Chimneys

(no narrative, sorry ER)

Attic Attack!

Scaffolding being put up at our house to start some work on the attic.

Since 1850

Located in what was, until the 1960s, the heart of one of Britain's most important railway stations, this clock has been helping travellers work out how late their trains have arrived - since 1850. Although a local newspaper reporter recently derided Perth station as 'dank and seedy', I think it is a wonderful old collection of buildings. It is certainly in need of investment, it is definitely 'windswept' and often feels icily cold, even in the summer. The place though has an intrigue, a feel, an atmosphere that is in its own way, rather wonderful. Part of that is because unlike most public buildings, Perth station has never had enough money spent on it to effectively kick-over the traces of the past. While many libraries, church-buildings, courts, council offices and so forth have opted for relevance and functionality, the dear old station has never had that option - and so the past seems to be bursting out everywhere.

I look up at the old clock, situated in what is now primarily a car-park for railway employees in order to note the time. Even as I do so I am reminded of the thousands of people who have stood here before me, doing exactly this. Last moments between mothers and their sons departing for wars have been counted here, engine-drivers have looked nervously at its face as it revealed how much time they would have to make up as they assaulted the hard road North. This grand old clock has counted away the lives of Monarchs, Prime-Ministers, Empires, ticket-clerks, passengers, railway-companies, Ministers of Transport and eras of history.

Amidst the rusting beams, the peeling motor-rail stickers, the dripping roofs and the algae slowly crawling across the stonework, lies a thing of great beauty. Perth station was a grand place, and though she struggles by these days her dignity is not completely gone. Enough people come through her portals every day to assure her that she still has some use. Though the days of being overwhelmed with countless travellers, goods and trains have faded into the past, all is not lost. Though it used to be said that night or day, you could always hear a train moving at Perth, now long silences control the hours, punctuated by the mournful sound of litter being blown along the platforms, yet still all is not gone. And those platforms, those enormous, long gracious island platforms built so that mighty trains could queue up to depart for London, Manchester, Birmingham, Inverness, Cardiff, Aberdeen are mocked by the two-car DMUs that say Scotrail, but look like Hornby. They are puny things beneath the still-cavernous roof which deserves mighty engines to cover. But still, the glory of the place has not been completely robbed.

Glimpses of the station, as she was in her youthful vigour, or as she expanded into her late-Victorian adulthood, and on into 20th Century active middle age, frequently interrupt the fallen present. Twice-a-day The London Train creates a stir, the platforms fill with people, the train that comes in is big, noisy, snorting and imposes its presence. The doors don't slide shut at the touch of a button, with cold efficiency but are slammed shut with an honest nostalgic thud. Cases, rucksacks and boxes are manhandled on and off the coaches, and it still has windows that can be opened for waves, tears, smiles, or Brief Encounter farewells. The night sleeper's ghostly appearances conjour up a similar mood in their few moments rest at Perth, before the silence returns. In such moments, the grand old lady stretches herself and remembers what she once was. For all too short a moment, the pomp of the past invades the tawdriness of the present. When it happens, the litter, the grime, the rusty unused tracks, the empty offices, the broken guttering all seem to fade, and instead all manner of beauties come to the fore; the gorgeous yellow sandstone of William Tite's original station frontage, the sun glinting on the tangle of lines and points facing south, the guard's whistle that echoes back over a century and a half, the Victorian latticework cast-iron footbridge, the roar of exhaust and the red tail-light of the departing train disappearing beneath the Edinburgh Road. For those few moments, the platform of Perth Station, spread out before its clock, resembles George Earl's painting of it from 1895, called, "Going South".

In the late 1960s, Perth Station was wounded, but not killed by Beeching's assault. Her wings were clipped, as she lost her slow-trains North that served stations like Murthly, deemed unfit for a railway whose purposes could no longer include social and community considerations. Her limbs were severed as fast lines south to Edinburgh, and North to Aberdeen were cut off or dug-up, and her scenic tourist lines through Highlandman, Crieff, Glen Ogle and Oban were abandoned. She was humiliated as her great canopy, extended in the 1880s to cover a vast area, was cut-back, and her goods station built over.

As the London-train pulls out of the station, the clatter of feet on steps and the gentle rumble of modern wheelie-suitcases mingle with the voices of passengers hurrying for exits, calling cabs, dialling mobiles, summoning lifts. Then with a disorientating abruptness, the silence returns, the emptiness reasserts itself. The grand old lady who has stirred herself to reminisce, tires so soon these days. George Earl's Perth station is snuffed out in an instant, and the Perth station of today appears. In that moment it is almost as if Beeching's proverbial axe has fallen again. Tite's sandstone retreats, the moss and algae reappear, and an empty can of John Smith's Extra Smooth, rolls noisily across the vacant concrete.

Call Me Cynical But.....

So Russel Brand has quit, and Jonathan Ross is suspended following their on-air schoolboy prank which got a bit out of hand, at the weekend. Full of regret and remorse, they have issued apologies which their victim has accepted. Their explanation is that they are zany live performers, who are edgy, daring, creative and given to outbursts of uncontrollable wildness - wherever it leads.

