This stretch of the river is still in the countryside, winding its way through farmland. The river is wide, meandering through a broad valley with woods on either side.

In the nature reserve they’ve recently erected a Sand Martin nesting wall hoping for some seasonal visitors. I stopped off to see if anyone had taken up residence, but there was no-one home. I left wondering whether it was still too early in the year for them to be nesting.

A little way along the river I had the answer to my pondering. I’d noticed a set of holes in a sandy mud bank on a bend in the river on a previous trip. Today it was a mass of teaming activity, the travellers had arrived from there southern wanderings.

Sand Martin’s were swooping along inches above the river.

Some were chasing each other from bank to bank before one of them would climb steeply up into the sky eventually plunging down again to join the chase.

Others were congregated around the nest holes sojourning from one to another as if it was an open day at university halls of residence.

Wings of dark brown feathers danced through the air using each flap to propel the Sand Martin with absolute precision.

Each bird danced with the others in close acrobatics without collision or clash.

The air was their play area and their play was an integrate dance.

After standing and taking in the gymnastics for a while I pressed my feet back onto the peddles and continued on my way.

A little further along the cycle track cuts the corner off one of the Ribble’s meanders and makes its way through fields of grazing cattle. Above the cattle another dance was under-way, this time it was the turn of the Swallows to show their talents.

The Swallows’ dance is different to the Sand Martins’.

Where the Sand Martins dance in close intricate acrobatics, the Swallows prefer a more swooping arching movement.

The Swallows can fill a sky chasing insect delights.

I watched as one Swallow travelled from one end of the field to another no more than a wingspan away from the ground, swooping left and back right along the way. Another Swallow criss-crossed in the opposite rhythm not far behind.

As they reached the end of the field they both flicked a wing and shot high into the sky to join the dance higher up.

They were followed by others creating reversing patterns in the air as they went.

There was no set design to their dance and yet there was a form, there was an artistry to their movement.

I’ve spent most of my life in a Christina tradition that has, for the most part, regarded dancing with something of a suspicious eye.

In recent months I have become convinced that God wants to be so intimate with us that he wants to dance with us. He doesn’t want to be distant or stand-offish, he wants to hold our hands and swing us around. He wants to look us in the eye and smile at us as He leads us in the next movement.

I was recently at a meeting where I saw a picture in my mind’s eye of a spotlight shining down into the middle of the assembled crowd. In the middle of the crown was someone dressed in traditional Jewish clothing that I took to be Jesus. He reached his hand out to someone and gently swung them around, he then reached his hand out to another and drew them into the dance. A full on ceilidh was taking place with Jesus right at the centre of the action orchestrating the steps.

I’m not sure what it means to dance with Jesus, but it sounds like a fun thing to do. More than that though, it sounds like an intimate thing to do. You can’t ceilidh with someone at a distance.

Where I live is only a few miles from the coast but we don’t see many gulls nearby. They prefer to stay around the local marina (or docks as they used to be) preying on the remains of takeaways from MacDonald’s.

There was a group of four of them rising up into the sky probably retreating from some mischievous exploits.

Before I had even seen them the noise took me to another place and another time. It wasn’t anywhere specific; it was the combination of a number of different memories.

There were days walking amongst the chalk caves and pools of Flamborough Head. It’s a place of cliffs, clear seas and stories of pirates.

There were days walking along the tops of the cliffs a bit further up the coast at Bempton where the Gannets and Fulmars add to the song.

It was the noise of family holidays relaxing between bouts of body-boarding on Whitecross Bay on Cornwall.

There were memories of long beach walks on the nearby Lytham coastline.

Then there the recollections of fish and chips on the beach just outside Oban watching the CalMac make its evening rounds.

To many the seagull is a bit of a pest and I must admit that I can understand that point of view. The other morning though they brought a pleasurable cascade of memories, memories that are treasured blessings.

Joy to the world

To the side of me is a bookcase which is full of books of all shapes and sizes. There are technical books, books about fasting, books of stories, books with new words and books with ancient words.

In front of me there is a magazine full of colourful pictures, it even has a pull-out section with the picture of a huge tree on it. There are men climbing the tree who look like small dolls compared to the enormous trunk.

Next to the magazine is a pile of paper that is demanding my attention, on the top there is a letter from the bank.

On the other side of the magazine is a box with some medication in it, the instructions on the side tell me the safe way to take it. The printing on the silver coating inside tells me what it is.

Behind the magazine at the far edge of the desk is a black cup-shaped receptacle in it are pens of all sorts of shapes, sizes and colours.

