BVM

Our fourth year in ministry in Argyll and The Isles is picking up speed. This week we kept the feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary, on two different days in the peninsula and on the island.  I have a clear, clear memory associated with this feast, abbreviated to 'BVM', as the first 'official' feast that we kept at Cuddesdon theological college, pre any term starting but as the waifs and strays of ordinands and their families gathered together wondering what was going to happen to them.  Morning prayer in the chapel (the second one at that Oxford college, and presumably now superseded by the King chapel) was a rather home grown affair and we tried to behave like 'proper' vicars, I recall.

Now eight years on (a short time by any standard, but a time) I wonder how those folk are exploring the same wondering about what will happen.  I keep up with a few, and a few more float past on Facebook.  One or two from about that time are no longer in ministry, most are now incumbents scattered around England and Wales and Mexico and elsewhere.  But what will happen?

Will people be shown a way of meeting God?

Will it be about people flourishing and being shown how much they are loved?

Will it break down barriers and prejudice?

Will it show people how much that man, from 2000 years ago and today, really, really matters.

I wonder what will happen?

Blog free April

Nearly.

A very busy few weeks up here in the Wild West of Argyll.

The biggest thing to drop out of it all? The need for space for reflective practice. Stopping to think, trying to apply models and paradigms to what is going on, trying to prayerfully work out a way forward from this practice.

All feels rather essential.

Theological training is useful in trying to get us doing this. I rarely write it down. But it so, so badly needs to be done as part of clerical life as reflective practitioners.

I now find myself increasingly cast in roles where we have to crack on and get things done. How do we know they are the right thing to do? We don't. But we can try and minimise the risk that they are wrongs things to do if they are rooted in scripture and prayer, and a conscious, intentional process of experience, analysis, reflection then action.

Theological reflection, the reflective cycle, whatever you want to call it. It is essential in Christian ministry. Absolutely essential.

Blogging over the years...

I took that rare look back at my old blog posts, over the past three years since I started blogging again, three years of Dancing with Midges.

I can't help but feel that my earlier posts seemed more interesting than my recent ones. Maybe it is because I am feel very busy now, so less time to reflect on what is happening. Maybe it's because now dimly remembered things I was doing three years ago (that outward bound training day in the Forest of Dean!) seem a bit like someone else's memories, someone else's stories.

My resolve having looked back? More theological reflection on the events unfolding around me, in this very public model of virtual journaling. Maybe a bit more often, too, although that remains a resolve from the beginning.

And do I see God in the words of the blog? In the things that have happened, the people I have met, the things that are unfolding around me, touched upon every week or so. Yes, God is there, along side me, along side us as we continue the dance...

Once upon a time...

1001 Arabian nights, survived by a fearful wife telling a fascinating and never-ending stream of fantastic stories to stave off the seemingly inevitable assassination that had befallen all her predecessors. This is the stuff of middle eastern legend, with the wiley Scheherazade keeping the wrathful king on tenterhooks, and the interwoven folk tales wrapped in this happily-ending frame form part of almost every culture's stock of tales.

Tomorrow I will have got through 1001 nights in Cowal and Bute, as a priest in the Scottish Episcopal Church.  I discovered quite by accident that today is my 1000th day since I was licensed here.

Is there an inevitable fate that awaits the unwary in taking on a ministry such as this?

I fear that the fate that awaits is to become stale, no longer feeling a fire and excitement at what a Christian community is called to do.  Maybe that can be by the repetition of the annual cycle, or the blurring of years into each other.  Maybe paralysis because of fear of upsetting whatever applecart may be presented to be upset.  Maybe it all goes sour when a chosen direction splits or distorts the congregation's view of the community.  Maybe.

I am glad to report (and any readers in my charges will be glad to hear (at least I hope they will be glad to hear!)) that this fate seems nowhere near as the 1000 day mark rolls by.  The excitement at what is going on and what there is to do is just a great now as three years ago, when we were negotiating the details of my arrival in the charge.  The cycle of the years has a gentle variation and change that seems to make it richer, not stale.  And alongside our third-time-now pattern of the year, the gently changing people of the churches, the new vestry members, the newly appeared ideas and opportunities, all add to make things feels stable yet stimulating.  I hope and pray that the churches feel the same. I also hope and pray that we have some of this to share with those around us in our diocese and elsewhere.