But wait a minute. Isn't there more likely to be another side to this?

Why is it that Elton John can walk through an airport terminal completely calmly, without having a tantrum at journalists - except when he has a new album out? Simply because it propels him and his new product onto the front pages.

Brand, for his part has built his career on being ousted from jobs for being too outrageous, only to be offered bigger jobs once the furore has died down. Quietly putting out a weekly show on Radio 2 for a few years was never going to be his next career move, in fact it would have destroyed the volatile image he is trying to project. As for Jonathan Ross, I don't think I am being too cynical to suggest that this was merely a shocking piece of marketing. The day before this piece was recorded, Ross released a new book entitled "Why do I say these things?" the cover of which features a monkey putting its hand over his mouth to prevent him getting into trouble. I don't think I am being too cynical to suggest that the timing of this little scandal and the release of his scandal-book are entirely unrelated. The fact that the offending sections were pre-recorded, passed by editors and spliced into a live programme, demonstrates the extent of the planning involved in the whole thing. The fact that it has escalated to being mentioned in parliament, and is on the front page of every Tabloid, must be making Ross chuckle - as Tesco's heavily market his £25/hardback in shiny display packaging at the entrances to all their stores.

So if you thought Brand and Ross' stunts were rather pathetic. Don't start by writing to the BBC, don't complain to your MP, just avoid buying the wretched tie-in book.

Between Navigators and Visionaries

During the last year or so we have had two very different visiting speakers at our church, doing sermon series about the nature, meaning, purpose and mission of 'the church' - exploring different aspects of what it means to be the church of Christ today. I have been struck by the differences between their two approaches. These differences can be summed up by saying that the first one who came had visionary tendencies, while the second was more of a navigator.

The visionary approaches the subject like this. Beginning with an ideal, they explore that ideal, hold it up - and then try to work back from that ideal to where we are. As follows:

The Navigator, on the other hand has a completely different point of departure. For him, the starting point is not a place we might never reach this side of glory, but actually where we now are. As such the focus is on what we can most practically and helpfully do next as we seek to build the church. It looks more like this:
There are of course limitations to both approaches. The visionary is usually criticised in the following ways. His vision is so bold, so inspiring and so wonderful that it is quite beyond our reach. The pattern of church life he recommends is unattainable, merely creates guilt, disillusionment with outworking things in daily reality, and can just create a crowd of people skilled in criticising their fellow-believers, and the church itself. It looks like this:

On the other hand, the navigator is not always well-received either! When he speaks directly into the muddy and complicated realities of our situation, it can seem like duty, piled upon duty, lacking a vision to motivate and invigorate the daily effort. Without the imagination fired by a 'bigger-picture', the practical, down-to-earth wisdom of the navigator can fall flat. Like this:

Interestingly - and I think mostly on the basis of temperament rather than on any other split such as age, gender, etc people have expressed appreciation of either the visionary or the navigator! Few people have been enthused by both, most have either responded to one approach or the other. I suggest that both approaches are absolutely vital, necessary and that we are absolutely impoverished without both of these things. We need visionaries to remind us of God's big plan for the church, His love for the church, and its glorious future -and all that it can become today for the glory of God and enrichment of the lives of those around it. We need their ability to make us unwilling to settle for the mediocrity of the moment and to stretch, dream, strive and pray for the church to become all it should be - all it is called to become. But we also need navigators, people who will not merely berate us for being in the wrong place, but will start with where we are, our mundane, drab and awkward realities, and point us in the right direction - so that fired by the visionary passion we can continue to put one foot in front of the other, knowing that we are heading the right way. It looks like this:

So here's to Visionaries and Navigators. Long may you inspire us and instruct us. And may we all learn to appreciate the value of the model which least suits our temperaments!

Slapstick

The excitement of the day has been caused by yet another of my infamous unplanned slapstick routines. Stumbling about in the kitchen trying to tidy up, I dropped a mug. Clearing up the broken pieces of china, I managed to step on an especially sharp slice which got wedged in my heel. The offending little blighter is pictured below.

Despite much prodding a poking, with various pins and the tweezers from home, there was no shifting it, just lots of blood. Thankfully, my ever amazing wife ran to my rescue. She is a Dr, and happened to be out on house-calls, complete with medical bag. Out came a scalpel, a very sharp needle, some fine tweezers and the comment, "if I was doing this at work I'd use some local anaesthetic"......

A few minutes later the china object was removed, and I was lovingly bandaged up, with suitable sterile gauze and stuff - another happy customer of the NHS! Who could ever say I wasn't well looked after??

Now - my next dilemma. Does anyone know how to get blood stains out of woollen carpets?

Ice Feathers

Winter has come to Perth, both officially and in practice. Officially, of course, the clocks went back yesterday and the cold months were ushered in with an extra hour in bed. In practical terms the early morning ice-scraping ritual in which cold hands assault frozen cars began again in earnest this morning. I love the ice-feather patterns which grow across the car roof.

Marriage Course.... again!

Yesterday we began a new series of The Marriage Course. It's a smaller course this time, fewer people wanting to do it - but that's not really a problem. In fact it makes it a lot easier for us hosting it, and makes it a bit more relaxed and less formal too.