I’m expecting that soon a man in a red uniform will pass the window of my study followed soon after by a rattling of the letterbox as he deposits today’s delivery.

All this is made possible by ink.

Next to my laptop is a printer, all I have to do is to click a few times and it will whir into action delivering sheets of words and diagrams.

In my pocket is a wallet which contains a bank note

For thousands of years people have processed different materials from plant, minerals and even animals to enable them to make a lasting mark on a surface. There’s a long list of wonderfully sounding substances; alizarin, indigo, pokeberries, cadmium, cochineal, carmine, sepia, vermillion, saffron and many more.

When I was young I used to hate ink. I’m left handed and being from a culture that writes from left to right that meant my hands were constantly scrubbing the yet to dry marks that I had just made. I remember one particular maths teacher who insisted that everyone use a fountain pen, but he was also a stickler for neatness, I found it impossible to put these two things together. Even though I loved maths, I detested the lessons. It wasn’t until my second year of secondary school that a teacher spent some time with me showing me how to hold my hand in such a way that it didn’t constantly smudge my work.

Lord Byron wrote these words:

But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;

Most mornings I take some time to sit with a bible and a notebook. From one I read the dew drops of ancient wisdom passed down through millennia of ink. Into the other I write a portion of that wisdom in my own hand and contribute to it some meagre thoughts of my own. My aim is to change my thinking by taking that ancient and yet wholly relevant wisdom and making it my own. Similar practice will be followed by millions of people around the world today.

Something happens when we write things out, they become solidified. I think that’s what the writer of the Proverbs meant when they said:

Dear friend, do what I tell you;
treasure my careful instructions.
Do what I say and you’ll live well.
My teaching is as precious as your eyesight—guard it!
Write it out on the back of your hands;
etch it on the chambers of your heart.

Proverbs 7:1-4

The path between the two destination has a value all of its own.

I particularly like travelling on paths that I’ve never travelled on before. There are all sorts of routes near our house and I think I’ve journeyed on most of them. I’ve written before about my morning walks; I mix and match these walks around the various paths. As I do this there is a part of me that looking for a new route to take, a new destination to explore.

It’s been a special year in Preston, as part of the celebrations a new path has been created around the city – it’s known as the Guild Wheel. In many places this new route is a joining together of existing paths but in others it’s completely new pathway. One of the paths near to my house has been widened and tarmacked as part of the project.

As life’s routine has changed over recent months I’ve taken to getting my bike out on a Saturday morning. Over recent weeks I’ve really enjoyed dropping down onto the Guild Wheel near my house and going out for an explore. The Guild Wheel is over 20 miles in its totality and I’ve not been sure that I’d be able to complete the whole circuit so I’ve been easing myself in a bit. It makes sense to me, from where I set off, to journey the wheel in a clockwise direction. This means that I quickly drop down into the Brockholes Nature Reserve which is especially beautiful in the morning. When I started off, on a recent Saturday, I hadn’t done it with the intention of travelling the full route, but as I got into Avenham Park in the centre of Preston I was enjoying myself and decided to carry on. Once I had got to Preston Docks it dawned on me that I was already more than half way around so it seemed foolish not to complete the task at hand.

While I was intending to complete a journey I was especially enjoying the discovery of new paths and new places. Having lived in Preston for over 25 years it was wonderful to realise that there were things that I had never seen.

The Gospels in the Bible are full of all sorts of references to Jesus travelling from this place to another place. At one level we could regard them as simple facts that document the destinations that he travelled to, but if you choose to investigate the information that the Gospels are communicating you will realise that they are telling us that Jesus was travelling to all sorts of unusual places for someone of his background and ethnicity. John tells us about Jesus visiting Sychar, a Samaritan village where he met a woman by a well – Jews didn’t travel into Samaria, but Jesus did. Jesus travelled to new and unusual places.

Life itself is a journey, we can choose to walk the same path over and over again, or we can choose to explore new paths, different paths. We can walk or we can journey.

View Preston Guild Wheel in a larger map

It was wonderful to see the changing fashions on show.

Did people really where such large glasses?

Lots more ties worn back then, interesting patterns too.

Nice haircut, even nicer moustaches.

There was a scene set in a church, there was someone stood at the front with an overhead projector and acetates. The screen was the size of postage stamp.

The man holding the acetates reminded me of the times that I had the same role. He was stood there like a panther ready to pounce, the last thing you ever wanted to do was to miss a change of verse. At the same time though there was a certain pressure to look like you were worshipping, you were at the front after all.

