Just back from a lunchtime session with other Christians at work. We’re a fledgling group trying workplace fellowship out for size and getting to know each other. Today we were looking at 1 Corinthians 10:31 and pondering on what exactly we mean by the Glory of God. Will let you know if we come up with an answer…
The weather forecast promised wet and windy weather today and they were spot on. This morning I stayed in bed, watching the rain drip from the balcony, the pansies being blown about and the leaves falling from the trees. 1 November; two months left of 2009 and I am left wondering where the time has gone. What have I achieved this year?What plans have I laid and failed to follow… and which have been the profitable side alleys I’ve been down?
I don’t mind the changing of the seasons; I like living in a country with definite seasonal periods. It’s an Ecclesiastes 3 kind of day – the way the falling leaves remind me of the ‘time for everything’ – spiritual as well as practical. Today I feel a bit out of sorts, a bit down in the dumps and feeling sorry for myself. But tomorrow will be different. And I take heart from that, and thank God for the blessings I do have – even if that is a struggle some days.
Since my New Years’ Resolutions started in September, I have been making a real effort to get out for a run at lunchtime. So far I’ve managed two a week. My 20-minute run (once round Smithfield and back) is about 2 miles. My next effort is to ramp this up to three a week, giving me 6 miles just in my lunchbreak. If I manage that for a whole month, that’s almost a marathon: just in bite sized pieces.
I’ve been reading a few parish profiles lately. It’s made me more aware than ever that churches just don’t know what to do with people like me. Most of these parishes proudly feature their work with families, their men’s breakfasts, the outreach to the elderly. None mention any kind of support for adult single people. By rights of course to fit into the church I should be married with a couple of kids so I can fit neatly into the Mums’ groups; but do all mothers only ever discuss children? Where do adult Christian working women get together to chat and pray about the challenges of being a 24/7 Christian? Not the existing groups, as they’re all held during the day.
Many meetings seem to be held at times that are fantastic if you work locally. But even the parishes that admit to having large commuter populations still have sessions starting at 7pm or 7.30: are they accessible to someone leaving their office at 6pm?
Churches are rightly concerned with their youth work. And the elderly. But many churches claim to be a ‘church family’ when what they really are is a church of families. From these sidelines it seems that if you order your church organisation around these family units, those that don’t fit fall through the cracks. Parishes seem to be able to recognise some kinds of people that don’t ‘fit’ – but us adult single folk are just left to get on with it.
Please, please, please … someone tell me that this is a joke?
After I posted the last entry regarding the need for Notes for the Rest of Us, UCB came up trumps. The last four days’ readings have discussed the times in life when praying feels like throwing pennies into a black-hole sized wishing well. I have also just finished reading Alister McGrath’s Doubt in Perspective which is an honest discussion of some of the things I’ve been thinking. And on the back of that, I have gone back to my copy of the Screwtape Letters. I read this once, a couple of years ago when everything in life was, well, not exactly rosy, but probably I was more hopeful. At the time I thought it interesting, amusing – but now, when I struggle with pessimism and cynicism and would prefer to slap the happy clappers than join in… well, now, the message comes into its own.
Do not be deceived, Wormwood. Our cause is never in greater danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending to do our Enemy’s will, looks around upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys. (p40 in my 2002 edition).
It is rather reassuring that one can identify exactly the issues, threats and doubts encountered. Somehow this makes it all more believable than the prounouncements of well-meaning friends; it also highlights hidden and ingrained attitudes of my own that could bear examination.
I was given a set of Bible reading notes recently – New Daylight. I keep referring to it accidentally as Living Daylight, but that is another issue all together. They seem OK, but I have a couple of issues with some of the daily notes.
Firstly, some are a bit thin on theology/ instruction/ education. Don’t get me wrong, when I’m reading these on the 08:00 from Colchester I don’t always want a lesson in Greek or Hebrew. It would be nice, though, if the notes went a bit deeper into the text. Each day only has about 400 words, so this is a tall order, I know, but sometimes it feels as if we merely skim the surface with a nice story to illusrate the point. It’s like the start of a sermon, the joky bit at the beginning, but without the actual meat of the message.
Secondly, and this really does make me cross - if the writer only has 400 words, should they waste space on stories about their life? I nearly threw the book out the window after a few days when the writer spent a paragraph telling me about their sunny vicarage, toddler and au pair. Is that really a good use of space? Is that really a God-inspired piece of writing?