Once again Mrs Hideous & I are reviewing what we have learnt on previous courses - a process which continues to inspire and encourage us in terms of the effectiveness of the approach taken on the course. One thing that amazes me in the deceptively simple talks on the DVD is that I am still learning useful things from them, despite having seen them several times. Even though the talks are not complex, or intellectually stretching, their profundity is demonstrated by the value that can be gained watching them even for the... 6th time! The depths of these talks is only really revealed, I think, when you try and put them into practice!

Our hope and prayer is that the couples doing the course this time will benefit from it as much as we have. In fact - if they only gain a fraction of what we have, it will be time well spent. Yesterday was on the 'foundations' of marriage, an introduction to the meaning and purpose of marriage, the idea of 'marriage-time' (the danger of a time-starved marriage, crowded out by busyness), as well as a very incisive exercise in which we identify our spouses key emotional needs in order to seek to meet them.

One thing I hadn't noticed in the talks before, was the statistics which showed a huge rise in the number of marriages going through crises or even disintegration amongst 50+ year-olds, whose children are (typically) leaving home. The research has shown that a failure to invest in the marriage during the crazily frantic years of child-rearing, often yields a bitter fruit once the children leave. I know that since Mrs Hideous and I started following the 'marriage-time' pattern recommended on the Marriage Course, it has been good for us in the present. I hadn't though previously thought about it also as an investment in the future wellbeing of our marriage.

I'm looking forward to week two already!

Nine Years of Boris

I can't believe that the daft baby pictured above is now a tall, sport-mad, nine year old. It seems as if only yesterday I was holding that little stinking bundle of puke, dribbles and smiles.. and now he knows all kinds of things I don't, and asks me questions about what it was like to grow up in the 'olden days'. "Were there really no computers or ipods? Did you really have a TV that was only Black and White? Why didn't you use the internet when you were my age?" Or yesterday when he saw a bit of an episode of TOTP2, he asked, "Was Top of the Pops a TV programme when you were a boy?" and then, "Was it about old-fashioned music?"... er..... Well it wasn't then - but it is now, I tried to explain.

Very sensibly the young man has asked if he can go out with us for a curry to celebrate being nine! Splendid - it will be only another twnety minutes or so until he's a teenager and won't want to be seen out in public with us at all!

Number Two's (Three's, Four's Five's Sixes and Seven's)

One of the perils of being married to a doctor is the weird and wonderful things that I find on my computer screen, and/or on the printer. Tonight I was met with the following delight -

"What in the .....?!" I exclaimed - only to be met with the answer, "I'm doing a clinical presentation at the meeting tomorrow night, I could print these posters off for everyone, and have them laminated." These things, it appears, are very important. It wouldn't be beyond the realms of possibility to see one of these being framed and put up on the wall in some doctor's consulting room (if you want to really educate yourself about such important matters, the picture enlarges if you click on it).

The important thing is to make sure that this particularly vivid educational tool is hidden from the sight of Boris, Norris and Doris - who would not only find it absolutely hilarious, but would insist on an undue level of clinical reporting over the coming months. This is something I can probably do without. One thing is clear however - the kids telling us that they are off for a 'number two' is no longer going to be considered scientifically accurate, after all, it might be a three, four, five, six or seven!

(For this entire post, I ask your apologies.)

Tail-light

Book Notes: The Faith of Barack Obama by Stephen Mansfield

Since 312AD when Constantine professed Christian faith, a debate has raged about the spiritual sincerity or political expediency of his declaration. There can be no doubt that his conversion, whether genuine or merely outward - has had enormous consequences, which would have amazed both the Emperor and his contemporaries. When a young, black political organiser on Chicago's South Side, named Barack Obama, professed faith in Christ at Jeremiah Wright's Trinity United Church of Christ - a strikingly similar debate was launched.

Was climbing the greasy pole of African American politics simply not possible without membership of a mainstream faith community which Obama used in order to unite people around his political vision and aspirations? Or did the young man experience a spiritual awakening, and 'come home to God' (his words) that night under Wright's influence?

Stephen Mansfield has written an excellent book which in 149 straightforward pages, assesses the sincerity and content of the faith of Barack Obama. This book does not seem to be written with any direct agenda, except that of accurately describing and informing. Unlike most of the stuff knocking around in this US election season, this book neither sets out to assure white-evangelicals that Obama is OK; nor is it seeking to demonise him. As such it provides a helpful assessment of the sincerity of the religious vision that Obama brings to his politics, which will enlighten readers who both share the content of that vision, and those who reject it.

One of the most helpful aspects of this book is the way in which it sets Obama's spiritual experiences and religious outlook (along with a fascinating assessment of the colourful Jeremiah Wright) firmly within the context of African American history and culture. In fact, the chapter on Trinity church reads as a very good little introduction to 'Black Theology', from Cone to Wright - a theological trajectory of which the author is not uncritical.

Readers in a British church context will be fascinated to read of the way in which theological liberalism is strangely wedded to spiritual experiences typical of evangelicalism, in the Black Churches of the States. Liberation theology and altar-calls do not sit together in UK churches, as they do in Jeremiah Wright's church! Also, the author's charting of the rise of the 'religious-left' in America is the documentation of the passing of a fascinating milestone in the political landscape of the USA. This is deftly and helpfully achieved.

