They all centred round two funerals which came in mid-week. The first one was requested for a time I normally pop in to the local primary school. I thought for a moment and opted to prioritise the funeral but with the caveat that I may need to reschedule if ongoing electrical work in the church wasn’t finished. I checked with the property convener and the work was scheduled to finish that day so the church would not be available. I got back to the funeral director, explained the situation and offered to postpone it until the following day or just have the full service at the crematorium.

I was actually quite glad in a way because it meant that I didn’t need to renege on my school visit. I am enjoying going in to the local primary school and working with the P4 classes. At the moment it’s largely supporting their ‘social’ curriculum subject (bullying and relationships) rather than specifically religious education, but that’s fine. It helps get me recognised in the school and be part of the life of the school. I think that, in future, this is just as solid a commitment as a funeral request and only if there were no other options would I prioritise one over the other. That said, prioritising is inevitable. What did end up suffering were some planned (but not arranged) pastoral visits.

Anyway, as it happened, the funeral got bumped back a day and the phone call to confirm that also contained a request for another funeral on the same day – another church and crematorium one. The bizarre thing was that I had been saying that a church+crem funeral was the only combination I had not yet done and didn’t have a liturgy for. And, somewhat like buses, along come two on the same day. There was also the added ‘stress factor’ of them both boing in the afternoon, with half an hour (notionally) to get from the crem back to the church for funeral number two. It’s a 15 minute drive in daytime traffic and, allowing for the shorter service at the crem, I thought it was feasible.

It was, but only just. The crem service before my first one was huge. It did finish pretty much on time, but it took ages to clear the service room. We didn’t get in until about 10 minutes after our scheduled start time. A little bit of selective reading of the liturgy ensued and I was on my way back to the church after what was only just not an indecent time. I had already explained to the family that I would probably need to leg it off quickly and they understood when I said a brief word to them and the end and ran across the car park.

Lesson number two, therefore, was always overestimate the allowed time between funerals.

There was a third lesson and something that was avoidable and I’m a bit annoyed with myself for not considering it. It wasn’t anything earth-shattering, but it was annoying. The second family had mentioned to me that they would be getting orders of service printed but the hymns they had chosen were in CH4, so it was the CH4 numbers I gave to our organist. The orders of service arrived with the funeral cortège and, as the family and coffin were arriving together, this was just before the service was due to start. The duty team then distributed the orders of service to the mourners who had arrived but I forgot to pick one up and also to hand one to the organist.

Somewhat inevitably there were ‘mismatches’ in what was played and what was in the order of service. The printed version of the first hymn had an extra verse and the last verse of the second hymn had different word from CH4, so anyone using the hymn book (me, for example) would be wondering what we were singing by the last verse.

So, a useful one for the memory bank – check that the printed order is what you expect and have agreed on.

In the end both funerals went well, I believe, and I now have a liturgy for church +crem that I’m happy with and I know works both for content and time. This is yet another week that falls into the category of “you cannae buy this sort of experience.” That has become something of a catchphrase for my supervisor.

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It never seems long enough to get to know all the people you would wish to. It’s never long enough to get to know those you did as well as you should. It never seems long enough to cram in all that you would want to do with the safety net of a supervisor to hand.

I’ve said it before, but finishing up a placement is a strange time. Although the time does seem to flash past, 8 months is still a long time. It’s plenty of time to begin to get to know people’s stories; it’s plenty time to begin to build up emotional bonds with people; it’s plenty of time to really start to care for folks. So when it’s time to move on, it’s a wrench. But behind it all is the knowledge that it is only a part of the journey. Knowing that the move is inevitable means, for me anyway, that towards the end of the placement you cannot help but begin to look forward, to a place beyond the current placement. It means that when you do hit that end point you are already a little bit disconnected. It all adds to the strangeness of the whole process of formation for ministry.

What I do need to do now though is begin to think through what I’ve done, not just in this placement, but in all the others, and begin to work out what I need to focus on for probation. On this placement in particular I have felt that inexorable march towards ministry. It has been an opportunity to tick a handful more boxes on the ‘should have done’ list. It has been an opportunity to refine skills and to keep working on the ones which are still very rough round the edges. It has been an opportunity to make mistakes knowing that, as a student, some allowances are made and that there is someone there to pick up the pieces if things went drastically wrong (which they never did, I think). It has also been an opportunity to experiment and test out ways of doing things, again knowing that an experienced voice is on hand to help analyse and critique in a positive way.

