not so silent

Are you ever lost for words? Some things are hard to describe. People ask, how was it? The same way I ask others, how was it? Often what we or I would like as an answer is something short, do not ramble I think internally, not too much fine detail please just enough to keep my eyes interested but not too much creating me a problem with my next meeting, conversation, appointment, TV programme.  I remember being in Mozambique with Paul and he said when you get home people will ask “how was your holiday”? and you will struggle to put it into words, he was right. At our Christmas fair on Saturday I had an enriching conversation with my local funeral director. She “you’ve been on that thingy, begins with an S”, me sabbatical, she “yes or as I call it a jolly”! it is hard to put into words some things you go through,  perhaps there are no words maybe  words just get in the way of the experience, words might just clutter and misrepresent the experience

Church with the missionaries made very welcome then lunch out after church, recommended. Delivered our thoughts on the Prodigal Son at Mercy Air. Still doing day to day vicar things like talking God and pastoral care. Also talking to God. Learning that  short service in Africa means you do not leave your old skills behind you. So I have been servicing a tractor and ride on lawn mower, vital for a grass air strip. Erin has also been making things, more of that later. I had coffee with the local Pastor very interesting it was to get another view of God and church. Invited to a brai on the rooftop with another Mercy Air family, a bit different watching the monkeys  bedding down in the trees above you. It's also been a privilege to say Morning Prayer, Erin and I together. Once again meeting so many good people doing great things.  A privilege. 

30 years ago today Erin and meself made our way across the city in our Austin Maxi to the hospital, the maternity unit. We had gone to all the 'how to have a baby' night school lessons, (different to how to make a a baby night school lessons). We had with much commitment put together our baby birth plan. Cassette player in hand with tapes for music to soothe mother to be as she pops baby out. On reflection I remember the room being like the space you love to have as a garage, polished floors, tiled white walls, storage for tools, spanners. We entered that room with a sense of naivety, hope and Unknowingly not a bloody clue what would be required of us over the next 30 years, let alone the next few hours. I say a few more like 24hours.  There was no popping,  after a long struggle Daniel came into the very centre of our lives. Life was changed but we did not know it. Naivety still hung around us like a medal?  The celebration was was for a moment, mother and bed transporte...

I don't have much to say about this. But being up so high opens up my vulnerability, lost in a landscape of rock. Being up here I am insignificant, not in a I don't matter way. But I take up less space I am small, open to fall, reliant upon others. I am reminded of Richard Rohr words I am not the most important thing in life. Not insignificant to my God. 

I have purposely kept from going to museums and galleries this week as I did not want too much on my mind, (small mind) to many images to blur the story and experience I have had.  But here below is the most striking painting I have seen his week because it ties in with a sermon I preached on The Merchant and Pearl. Part of what struck me about the Merchant and the kingdom was that he must have been well worked out, organised, had a plan, made a sacrifice. This was not the kingdom of hap hazard and maybe. This is the kingdom of let's make a plan (Paul Middelton). So this is how I see this painting.  We have people working together possibly Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus, Mary a servant?  They have planed for this, talked to each other committed to something in the Kingdom. They are organised, rope, clothes a bowl perhaps to wipe the face of Christ and maybe for the wounds, there is compassion in this plan.  There is sacrifice in this painting, time given to the dead ...

In looking out of my window this w eek I have wondered, how much room do I take up?

  This week I've been living in a palace yes most of you who know me well presumed I had in my normal dyslexic manner written palace but meant place. NO. I was invited to leave my palace rooms ( I will explain when i see you) to be guided to 500  feet below my bedroom. The entrance to this house visit is not unlike the entrance to our church cellar.  Unmarked, dark, uninviting, this house gets worse as I make my way through it. Dark, dirty, ill kept. Unfinished and confusing. That is until David begins to tell its story and it's unfolding possibilities into context. I will not go into the fine detail I could not do it justice. Many scholars believe this dirty complex under my bedroom could be the house St Paul was keep under house arrest (Acts 28:30-30) and where he was taken from to be executed by the Roman authorities.    The photo you see is they believe to be a blocked up window that looked over the via del Corso (Broadway) he could have watched returning Ro...