Remarkably fair-minded, this book is short, easy to read and insightful. Whilst the conclusion might be in favour of Obama's religio-political vision; for the most part this book enables the reader to make an assessment themselves, aside from the shrill pro or anti propaganda that dominates the airwaves.

(a good present, thanks Mum!)

The Mad Burn

Coruisk again

Frustratingly imaging what this picture would have looked like had my decent camera been working......

Attic of Possibilities

This is a photo of the attic of our house. There are many bad things about living in an old house, such as the dust, and the lack of insulation. There are also many good things, one of which is that in the 'olden days' they built good sized attics at the top of houses. This one is just oozing with possibilities for use. I have a friend who is an architect who came round to give me some ideas of what to do with this space. "What did you have in mind?" he wanted to know. The image which immediately sprung to mind was something like the following...

More realistically, something like this would do!

Book Notes: Palm Sunday by Kurt Vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut is, I suspect by anyone's standards, an unusual writer. His novels, such as the famous Slaughterhouse Five reveal a man whose view of life though a somewhat warped lens, is transmitted to the reader via an idiosyncratic use of language.

Billed as an 'Autobiographical Collage', Palm Sunday, is an anthology of Vonnegut's shorter writings, articles, papers and speeches, gathered together under various headings and bound. Vonnegut writes with verve, wit, humour, and sarcasm as bitter as bitter. He writes of family history, America, of obscenity and censorship, of family, mental illness, of divorce and his lifelong love-hate (but mostly hate) relationship with religion. "I have six children", writes Vonnegut, "which is far too many for an atheist!" yet in the final chapter he contortedly describes himself as a "Christ-worshipping agnostic." His discussions of all things Christian are uniformly ill-informed, and deliberately and provocatively so, as he later all but admits many of his barbed comments are aimed at his Christian ex-wife! Yet despite my disagreements with his conclusions, the cunning way in which he sets up the propositions of his opponents, extends them ad absurdum only to sarcastically give them an approving nod, does hugely entertain. I don' t imagine that if I had ever met him I would have agreed with him, but I think I might have liked him.

In one strange passage, Vonnegut conducts an interview with himself. It begins like this:

INTERVIEWER: You are a veteran of the 2nd World War?

VONNEGUT: Yes. I want a military funeral when I die - the bugler, the flag on he casket, the ceremonial firing squad, the hallowed ground.

INTERVIEWER: Why?

VONNEGUT: It will be a way of achieving what I've always wanted more than anything - something I could have had, if only I'd managed to get myself killed in the war.

INTERVIEWER: Which is-?

VONNEGUT: The unqualified approval of my community.

INTERVIEWER: You don't feel you have that now?

VONNEGUT: My relatives say that they are glad that I am rich, but that they simply cannot read me. (p84-5)

In this anthology, Vonnegut demonstrates that he can be in equal measures, witty and appalling, brilliant and crass, insightful and vulgar; as he explores his warped take on life (and death). If any reader of this post is as anally retentive pedantic as the author of Eats Shoots and Leaves, they will be screaming about the lack of a comma in the title, "Oh Dear Kurt". They will be wanting to know if I meant, "Oh dear, Kurt" gently lamenting all that is bitter, profane, unthought-through and anti-Christian in it. Or, wondering if I meant "Oh, dear Kurt" celebrating all that is sparkling with life, wit, humanity and insight.

"I thank you for your sweetly faked attention" (p330)

Signs

Anne-droid has posted a link to the brilliant church sign generator website... it's fab! How satirical dare you be?

Half-term fun, (without spending a fortune)

If you see some woods - walks in them, especially in the gorgeous autumn light, with scrunchy leaves underfoot (or handfuls of leaves to throw).

If you sees some good stories... read them!

If you see a flat stone, can you skim it?

Find a nice tree.... can you climb it?

Or a river... can you build a causeway to divert it? (Admittedly the boys attempt to divert the whole of the Tay round Moncrieffe island was always going to be a heroic failure).
A flow of traffic.... you could always count it!

Or find a view.... just look at it! (The Slivery Tay, from Kinnouill Hill)

Total expenditure, less that £5 as two of the three books were presents!

Cuillin View

Taken from the boat, "The Misty Isle" on its way back to Elgol from Loch Coruisk, last week.

Book Notes: Miles Davis by Ian Carr

A century ago the writing of history was primarily the descriptions of the achievements of great men (and men it was). It was thought that the characteristics of greatness, contained within certain superior individuals, were the determining factors within the progress of the nation, the key shapers of the historical narrative. Histories and biographies are rarely written within such a framework today however. Firstly, psychology from Freud onwards has created a fascination with the forces outwith the individual that went to creating who they became, and so the biographies have extended discussions about the subject's childhood and all the forces and influences that went into making them worthy biographical subjects. Secondly, the insights of sociology have demonstrated that throughout the course of life, social context shaped the worldview of the subject, as well as the opportunities that their lives afforded, and so biographers have sought to set their subjects within the context of the wider social forces and flow of history of which they were a part.