Of course, all of this means that a lovely bunch of people have to put up with a lot of the ups and downs as well. The congregation have been nothing if not supportive and understanding, gracious with feedback and encouraging in their comments. Many commented today that they too couldn’t believe 8 months had passed so quickly. (Perhaps that’s a blessed relief from their perspective.)

So now there is the small matter of a dissertation to write over the summer (now watch the time really disappear) with probation starting on the 1st of September. Given the speed with which time seems to fly by at the moment, maybe it’s time to start ringing those warning bells for when I get let loose on my own.

Oh yes, and there’s the ‘Not a licensing’ Service of Recognition organised by the presbytery on the 24th of June, 7pm, Larbert East Church, where Andy and I will be given a slap on the back in acknowledgement of putting up with it all thus far.

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When you first sit down to start writing it always seems as though there’s too much whitespace to fill up. And yet, when you fill it in, you realise that there isn’t enough. Eight months is a lot of ‘stuff’; a lot of activity and reflection. Trying to encapsulate that in a couple of paragraphs is quite a challenge, especially if you don’t want to sound too glib. By the same token, when you choose something to write more fully on, you realise that words just don’t seem to do it justice. Because, if it has been worth writing about, then it has generally made a significant impact on you anyway – more than words could ever express.

So I’m not going to follow my original thought and pick out some highlights and lowlights. Rather, I simply want to mention the value of stopping every once in a while to look back. It’s not something I generally like doing. It’s not an issue of refusing to face the past, but the simple acknowledgement that it is the future we need to move forward into and so that should be the focus. There’s a question that crops up during the initial candidate enquiry process that asks if you have any regrets. That, to my mind, is an unhelpful way of ‘looking back’. I’m not suggesting we should ignore the negative or painful events of our past, but rather acknowledge that they have happened and look back at how we may have moved on from them.

So, what of looking back? If nothing else, it’s always a surprise to see just how much you have done. And it’s amazing how much we forget until someone prompts us as well. Looking back reminds us that our life is far from empty. Often it’s only with the benefit of hindsight that we see the outcomes of things that may not have seemed significant at the time. We can overlook that initial trigger – a word spoken, an opportunity taken. Conversations which seem insignificant at the time are suddenly the source of quiet satisfaction. They can also be the source we need to return to when we see them as the beginning of a fracture which needs healed. Looking back reminds us of just how much we are not creatures of the moment, but rely on our history to help us understand who and how we are.

Looking back also helps us with a sense of the bigger picture. We can (and ought to) look ‘sideways’ in the ‘now’ for that as well. That may provide breadth; but it doesn’t always provide depth. Looking back also provides a sense of ‘trajectory’. I’ve been doing a lot of reading on Emerging Church stuff for my dissertation and I sometimes get the sense that the past is too readily rejected – “it’s why we’re in the mess we’re in, so let’s wipe it out” seems to be the cry all too often. If the past is relevant, then it is only the far past that is seen as ‘authentic’; the ‘original and best’ as it were. I’ve been doing some grumping that when I’ve been reading General Assembly reports there seems to be little evidence of ‘joined up thinking.’ In a sense this is true, but generally only of you take a snapshot in time. When you look at the past, you can discern the trajectory, where ideas have influenced others and there is a seed of ‘coming together’ beginning to show.

I see the same thing in my placements – take a snapshot and you’ll generally find me on my soapbox about something. Whether it’s a theological hobby-horse or particular project, the snapshot shows a lot of unjoined-up thinking. It’s only when you see the trajectory by looking at the past that you can (I hope) discern a process of formation.

But looking back should only ever be a pause. A trajectory takes us somewhere and it is that ongoing journey that we must give our attention to. But, in so doing, we must acknowledge that it is our past which is pushing us on that path. Sometimes that pause to look back is a good time to look forward too and ask questions about whether we are being propelled by our past or whether we are still holding the semblance of a steering wheel. To borrow from finance advertising, past performance is not a guide to future returns. We still have some control over our trajectory. We may draw upon the past but we are not slaved to it. Tradition isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The pause to look back is also an opportunity to nudge the steering as well. We can’t step away from that past, but we can allow it to inform where we steer our future. But steer we can, and should.