The tale is never ending, the cliffhanger ending employed by Scheherazade just as applicable to exploration of the gospel and the form of community that we are being made into by that gospel.  And the cliffhangers will not come to an end.  The happy ending is always there, even when the walk is through the wilderness (which it sometimes must be).

And the 1001st night? What special ending for that? Well, I will be compering the third publess church quiz night (bring your own bottle, even in Lent) on Bute, in a rather gaudy waistcoat and with as good a line of wisecracks and oneliners that I can muster. Sister Scheherazade and I, working the audience to keep them engaged, interested and aware of our community: all for the gospel!

Lenten array

We have violet frontals etc. for Lent in both Dunoon and Rothesay churches. With smaller churches, these are it for both Advent and Lent. This is absolutely fine, quite right.

But I do love the sparseness of Lenten Array, the unbleached linen look of the plain, drab lack of colour. It can be glorified up - Durham cathedral's new frontals with gold crown of thorns et al http://durhambroderers.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/dedication-of-lenten-array.html are beautiful but could rather lack a plain, rough, sackcloth look. That is what Lent feels like, to me at any rate.

This year the altar in Dunoon is bare for Lent - this gives a slight problem in that it is ornately carved, hidden below slightly old and faded frontals. To go from bare to white and gold on Easter Day (still far away) can risk feeling like a step in a subdued direction. But more how that's being solved this year later.

The empty, harsh, slightly unforgiving nature of Lent occupies the churches for the next 40 liturgical days. The themes of wilderness, repentance, sinfulness and forgiveness (and more) will be picked out.

The ash that was imposed on some foreheads a few days ago has been washed off. The foreheads that failed to get it because of driving snow and wind have had it washed off by that weather before we ever even got there. Quite Lenten in itself, a snowy, stormy start to the season, the sparse Ash Wednesday service sparser still by failing to take place on Bute and only just scraping in there in Cowal.

So Lent begins. A long, hard journey. But one that is good to spend in good company.

Commuting...

The is a great deal of driving in ministry in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. Not motorway stuff like I used to gobble up in my former occupations, going round and round the M25 to try and achieve escape velocity. The commuting up here is a mix of single track and double (not dual) carriageway roads. They twist and turn, and offer a few elusive places to overtake that slow car or truck. The wind blows trees over them, the snow lies across the middle of them. Water pools from overflowing burns and splashes up as you pass through them. It's actually rather good fun to drive on such varied and interesting roads. And, of course, you can stop and look out of the windows as you go. Sometimes it catches your breath, sometimes you just smile. And every once in a while you have to stop (safely) and take a photograph. This does not do justice to the smoothness of the water or the richness of the sunset over the Lenach and down to Bute. But you have to try and catch a sense of the God-given beauty that surrounds these places!

A new year is here...

2013 has arrived, an arbitrary line in our western keeping of time, but still a new beginning. What does this year hold?

Family: eldest sits her Highers, so will start to set her course for her life for next decade or two. Youngest will move from primary to secondary school. That means all three children, for one academic year, will be at the same school! Remarkable!

Churches: who knows what God, the bishop and the congregations might have in store for us this year. The church building in Dunoon should (all being well) be significantly restored over the summer months with a lottery and heritage grant. It will still need a never-ending programme of development, decoration and repair, but this will be a step change in the dryness, soundness and in rottenness of the place. On a smaller scale, Rothesay will be going down the same route, with grants, repairs, maybe even a new heating system.

But it isn't about the buildings. Repairing and upgrading them is a symptom of what I pray will be happening in them. There is only any point in having a building if there is a living community to meet, worship and grow within them. The episcopalians of Cowal and Bute will continue to gather, to support each other and to worship in our tradition.

Wider matters: the Archbishop of Canterbury doesn't matter too much up here, but the flavour of the Anglican Communion matters to us here. Our own province will continue to grapple with mission, finance, Scottish independence (or otherwise), and, as ever, issues of sexuality, marriage and so forth. Our business may be growing local communities but the wider context affects how and why we do this.

