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All of the usual waiting distractions are being employed: chattering, newspapers, out of date magazines, romantic novels, card games on mobile phones.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.

I hate to imagine how many night’s sleep I have lost because I have been facing a situation that I wasn’t in control of. I was reminded of this the other week as I lay in my bed looking into the darkness and turned over and over a situation that was going to face me the next day. This wasn’t even a very important situation, but it had got under my skin.

Over recent years I’ve tried to change this as I’ve become increasingly aware of two things. The first is an obvious one – I’m never going to be in control of everything. The second is not so obvious, but is more profound – control pushes people away and puts me into a cage of isolation.

If I’m going to be someone who lives a life that is connected with other people, truly connected, I need to drop the control, be open and as a result be vulnerable.

In a study of what makes people wholehearted Brene Brown made this observation: "In order for connection to happen we need to allow ourselves to be seen, really seen". Brene has some really profound insight into what it means to be vulnerable and open and wholehearted, a video of here presentation at TED is at the end of this post.

She also makes the observation when talking about how we numb our vulnerability "We make everything that is uncertain certain. Religion has gone from a belief in faith and mystery to certainty – you’re wrong I’m right." I’ve definitely been guilty of that in the past, and probably will be again, but I’m trying not to. I’m trying to be someone who embraces the vulnerability of the journey of faith that I’m on.

Jesus never asked us to have all of the answers, he did ask us to journey together. I’m trying to embrace the unknown alongside the known. I’m trying to let my relationship with Jesus grow in the weakness.

Part of this journey of vulnerability has been to create a few places where I can be open and exposed in safety – places of vulnerability. One of these places takes place on a Thursday morning as myself and two other men get together for breakfast and to chat. Most of the time we talk about things that others might regard as trivial, but they are things that are close to each one of us. They are things that we feel the need to share, in vulnerability, with the others. We don’t even have the answers most of the time, that’s not the point either. Our aim is to allow ourselves "to be seen, really seen".

I’m sure that part of Jesus statement "Unless you accept God’s kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you’ll never get in" Mark 10:15 is that children have a wonderful ability to make themselves vulnerable without condition.

We cannot live a life completely in control, it would be madness to try, but we can try to live a life of hiding. Jesus us asks us to come out of the hiding and to make ourselves visible, exposed and vulnerable.

Brene Brown

1. Blessings #169 – The Visits from the Little Voices
2. Count Your Blessings #144 – McVitie’s Chocolate Digestives
3. Blessings #161 – Coincidences?
4. Blessings #171 – Inspirational Lives
5. Silverdale – Half Term
6. Book Review: The Search for God and Guinness
7. Blessings Top 20 for 2010
8. Jimmy is Missing!
9. Blessings #156 – Crossing the Chasm of Inadequacy
10. A short break in Scotland
11. Blessings #168 – Listening
12. Blessings #160 – Sun’s Rays
13. Count Your Blessings #128 – Walking hand-in-hand with my children 
14. Blessings #165 – Cycling (to work)
15. Count Your Blessings #91 – Decorating Christmas Trees
16. Holiday Pictures – Summer 2011
17. Blessings #166 – Shared Experiences
18. Blessings #167 – Hot Feet on Cool Damp Grass
19. Blessings #162 – The Swallow’s Return
20. Blessings #158 – The Free Radical
21. Blessings #146 – New Era
22. Count Your Blessings #64 – Stories, Fables and Parables
23. Book Review: Fasting (The Ancient Practices)
24. Blessings #164 – A Story about a word
25. Blessings #159 – Thursday Morning Breakfast
26. Count Your Blessings #129 – Gratitude
27. Blessings #163 – Garden Pottering
28. Count Your Blessings #138 – Buttercups and Dandelions
29. Following: Jesus and the Apostles 
30. Blessings #172 – A Warm Glow

It’s nice to see that posts all the way back to 2006 are still being read.

This tree sits in the middle of a small piece of ground that is covered with slate chippings.

The chippings are quite large and the tree branches are only thin.

When the wind blows the small branches brush across the chippings backwards and forwards.

It’s only a gentle brush, and each swoosh can only move a few small chippings a small distance. If you sat and watched it you’d struggle to see that anything was changing.

Each step is tiny but it doesn’t take long and it doesn’t take much wind for the tree to clear the chippings from beneath it’s branches in less than a day. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to move a pile of stones off the drive and back under the tree. Of you added the piles up it would form a huge mound.

We don’t have to take massive steps to move mountains, we just have to take consistent small steps, moving a stone at a time is enough.

Likewise, you can’t finish a marathon in one huge step, you finish a marathon by putting one foot in front of the other over and over again. Each step gets you nearer to your goal, put together enough steps and you’ll get to the end.

Christians are also called disciples which means follower. We don’t follow for a day, we follow for a lifetime. The Christian faith is a walk of thousands of steps and he walks alongside us in every one. Sometimes it’s good to look back and see how far we’ve come.

Someone has turned the thermostat down recently, it’s not freezing yet, but getting that way. I decided that my thin gloves would be ample to keep my hands warm, I was mostly right. My hands ended up cold, but not frozen.

After a few minutes sat working at my desk I could feel my fingers take on the warm glow that occurs as a result of warming up after being cold.

There’s something unique about the warmth that gets generated after our extremities have been at the mercy of the elements.

It reminds me of playing in the snow, keeping going until my hands are absolutely frozen and then coming in to warm up.

It reminds me of winter weekends gardening with my parents.