Who is writing for the rest of us? Who is writing for people who don’t have ‘perfect’ lives? Who don’t feel particularly blessed in their circumstances, whose faith is sustained not by a joyful sense of wonderful God-given things but by a grim determination not to turn away from a God we don’t understand? Let’s call ourselves the Psalm 13ists. Let’s rise up against glib proclamations. Let’s band together and write about life from the bottom of the spiritual valley, not from the glorious mountain top. And in doing so, we might encourage the poorer, the transient, the doubters, the kind of people who sit at the back of a church and wonder what on earth these people are getting that they are not.
Am very pleased that in the last month or so I have managed two lunchtime runs a week. My standard route takes 17 minutes – from Liverpool Street to Barbican, along Aldersgate St and back along London Wall. If I am feeling fast or fit or that I have lots of time, I add on a loop around Smithfield.
I have had a couple of previous lives. Once upon a time I was a university administrator, telling potential undergraduates all about the exciting world of the University of Nottingham with a lot of help from a curiously named organisation (HELOA). (Not as bad as BIALL, though, I suppose). Then I turned into a conference organiser for the CSP. At the weekend of 27 September I was priviledged to be invited to a wedding of two past CSP colleagues, on a gorgeous day in Ware, Herts. I’ve kept in touch with the bride since I left the CSP, but I hadn’t seen any of the others for a few years.
Although it was lovely to catch up with people, I did find it rather odd. These women knew me when I was married, and when I was going through the divorce, and trying to find my feet again in the time afterwards. They did not know the version of Sara that I am now, however I define myself – beer drinking, commuting, running, God fearing, librarianing. Essentially, I am the same person – I look the same, sound the same, have the same basic faults and habits, but I have a very different world view these days. I sometimes think I haven’t moved on very much, but it’s times like this, when a light is shone on the history of me, that I realise quite how far I have come, by the grace of God.
I realised I never wrote a report of my day at this year’s London Marathon. So here is a retrospective.
The two questions I am asked most often are “Was it fun?” and “Would you do it again?” to which the answers are a resounding ‘yes’ and a definite ‘no.’
The marathon was the most fun I have had with 5.5 hours running involved. And I don’t want to spoil those memories with a horrid run in future years.
From the start to the finish it was like one big party, I encountered nothing but smiles and friendliness. A definite contrast from a normal busy day in the City. I was very fortunate to be able to stay at a friend’s house just a 20-minute walk from the start; whilst others were schlepping across London I was still in bed.
TV coverage of the start shows that I was in the last 500 or so runners to actually start the race. But no matter. I am not an elite athlete and even though Paula Radcliffe wasn’t taking part, I wasn’t exactly expecting to win it. Barring a disastrous injury, I knew I would make the distance even if I was on my hands and knees. And as I have no intention of running a marathon ever again, my time was almost irrelevant. In fact when people asked me what time I thought I’d finish in, I said I was hoping for ‘Sunday.’
So there you are – I was the most relaxed I have been before any race I’ve done. Under no pressure other than to finish, on a sunny day with a great crowd of people. How could I not have fun?
One of the most useful aspects was the service from Adidas that sent a text message when I had started, hit halfway, and finished, to those who were following me. So people could check my progress and my parents knew I had crossed the line a long time before I was able to fish my phone out and let them know I was lurking by the ‘B’ as arranged. I later discovered that many people had used the website to track my progress around the course. I felt so supported.
My most memorable moments were:
- Being sprinkled with holy water at about the 3 mile mark
- Being part of a huge group of runners doing the YMCA as we passed a pub playing that song
- The lovely St John Ambulance people dishing out globs of Vaseline; and the lovely man who helped me remove my ring after about 18 miles
- The atmosphere on Tower Bridge: awesome doesn’t come close to describing it, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I felt like I had been carried over the bridge.
- Seeing the St Helena Hospice team shortly afterwards and getting cheered on from them
- Managing to meet my parents and friend Jan at almost exactly the places we had picked and at almost exactly the right time …
- … and seeing Het, who had come along to the Embankment on the chance she’s spot me
- Walking the last few miles and overtaking people still running
- Fighting back tears during that last ’sprint’ down the Mall
Will see if I can retrieve the 5k split times and post them here. There are a few photos kicking about too.