Personal: I end my first three years in the charges, the diocese and the province this June. The canons allowed me three years as priest in charge (renewable) to see how we would get on. I suspect the three years will be renewed, or maybe even the suspension on the charges lifted (if not this year, in the next year or two). My new duties as the dean of the diocese will be a new challenge, trying to help and encourage charges in a wider context. There are some issues, some unhappiness, some things that need to be discussed and agreed. So I look forward to getting to grips with these issues after the New Year break. It is all about God's plans for us.

So an interesting 2013 awaits, in a very positive sense.

Advent 2 whizzes by

The slightly strange time that is the end of Advent is wending its way into view. There is a perception that clergy are very busy at this time of year. This is true, certainly for those who have a lot of school assembles and Christmas parties in homes and institutions. It's also true for those who have lots of churches, each wanting its own range of carol services and special events. In fact it's true for all clergy who a trying to visit, catch up, prepare and all the rest of it. Never mind the Christmas shopping, cards and the 'normal' parts of this time of the year.

But that's true at all times of the year - there is always 'ministry' to be done, and it can never be finished and there is always something else to do. Theologically, all ministry is God's and we just share in trying to deliver some of this in our place and our time. The outcomes are not ours, they are God's.

So why so much busyness? Why do we put the pressure on ourselves to achieve all these things? Priests, ministers, lay leaders - all those who have a part in this?

It is a shared ministry - we have our part, God will do his part too.

But it doesn't hurt to take the pressure off, to try and find some Advent space as well as the busyness of it all. The ministry will still be there to be done, it will be there to be shared whatever we do. And God will be there in it, acting through all those who share.

Dances with Twitter

The balance of local, regional, national and global matters is a tricky one.

I've been following Twitter a bit closer than usual for the past few days/weeks, just to see what I see.  There is chatter, affirmation, occasional howls of derision or anger, and lots of immediate reflection on what people are encountering.  I love the witty ones (@RevRichardColes is a bit of a winner) and those that make me stop and think.

Links to blogs (5minsspace.blogspot.com), or images (https://pbs.twimg.com/media/A9YAkpACMAE_fgG.jpg:large), or news items(@skynewsbreak etc.) are well worth following for a click or two: I suppose it's like dropping yourself into the consciousness of hundreds of other people as they look at the world and reflect how they feel about it, filtered or otherwise.

My own tweets tend to be locked in the local.  The weather, bit of ministry, things that are happening to me. Tentative replies to others' tweets I sometimes try, and sometime get a response or a conversation.  I suspect one has to commit much more time to Twitter to really, really take off.  I have a mere 800 or so tweets and a mere 200 or so followers.  It's a long way until I end up as a 'verified identity,' I suspect.

The local nature of my tweets is also because of the local focus of life.  Ministry is inevitably rooted in the place where you are (I think I blogged about trying to be present recently), and the people that you are with. And if ministry is taking up your energy and attention, then attempts to relate on social media will be local.

Does that mean that Leveson, or Syria, or Stuart Hall, or George Osborne, or even @Pontiflex are being ignored?  Far from it: I read the tweets of others who have analysed and responded, linked and reacted.  Twitter can act as a social conscience, without a doubt.

This Advent: another resolution.  Tweets on every scale, every week if possible.

Footnote: I've consciously noticed three 'verified identities' this week (public figures as chosen by Twitter): the Pope, Nicky Gumbel and Mike Russell.

In the week of the feast of St Andrew

The pressures of modern ministry can be extraordinary. This week has felt like one of those times. My father's funeral was on Monday (not taken by me, thank heavens) and my new duties in the diocese are starting to form. The charges are taking big deeps collective breaths before Advent starts this weekend. And there is just so much to do!

The pressure also comes with trying to support children at home and school, and to let them be 'normal' teenagers, whatever that might be. And My wife and I have to fit in our time and space. It's not an easy task, and it's one that I have seen and heard of as being far too much for people, mere humans, to carry.

So where is God in all this?