It reminds me of long hikes crunching frozen leaves through woodlands, by streams and up mountains.

It reminds me of early morning paper-round deliveries with stiff hands that make it difficult to slot the papers through the letterboxes.

It reminds me of winter rugby training, running in the snow trying everything to keep my fingers warm.

The glow is almost worth the pain of the cold.

His name was Tom.

I moved to Preston as a young student over 25 years ago. I didn’t really know anything about Preston, but I did know some people. These people helped me to find a local church where I could fit in, and I’m still part of that church.

One of the things that attracted me to this community was a set of handshakes. There was a particular set of handshakes from people who had hands that were big, rough and sturdy – hands that had done a solid days work over a number of years.

There was also a set of smiles and twinkles in eyes that talked of a life of purpose and a deep knowledge of the important things.

Tom was one of those people.

Tom’s background was completely different to mine.

He was a farmer and I was young student, the son of an engineer.

He’d lived all his life amongst his extended family. My family was, and still is, scattered all over the world.

He was from a different era. I suppose I’ve always thought of him as old, but your perception of old changes as you get older yourself.

He’d known hardship and heartache that I have never experienced.

Tom was an inspiration.

I’d sit in prayer meetings and listen to Tom pray. He’d talk to his Father God in a way that spoke of an intimacy I craved.

I’d watch Tom in church as he sung praise to his Father God and see his face light up. He wasn’t just singing words he was worshipping.

I’d speak to Tom and he’d show a knowledge about my family’s life that demonstrated deep care for people beyond his immediate concerns.

On one occasion Sue and I joined Tom on a trip to Glasgow where we were to minister to a small church. Tom had taken the young pastor there under his wing showing a commitment to join people in their ventures.

I’ll miss that handshake and I’ll miss that smile and I pray that my life might follow Tom’s inspirational example.

Could you please keep a look out for the dark haired youth from the picture below:

A search party comprising Granddad and Dad has been sent out to investigate the Land of the Left Behind which has recently been (partially) vacated by one of the Big People.

Below are some pictures taken during the expedition, but unfortunately the results were not great and Jimmy is still missing.

As you can see they search high and low.

If you do find Jimmy please do let us know, please!

They are a favourite.

I couldn’t tell you how long I’ve had them; long enough for the labels inside to have to writing left on them. When I bought them they were an olive colour. I’m not sure what colour you’d call them today other than the obvious ‘faded olive’.

These trousers have travelled some miles. If I’m flying somewhere and had a choice of what to sit in for the next 8 hours I’d choose these trousers.

They’re walking trousers and they’ve done some walking. I have in my mind that when I bought them they were advertised as quick drying and that’s still true today. It’s one of the reasons why I love them. I tend not to go walking if it’s going to rain all day, but you can’t go walking in the UK without expecting a shower.

But as well as walking these trousers have also journeyed with me as I’ve visited the beach, camped out, mowed the lawn, hung a picture, watched the television, read a book, driven the car and sat by a lake. They’ve been with me on all sorts of adventures.

These trousers are part of my history and carry that history in their fibres. There’s a couple of places where they are a bit worn out and a few places where there are little rips. Some places have faded more than others, some places appear as vivid as they were when I bought them. A bit like my history.

Weaved through all of these fibres of history is another thread. A different thread. A thread  that manages to touch all of the other fibres adding vibrancy. This thread doesn’t fade and doesn’t wear out.

It was with this in mind that I started reading Scot McKnight’s book Fasting which is part of a series of books called The Ancient Practices.

I must admit I was expecting this book to give me a set of working instructions on how to fast and a few reasons as to why I should fast. I’m not sure why I thought that because that’s not the way the blurb reads:

Fasting is the body talking what the spirit yearns, what the soul longs for, and what the mind knows to be true.

In one sense Jon does give a process for fasting, but his process of A > B > C that is used throughout the book refers to a sacred moment > fasting > results. Even then Jon tries to be very careful with not drawing a causal link between B and C.

In conclusion Jon summarises it like this:

We began this book with a definition of fasting, and as we close, I want to bring this definition to your attention one more time:

Fasting is the natural, inevitable response of a person to a grievous sacred moment in life.

The elements of this definition should now be clear. Fasting is the choice not to eat or drink for a specified period. Fasting is not the same as abstinence, which is the choice not to eat or drink specific items even though one is still eating and drinking other items. Neither is fasting the same as dieting, which is the choice not to eat or drink various items for health reasons. Fasting, as we see it in the biblical tradition, emerges from an organic and unified sense of the whole person – body and spirit (or soul) acting in consort. For the unified person, fasting is both natural and inevitable when that person encounters sacred moments in life.

There is also a lot of good sound advice on the practice of fasting, it’s not all theory, but understanding the context for biblical fasting is very helpful. Like many people I suspect, I’ve regarded fasting, a bit like prayer, as something I should do more of without any real understanding of why. This book gives a really good description of why and in what context.

Having established the framework of A > B > C the main body of this book is spent in describing the different ways that fasting is a body (whole person) response:

• Fasting as body talk
• Fasting as body turning
• Fasting as body plea
• etc.

The book concludes with some practical advice about some of the physical effects of fasting and the dangers which, again, is very informative. I don’t think I’d really thought about the medical dangers before.

There are some book which I pick up and read through without really stopping to think too much. This book is one to take a little slower and to ponder along the journey. I suspect it will also be a book that I go back to from time to time to ponder some more.

I can’t say that this book has revolutionised my approach to fasting either, but it has put me in a place where I now what I would like to do and now just need to get on and do it.