How strange then to read Ian Carr's biography of Miles Davis, which casts the Black American jazz trumpeter, as an isolated genius; such an innovator that his life reads as detached from background or context. Carr's biography is billed as 'definitive', but it would be better to have labelled it a 'musical biography', because it is very heavy on musical theory, and very weak on social history. In one sense this is refreshing, a book about a musician that seriously and knowledgeably seeks to grapple with the music! My knowledge of music theory is extremely scant - but yet the parts I was able to understand were fascinating and have added a huge amount to appreciating different parts of Davis' music, especially the styles of the various players he collaborated with - and their various contributions to his ever-evolving sound. Too many musicians' biographies dwell on the social or the scandalous (plenty there) aspects of the subject and do not analyse the music, but Carr swings to the other extreme and so despite his musical expertise, his biography of Davis reads like a Victorian biography of a twentieth century figure.

Ted Herbert Obituary Link

In a previous post, I mentioned the death of Dr Ted Herbert of ICC.

The Glasgow Herald has recently printed an obituary about Ted, which can be read here.

Elgol, The Cuillin, & The Misty Isle

Loch Coruisk was featured on the ITV programme, "Britain's Best View". It certainly is stunning as is the boat journey to it from the tiny port of Elgol, pictured above. The boat, "The Misty Isle" (on the right in the photo) is a charming little vessel and the crew provide a tour of all the places to spot wildlife, along with mugs of hot-chocolate and a hilarious commentary.

Some people like to walk back to Elgol from Loch Coruisk, but with Boris, Norris and Doris in tow this was never going to be possible, not just because of the distance, but also because of the notorious 'bad step' a short rocky traverse overhanging the sea which one has to negotiate. The crew of the boat took great delight in informing walkers planning on heading back that way that they have frequently seen sharks in the water under the bad-step, waiting for a stumbler!

Our hour and half at Loch Coruisk was not enough to satisy our hunger to soak up the splendour of the scenery, it was breathtaking - but the disappointment at having to leave was more than compensated for by the promise of hot drinks in the boat, the wonderful journey back to Elgol and a special treat for Boris and Norris. The treat was offered by the boat crew who said that if the boys behaved well, they would each be allowed a turn 'driving' the boat. So under skipper Seamus' watchful eye, each of them had a turn, guiding the little ship across the waves towards the harbour and home.

The cost for the trip was £40, (£15 for each adult, £5 for the boys and under 5s free.) The boat was the Misty Isle and they have a website here - on which they are planning to put a webcam to stream pictures of the magnificent view from Elgol, all year round!

Book Notes; Worldliness by C.J. Mahaney

"Worldliness" is a term rarely heard in churches these days. Of course, such language used to be standard Christian vocabulary in a previous generation who framed discipleship in terms of withdrawal, separation from society and avoidance of its tempting wiles. Christians then considered themselves to be escaping the sin of worldliness by their avoidance of such apparent menaces as alcohol, dancing and the cinema! The critique of such views, largely accepted by the churches over the last few decades is that such an approach misreads the bible significantly, not least because it is not a vision of life which resonates with the life of Christ on any level! Furthermore, complete withdrawal cuts the church off from relevance to society, plus raises the unhappy spectre of legalism and the smug suggestion that those who have so withdrawn might regard themselves as morally superior to those who have not. Needless to say, such an approach is a travesty of the gospel of sinners saved by grace!

Why then a new book on 'worldliness'? The answer given by C.J. Mahaney and his co-writers is that the church has rightly moved too far in the other direction, and in running as far as it can from the sin of legalism has instead embraced the error of lack of discernment. This book then asks Christians to think through what they buy, wear, listen to and what media they consume (etc) to asses its value, embracing what is good, but rejecting what proves to be spiritually unhelpful. This is challenging stuff.

Thankfully the writers avoid most of the dangerous pitfalls which lurk at every side of a balanced discussion of such topics. The first is that they manage to hold onto a vision of the Christian life which depends on grace, not works, but grace that inspires discipleship. They avoid the glaring error that Yancey's otherwise Amazingly Gracious book does, where he rightly rejects legalism as a basis for relating to God - but then assumes that a saved-by-grace believer should not go the bible to discern right from wrong! They also avoid the pitfall of advocating a complete 'other-wordly' withdrawal from life, commenting positively on art, music, and creativity from many cultures as being valid (a mistake made into a book called 'Pop Goes the Gospel' that some of you may have had the misfortune to read). Furthermore they also recognise that we are not in the business of drawing up absolute lists of approved or banned music, films etc (to hide smugly behind our legal lists!) but each believer can in their own cultural context, make responsible decisions about what they consume.

The clarion call of this book is for discernment not legalism - as the titles of the chapters such as "God, my Heart and Media", "God, My Heart and Music" etc indicate. It's about cultivating a heart and lifestyle that is spiritually helpful as we as fallen people follow Christ in a fallen world. Each author stakes out a bold thesis in his chapter, some of which I instinctively enjoyed, others of which I disagreed; but all of which made me stop, think and assess.