On a later scene in a different church it was a smartly dressed young girl looking delighted to be taking part. I quite enjoyed being in control of the acetates. There were times when everything seemed to go wrong, but on the whole it was a pleasurable experience. The technology has all changed but I still enjoy serving people in worship.

Reminiscing: Indulge in enjoyable recollection of past events.

Reminiscing is a good type of looking back. There are times in most of our lives that we can look back on that are far from enjoyable recollections. For some people there are unpleasant things in there past that loom so large it makes seeing the enjoyable thing almost impossible. For most of us it’s a mixture of good and not-so-good.

I wonder what the apostles felt as they looked back at their time with Jesus?

In John’s gospel there are a number of times when a phrase similar to "One of the disciples, the one Jesus loved dearly" is used. Is commonly understood that John is trying humbly talk about himself. What a reminiscence to have?

It was 5:00am when I left the house this morning and I’ve been inside the car and various offices for the last 15 hours. Years of experience have taught me that the best way to get a good night’s sleep in these strange circumstances is to take in some air by going for a walk.

This evening’s location is Farnham in Surrey. I’ve been here many times before, too many to count. I like it here, it’s a nice place with parks and places to stroll.

After marvelling at the antics of a bunch of young men trying to catch crayfish in the river I headed out of town, past the train station and out of town on Waverley Lane. I was heading east and my attention was taken with the architecture. This area of town contains the type of English housing that is every stereotype of the type of houses we English are supposed to live in. Unfortunately most of us are never going to be able to afford a flat in one of these house let alone the whole house.

Eventually it was time to turn around and head back for something to eat. It was time to head west. My attention was no longer taken by architecture, my gaze was fixed on the majesty and beauty above. The sun was starting to set and the sky had become a picture of yellow, orange, gold, cadmium, copper, brass, pink, purple, scarlet, russet and cerise all set of with a wash of sky-blue.

I watched and walked as a jet crossed the scene, it’s trails illuminated.

It was then that a thought came: "When a man is tired of a sunset, he is tired of life." For those of you who haven’t already realised it’s mostly a quotation from Samuel Johnson who said: "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life".

If you look through my Flickr photos you’ll find numerous sunsets. I love taking pictures of the sun’s descendence.

Sunsets are fabulous, each one is marvellously unique in its intricacy.

Sunsets mark the end of one thing and the start of another. It’s interesting to note that in a few places in the Bible it was at sunset that people bought sick people to Jesus. This has a similar significance, people come at sunset at the end of the Sabbath because sunset marks the end of the day. They wouldn’t come during the Sabbath because there were limitation on what they could do. I quite like the thought that Jesus was giving people hope through healing under a glorious sunset.

It’s a mystery why I haven’t written a post about the blessing of a sunset before. I listed as one of the things that I have that money can’t buy, but it never occurred to me that it hadn’t been a blessing in its own right. I’ve corrected that now.

Here’s a selection of sunsets I have enjoyed:

People lined both sides of the road, sometimes many people deep. Other people were hanging out of upstairs windows or sitting on top of bay windows. There were others who were sat on top of shop fronts.

We found a place for our small party to stand and were eventually joined by others that we knew. We waved at some other people across the road that we knew and joined the general hubbub.

Being early on a Saturday morning some people had just put a coat on top of their pyjamas, others looked like they’d already been up for hours. There were people of every generation, older people and families with small children.

Everyone was waiting in anticipation of an arrival at this time and at this place.

We were lining the streets keeping the road clear.

Something was going to be passing by.

Eventually a group of police motorcycle riders came slowly down either side of the road making sure that everyone was off the road. There way of doing this was quite fun as they high-fived all of the children as they drove down.

The motorcycles were followed by police cars and then by various other vehicles.

It was then time for main event.

It was a l lady who was running holding the Olympic torch.

Everyone applauded as she passed by.

The lady was moving at quite a pace and passed by in no time at all.

In no time at all people dispersed back from where they had come. We meandered back to Dave’s house for some breakfast chattering about what we had seen.

We’d been there and seen it, this was a once in a lifetime event.

In the Bible there was a similar event, but this was once for all time:

²⁸ After telling this story, Jesus went on toward Jerusalem, walking ahead of his disciples. ²⁹ As he came to the towns of Bethphage and Bethany on the Mount of Olives, he sent two disciples ahead. ³⁰ “Go into that village over there,” he told them. “As you enter it, you will see a young donkey tied there that no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. ³¹ If anyone asks, ‘Why are you untying that colt?’ just say, ‘The Lord needs it.’”

³² So they went and found the colt, just as Jesus had said. ³³ And sure enough, as they were untying it, the owners asked them, “Why are you untying that colt?”

