Ilkley Baptist

Schubert wore his glasses in bed, so that he would be able to start composing the minute he awoke.

Last Friday, I went up Pen y Ghent. The snow was lying thickly, and the sky was a near cloudless blue above. I went with my son, Tom, and we had a pair of crampons between us. He wore them first, then I had them.

It was a wonderful walk. We were drenched in sunshine the whole way, and the business of walking became very interesting. There were slippery sections (not for the one with the crampons) and soft sections, where we could find our feet sinking in half a metre or more. In some places grass showed through the snow. In others, as in the picture, the snow was level with the tops of walls and gates. The tracks show that someone skied over this gate!

On the mountain proper it was difficult to follow the usual path. This is a level ledge in the side of the mountain for a hundred yards or so, but the snow had obiterated the ledge. The footprints of other walkers took us higher on the shoulder of the mountain, and we trudged along an airy line, high above a steep and gleaming snow field.

The summit was cold and we were the only ones there. We hadn't hurried, and the trip took twice as long as usual. By the time we returned, the sun was setting and the colours were appearing; yellow, pink, orange, peach, violet and purple.

December had 2.75 inches of rain,  so I now have date for seven complete years. These are the average totals for each month of the year.

January 3.77

February 1.98

March 2.15

April 2.31

May 2.36

June 3.16

July 3.29

August 3.79

September 2.23

October 3.17

November 3.24

December 3.2

The average total for a year is 34.66 inches, and this year comes in at 32.02 (February and March were both less than an inch).

Like the other ministers in the area, I write an occasional Thought for the Week article for the Ilkley Gazette. They may as well appear here as well. Not everyone reads the Gazette, and occasionally someone reads this. So here is the latest one, which I wrote for Christmas Eve. I'll post other, older ones from time to time.

A meal with the very best food and drink. A new gadget. A walk on the moor. Laughing with friends. Something new you can't wait to wear. A quiet hour in a corner with a book. The look on your youngest's face. What might be the very best thing about your Christmas?

Probably not the clothes or gadget, however much pleasure opening them brings. It will be the subtler things that satisfy us most deeply. Not the food and drink, but the people we have shared them with. Not the carefully organised entertainment, but the moment that unexpectedly filled with wonder.

At Christmas we're open to the fact that the best things are often found in unexpected places. A toddler plays for hours with the big cardboard box something came in. Wise men reject the palace and choose something found in a stable. We are ready to see the magic around us, and to believe that the most profound and lasting truths of all are to be found in things that are often overlooked because they are ordinary, local and human. God in a child. Deep fulfilment in a long friendship. Being really alive in the present moment. For all its consumption and commercialism, Christmas is still good at reminding us of this.

There's more to Christmas than this, though. As well as inviting us to see God in a child, we are told that God actually is this child. And also that it is actually God who stirs within us in our response to the child in his weakness and need. And in the tender, but hotly protective feelings we have about any child. Or an adult. In fact God is in the whole of life, and in our living of it. The message becomes something we can experience and be part of.

If you were to go to a church tomorrow it probably wouldn't be the best thing about your Christmas. Churches are well-meaning and try hard, but we are a bit amateurish. The singing and sitting listening isn't to everyone's taste, and you're almost certain to be bored by some of it. But it might help you to not just notice, but respond to those all-important things that happen in unexpected ways, at Christmas and other times. The God who slips in amongst us, in a shared laugh, a stirring of love, a helpless baby, or in our weak and defenceless faith.

Yesterday I saw a heron. I was walking up Bolton Bridge Road, about to turn into Chapel Lane, and it flew up from Spicey Gill, where it emerges from under Chapel Lane. I imagine herons are having a hard time, with ponds frozen over, and having to be more adventurous in the feeding areas they select.

The little streams round Ilkley probably have more life in them than at first appears, though. I've seen sizeable fish in Spicey Gill where it runs through Back Middleton Road. A few years ago I disturbed a dipper in the streams beside Wells Walk.