In every person in need who phones when answering that phone call is the last thing you want to do, in every sender of an email that makes you want to pull your hair out! In the ferry folk who don't wait for you to nearly get onto that ferry, but set off when you are 200 yards away. God's also in the faithful folk who turn up and keep on turning up. He's also in the colour of the moon, or the frosting of ice on the pine trees in an icy drive. God is everywhere in all we do and all we are.

But it is important to remember that he has always been there, and will always be there, no matter how much work we may do, how many people we may deal with, how many petitions we may sign. God was, and is and will be. Blessed be God. I will try to hold on to that, in the weeks, months and years to come.

Blessed be God.

Out of Great Silence...

I have a lovely DVD at home, called 'Into Great Silence' filmed in a Carthusian monastery in the Alps.  Nothing really happens in it, just the monks of the place live their lives in silence.  They get to talk on, if I recall, Sunday afternoon.  Sunday afternoons were rather playful and gossipy.  I much watch it again - it must be three years since I last did so.

Today I've just ended my time in a 48 hour silent retreat with folk from the diocese.  Maybe a little top heavy: the retreat leader (lately the warden of a theological college), the bishop, the dean, the cathedral provost, the congregational development officer, plus a retired cleric who was incredibly involved in selection and training for many years in England.  Out of a group of 12 people.  But, in silence, you don't really notice.  Meals shared in silence, sitting in the common room of a college on an island, worship the only 'official' spoken words.  It is a good, comfortable time.  I like silence.  I find that useful things bubble up.

I'm not much good at just being silent and still.  A new ipad (which I'm using to write this) and the temptations of work, email, Twitter and Facebook are all there.  Wifi and some limited mobile phone signal make this temptation present.  Is it realistic to shut out all distractions? I don't believe so.  Things that need to be done bubble up, exchanges with people who have been long neglected on Twitter (I blame Tweetdeck, harder to update followers), sharing the fact of a silent retreat with others back in the world.  All this feels legitimate, with leaving behind duties, visits, the business of parish and family life.

And the unreal sense that all that has continued in this 60 hours or so on an island.  The problems that family face, illnesses, the fallout from church events, spiritual and practical.  The family continuing with their school, work, eating, watching TV.  It all continues, even as we 12 on the island were silent and a little chilly in the Victorian cathedral next door.

Tomorrow is back to 'normal' but with a sense of peace and recharging, I hope.  The theme, 'Hope in small things' was helpful and encouraging. The artwork and scripture and poetry was evocative and powerful.  A good time!

Matters decanal...

It was announced this week that their is a new Dean of the diocese of Argyll and The Isles: me!

This is a great honour and a great challenge too!  In Scotland a Dean is like an English archdeacon - except you keep on working as a parish priest!

There is lots to do, much help that I hope to be able to bring to the bishop and the diocese - but always trying to be aware that ministry is HARD WORK - and it was hard work 'just' being the priest for my churches in Cowal and Bute.

So, if it's what you do, please pray for me, and the family, and the diocese (they probably need them the most!)

Trust on the edge?

I often find myself here, fingers poised over this keyboard, wondering if I can actually blog about all the stuff that's going on: the people, the issues, the ways forward, the problems, the conflicts.  In practice it usually makes me pause, then go away and do something less dangerous instead.  Talking about church in a blog (in almost any way) can be a risky thing to do...

But to reflect that we can live in a edgy way is good: read this guest post on friend's blog by a friend.

The churches where I serve are not established in any sense of the word: neither formally, as part of a state church, as there isn't officially a state church in Scotland (some of my Church of Scotland colleagues may argue this...), nor in a we-have-lots-of-money-and-are-clear-where-and-who-we-are sort of way.

One of my English colleagues with whom I Google+ met this week (see piccy below) has started at a new parish - and he described them as having lots of money and tradition, wanting to grow, but not knowing how. He has an exciting time ahead as he takes them on their journey (prayers for him!).

But the contrast here feels extraordinary.  We have no money, not in a significant sense.  Our existence is precarious. Our master-plan is to try and offer an encounter with the living God to anyone who is seeking it.  That's not an easy thing to try do in the geographical and financial fringes of a country, with dodgy buildings, midges and the rain!