There are a few things which didn't work though - and most of these I think are because they have been worked out in the American context and contain ideas or applications that uneasily travel. Piper's introduction is dreadful and almost put me off the book - but I am glad I persevered past it. Mahaney's wife and daughter's contribution at the end of the book in the appendix undoes some of the good work of the book by crossing the line between principles of heart in cultural context and rule-lists, which is perhaps unfortunate. This -to be fair - is an appendix which has been lifted from another publication and might be seen as ways in which one family has sought to outwork the principles discussed.

One reviewer says that this book is "so specific it will be controversial". How true! But sometimes I reckon when someone has the brass-neck to write a really provocative thesis, it is just what we need to make us really stop in our tracks and think our own position through more carefully - even if we don't agree with every element of their conclusion. So while it's true that this book is too American, too dogmatic at times, too prescriptive on occasions, it is also timely, helpful, relevant, biblical, up-to-date and just the provocation I needed!

The title of this posting refers to 'the world', and the conclusion that believers should be in it, but not of it - and that element of the book is maybe its most helpful contribution.

Two Bellies

There is a standard conversation between parents and young children that goes on at mealtimes across the country- and probably has done for many, many years. The essence of the discussion is the parents incomprehension at a fact which seems entirely obvious to a child. That is, that it is completely possible to be "too full to up to eat any more vegetables", whilst simultaneously desiring a voluminous desert. This lunchtime I pressed my young son Norris, for an explanation of this phenomenon. The response he gave was, well thought through, logically coherent, certainly persuasive and biologically revolutionary.

He described his anatomy thus:

"When I put food in my mouth it goes down past my throat, but then the pipe splits into two and things like beans and broccoli and carrots go one side, but things like cakes and sweets and chocolate mousse goes the other side. So when one side is full up and I can't eat any more vegetables, I am still hungry for cake, because that side is really empty!"

An X-ray of Norris' body revealed the following findings, demonstrating his point.

Dr Ted Herbert

This morning I learnt from the ICC website that Dr Ted Herbert, passed away during the night. Our thoughts and prayers are with his family and the college community today.

I previously posted a recording of Ted talking about his serious illness, made during the last weeks of his life on this earth. It is now more poignant then ever, and can be heard here.

Perth's Contrasting Pastimes (for the rich)

Within sight of my house there are two groups of people who enjoy their rich-man's playthings. On many evenings this week, clear skies and gentle winds have seen Virgin hot-air balloons gently rising from the town's inch's and making their graceful, silent progress through the falling sunlight.

Down at the riverbank, the peace is shattered with the roar of petrol engines, and the stop-start sound of propellers dipping into and rising out of the water, between the heavy slap-thud of the vessel crashing back into the waves. Apparently the local bye-laws allow the unrestricted racing and egotistical performing of jet-ski's, at high-speed through the middle of the town. The Tay in Perth, is of course home to huge numbers of fish and their predators (human, animal and bird alike) as well as shy-creatures like otters, who are now rarely spotted on these reaches. Of course the noise of the engines, the excitement of speed and the wash, the foam and the stunts appeals to the children, who love to watch the jetskiers pushing their aquatic stunt-bikes closer and closer to the inevitable accident........
But what would Ratty and Mole have said to Badger, if Mr Toad had disturbed the peace of the riverbank on one of these?

Ted Herbert on Faith and Cancer

Although much of my studying was done by distance-learning etc, I did attend some classes while doing my degree. One of those courses was an Old Testament module taught by Dr Ted Herbert, the vice-principal of International Christian College in Glasgow. Ted is a brilliant scholar (Dead Sea Scrolls his speciality) and a passionate communicator of his vast knowledge. He is above all that a man of great faith, as is apparent in the clip in which he talks at his church in Glasgow about his recent diagnosis of advanced inoperable terminal cancer. I spotted this clip on Colin Adams' blog unashamed workman, this morning, and thought it was worth also embedding it here.

This still makes me smile...

First time I saw this I up-ended myself laughing, and despite the number of times I've seen it, it still makes me smile - and I've just found it on the ubiquitous YouTube.

Our Day in Court

The intention was to walk into town with the kids, get to the butcher's shop, and buy some new clothes for Boris, whose rapidly lengthening body has outrun even his remarkable ability to wear holes in his clothes! That was the intention, in practice we ended up in the cells beneath Perth Sheriff Court!

Nothing sinister was afoot however - yesterday was 'open doors day' in many of Perth and Kinross' public buildings. We didn't know that until we walked past the court-house and saw the banner, I suggested going in and en famille hideouse were up for it so in we went. After a long wait, we were taken on a tour of the whole place, solicitors rooms, witness rooms, jury rooms and the courts themselves. They had DVD's on queue to show us what a trial in progress would look like and policemen and court officers there explaining the history of the building and the legal system as well as where everyone sits in the court and their roles. Boris and Norris were delighted to be invited to sit on the judges bench, and while Boris grinned at the chamber, Norris affected an suitably disdainful and imperious judicial gaze.