³⁴ And the disciples simply replied, “The Lord needs it.” ³⁵ So they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their garments over it for him to ride on.

³⁶ As he rode along, the crowds spread out their garments on the road ahead of him. ³⁷ When he reached the place where the road started down the Mount of Olives, all of his followers began to shout and sing as they walked along, praising God for all the wonderful miracles they had seen.

³⁸ “Blessings on the King who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven, and glory in highest heaven!”^[c]

³⁹ But some of the Pharisees among the crowd said, “Teacher, rebuke your followers for saying things like that!”

⁴⁰ He replied, “If they kept quiet, the stones along the road would burst into cheers!”

Luke 19

It’s Saturday lunchtime and the place is packed. We are in rows in one corner having booked ourselves in at the entrance.

There are young people some of them looking nervous, others looking a bit lost. There are older people mostly relaxed. It makes a change for the young to be the nervous ones.

Some of us are drinking water, others cheap squash out of large disposable plastic cups.

All of the usual waiting distractions are being employed: chattering, newspapers, out of date magazines, romantic novels, card games on mobile phones. Other’s have entered that semi-docile state that waiting induces.

It a large village hall where the decorations are looking a bit tired. Someone replaced the blinds at the windows in recent times, but didn’t bother to fill in the holes left by the ones they removed. There’s a stage and some spotlights that look like they were last used for some wonderfully under-produced and over-practiced amateur dramatics. There’s a certain comfort to these places. They’re all looked after by different groups of people and yet have the same feeling to them.

Occasionally a name is read out and one of our number leaves to another part of the hall. Others come to fill their place in the rows.

We’re all waiting for our journey into one of the little cloth cubicle for the initial interview and tests. It’s there that many of us will imagine the famous Hancock scene and repeat to ourselves the words “I don’t mind giving a reasonable amount, but a pint? Why, that’s very nearly an armful!”.

The theme tune to Rocky is playing on the radio. It doesn’t seem appropriate for this crew of wonderfully ordinary Lancashire folk.

In the fullness of time each of us will make our way to the fancy new reclining chairs or one of the wartime metal beds and the machines that will be attached to our arms to take our pint.

We’ll finish our experience with a conversation over at the tea and coffee table. there we’ll book ourselves in for another appointment of the same and leave.

We are all here to give something of ourselves, but why? There’s no payment. We’re not doing it for the fun of it. Who would choose to have a needle stuck in there arm for fun on a Saturday lunchtime. There’s no law to tell us to do it.

Yet there are many reasons why we give.

I’m sure for some it’s personal; they give because someone they love has needed the services of the donors and they realise how important it is. Others, I suspect, give because of a sense of duty, back to Hancock “I came here in all good faith, to help my country.”

I don’t think it’s either of those things that draws me to this place. I think I give because I’m a member of a society, a community, a people, and I give for our collective good. I give out of a sense of serving the community. There may be a time when I need the community to look after me. I know that there are people who need my help now.

None of these people will receive public acclaim. They’re a quiet group on the whole the donors.

In my view it’s not the Gross Domestic Product of a nation that is the true measure of it’s worth. It’s these selfless servants who are the true measure of a society.

He sat down and summoned the Twelve. “So you want first place? Then take the last place. Be the servant of all.”

Mark 9:35

Next to Appin is one of the most famous views in Scotland, that of Castle Stalker (the picture isn’t the best at showing that castle we were taking sunset pictures). Beyond Castle Stalker is a place called Port Appin.

It’s called Port Appin because it’s the port on the mainland where goods travelled across to the island of Lismore. The whole areas is packed with history, but that’s not what I’m going to talk about in this post. Today the port is little more than a small jetty from where the small Lismore to Port Appin passenger ferry travels.

While on holiday we decided that it would be fun to hire some bikes in Port Appin, to get on the ferry to Lismore and to cycle on the island.

Hiring bikes was an experience in itself. As we drove into Port Appin there was a small sign saying "Bike Hire" pointing us down a street of houses. Another sign outside one of these houses saying "ring the bell at the back door" told us that we were in the right place. Sure enough, having rung the bell we were shown into a large a shed full of bikes for hire.

There were six of us and some were more seasoned cyclists than others. So it was with a certain level of excitement and trepidation that we cycles the short distance to the ferry.

There seems to be a law that wherever you go in the world the people running things are never the local people. I’ve many examples of this, in this case the man taking the money on the ferry was from New Zealand. He lifted the bikes over the hand rail around the ferry and stacked them in the small area at the front. We made our way down into the wooden cabin where we paid the small fee for the crossing and got to know one of the locals who seemed to be on his way back from a shopping trip. Those few minutes spent chatting were lovely and soon we were on the other side. We had also managed to get the most important information – the location of the one and only cafe on the island.