But we are in a spiritual heartland, out here in the fringes.  Jesus met people on the fringes of society (St Matthew's day today - the repulsive outcast tax-collector - transformed into a follower, and, if you wish, an evangelist) - so being on the fringe is good for church mission.  You don't take your (still greatly valued) tradition too seriously, you are open to new possibilities - that's life on the edge.

But being edgy can make people anxious - I guess the answer is to strike a balance between confidence in where and how an institution is going, and a certain looseness and edginess about going that way.  The best model I can find must be ... yes, you've guessed it: Jesus and his disciples.  Did they know where the project was going? No.  Was it a safe, established, comfortable project? No.  But an encounter with the living God was made again, and again.  And they trusted him in this journey, wherever it might take them.

Trust and edginess - those must be the perfect partners for Christian mission!

Oban again

Off up to Oban today, to see Nicki McNelly made the new provost of Oban cathedral.  It feels rather momentous: the first female provost in Oban, only the second ever in Scotland.  There is now a female dean in Edinburgh, but overall the need for senior female clergy in our province is as great as ever!
So Nicki's role, as well as being one of my stipendiary colleagues, is to be a pioneer in our church.
Roll on a woman in a mitre: no canonical reason for this not to happen up here, we just need the right person and the right diocese.

Checklist:
Silver (borrowed) - polished: check
Cassock alb & stole: check
Falling apart black shoes: check
Wife & daughter (signed out of school): check.

I think we're ready!

Phew: what a month...

No blogging in August - what a wild month, with loads happening and far too much on the go.

Tomorrow - maybe something like back to normal (whatever that might be)

And then a few posts about all that has happened!

Hints: weddings, courses, ordinands, diocesan websites, ecumenical Highland games projects, new developments...

Phew - what a whirl!

...what *is* happening?

Someone asked me today, 'What is going on in your church at the moment?'

The question rather stopped me in my tracks.  It is frantically busy right now, with lots and lots of stuff to get done.  Some of it might even be important, just possibly.  But it's useful to be stopped in our tracks every once in a while to ask the question.  In the good old 'Seven Habits' terms, it's taking time to sharpen the saw.

So what is happening?

There is stuff to do with buildings, there is stuff to do with events, there is stuff to do with planning activities and worship in the future, there is stuff to do with people and what they are doing, what they want to do and what they will actually do.  There is stuff from well away that is good and stuff from well away that is toxic.  There are demands, there are gifts, there are plans, successes, failures. People, ideas, animals, time to be consumed.

Lots of stuff.  Plenty to keep everybody busy.

But I read a salutory lesson in an old friend's blog last week: Vicars that don't pray.  There is a real danger in all this busyness that the one thing that actually matters gets squeezed out.  And all those things that are going on only really matter if God is being paid attention to somewhere in the middle of it.  We are not a heritage preservation society, we are not a minor IT firm, we are not an entertainment provider, we are not a social club, we are not a counselling organisation, we are not a slightly posh group of cross-dressing men.

We are a church.

A church might end up looking a bit like all those things, which is fine - absolutely perfect.  But a church is Christ's body on earth, and a place for encounter with God.  It is a living community, in our case managing to be busy, but with God at its heart.

What is going in the church at the moment?

Lots of stuff.

What should be going on?

Two years of the dance...

It's just been the second anniversary of starting ministry in Bute and Cowal.  Two years of the business of being a priest in a church community, trying to make sense of it all.

Things have changed for me, in leaving a curacy, and leaving the Church of England.  Things that really seemed to matter are held more lightly.  Things that didn't seem so interesting before are now critically important.  Boringly, I can't really say which are which, not in an open blog post at any rate!

And who knows where the next two years of the dance will take my family, my churches and I?  I suspect and intend that we will still be in Cowal and Bute, trying to make sense of it all.  But what will have changed, evolved this time?

The unexpected sherry and cake after the eucharist on Sunday on Bute was a lovely surprise.  There are still plenty of those in this life, I am delighted to report.  And God: God is there in all sorts of ways.  One has to remember to keep on looking, all the same...

Grouted...

The tiles in the sanctuary at Holy Trinity.  Why post a picture of them?

