Easter blessings

He is risen!

Easter blessings to you and yours.

It was for you

Yesterday, we decided to take communion onto the streets of our village. We wanted to remind folk that it was Good Friday. And to confront folk quietly with the message that Christ died for them. The various reactions were fascinating. To many folk, we were completely invisible, gazes were averted as they passed by. Others were curious to know what we were up to but didn't want to engage. A few people took Jesus at his word and shared communion.

We set up table outside a fast food store - a juxtaposition I found ironic for the sharing of the food of life. There was something really liberating about taking the sacrament outside the walls of the church sanctuary. And certainly some of the participants in communion yesterday are folk who are unlikely to find themselves inside a church building being offered the sacrament instituted by Christ's death. Now I'm looking for more ways to take Christ onto the streets where he belongs, where we belong.

Stopping the traffic

We are planning another trip to Holland this summer. There'll be walking, cycling, eating, sleeping and generally living outdoors. I love the pace of life in Frysland, a rural area a couple of hours north of Amsterdam.

But even on the drive up there from Rotterdam, on some fast and busy roads, it intrigues me how, when boats want to pass, traffic stops, engines are switched off, the road opens up and boats pass through the gap. There's even time to take photographs.

This holy week, I've found myself longing for that opportunity to stop for a moment. But, with services every night, services that I can't put together until the pressure of deadline is upon me, as well as all the normal pastoral needs to be met, letting up is not an option. This busy - ness is largely of my own making. But I'm not beating myself up about that. Because I believe that 2000 years ago, Jesus found himself caught up in frenetic activity. No time even to prepare for his own death - the folk around him just wanted more and more.

Sometimes we tell ourselves that its in the stillness that we can know God. But, thankfully, God is also clearly present in all the commotion. Not being able to change how the week is shaping up or how I am caught up in activity, still I relish God quietly present, urging us on to show his love for the world. And when there is that odd pause in the traffic, hopefully I'll be able to take in the view and bask in the moment before carrying on to change the world with love.

Stones of some standing

Standing stones fascinate me. I will happily trek miles to view these ancient relics of our past. The mystery and the legends surrounding their origins and their use simply add to their attraction. This stone circle, around 5000 years old, stands at Loch Buie on the Isle of Mull. It took me several attempts to find it and, on my first visit, I thought a nearby kerb cairn, pretty impressive in itself, was the stone circle. I only discovered my mistake when I got home and it was a whole year before I could make the trek again and marvel at the real thing.

How often do we settle for less when, with just a little more striving, the real thing is within our grasp?

Spatially challenged

This week, we have a labyrinth set up in the church hall. Each evening after our holy week services, people go and spend some time in the labyrinth, meditating and praying or just enjoying some peace and quiet. At different points in the labyrinth, there are symbolic actions that folk can perform - or not - as they wish, things that help folk journey with Jesus on the way to the cross.

I needed some help setting up the labyrinth. Although its something I've done quite a few times now, I am spatially challenged. And even with a diagram in my hand, I still can't work out just how to lay out the pattern. My creativity doesn't translate into spatial awareness.

Its good to know our limitations but important not always to allow those limitations to inhibit us or stifle our expressiveness.

It was for us...and our communities

Last year I attended an open air production of the life of Christ in Kelvingrove Park in Glasgow. When Christ was crucified, the backdrop was a couple of Glasgow tenement properties, with onlookers passing the time of day over the wall. All that was missing was a couple of Glasgow women "hingin" from their windows.

This struck me as authentic.

This Monday of Holy Week, we remember that Jesus wept over the city. Our communities are in dire need of that kind of compassion. Folk who care, who look beyond the outer facade of community life and recognise that there is much to weep about. But weeping is not enough. Our compassion must spur us to action that brings about change. Looking beneath the surface helps us to see reality. Caring enough to make a difference is another matter.

Positive strokes

This is the Bavarian summer house in the impressive gardens at Brodick castle on the Isle of Arran.

Last year, I led a retreat there for some friends in the church. We held our Sunday morning worship in the summerhouse.

The curious stickers covering everyone were a part of our worship that involved writing something good you had discovered about other members of the group and then attaching that to their person. Everyone was pleasantly surprised to learn about the discoveries others had made and the affirmation felt good.

Sometimes its easy to make others feel good and even where its more of a struggle, its always a worthwhile exercise. We all need some loving.