Bloggers, Bluebells, Bridget and Bad Max

Kimberly, Queen of bloggers, came up with the idea of 'Bloggers and Bluebells'. It was a brave move, considering she's off to America in two days' time, to have a group of Piskie bloggers let loose around the rectory eating her brownies and drinking her tea, but it was great to connect faces with names and fill in some of the background. Bloggers come in all hues, shapes, sizes and ages but one thing we all seem able to do is talk - and didn't we just? The tea, coffee and conversation flowed steadily until it was bluebell time.

For the bluebells bit we went to Kilmun Arboretum. Not far, but far enough for one car-load to lose the way and find themselves at Loch Fyne Oysters. The Zebadee family finally made it to the car-park in time for lunch, just as Bad Max, on arriving at Puck's Glen, decided he'd had enough and turned tail for home. By the time he (with Rosemary and Kimberly in hot pursuit) arrived at the car-park, the Zebadees had hopped it for home too, back to the rectory. Never mind, Kimberly and Rosemary ate their lunch and plotted the sermon. Rosemary, I never knew St Catan existed but you brought him to life for us all. The midges, who were at the wrong gig - Midgebites and Candlelight doesn't happen till later, chaps - ate them. Good dog Bridget would like to point out here that she didn't think much of the Arboretum either - too many bangs. I didn't let on that it was probably our local stalker getting in the supplies of venison.

The rest of us climbed up the glen. Mrs Blethers led - check out her photos - and I rounded up the other photographers, Piglet and Stewart, who were snapping away obliviously, and otherwise might be there yet, and brought up the rear. We all met up again at the car-park, and finally joined the Zebadees at the rectory, whereupon Kimberly changed from blogger to celebrant and we had a fine eucharist in the church to finish.

Until next year then, dear bloggers?

A listening ear

Yesterday was the SEC's rather last-minute attempt prior to Lambeth to do some active 'listening' to the experiences of GLBT folk within a church context. Sixty attended - the maximum which had been allowed for - and my opinion is it was a Good Thing. As one of the six witnesses, I spoke to two groups about what it was like bringing up a gay son. I consulted with Michael and Charlie about what I was going to say and they were comfortable with it. I also made it clear that the account I gave was from my point of view as a mother, and that if Michael had been telling his own story it might be different.

I found it both a humbling and emotional experience. Emotional because much of what I had to say brought back difficult memories, especially as, given my time over again and the benefit of hindsight, I might have have handled things differently. Humbling because it was obvious from some of the responses I got that some people had not heard much in the way of positive affirmation of their sexuality in a church context. It brought home to me how very difficult it is to be Christian and openly LGBT, let alone be ordained and anything other than celibate.

The main point I wanted to get across was something I've said many times - that I'm proud of my boys, who they are and what they've achieved. It makes me sad when I hear of parents of gay children who are ashamed to acknowledge them for what they are. My advice to anyone who suspects that their child might be gay is to be accepting, be affirming and be happy with them when and if they find the person they want to spend their life with.

Compost

I love playing with compost and it's that time of year. I have four compost bins - two of the black plastic 'dalek' variety for kitchen waste and two bigger wooden ones at the far end of the garden for garden waste. Periodically I mix them up and layer them and add a bit of organic accelerator to them. I was doing that on Sunday. What fun.

Jess enjoyed it too - she likes to get her nose into the compost for a rummage around, but I didn't imagine the compost accelerator pellets would be a tasty snack for a small dog. Apparently they are. Now she's making her own compost.

I found another Cursillo blogger and fellow ex-Ninny - it's John Penman, aka Fr Dougal, now in Falkirk. He also seems to be a fellow bird-nerd.

Speaking of birds, I saw three goosanders on the river Echaig - two males chasing the same female who was acting very coy around both. I couldn't help feeling that she didn't really fancy either of them and had her eye on the one that flew off when Jonny leapt joyously into the river a little further upstream (the joy was due to the change in the calendar that dictates that dogs shall now enter all bodies of water at every opportunity. It usually coincides with the first application of the very expensive flea and tick control drops which warn against getting wet for three days after applying. Huh? Have they not heard of Argyll???).

The herons' eggs have hatched - or at least some of them have. I hope the chicks survived all that hail the other day.

All you need is love

That's me back from Cursillo #55 - a little the worse for wear in the body but renewed in spirit and with my Christian love levels well topped up! As usual I feel humbled by the trouble people will go to serving others and the cheerfulness with which they do it. As 'Observing Lay Rector' I didn't actually have much to do other than counting heads and generally getting in the way, which was just as well since the cold I took with me didn't improve and has settled nicely somewhere about mid-lung! But running on paracetamol, cough mixture and adrenaline, I was able to help make a difference in some people's Christian journey and that is just such an amazing privilege. The other amazing privilege was being allowed to administer the Chalice at the closing Eucharist.

Cursillo is such a gift to the church, I wish it was more widely used. The Holy Spirit fairly whistled round settling on everyone there - an eclectic mix of sundry Christians of widely different experience - from a young Malaysian just converted to Christianity to a learned and eminent canon of a cathedral. It's a wonderful way to experience a Christian community in action and makes you determined to bring some of that experience to your own church community. If people once felt the love they would never forget it. Surely that's what Jesus has been saying to us these past two thousand years or so! In the words of St John (or is St Paul?) - all you need is love!

Walk out

Well that was a first! Yesterday I had a student I was scribing for walk out out on me - taking her exam papers with her. I suspect they're in a bin somewhere in the school because they didn't, to my knowledge, arrive at their destination which should have been the school office. The girl was definitely having a bad day and the exam seemed to be entirely beyond her. Previous exams had been a struggle too but at least I'd mostly been able to help her focus long enough to think about the questions and come up with some kind of answer, despite a certain amount of huffing. When I told the teacher what had happened he laughed, as did the office staff who rolled their eyes and said, "Oh her!" I have to say I feel sorry for the lassie and annoyed with myself that I didn't see it coming. I've had kids struggle through papers plenty of times and we've both breathed sighs of relief when we've reached the end, but never a walk out. Oh well, clock another one up to experience and fourteen year old girls I guess, but I still feel I've let her down.

Post Easter Post

I have my usual post-Easter headache. Huh! I can't even say it's due to too much chocolate since I've not even opened my two Easter eggs yet (although chocolate cravings have been satisfied by other means - cake and mini-eggs). Anyway, by the wonders of modern medicine I hope to keep the yukkies at bay.

I watched the last episode of the BBC's version of the Passion last night and found myself wishing for more. I'd like to have followed the disciples a bit further. I thought the post-Easter Jesus was cleverly and interestingly portrayed as someone almost like the actor but not quite until all the disciples believed and then it was Joseph Mawle again. I was unimpressed by the stone they used to seal the grave - it looked like something they bought from B & Q made of concrete. Surely it should have been a bit heftier. There were a lot of good little touches, like the way Mary pressed the shroud to Jesus' face - hints that even if the Turin Shroud is a fake there was a real one with the imprint of his face on it. I liked the fact that they didn't do a John Wayne moment after Jesus died (surely this man was the Son of God) but simply gave us a telling shot of the chief centurian's face later.

All together I thought it did the BBC proud. They tried to give a balanced and realistic view of what might have happened, no sentimentality and although the brutality of the whole crucifixion sequence was shocking, they didn't dwell on it overly. The scenes with Jesus' mother were wonderful and her face will haunt me for a long time. The words of the 'Stabat Mater' ring so true