The things I'm moving on today are part of my personal history. They've been sitting for a long time in the big box where I keep my files.
Back in the early 1990s I did quite a bit of work on inclusive liturgy, at a time when I was preaching and teaching a fair bit on the topic of "everybody's church".
At this time we kept open house, with all sorts of people living with us on a semi-permanent basis, or dropping in as they passed by, or staying a couple of nights. I was training for ordained ministry and working every day at the hospice, and we were every week at the prison fellowship, inmates calling in to see us when they were released or had their weekends out prior to release. AIDS became very high profile at that time, and (initially via the hospice) my circle of friends expanded to add in a number of gay men, who taught me so much about inclusion and creating intentional family. In the midst of it all, our church pastor retired early, traumatised by the raging row that erupted over discussions concerning the inclusion (or exclusion) of Christians with a homosexual orientation within the church family. I rather unexpectedly stepped into the pastorate as there was no-one else to fill the gap at very short notice, and we next began to work on what inclusion would look like for the physically and cognitively disabled people attending our chapel. It took six months of preaching and persuading, but eventually we won through to a place where even those who could not speak were welcomed into membership, with their key workers to advocate for them.
During those days I created an inclusive eucharistic liturgy called "Supper With Jesus", originally held with friends round our supper table at home. It was so crafted that everyone present had a part to play, even the youngest child who could not yet read.
In the twenty years that have passed since then, "Supper With Jesus" had several outings to conferences and regular Sunday Methodist worship, and one last moment in the sun for a eucharist with The Campfire Church online during this Covid year. And now I think it's done.
I'll keep the electronic files in case we ever need to play that song one more time, Sam — but I think the booklets I made for it can go in the fire now.
In similar wise, I had a bundle of biros always ready to hand because I used to conduct retreats and teach workshops and lead theology groups and house groups — occasions where people would be writing down their thoughts to share. And now those days are gone the bundle of pens was just lying forgotten at the bottom of the box, so I cleared them out.
Remembrances of times past, eh? It was worthwhile, and it was so much fun, and I'm glad I did those things, and I hope it made a difference somewhere along the way.
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