I spotted a conversation on the SEC Facebook-o-sphere about what colour carpets should be used in a sanctuary.  In one as damp as ours - transparent and non-existent is the only sensible option. I feel I'm too new to the SEC to launch in to jolly debates about gold/purple/blue (I have blue on Bute). But we have these tiles, slightly tired-looking as they are.

The lack of carpet means cold feet in the winter-time, even through soles of ones shoes.  It also means clicking and clacking as the servers walk about.  It means a ringing, sharp acoustic in this end of the church.
But that means that the voice of the priest, facing the east wall (our stone altar is rather firmly fixed there) is picked up and carried back to the congregation.  I believe I am easier to hear facing the wall than turning and speaking directly - the resonance of the tiles, the wall, the window, the head slightly angled (as I was trained) to ensure reflection of sound - it all seems to work. The fabric and space that we use for worship can resonate and send messages out beyond even the walls, into our communities!  That's being missionaries in the 21st century!

And the tiles themselves: what changes they have seen since the 1840s when they were put in place.  Changes to the church, and to the world outside!  Apparently the humble tiles also matter: I was telephoned not long after arrival, by an academic of the encaustic tile society (or something like that) to ensure that our significant Victorian encaustic tiles were still there.  Which they are.

So maybe it's worth posting a picture of some tiles every once in a while!

Conversations flow together...

So what exactly are we doing, trying to be a church?

Are we people who have a truth to share with others?
Are we builders of communities?
Are we spiritual guides, advisers and companions?
Are we holders of old traditions and creators of new ones?
Are we voices that cry out against injustice?
Are we hands that work to make things better now?
Are we owners of hope when things seem hopeless?

I hope so...

Technology meets wilderness...

I'm not sure a narrowboat moored in the centre of Kirkintilloch qualifies as a 'wilderness' location but there are certain parallels.  Today is my post Easter Sunday off - a month or so after Easter Day - and I'm sorting stuff out.  The deck scrubbing and red-oxiding of rust spots on NB Dalriada is waiting while I sort out my technology.

As an Episcopal priest with a massive 'canonical area' (denominational parish) I spend a lot of time out and about, often in breathtakingly beautiful locations, often miles from anywhere.  I also spend increasing times on the island where my house is not.  Mary also runs her holiday business from these places.  And a narrowboat moored in Kirkintilloch and many other points on the canals.  Selling holiday lets, keeping in touch with colleagues in Scotland and elsewhere, and also an increasing amount of pastoral work, demands connectivity and, for me, the use of Skype and now also Google+ hangout videoconferencing.  But all that needs connection and a place.

Remaining connected is important.  I am not a cutting edge technology person - I use it when it's useful and ignore it when it's not.  But this week my rather ancient Nokia's screen finally reached the point of unreadability due to scratches - it was a keypad phone, 3G but only just.  This phone has been the nerve centre for webmail, map browsing, Google etc. for the two years ministry/Spinnaker View running in Scotland.

So this morning, I am sorting some of this out.  A little bit of shouting at our 3G provider produced some improved contracts for the kids' phones, and a conciliatory Android smartphone, which I have (reluctantly) switched to.  The pain of learning a titchy touch-screen's keypad will pass, and I am far too tight to buy a tablet.

And now I have the warm glow of things coming together.  A modest 'add-on' on my 3G contract allows the new smartphone to be a wireless hotspot (and my Aberdonian roots like a mere one month rolling contract!).  The resurrected netbook (new motherboard from ebay), D2's iPod touch, all the data hungry devices, all of this is suddenly connected to broadband while we are tied up in the marina! Skype and videoconferencing (within data reason) suddenly beckon wherever 3G signal is to be found.

Which still raises issues with wilderness.  The old definition of wilderness (used in Duke of Edin award hiking planning etc.) was to do with distance from habitation.  The new definition feels like distance from suitable electromagnetic comms bandwidth.  And we still have some battles to be fought there in the hinterlands of Argyll and Bute.

But let me bask a little in the glow of satisfaction as I blog via my new portable wifi hotspot.  The frontier of my personal EM wilderness has been pushed back a little, here in wild Kirkintilloch!