Having been offloaded by our Kiwi friend we set off cycling along the side of the beach on the one and only road on the island. The sun was shining, the countryside was beautiful and the air was fresh.

Eventually the road left the shoreline and started to climb into the middle of Lismore. It was at this point that the chain on Sue’s bike started to slip making it difficult for her to climb. For a number of reasons we decided that the best thing was for us to swap bikes. Both bikes had quick release bolts on the seats and mine would go low enough for Sue to ride it, and Sue’s would go high enough so off we set again.

Not much further along though I noticed that the peddle under my left foot was starting to wobble and the wobble was getting worse. I ignored it for a while, but eventually decided that I need to stop and have a look. As I stepped off the peddle and the crank arm that it was connect to fell off in my hands. I was stood looking at this bike wondering what I was going to do when another cyclist off the ferry stopped and offered assistance. He had a tool in his small bag on his bike and it enabled me to tighten the bolt a bit and go on my way. Good Samaritan #1.

It wasn’t long, though, before the bolt started working loose again. This time I’d made it as far as a farm. I went into the farmyard, found some people and asked if I could borrow a socket set. Without flinching the farmer went into one of the sheds, came out with a well used set of sockets and handed it to me. It was just what I need and got the bolt a lot tighter than the first time around. Good Samaritan #2.

Cycling to the cafe in the sunshine with clear skies and fabulous views of snow capped mountains was glorious. The soup and cake at the cafe was pretty good to.

We’d cycled half way along the island by now and some of the group were getting to the point where they thought that back to the ferry was the right way to go. Emily and I decided that while they finished off there lunch we’d explore a little further. Unfortunately during this exploring the crank arm started working loose again, the bolt had been threaded at some point and there was no way it was going to stay fast.

We meandered back to the cafe picking up the rest of the group headed towards the ferry and the farm. This time the farmer wasn’t there, but his wife was. She’d been around the first time and I asked her if it was possible to borrow the socket set again. She told that if I knew where it was to help myself, which I did with a smile on my face. Good Samaritan #3.

This time the threading had completely gone and there was no way that the bolt way staying in. In my youth I would have just scooted on the bike with one leg on the remaining peddle and my other foot pushing me along, but somewhere an the last 30 years I’ve lost that ability. I did, however, manage a reasonable method of walking up the hills and sailing freewheeling down them. After all we were on our way down to the ferry, so there was more decent than assent.

It was getting near to the time when the next ferry would be leaving and there was an hour between trips. Some of the group went ahead to see how far it was and whether I would make it walking and freewheeling.

When they got there our friend from New Zealand told them not to worry and that the ferry would leave when I had arrived. Good Samaritan #4.

As we sat eating our meal that evening we all agreed it had been a brilliant day, a day of beauty, a day of sunshine, a day of nature, a day of history, a day of community. I sat and gave thanks for Good Samaritans.

Just then a religion scholar stood up with a question to test Jesus. "Teacher, what do I need to do to get eternal life?"

He answered, "What’s written in God’s Law? How do you interpret it?"

He said, "That you love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence—and that you love your neighbour as well as you do yourself."

"Good answer!" said Jesus. "Do it and you’ll live."

Looking for a loophole, he asked, "And just how would you define ‘neighbour’?"

Jesus answered by telling a story. "There was once a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way he was attacked by robbers. They took his clothes, beat him up, and went off leaving him half-dead. Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side. Then a Levite religious man showed up; he also avoided the injured man.

"A Samaritan traveling the road came on him. When he saw the man’s condition, his heart went out to him. He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he lifted him onto his donkey, led him to an inn, and made him comfortable. In the morning he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take good care of him. If it costs any more, put it on my bill—I’ll pay you on my way back.’

"What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbour to the man attacked by robbers?"

"The one who treated him kindly," the religion scholar responded.

Jesus said, "Go and do the same."

Luke 10:25-37

Today we are pleased to announce that Jimmy has been found .

Although it’s been a long separation for him he doesn’t seem to have experienced any lasting damage and is currently enjoying being amongst the rest of the family again.