Time to press the play button again and start moving forward.

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At yesterday’s candidates’ training session (MTN) we were discussing the difficulties faced when visiting elderly people in care homes. It can be easy to forget that the disconnected faces and the disruptive outbursts are only a snapshot of the person here and now. It’s easy to forget that they have a history, a family, a life. We may never get to hear their stories and so may be utterly unaware of their past. And yet that is what we need to hold in mind during a visit.

This is where Avril’s writing is both profound and necessary. We become privileged sharers in the story and through that sharing come to see others as having a story which, though we may not share it, we acknowledge it before God by valuing our time spent with them and in our prayers for them.

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I finally got the first of my research essays handed in last week. Late, but accepted, after a slight misunderstanding over due dates (and how ‘fixed’ they were). A week past Sunday I was preaching and Sunday past I was taking the entire service. So I’ve had little time to focus on reflection and even less to blog my thoughts.

I’m also in the middle of preparing the devotional slot for Wednesday’s MTN and was exceedingly grateful for the distraction of Dorothy’s blog post here which fitted very nicely with where my thoughts were headed.

But I didn’t want to witter on about how busy I am and go for the sympathy vote. I wanted to blog something that is more of a reminder to myself than a full-on, warts-and-all description and reflection.

Yesterday evening was the monthly evening service in my placement church and the theme for the evening was “Sing a new song”. It was an opportunity to learn a few new songs which would be getting done over Lent and Easter. It was in part my fault. Whenever I send a list of suggestions for hymns each week, invariably there are a few (many) which aren’t known. So it was decided that it would be a good time to expand the repertoire a little.

Let’s just say that reactions were mixed (but generally favourable) but the way the service was done was a masterclass in the art of the  ‘ gracious and gentle rebuke’. Sort of like being pummelled by a giant, soft pillow, but one that weighed a ton so that you knew when it landed on on you.

I know that hymns can be an especially emotive subject with people and I do sympathise. I have ranted about it before (can’t remember if I’ve ever blogged about it though). Communal singing is one of the few times when the congregation gets to participate directly and actively in worship and I get very annoyed when that opportunity is compromised through inaccessible hymn tunes and words or overly complex arrangements which only the trained choir can do justice to.

But anyway, there will be a few new tunes over Lent and Easter, and we may even do them several times just to be sure they stick.

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Ultimately, of course, this is all to my benefit. It’s the ‘real’ part of of ministry preparation. But I still have the academic stuff to do, although, technically speaking, I am as qualified as I need to be. Once again it’s not a lack of interest in the academic that’s a problem. I love studying theology. For me it’s the underpinning of who I am as a ‘minister’. It goes hand-in-hand with Biblical interpretation and it’s the dialogue between the two that defines my faith and its outworkings. For me, pastoral/practical theology is a result of these two things rather than being a more intimate part of the loop. Of course the pastoral and practical have to inform, or at least question, the Bible/theology ‘loop’, but it it those two which define whether our works are specifically Christian or simply philanthropic (although it’s an interesting argument over the distinction, especially if one is a Christian).

Anyway, this placement has, as placements do, brought the pastoral/practical to the fore and I’ve been busier with these than in any of my previous placements. And the encouraging thing is that as I engage more and more in these, I become more and more interested and excited and committed to them. I suppose that if you take a step back and have a more objective view, you could say that the third placement is the time of moving away from the academic and is the preparation for moving into probation and, ultimately, full-time ministry. So I guess it’s no surprise that this should be happening.

In a sense this gives the lie to the blog post title. Progress is being made in a particularly crucial aspect of my preparation for ministry. It’s just not happening in the area that I am obliged to do as well. Maybe in that there is a greater metaphor for ministry. There will be aspects of it that will excite and enthuse and these are the areas we will naturally wish to focus our energy and attention on. However, there will be areas of ‘obligation’, and they may even be areas we are interested in, but that simply don’t hold our attention as they should. Finding the motivation to do them is important to stop them piling up – they will need done sometime.

If anyone has found the answer to this, I (and the rest of the world, I suspect) would love to hear it.

