What is in Kelvin's Head?

Yesterday

11/03/2013

When I came to St Mary’s (yes, nearly 7 years ago) I was installed at a splendid service at which my former bishop, the Rt Rev David Chillingworth (now our Primus) preached. In his sermon, he referred to my time at Bridge of Allan and how the people there described my ministry when he went to meet them after I had left.

The thing that he commented on in that sermon was that people had said, “Oh, the thing about Kelvin is that he knows how to throw a good party”. One or two people got the wrong end of the stick at that comment (yes, choir members, that’s you I’m talking about) and thought that my life in Glasgow was going to be all about parties in Praepostorial Towers.

What they didn’t realise at the time was that Bishop David, and indeed my former congregation, were referring to the liturgy. For various reasons, St Mary’s wasn’t a terribly celebratory church when I came here and I’m guessing that folk just couldn’t imagine that Bishop David was talking about What Goes On In Church. My installation service was a burst of great joy that people still sometimes talk to me about and I hope it was a great sign of things to come. That was the intention anyway. The truth is, I think that we’ve got something worth celebrating in church and I get no greater delight than being around when the people of God are enjoying what they’ve got to celebrate.

Thus, though I love the greater feasts of the church and try to wind everyone as far up the candlestick of joy as I dare, it is often the lesser feasts that give me the greatest kick. Generally speaking, I think that if all is well in a congregation, it is the duty and the joy of the clergy simply to let the joy out of the box and not keep it stuffed inside. Sometimes you don’t need to do much either – just let it happen. We’ve a God who says “yes”, after all.

It was only really on Thursday evening that I realised that this weekend was going to be as special as it was. Saying yes to people gets you a long way.

We had a visiting choir, from Groton School in Massachusetts. It wasn’t just that though as it is a choir run by someone who was on the musical staff here at St Mary’s when I came here – Chris Hampson. So there were friendships to be renewed and new friendships to be made. Frikki Walker, our musical maestro put them all through their paces in his own bubbly style and we were all set for a great Sunday.

But then somehow, Sunday – Refreshment Sunday, took wings. Our choir sang with the American choir and so the congregation was treated to a procession of 70 odd singers, most of whom were under twenty. I don’t know whether it was because word had got out, but we soon started to have to ask people to share service sheets and by the time we got to communion we realised we hadn’t allowed for enough communion hosts. The God of surprises had turned Refreshment Sunday into a foretaste of the Great Feast that will come to us. Well, will come to us, if He rises.

We had the Return of the Prodigal as the gospel reading and a cracking sermon from Cedric Blakey the Vice Provost. (You can watch it again online here:Â http://thecathedral.org.uk/2013/03/10/sermon-preached-by-the-rev-cedric-blakey/) Then we had visitors from Malawi to welcome who were here to talk about subsistence farming. (They are the people directly connected with the rice we sell on the Fair Trade stall every week). And there was the God Factor going great guns with a session on the Bible and the news of people being confirmed and baptised at Easter.

It was a Sunday which was more than the sum of its parts though. The snow was blowing around outside the church yesterday. Inside, I think it was angels.

Dear Lord.
When I get cynical about the church,
help me to remember Sundays like this one.
Amen

Groton School, Refreshment Sunday, St Mary’s

7 responses to “Reclaiming the web”

Paul Hutchinson

14/10/2015

Thank you for making me think in a different direction just before pausing for lunch. I have never had a blog, so came quite late to Internet social discourse, and have engaged more since joining one major network in 2010 and another in early 2014 – normally using those networks rather than a comment box such as this. Not all of us are natural creators of substantial original content, but like to be thoughtful in brief exchange, and so both those major networks, though cursed with many difficulties, serve those brief exchanges quite well. I do agree that the endless recycling of links (on both of them) can be wearying, and I do wish that some old friends would be a little more self-critical. But the price of any kind of social discourse is that one is vulnerable to the otherness of the other.
I feel I ought to be writing a more substantial comment here, but hope that this is enough. The time is not always there to offer deeper reflection: but sometimes a blogger needs to hear at least a small splash from the stone thrown down the well!

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1. Kelvin
  
  14/10/2015
  
  Thanks for the comment, Paul. I’m aware that not everyone is a content creator, but perhaps what I miss is the sense of discovering different communities online and keeping the comments more or less in one place helps with that.
  
  The glory days of 50 or more comments on a post are probably over. I suspect I mourn the sense of community being created even more than I miss the interesting reflections of others. Retweets and shares are always welcome – but they are the means of amplification. Becoming loud isn’t the same as becoming wise, nor the same as becoming connected.
  
  Reply
Seph

14/10/2015

It’s a damnable shame—and mostly the fault of Facebook. Twitter at least has an etiquette of sorts, wherein it is considered impolite not to respond to the original tweet, which is usually made by the blogger in question.

Facebook, in short, is the scourge of the Internet. I have often been in groups which have decided to do all of their organizing on Facebook, despite my protests that I’m not on Facebook and don’t want to be, and really an e-mail list would be just as easy, and would they like me to set one up. This inevitably leads to my marginalization within the group, as no-one bothers to keep me abreast of the discussions to which I am not party.

Can you tell I’m upset about this?

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Daniel Lamont

14/10/2015

I am only an occasional user of Facebook but I know what you mean, Kelvin. And indeed, I never read the comments ‘below the line’ on newspapers like ‘The Guardian’. You offer some useful advice. I read yours and one or two other blogs on a regular basis but don’t always comment. However, I can see that the author of a blog would like some feedback. I would be sad not to have the blogs that I do read because they do give me a sense of what people are thinking and an odd sense of community.

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Father Ron Smith

14/10/2015

My own contribution to the blogopshere is, I’m afraid, Father Kelvin, limited to comments I make on other people’s blogs (such as ‘Thinking Anglicans’ and ‘Anglican Down Under’ – a local NZ forum; plus my own blog ‘kiwianglo’, where i pluck articles that interest me personally from the web and provide my own commentary. This still interests me, personally, and provides my few readers with information they might not otherwise be bothered to glean for themselves. Like you, I am no longer an avid Facebook fan.

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David Campbell

16/10/2015

Hi Kelvin – thoughtful as ever – and yours is invariably the first blog I turn to each day. That you bring pressing issues to a wider audience and to people who know, or used to know, the church you serve is a great thing. I’m still blogging relatively strongly, but it’s certainly a different blogging experience when work is set in a very different context and especially community from previously, writing these days mainly for myself about things that interest me, although not quite at the address you have in your Blog Roll. http://www.limpingtowardsthesunrise.com is where it’s “all” happening.

Reply
1. Kelvin
  
  16/10/2015
  
  Thanks David – nice to hear from you. I’ve amended the link.
  
  I don’t think many people use blogrolls to find blogs these days but whenever I remove it my mother complains…
  
  Reply