“If you want to feel rich, just count the things you have that money can’t buy”

Now there’s a thought? Can I count the things I have that money can’t buy:

1. Last night’s sunset
2. A family that I love
3. The wonder of sight
4. The ability to read
5. The cry of the curlew on the moors
6. A breath of crisp cool fresh air after a warm day
7. A sky full of stars
8. The ability to write
9. A crescent moon
10. Watching the sun fall into the sea
11. A warm summer day
12. Love
13. The view from Gummer’s How at the weekend
14. A full moon
15. The patterns in wood
16. The buds on the trees
17. A kiss from Sue
18. Hope
19. Answering a crossword clue
20. A walk in the woods
21. Delight
22. The change of the seasons
23. A wild deer in the field in the morning
24. A good night sleep
25. A hug from Jonathan
26. A crisp cold autumn day
27. Friends who are there
28. Finishing the crossword
29. Kind words from an acquaintance
30. Watching my children grow into adults
31. The time of friends
32. Gratitude
33. The comfort of being at home
34. A glorious sunrise
35. Praise
36. A heritage
37. Walking
38. A rainbow after a storm
39. Tears of joy
40. Watching the acrobatics of a swallow
41. Holding Emily’s hand
42. Laughter
43. A thunder storm
44. Forgiveness
45. Prayer
46. The touch of a polished stone
47. Pleasant surprises
48. Visiting wildlife in the garden
49. The crash of a wave
50. Smelling a log fire

I got to 50 and decided that I felt rich enough.

My benefits are worth more than a big salary, even a very big salary;
the returns on me exceed any imaginable bonus.

Proverbs 8:20

The whole thing comes to a crescendo in the late summer with a series of precessions but the activities have already begun.

One event that’s already taken place was a visit by an art installation known as the Global Rainbow. The installation comprised a set of lasers in the colours of the rainbow beamed across the sky. They were set up at the marina and shone from there over the centre of the city and out of the other side towards Blackburn, where it was still visible.

In many ways it’s quite a simple idea for an installation but like all good art the Global Rainbow engaged everyone in a collective experience.

We went down to the marina a couple of evenings and it was great to see a place that is normally a bit quiet buzzing with all sorts of people. There were families just taking it in. There were people with cameras of all sorts of sizes, sophistication and costs. There were people who were in on what it was all about. There were others who were baffled by the whole thing. We spoke to one couple who lived down there and hadn’t a clue what was going on. There were people intent on knowing how it worked and others who marvelled at the spectacle.

The event was talked about in the local paper and on the TV news. Nearly everyone I met that weekend wanted to know whether we’d been to visit. It was certainly to topic of conversation for a few days.

We were bound together as a community by our communal participation and immersion.

The Bible is full of all sorts of collective experiences. One of them stand out as memorable because of it’s eternal symbolism, but also because we continue to remember the events through a simple and regular act of worship. It was a collective experience that was so significant it was retold in each of the four gospels and bound the disciples together. As a ceremony it continues to bind communities together.

When it was time, he sat down, all the apostles with him, and said, "You’ve no idea how much I have looked forward to eating this Passover meal with you before I enter my time of suffering. It’s the last one I’ll eat until we all eat it together in the kingdom of God."

Taking the cup, he blessed it, then said, "Take this and pass it among you. As for me, I’ll not drink wine again until the kingdom of God arrives."

Taking bread, he blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body, given for you. Eat it in my memory."

He did the same with the cup after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant written in my blood, blood poured out for you.

Luke 22

I’d already listened to "Gotta Serve Somebody" and "Precious Angel!" and then it was time for "I Believe in You". As Bob’s guitar played I was immediately transported to all sorts of places where I’d listened to that song before. I saw some of the places as real physical things, others were just the feelings of a time and a place. The song was like a portal through time.

One of the places is a small room in a halls of residence and I am watching the needle glide across the vinyl on the jet black turntable that I’d bought with some of my student grant.

Another place is a hillside in the Lake District overlooking a turbulent lake. The rain is pouring down and I’m listening through my headphones. I’m protected and hidden under my hood.

There’s a different place this is a place of passion. I can’t see the time or the physical place, but I know the emotion of the passion of the place.

There’s another place, I’m in my car, it’s wintery and dark and I’m travelling home on the M6 alongside thousands of other people travelling the same road. The journey has been long, but I’m going home, back to the place where I belong.

I’m transported to all of these places, and others, all at the same time. Like a set of strings resonating together each of these moments rings with the same tune, the same emotions, the same thoughts, the same words:

Don’t let me drift too far
Keep me where you are
Where I will always be renewed
And that which you’ve given me today
Is worth more than I could pay
And no matter what they say
I believe in you

An orange sickle of new moon hung above the chimneys in a deep mauve sky. Autumn bonfires glowed in the mist and floated white smoke-rings above it. The beach shone in the gathering dusk as the tide fell and the sea grew less perturbed. I turned and swam on into the quiet waves.

