutes, keeping a careful eye over the top of my newspaper.  Having remained for what I thought was an appropriate time, I got up to go and walked back to the safety of the retreat house.  As I walked away I was tempted to look back over my shoulder to see whether they had make a dash for my chair.  However, not wanting to be turned into a pillar of salt, I set my face like flint and carried on.  I'll never know if they enjoyed the warmth of my seat.  It's probably for the best...

On Retreat

I'm on retreat somewhere in the depths of Yorkshire and it's been an interesting stay so far.  First of all, I have to go on this retreat 'cos that's what the denomination tell me I have  to do. Well, all the ministers got talking (as they do) about things in their churches.  The subject of reserved seats and 'my chair' phenomena came up.  There were stories of times long ago when seats were reserved for Mrs so and so or when Mr Thingamy kept losing his chair so he wrote his name on the bottom of it and up-ended anyone he found in it...  We wondered whether this was just a church thing or not.  We thought it probably was.  May I just add this story into the mix:
This morning, I woke up early and walked into town for an early morning coffee and a read of a (good) paper.  The young girl, still asleep I fear, opened the doors at 07.02am which is when I walked into her dream and woke her up by ordering a FlatWhite.  The coffee shop in question is really quite large and I chose to sit on the right hand side.  Nobody else was in the shop.  I sat down and began to read.  Two other people came in and sat directly behind me, squashing me into the table.  'Strange', I thought, 'there's a whole empty shop here  to sit in and they sit next to me'.  I subconsciously checked my wallet - yep, still there.  Anyway, I shuffled over a bit for more room, but was soon followed by the back of their seat, nestling between my shoulder blades.  Had I been a celebrity, I could have understood their desire to drink my coffee and sit on my lap but... well, as it was still early, I felt a call of nature and hoped the usually occupied toilet might be free for once: it was.  90 seconds later, I'm out and feeling like a new man only to find this couple sitting in my seat.  See, it's not just in churches that possessive seat hoarding takes place.