Local news a couple of days ago that nearly £1/2m is going on a new all-weather hockey pitch in Yeovil, courtesy of Barratts. This is part of the deal for a housing development on the E of the town (Wyndham Park) which Barratts are in charge of, which will see 700+ homes up in the next few years. The first 100 or so are already occupied, and we have a church community worker in one of the first houses on the estate getting to know the community and trying to bring people together.
I'm sure the new pitch will be well used, at least I hope so - Yeovil already has 2 decent all-weather surfaces at the football ground and Bucklers Mead, and several other good sports pitch locations (Johnson Park, Westlands, Mudford Rec. etc.). Meanwhile the community which has generated the funds, the new Wyndham Park development, will see what? Despite repeated lobbying, there are no plans for any community facilities on that estate beyond a small playground in one corner. No shops, no community meeting space. Of course there need to be facilities for the whole town, as well as for particular communities, but it's a bit galling to see so much cash being diverted away from that Wyndham Park, when we've been told repeatedly that the money/land isn't there for community provision. It's not the money that seems to be the problem, is it?
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Rev. John Collie 1925-2011
Whilst I was on sabbatical earlier this year I was sad to hear of the death of my first vicar, John Collie. I became a Christian as a teenager in Sheffield, in the mid-80s, and John was vicar of All Saints Ecclesall. My mum had already booked me on the church confirmation course, and inbetween her doing that and the course actually starting, God cornered me on a Sheffield bus (story for another time) and I started following Him in earnest.
My experience of church up to that point hadn't been great - a few dusty seasonal things like harvest festival, regular family services which we went to on scout church parade, which normally featured a wacky visual aid and a sermon from one of the lay readers. I still remember a giant pen-knife and one based on different types of fish. (The fish one I even remember the message, which for a 30-year old sermon is remarkable, well done Margaret Green). After my conversion, I went every week, and particularly loved communion as (in a big church) there was plenty of time to pray whilst everyone else was queuing up. Though I did have to ask what 'propitiation' and 'Hosanna' meant. Not everybody knew!
John co-led the confirmation course along with Vernon Blackmore, the then curate (last I heard he was working for Lion Books). After one of the sessions, about half way through, John kept me behind at the end. He stood right in front of me, eyeball to eyeball (we were about the same height when I was 15) and said something like "David, have you ever considered the ordained ministry". Quite a line for someone who had only been a Christian for a couple of months, but it lit the blue touch paper.
I'll always be grateful for Johns encouragement into ministry and leadership, and his confidence in me. I imagine there are lots of other people who could say the same. I'm sad that I never got to say thankyou properly - I regularly thought about writing to let him know how I was getting on, but never got round to it. I'm rather ashamed of that, if I 'don't have time' to be grateful to the people who've had such a significant impact on my life then there's something deeply twisted going on. Anyway, I wanted to register my gratitude to God for John Collie, I'll always be glad he was my vicar. May he rest in peace and rise in glory.
My experience of church up to that point hadn't been great - a few dusty seasonal things like harvest festival, regular family services which we went to on scout church parade, which normally featured a wacky visual aid and a sermon from one of the lay readers. I still remember a giant pen-knife and one based on different types of fish. (The fish one I even remember the message, which for a 30-year old sermon is remarkable, well done Margaret Green). After my conversion, I went every week, and particularly loved communion as (in a big church) there was plenty of time to pray whilst everyone else was queuing up. Though I did have to ask what 'propitiation' and 'Hosanna' meant. Not everybody knew!
John co-led the confirmation course along with Vernon Blackmore, the then curate (last I heard he was working for Lion Books). After one of the sessions, about half way through, John kept me behind at the end. He stood right in front of me, eyeball to eyeball (we were about the same height when I was 15) and said something like "David, have you ever considered the ordained ministry". Quite a line for someone who had only been a Christian for a couple of months, but it lit the blue touch paper.
I'll always be grateful for Johns encouragement into ministry and leadership, and his confidence in me. I imagine there are lots of other people who could say the same. I'm sad that I never got to say thankyou properly - I regularly thought about writing to let him know how I was getting on, but never got round to it. I'm rather ashamed of that, if I 'don't have time' to be grateful to the people who've had such a significant impact on my life then there's something deeply twisted going on. Anyway, I wanted to register my gratitude to God for John Collie, I'll always be glad he was my vicar. May he rest in peace and rise in glory.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Riots, Fathers, Materialism, God and Redemption.
This is quite something. Former gang member on Sky telling the story of how he got into gang membership, and how he discovered Gods love and changed. This is really worth listening to all through.
"I was very bitter and resentful about my father...I was seeking that father (figure), I wanted it."
"If you have a broken society you can't ask them to take control of their children. Most of these mums are scared of their children."
"We have seen more people cry in the last few days over material things than they ever have over the life of a young person... we cannot be a society which puts material goods as more important than the life of a young man."
"What are your hopes for the future?" "I wanna change London and the world."
One of the good things about 24 hour news coverage is that there's the chance to hear people at length, rather than soundbites, followed by a lengthy piece from Nick Robinson. So well done Sky (words I never thought I'd see myself writing) for giving these 2 guys the airtime.