And in so doing I concluded Waterlog: A Summer’s Journey Through Britain by Roger Deakin. Like many books that I read, I loved reading it, but I also loved concluding it. It was journey for a period that had run its course.

Life is full of beginnings and it’s equally full of conclusions. Each day has a sunrise and each day has a sunset. Each year begins with January and concludes with December.

Sometimes the conclusion can feel like a journey that’s ended before it’s really got going, at others the conclusion feels like one more unexpected summit higher than the summits already climbed.

It doesn’t matter where on the journey the conclusion lands, it’s still the conclusion. We might not like where the conclusion fell, but that doesn’t change it’s place.

Without a conclusion nothing ends. Without a conclusion life is an endless beginning. Without a conclusion we are doomed to endlessly revisit the failures of our past. Without a conclusion there is uncertainty.

With a conclusion we end the good and the bad. With a conclusion we give birth to the new. With a conclusion there is applause. With a conclusion there is clarity.

With a conclusion he said "it is finished".

While we were in York it started to snow, but nothing too dramatic.

By the time we had finished dinner it was dark and the snow had continued to fall.

It’s not far from my parents to the M62 motorway and we decided that while it may take us a while to get home that we’d be fine to travel.

So we set off.

It was slow going, but we never felt that we were doing anything too dangerous. Eventually we joined the motorway and the road, while impacted by the snow, still felt like a safe place to be.

Steadily we moved down the road, the snow continued to fall and we were becoming more remote.

As time passed we found ourselves in deeper snow, so deep that we could no longer tell where the edges of the motorway were – on either side. We had travelled beyond the street lights and were in utter darkness. The tracks that we were following became fainter and the snow became thicker. The snow continued to fall and the windscreen wipers became frozen. There was no one visible in front and no one visible behind. We were on our own.

It no longer felt like a safe place to be.

We wondered how long we would be travelling like this. We already knew that there wasn’t any snow back at home, but there was more than 120 miles between us and home. Having phoned a friend to see what information was available we concluded that things were confused.

It now felt like a very uncomfortable place to be.

Although neither of us said it but we could both tell that we weren’t happy.

After a while we concluded that it was time to turn around, go the other way and spend the night at my parents.

Having made the decision we spent anxious minutes waiting for the next junction to come into view, limited as the view was.

It felt like a long time before the next junction and it wasn’t easy making our way up the slip road and back onto the other side of the motorway. We still couldn’t see the edge of the road so had no idea where the slip road started. We made a short stop to clear as much of the snow from the windscreen as possible.

We were still on our own in the darkness. The road was a bit clearer on this side but we were still travelling on and through a lot of snow.

After what seemed like a very long time we saw some lights in the distance which turned out to be a queue of cars. As we caught up with them it felt good to be with others in the journey. We’d found some other people in the same predicament as ourselves, but that wasn’t the end of our worries we still had a long way to go.

Cars passed us trying to get to the front of the queue, covering the car with snow as they did. It was then that we saw something that made us even more relieved. As these cars went dangerously zipping down the queue some blue lights came on at the head of the convoy. We were being lead by a police car. If anyone knew there way down this road then a police car would.

Knowing that there was a police car at the front of the queue changed our outlook on the situation we were in.

We had a guide we could trust.

He quoted a proverb: "’Can a blind man guide a blind man?’ Wouldn’t they both end up in the ditch? An apprentice doesn’t lecture the master. The point is to be careful who you follow as your teacher."

Matthew 6:39-40

Even with a good guide it took us a long time to get back to the streetlights and eventually to my parents.

We followed the queue all the way to the end of the motorway and made our way back to my parents house. We spent the night there and made our way back the next day.

It takes me a second to realise what it is.

There is now a white fridge door where a cupboard door used to be.

We are the first and only people to live in our house. It wasn’t built when we bought it and it came with a built in kitchen. Along with the kitchen came a built-in fridge.

Apart from it’s ability to keep things cool this built-in fridge has always been something of a disappointment. It has a freezer box at the top of it that kept freezing up so we didn’t use it. That left a couple of shelves that you couldn’t see to the back of and a box bit at the bottom which was supposed to have a salad box in it, but that proved useless so we didn’t use it.

For years now it has been my intention to take out the built-in fridge and replace it with one of more practical use, but for some reason I never got around to it.

Part of the reason was a fear of what I might find. Other jobs I’ve undertaken in the kitchen have consistently turned into something bigger than planned.

And I never got around to doing something about it.

It hung there as a job that needed doing, but never got done.