Last of all - having been convicted and passed sentence upon by Sheriff's Boris and Norris (who were disappointed to learn that cruel and unusual punishments were not within their power) we were dispatched to the cells. These were a revelation of grimness, a dark underground gulag without air, windows, comfort or humanity. The guard who worked in this dungeon added to the drama by describing the awful heat down there when it is full, the drug-addicted prisoners going crazy for a fix, the fights, vandalism and misery of the long, long wait for trial. He described tragedy of seeing the same faces, week-in-week out, being repeatedly bailed for minor offences, mostly gaining cash to feed addictions. He described the assaults he has suffered along with the abuse, down in that lost soulless subterranean chasm. Most chillingly of all, he bemoaned the loss of the death penalty and his desire to see it re-instated.

Back up the stairs we saw the rest of the offices, the library and the old ball-room which for many years held Perth's annual hunt-ball. It was a fascinating visit, which illuminated both the processes of justice, and the tragedies of victims and perpetrators of crime, alike.

Upwards, Inside & Out!

The extension to Perth Baptist Church Centre continues apace!

The main roof is now being added which will hide the little 'turret' of the prayer chapel behind it.

Inside the building they have punched through the roof in order to join the new extended roof beams in. A blue tarpaulin keeps the rain out of the gap in between the original building and the extension.

Lines on Spiritual Nudism

When I was a kid I used to have the dream about falling and floating. Apparently, it's a standard one that loads of people have and there is (allegedly) some profound psychological meaning to accompany the phenomenon, but I can never remember what. It is also reported that many people dream about being found naked in a public place. I remember once dreaming about taking part in a fun-run only to realise half way through it that I was the only runner wearing the proverbial Emperor's New Clothes. (I realise, gentle reader, that this is not an image upon which you will wish to dwell for long). Such dreams are said to be revealing of inner self-doubts and profound insecurities, and they may well be so; (providing of course that the dreamer's response to discovering their nakedness in the High Street isn't to begin singing, dancing and making an exhibition of themselves!) Shame, embarrassment and frantic attempts to restore decency would seem to be a healthier response than exhibitionism - yet I will not bore the reader with an account of which extreme dominated the finale of my particular dream. Suffice to say, the peculiar emotional experience of the dream is something I have experienced repeatedly of late.

My experience of preaching (of which I seem to have been doing rather a lot lately, hence the reduction in blogging) is that it is somewhat akin to the stark-naked dream! There is something about standing and delivering a message from both the text and the heart, which is deeply and uncomfortably revealing of ones-self. It is not a controlled self-disclosure either, as one would manage in a private conversation, but a laying bare of the soul as much as the mind, in front of a group. The group consists of many people, some who you know, some you don't; people who maybe inspired or dismayed in equal measures. That inspiration or dismay is not just an intellectual critique of the message, either - it is a reaction (at least in part) to the disclosed self! The great irony of this vulnerability of preaching is that the aim of the exercise is neither to wince with embarrassment nor to indulge in exhibitionism but to draw attention away from ones-self to God, via the medium of the Biblical text.

Perhaps at this point you wish to object, 'there should be no self-disclosure in preaching, simply the study and application of the message'. That, however desirable, can never be the case and doesn't even happen in the intellectually controlled environment of a theology lecture - still less in a sermon! Two preachers, with identical theology, handling the same text will not produce identical presentations. They will differ in emphasis, illustration, development of the argument, application; and the difference between the two is personality - and it is this that is laid bare before the congregation. Is a point to be forced home with illustration, or an question left nagging for an answer? How are the full implications of a text to be explored, if they need to be moderated by contrasted with other texts and theological formulations? Will the words flow fluently and compellingly or 'die on the lips?'; will controversial subjects be handled with tact or with gaffe's of Boris Johnson proportions?

For me, all this takes place in the context of having struggled and wrestled with a text for many days while studying it and trying to work it out myself. The delivery usually takes place in front of many people who I know who are at least equally struggling to outwork such things in their lives. A remark that makes one person smile, or nod with approval and fills them with hope and encouragement - can be exactly the same one that makes another head bow in grief. The question is this - was the remark accurate, was it carefully worded, or was it off the cuff and foolish, an intrusion of the self in to the meaning of the text to be regretted, or was it a faithful application of difficult truth to be affirmed? Every one of these questions is akin to a spiritual striptease in from of a congregation, in that every decision that is made, often very quickly, is deeply self-revealing. The real rub however is the final struggle, that despite all those concerns and considerations, despite beginning with grappling with text, language and context; despite praying deeply through the pastoral consequences of what is to be said; the aim is to win the approval of God, not the congregation. The congregation is always that, a gathering of worshippers; it must never become an audience - especially in the preacher's mind.

My parents vicar once said to the congregation, "I had a horrible dream in which I stood here preaching, stark-naked; still it could have been worse - you could all have been naked!" Unless the preacher is just an actor, the act of inhabiting and presenting a biblical sermon is the most vulnerable thing I know. It is followed by the twin dangers of excess dismay if the message is not well received, or undue pride if it is. There is also of course the awful knowledge that one's own sins, follies, failures or mistakes might actually hold others back in their spiritual lives. The positives are that when it goes 'well' people say they are helped in their lives (sometimes you get such feedback over a year later!), and that if it goes 'badly' you probably won't be invited to preach again for a while! That will mean you get a Sunday off, to escape the dreadful sound of your own voice and go and enjoy some decent preaching somewhere else!