Hymn Books v Data Projectors
In the early days of this blog, Dave Walkers cartoons were always a great source when I didn't have anything particular to say, or wanted to spread the joy. If you pay Dave a bit of cash (which will please him no end) you can even use his cartoons for sermons, newsletters etc - one or two of his Christmas cartoons have made great covers for our church publicity leaflets.
On the topic at hand, it was massively reassuring to get to New Wine and find that the first song on the data projector was shown with the verses in the wrong order. I turned to the person next to me and (nearly) said 'this is just like church last Sunday'. Most of the new songs seem to have been written with 1 verse, 1 chorus and about 3 'bridge' sections which could be sung in pretty much any order you liked, so you can't blame the techies for getting confused.
Experience of New Wine also demonstrates that if the bass and drums are loud enough you can sing them to any tune you like too, because nobody can hear it. Which was great, as many of us didn't know the tune but wanted to sing along.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Church Planting 101
Delighted to see that this training day with Stuart Murray Williams is being repeated in Bristol in October. Details at http://incarnate-network.eu/training-and-events/church-planting-101-bristol-1st-october A few of us from Yeovil went to this event last year and it really was excellent. £20 well spent.
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
A Riot of Goodness
In the battle for the soul of England, the brooms have come out in force against the bricks. Those who wash the feet of their community will always be the winners. Even more credit goes to those who wash the feet of their community even when it isn't 24 hour news or a trending topic on Twitter. Maybe there'll be more people like that now.
There are other worlds to sing in
This story was used by Rob Parsons at New Wine last week, and I liked it:
INFORMATION PLEASE
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person – her name was Information Please and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anybody’s number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn’t seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway – The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. Information Please I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. “Information.”
“I hurt my finger. . .” I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
“Isn’t your mother home?” came the question.
“Nobody’s home but me.” I blubbered. “Are you bleeding?”
“No,” I replied. “I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.”
“Can you open your icebox?” she asked. I said I could. “Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger.”
After that I called Information Please for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math, and she told me my pet chipmunk I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.
And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child.
But I was unconsoled. Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up on the bottom of a cage?
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, “Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.”
Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the telephone. “Information Please.”
“Information,” said the now familiar voice.
“How do you spell fix?” I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the pacific Northwest. Then when I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the hall table. Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between plane, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, “Information Please”.
Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well, “Information.” I hadn’t planned this but I heard myself saying, “Could you tell me please how-to spell fix?”
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, “I guess that your finger must have healed by now.
I laughed, “So it’s really still you,” I said. “I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time.
“I wonder, she said, if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls.”
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. “Please do, just ask for Sally.”
Just three months later I was back in Seattle. . .A different voice answered Information and I asked for Sally. “Are you a friend?”
“Yes, a very old friend.”
“Then I’m sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.” But before I could hang up she said, “Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?”
“Yes.” “Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down. Here it is I’ll read it ‘Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean’.
I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.
INFORMATION PLEASE
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person – her name was Information Please and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anybody’s number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn’t seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway – The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. Information Please I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. “Information.”
“I hurt my finger. . .” I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
“Isn’t your mother home?” came the question.
“Nobody’s home but me.” I blubbered. “Are you bleeding?”
“No,” I replied. “I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.”
“Can you open your icebox?” she asked. I said I could. “Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger.”
After that I called Information Please for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math, and she told me my pet chipmunk I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.
And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child.
But I was unconsoled. Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up on the bottom of a cage?
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, “Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.”
Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the telephone. “Information Please.”
“Information,” said the now familiar voice.
“How do you spell fix?” I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the pacific Northwest. Then when I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the hall table. Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between plane, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, “Information Please”.
Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well, “Information.” I hadn’t planned this but I heard myself saying, “Could you tell me please how-to spell fix?”
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, “I guess that your finger must have healed by now.
I laughed, “So it’s really still you,” I said. “I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time.
“I wonder, she said, if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls.”
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. “Please do, just ask for Sally.”
Just three months later I was back in Seattle. . .A different voice answered Information and I asked for Sally. “Are you a friend?”
“Yes, a very old friend.”
“Then I’m sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.” But before I could hang up she said, “Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?”
“Yes.” “Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down. Here it is I’ll read it ‘Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean’.
I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.
Monday, August 08, 2011
John Malkovich, Icon of Jesus
At the end of a seminar on the Dead Sea Scrolls at New Wine (yes, you read that correctly) Crispin Fletcher-Louis commented that "God has come down off the stage and is mingling with the audience." His point was that in declaring the Kingdom, Jesus was taking a whole load of things that were supposed to happen in the Temple and bringing them right to people's doorstep: worship, forgiveness, God's presence and glory, etc. It's great that a famous actor is happy to mix it with ordinary people in the streets (though hey, why shouldn't all famous people do that, instead of living in Wilmslow or Virginia Water?) to spread the word about his own creation. It's even greater that Jesus did pretty much the same.
And many people walk past, head down, palm raised, mumbling 'no thanks'. If we just looked up for one moment to see who it is....
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