Every time I couldn’t find something in the fridge I would wonder why I hadn’t got rid.

We even went to look at new fridges. You’d think it was an easy job to find a fridge to go in the standard sized 600mm wide gap that a kitchen cupboard leaves, but it’s not that easy at all. We did find one we liked, but it was expensive.

And the job remained as something that needed doing.

Every time I found something way out of date at the back of the fridge, that we’d forgotten about because we couldn’t see it, I would wonder why I hadn’t replaced.

We’ve lived in this house for 11 years now.

Then about 10 days ago I decided that enough was enough, it was time for a transformation. I searched around the internet for a deal on the fridge that we really wanted and I bought it.

(I was still worried about what I might find when I took the old fridge out so made sure that I could return the new one for free)

The new fridge arrived last Friday. Before doing anything I searched around to find the installation instructions for the old fridge and found them.

On Saturday I started to remove the old fridge.

Within an hour the old fridge was out and the new fridge was installed. AFTER 11 YEARS -AN HOUR!!!

The new fridge is fabulous. We can store things sensibly in it. It hasn’t got a redundant freezer box so has more room at the top. It’s got a new style of design so has shelves all the way to the bottom. The shelves are more like drawers and pull out all the way so there is no back for things to get lost in.

If I’m honest I’m quite excited about this fridge. When I go to get the milk out of it in the morning it’s a pleasure to be able to pull out the drawer at the bottom and pick up the milk.

A job well done.

Why did I put this off for so long I ask myself?

Why?

I have some reasons, but none of them very good ones.

As I look around my life there a number of jobs like this one, some of them practical, some of them a bit more personal. They’re sitting, waiting for me to do something with them.

I suspect that you are the same?

Work brings profit, but mere talk leads to poverty!

Proverbs 14:23

(For those of you that care about these things it’s a Bosch Logixx fridge)

After a little while I heard some music that I haven’t heard for what must be nearly 20 years.

I used to have it on cassette tape, that’s how old it was. The tape got played over and over when I was ay Polytechnic and trying to study.

It was played so often that it just wore out.

Hearing those notes reminded me of a little red JVC portable cassette player that I used to play it on when I wanted to focus in on myself. It was the red one in the picture:

The particular music is a stripped back instrumental piece with a guitar and very minimal strings accompaniment.

The melody brought back all sorts of memories of early married life when Sue and I lived in a rented bungalow. We had time to sit and to listen and to be together.

It revived memories of pray times when I felt the presence of God in a way that I can neither explain nor describe.

The rhythms of those days rang down the years straight back into my mind and my spirit.

It’s left me with a bit of a dilemma though. Now that I’ve remembered it and know what it’s called should I purchase it and return it to my music collection? Or should I leave it as a memory, a reminder that I may one day again rediscover?

We can’t live in the past and yet the past is so much of who we are.

A friend recently quoted someone else on twitter saying:

The Bible describes salvation in three tenses: past, present, future. To ignore anyone of these tenses will skew our view of salvation.

How true.

(The music was from an album by John Michael Talbot called The Quiet)

I want to make this point clear because there seems to be a bit of confusion for the owners of supermarkets when it comes to the placing of the Hovis Digestive biscuit. There is only one place to put the Hovis Digestive and that is with the cheese biscuits, that is its rightful home. And not on some lowly shelf hidden away but on the middle shelf at eye level where it can be seen and found by all.

What I would like to know though, is what is going on with the supply of this most delightful of cheese biscuits. They are really hard to get hold of. I’ve asked in a few places and they always give the same answer – "we can’t get hold of them either".

There’s something about the combination of the more angular Hovis Digestive with a good mature English Cheddar or French Camembert that is just perfection. You might have your own choice of favourite cheese but I’m yet to find someone who would disagree that the perfect accompaniment is a Hovis Digestive. I’m also yet to find someone who eats them plain.

There’s something about the Hovis Digestive that means that is needs the company of another to make it truly sing. Perhaps that’s why I like them so much, because that’s precisely what I am like. I’m not much good on my own, I need others to bounce off, to inspire me, to draw me out of myself. The Hovis Digestive needs to be in community with others and so do we.

It was lovely to read through the kind comments from friends near and friends far.

It was a special thing to take note of who had taken the time to send cards.

I really enjoyed reflecting on them all and it reminded me of an early blessing when I talked about a study done with people over the age of 95. They we asked what they would do differently if they had their life to live over again. Their answers were:

• They would risk more.
• They would reflect more.
• They would do more things that would live on after they were dead.

I keep reminding myself in the busy days to reflect more.