The next few days see my home counties’ life harshly interrupted by the men of the North. David Meredith from Inverness comes tomorrow, and will be doing a short evangelistic talk on Saturday night at our Jazz Event, and then will be preaching at our guest service on Sunday morning. The last time David came he criticised the cheapness of my whisky (or it many have been David Robertson; either way, I can no longer even afford the cheap stuff). I’m sure that he’ll strive for missional cultural flexibility as he spends time with us very Lowlanders.
Then I’ll be pursuing another module of the Westminster ThM course at LTS from Tuesday to Friday with Iain D. Campbell of Lewis. We’ll be studying the Reformed Doctrine of Scripture, surveying the historical scene and giving particular attention to recent books and controversies. The last time I heard Iain preach at the Banner Conference he made a gentle riposte at Baptists, only to look harder at the front row and discover a phalanx of us. I can still picture the bead of sweat which popped on his brow.
All of this is a perfect cultural limbering up for me before I return the favour and head to Inverness to preach for David at Smithton in a fortnight’s time. I’ve fond memories of the church as we worshipped there for some weeks a few years ago. To my son’s disgust I won’t be fitting in a fishing trip. There’s a seatrout on the Firth under the Kessock Bridge which my boy’s got unfinished business with…
Preaching and fishing are two of life’s greatest pleasures. In heaven I know I’ll lay down one of those loves, but desperately hope that I’ll get the opportunity to pursue the other, which is all-too neglected in this existence.
Then I’ll be pursuing another module of the Westminster ThM course at LTS from Tuesday to Friday with Iain D. Campbell of Lewis. We’ll be studying the Reformed Doctrine of Scripture, surveying the historical scene and giving particular attention to recent books and controversies. The last time I heard Iain preach at the Banner Conference he made a gentle riposte at Baptists, only to look harder at the front row and discover a phalanx of us. I can still picture the bead of sweat which popped on his brow.
All of this is a perfect cultural limbering up for me before I return the favour and head to Inverness to preach for David at Smithton in a fortnight’s time. I’ve fond memories of the church as we worshipped there for some weeks a few years ago. To my son’s disgust I won’t be fitting in a fishing trip. There’s a seatrout on the Firth under the Kessock Bridge which my boy’s got unfinished business with…
Preaching and fishing are two of life’s greatest pleasures. In heaven I know I’ll lay down one of those loves, but desperately hope that I’ll get the opportunity to pursue the other, which is all-too neglected in this existence.
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