Haunted by the Curse of the Millenium Wok

'A wok is only as good as the food inside it', would seem to be a rather obvious observation. Chinese restaurants do not win accolades for the size or quality of their award-winning pans, but (we hope) for the stunning combination of flavours which dazzle the happy palate of the consumer of their garlic and chili-laden chicken satay.

This is a lesson which the good and wise leaders of our country apparently hadn't grasped as they planned the millennium celebrations, eight short years ago (eight!!). For those of you who live outside the UK, the centre-piece of the celebrations here was the 'Millennium Dome', a gigantic upturned wok by the Thames in East London. It could hold vast crowds, it was a magnificent piece of engineering and it was anticipated that millions would gather under its giant roof to admire the er...... um...... er... things that we will put in it that people might want to come and look at, er, at least I think that's it. Conceived in the decaying years of the Major government, and executed in Blair's glory years of successful media management, the Millennium Wok was to be a triumph! The nagging question about what was going actually go in the cosmic inverted oriental saucepan, lingered in the background like the proverbial bad smell. No, that's not strictly true, the doubts about the content accelerated towards the millennium, like a jet-aircraft approaching take-off speed. In what appeared to be a last-ditch effort to avert disaster, the incumbent regime frantically sought to rustle-up some last minute attractions, to lure the punters in under the guidance of the fella from Eurodisney. In the end, visitor numbers were neither as embarrassingly low as the scheme's detractors had predicted, but neither were they anything near the what original vision for the project had envisaged.

I watched today as a huge mobile crane towered above the houses of Perth's western edge, lowering long, pre-cut beams into position over the structure whose roof they will form. For two years we have looked at the architects plans, displayed on the church noticeboard. Now every day the building site more closely resembles the shapes we have imagined for so long. It has been a wonderful process of planning, teamwork, fundraising and sacrificial giving by many, many people to get us this far.

However, even as I watched part of the structure being lowered into place, I was struck by the image of the Millennium Dome; that awesome space, that for so long was an awful vacuum. I am somewhat haunted by the image of that great space, like an inverse tardis, so externally impressive and yet internally vacant. But my comparison is not a practical one. In the case of our church fellowship, we are spilling out of the space we are in and have immediate need for a new kitchen to replace the old condemned one, a decent office, a quiet place for prayer, storage space, not to mention a worship space in which we can all gather. No, practically filling the space is not the concern, we are a very active fellowship with kids clubs, bible-classes, toddler groups, youth groups, ladies group, lunches, bible-studies, and more, all in addition to the main worship services.

I looked at the shape of the sanctuary spreading out across what was once grass and wondered. I wondered if this space we are, by the grace of God building, will be a place in which He makes himself present with us. Will it be a place of empty possibilities left dangling in the air with all the disillusionment of unfulfilled potential, or will it be a place in which we meet with God? Will it be a place in which Christ is made known, and in which people are drawn to Him, or a place of missed opportunities? Will it be a place in which community functions, and the love of Christ is evidenced in practical caring - or place in which parallel lives almost, but never quite, touch. Will it be a place in which God's praises are sung that will lift these brand-new rafters, or simply a place in which songs are sung? Will our prayer-chapel be a place of wrestling with God and in which the blessings of heaven are secured for earth, or simply a place of spiritual massage!? Will the new platform under the end-wall that is now but a timber-frame, be one from which the word is preached with the anointing of the Holy Spirit, or one from which mere words are issued?

The image of the great millennium wok, the Greenwich Folly, haunts me and disturbs me. It unsettles me and must drive me to prayer. If you sense such a disturbance - will you join me?

Tip of the Day, (from Numpty of the Week)

Always remember to turn the taps off when answering the front door!

D'oh!

1st Beam

The first main roof-beam for the extension goes in!

Thursday Mornings...

Although it is rather strange not having little Doris toddling about the place all the time, it does have its compensations. She adores going to nursery, and is less than impressed on days when she can't go there. So on Thursday mornings, Mrs Hideous and I drop the kids off at school and nursery and go out for coffee. It's become a regular highlight of the week since we began it at the beginning of the term. Having run the marriage course several times, we finally seem to be getting the lesson from session one 'book regular time on your own together' into order.

OK so this week after an very enjoyable coffee at Cafe Breazh, the trip did descend to shopping, where the normal arrangements took over. Mrs Hideous looked at the things for sale in the shop, while I looked out of the window. This is the view from the upstairs window of a town-centre shop.

Geography Quiz

Banned (apparently)

Boris and Norris ran up to us laughing, and giving each other those knowing conspiratorial looks that immediately trigger warning signals in us parents. "Watch, watch!" they demanded as they rolled a dice across the floor. "It's a six, it's a six; a SIX!!" they shrieked with obvious delight -amidst waves of speech-defying giggling.

"What does this mean?" we enquired.

"It means you are both banned for SIX YEARS!" they announced.

"Banned from what?" we dared ask.

"From kissing each other!" they yelled!

"WHY?"we wanted to know.

The answer it seems is:

"Because is !!"