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On Sunday I was leading the whole service and the choice of hymns, reading, sermon, etc was entirely mine. Over Advent we have spent a bit of time in Luke’s gospel and finished off towards the end of Luke chapter 2. I decided to pick up from that point and deal with a passage that isn’t (in my experience) covered very often – the incident of Jesus, as a boy, doing a bunk from the family group and being found in the Temple. I felt it fitted well with a Ne Year start as I believe the passage does a number of things, including giving a glimpse of Jesus’ future life, ministry and purpose but also leaving us with a challenge also very appropriate for the beginning of a new year and a new session – where would we expect to find Jesus if we went looking for Him?

OK, so that’s the background and now here’s the rant.

I received a comment that the sermon was a bit too ‘Bible-study’ and I think this harks back to the issue of story-telling. Basically, I didn’t weave much in the way of anecdotes into the sermon. Quite simply, I didn’t have any – at least none that made any contextual sense. Yes I have kids but I’ve never ‘lost’ them for several days and, quite frankly, that’s not the point of the passage. I could have spoken about the importance of being in church regularly but that would be to utterly miss the point. Precocious children? Possibly, but again, not the issue.

This passage is utterly focused on Jesus – His self-understanding, His mission and His purpose – and here is the root of my issue with stories and anecdotes. They’re not about Jesus! (Warning – rant time) I love theology. I love Biblical interpretation. My narrow-mindedness struggles to understand why others don’t love it too. I don’t need/want other stories to chew over – the ones from scripture are ‘chewy’ enough. And here’s another point – they’re not made up stories! People like hearing anecdotes because it makes things more ‘real’ for them. What!? The Bible isn’t ‘real’ enough? I think we often forget that the stories we read in scripture are real people, dealing with real situations. Even the metaphorical passages and the myths/sagas have real people behind them struggling with the real issue of making sense of God and of faith. How much more ‘real’ do you need?

I also think there’s a more subtle, insidious undercurrent to this as well. I think there is an element of “don’t explain the passage to me, just tell me what to think”. I hate doing this. I would much rather do a ‘Bible study’ approach, give people the pertinent details, point out the subtleties, the nuances, the allusions and let them start thinking for themselves (or, more importantly, begin thinking things through prayerfully and seeking the Spirit’s guidance).

OK, for this passage I simply couldn’t come up with a vaguely pertinent anecdote or personal story. Maybe that’s not an excuse and maybe my negative reaction is a defensive response to a criticism that makes me wonder if I tried hard enough during preparation. It also doesn’t mean I don’t see the value of stories – in their place.

I have also been wondering about another aspect of this. I claim to love theology and Bible study but when I deliver from the pulpit I suspect it comes across as dry and academic. I’ve spoken to people about theology and they’ve commented that they can tell I’m passionate about it. Maybe that’s part of what I need to be doing – passing on that passion.

I do think that the ‘stories’ we have in scripture are more than adequate and that they really don’t need to be augmented with lesser anecdotes. I do think that people need to be led into really thinking about them, seeing them as ‘real’ and relevant, not just as dusty history or dry theology. I was also told that my job is to ‘sell the message’. I don’t agree – the message is there for people to take to themselves in the power of the Spirit, not me. Charismatic preaching often lasts only as long as the charismatic teacher. When we learn to read and understand for ourselves we rely only on our relationship with God. We undoubtedly need others to bounce our understanding off and to provide the checks and balances for our own interpretation, but we should not be relying on others to tell us what to think.

I suppose, if nothing else, it all gives me a sense of what sort of ministry I would see myself in. But, of course, that’s not to suggest I’ll be given that luxury.

OK, rant over, for the moment. As you were.

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The timing was absolutely spot-on and I’m glad I looked up the running time of the song they wanted played part way through.

As everyone was filing out the church, the sleet and hail was coming past horizontally and it didn’t bode well for the cemetery. However, it stopped just as we arrived and held off just long enough to complete the ceremonies there.

So, in hindsight, would I do it differently at all? Probably not too much. Without the musical interlude the tribute would have needed to be a little bit longer. I probably had enough material to work with, but as I was going over it again I spotted a few gaps that I perhaps ought to have asked about. Not a problem give the slightly reduced time for the spoken tribute, but something to be aware of in future. I was also pleased to be able to accommodate the various requests of the family but made a mental note to check the lyrics of requested song tracks. Not a problem in this case, but again, something to bear in mind.

All in all I suspect this was a pretty easy introduction to funeral services.

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