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In many paintings, sculptures and drawings of the Last Supper you see this intimate moment where the apostle John leans over, almost embracing Jesus (this photo is the reredos in Launde's chapel, where I'm writing this right now after Midday Prayer). It's a depiction of a moment in John's gospel where the Beloved Disciples is described as "reclining next to Jesus" and enjoying a private conversation with him. Which doesn't quite with visually when you place the figures on chairs around the table, but is a lot less strange when you remember that the custom in those days was literally to recline for a meal: to lie down on one side, propped up on an elbow, with your fellow diners either side of you like sardines in a tin - very cosy! And since most people are right handed it was usual to prop yourself in on your left elbow, meaning the person to your right was especially well positioned for a quiet, confidential chat. That's one of the reasons...

That's not my photo, more's the pity, it's a stock photo from Unsplash. I wasn't fast enough, you see, to get a picture of my own.  A couple of years ago I was riding along the Leicestershire back roads when I came around a bend and saw three white harts. Beautiful, pure white stags, just standing in the middle of this country lane. It was so astounding, I wondered if I might be having some kind of vision of the Trinity. It was like a moment from Celtic mythology. I don't think I'd have been entirely surprised if, like Aslan or Balaam's Ass, they'd spoken to me. It turned out that the deer had been brought in by a local wedding venue but had escaped their confinement. I didn't see them again, but I heard they'd never been recaptured.  Fast forward: this morning, on exactly the same lane, at exactly the same spot, I found myself face to face with nine  fawns in the road. Three brown. Three partly brown and partly white. And three pure ...

A Song of Sophia There wére yet no óceans, but Í was his daúghter— befóre ancient hílls was Í given bírth, befóre every spríng burst aboúnding in wáter, befóre he scáttered the dúst of the eárth. The Lórd wove me ínto the wórld’s new foundátion, the Lórd brought me fórth as the fírstborn of áll; and, whíle he fáshioned, I dánced with elátion as cháos found fórm in replý to his cáll. Cóme now and heárken: I crý in the ópen, whére the paths meét do Í take my stánd, seéking the foólish, the wáyward, the bróken, yeárning to táke every óne by the hánd. My hoúse I have buílt, seven píllars uphóld it, the táble is sét with a rích feast and wíne. Come and wélcome! For hére you belóng, be then bóld: sit besíde me, enjóying as yoúrs all that’s míne. (check out my previous post for the background to this poem)

I have moderate hearing loss and sometimes find it hard to follow what's being said in church: when the building echoes, when there's a lot of noise (from the kids, the musicians or the ministers!), when the sound system isn't working or isn't adjusted right or simply doesn't exist. Then I try to find other ways of engaging with what's going on.  So yesterday morning, as the Chapel Centre in Billesdon began a new sermon series on the book of Proverbs and I couldn't quite follow it all, I started looking through the opening chapters first myself. Two things struck me. The whole book is in poetry (like so much of the rest of the Bible), a fact which we don't give nearly enough attention. And in English translation many of the lines seem to fall out as near tetrameters, mostly iambic:  Listen, my sons, to a father's instructions ... Let the wise listen and add to their learning ... Thus you will walk in the ways of the just ... I open my lip...

This, some days, is how I feel.  I was ordained nearly thirty years ago, and was training for ministry for three years before that. In the last millennium. Most vicars still wore frocks in church, even though they were all men then. Most churches still had their own vicar. Lots of churches still used the Prayer Book brought in under Henry VIII and his kids. Some churches were considered avant garde because, alongside the pipe organ and robed choir, they also had a guitar. The real pioneers were embracing the new technology: Roneo duplicators, OHPs, Amstrad word processors, faxes and a pager for the vicar. Now, in the age of Zoom church, surfing church, Insta influencing, TikTok, online worship, cafe church, forest church, new monasticism, vision and strategy, minster communities and more, all that stuff I started with looks so quaint and archaic. I still wear a frock and like a good liturgy, and I feel like a dinosaur.  So am I against all the new ways, wishing I c...

Yeah, I know, it's a terrible photo. It was taken this evening in the dark, on my phone. The road is white, not because it's over-exposed (although that's also true) but because it's covered in ice. This has been my scooter commute all week - very entertaining! I'm an all weather, all year round rider, so over the last few years I've learned a few things about riding on ice. The most important, of course, is don't do it unless you have to . But I often do have to, so here's the lowdown.  Stay focused. There's a visible difference between dark dry tarmac, dark wet tarmac and black ice, but you need to be alert to tell one from the other. Ride in the middle of the road (on country lanes) when you can; it's where the gravel collects - good for grip - and the cars haven't packed down the ice. In the evening the north side of hills and the southern edge of east-west roads will be icier, as they've had more shade, but in the morning...