Ilkley Baptist

Last night was the first meeting of a small group to offer alternative worship in Ilkley. People from three of the churches (there will be more) met in a home and, before eating together, shared various contributions on the theme of doorways; a quiet meditative, thought-provoking time. There was no leader, but the person who has done more of this sort of thing before gently asked a few questions about why we had chosen what we had chosen, why we had said what we said. It asked for interpretation and for a bit of personal disclosure. There was more debate and discussion about where we were coming from and where we hoped to go as we ate our meal.

I think, looking back, that those are the two things I learnt. The spirit of alternative worship is that you are not told what to think, or how to respond, or what this means; you are left to work out your own answers and to find your own way through the worship. It is a buffet, not a set menu with silver service. But interpretation can be offered. Not saying that this is the one meaning, but that this is what I find in it, and this may provoke others to make their own response.

Which leads on to the other revelation: that worship has to be personal to be worthwhile. Each of us has to find ourself in order to engage in worship, and we are aided in this by others revealing something of themselves, if it is done in the right spirit. This is, of course true in all sorts of worship. Preaching has been described as truth through personality. The great fight for a worship leader is to stop the congregation sitting back into conventionality. Worship must be about the people there, about engagement within and between, if it is to have a chance of touching God.

Last week, a group of Baptist ministers met to do some theology, and were led by Philip Clements-Jewry who read a paper about theological issues raised by detective stories.

You can't do anything much without it suggesting some theological themes, and the detective stories many people read are no different. I was particularly interested by the theme of reading between the lines. Detectives not only amass information, but make intuitive leaps, notice the things that are so obvious as to be hard to see, and pay attention to the gaps. (Isn't there a Sherlock Holmes story about the dog that didn't bark?) The task of interpretation is fundamental to theology and preaching, and it's interesting to think hard about the point where interpretation looks behind the plain meaning.

We had an intriguing discussion afterwards about whether detective fiction is a peculiarly Protestant thing, and why. Something about judgment and sin.

The starlings were in evidence again today, flocks of them swirling, separating and reforming in the skies above the centre of town, then landing on chimney pots and arials to squeak and twitter. At this time of year their plumage is very bright, glossy brown rather than grey, and the little stars (that's where their name comes from) are strongly marked.

Yesterday I watched a pair of red kites flying over a field near the roundabout for Burley in Wharfedale. Majestic birds, but a bit confused looking, not sure where to go next, dithering, changing direction, coming low, climbing again. They look a bit brainless, to be honest. Lovely to see them around Ilkley, though.

There are starlings in town in large numbers, in the trees down Brook Street, and on the rooftops along Church Road, whistling and squeaking away. They are the monkeys of the birds world, noisy, clever and impertinent.

Twenty years ago, if you put the carcass of a roast chicken in the garden on a winter's day, fifty starlings would descend and pick it clean within minutes. Now they are much rarer. We did see the immense roost on the Somerset levels earlier in the year, though. Vast numbers making a sound like a giant fan as they turned in the air before dropping into the reeds.

Perhaps numbers are up this year. It would be good to see more of them.

I'm gradually returning to cycling after the dark days of winter. Cycling along my usual route to Beamsley today, I heard and saw my first curlew of the day. It teased me at first. I thought it was a curlew, but it was only two notes of song, and could have been a lapwing. Then a longer note as well, but indistinct. Finally the full song and the bird sliding overhead. Very welcome.

I also passed a buzzard, a first for me on this road.

February was the driest month, at 0.85 inches, since May last year.