I am kinda scared.
Not least because I don’t know now, right at the start of things, how it will shape out…what the separations from familiar things will mean to me or do to me…what exposure to the story of Christendom will do for faith and to faith. Will I come back with firmer resolve – a greater sense of place and purpose…or will I return from this pilgrimage a disappointed and disillusioned man – who has discovered that the world is bigger, and more inviting than my narrow view of faith has allowed up to this point. Will travel broaden the mind to the extent that the old certainties will wither on the vine – and fall shrivelled to the ground – leaving only doubt - and an openness so generous that is looks ominously like a vacuum -where no faith can live or breath. I wish I knew.

There is the danger that I will get what I want…the worst curse of all…all the adventure – the encounters, the touch of the exotic against my otherwise mundane life – leaving an intense feeling of unease and longing – which will make returning to the old familiar patterns impossible – and will such a disruption prove cataclysmic and in the end destructive of the calm and shape my life has hitherto enjoyed? We take a big risk when we express discontent with the status quo and choose to tango with the unknown future. Or so my granny might have said. She was a wise lady.

And yet and yet. I do want to shiver in the Catacombs beneath Rome and remember what martyrdom meant. I do want to smell the fear and faith in the dust of the Roman amphitheatre and to drink in the excesses of Roman Catholicism in all its sumptuous extravagance and confidence– to sample the superstitions and simple sanctities of the people of Malta – whose faith was tempered in the fires of countless wars – I do want to stand among the ruins of the legendary churches of the New Testament and wonder what happened to their once unbreakable dynamism – I need to stand where Paul stood in Athens and face the challenge of a multi-faith culture – and figure out how he dealt with that. And I want to catch the richness of Celtic Christianity – in its fervour, its beauty and its tragedy. Throw in the Reformation Trail and the seismic effects of Luther and Calvin upon Christendom – and I suspect I will find myself rocked and unsettled by the richness and the range of faith and faiths.

ROME:

The notion of Christian martyrs being thrown to the lions or to the bears, or required to face the brutality and blood lust of highly trained killers -–has been mocked pilloried and caricatured in so many ways over so long a time, it’s hard even for the ardent committed believer to get back behind those sly jokes and tasteless cartoons to the sharp and ugly reality –and to gain and appreciation of the significance of that willingness of the Early church to put their necks on the block – and refuse the safe option the easy way…

…if their nerve had failed – then there would be to church…no reason to visit Rome…no faith to retrace or story to unravel. Those who have made martyrdom a subject for humour have done a real disservice to the dignity and bravery of the human spirit…and those of us whose life has been easy because no-one has ever marched up to our door with the lighted torches at midnight to invite us to a little bit of martyrdom…those of us whose Christianity is of the easy, it costs nothing because it is to bland to dare that kind of Christianity – we will never be called to account or invited to face the challenges of martyrdom – because we have never challenged anything or anyone – or put our peace – our dignity or our whole integrity as people on the line…
There was no where to hide, no respectable level of belonging to Christ that carried freedom from threat – because it was so bland itself it never threatened anyone – dared anyone to embrace something new and radical and subversive.
But the men and women who dragged their chains around the underground chambers of the Coliseum – and whose terror we can just about begin to imagine…for them the roar of the crowds and the puffing of impatient starved beasts – for them, this building to which the tourists flock was the mouth of hell and the gateway to heaven…and when they stood there in the dust – with the crowd briefly silent… and death literally just a whisker away…for them the mighty Coliseum was a foul and terrible and godless place..No place for a man or a woman to say their last prayer before death came calling…

A great father of the Church called the martyrs who spilt their blood – the seeds of the church…and that is the inexhaustible miracle of the young church…that it shuddered and trembled under the heel of the emperors – but they could not crush it…in spite of their foulness the church not only survived but conquered…

CATHOLIC STYLE OF DEVOTION.
(Already I am coming to respect and envy the simple tools of devotion that Roman Catholics enjoy and which they take naturally into the rhythms of their lives…a brush of holy water to the forehead…the simple disciplines of genuflection before the altar, the crossing of themselves prior to acts of devotion. These are the enviable aids to the practice of their religion that keep them focused, keep them locked into the essence of convictions soon lost to lazy Presbyterians and protestants with few markers and signposts on the pilgrim way. Too soon, too easily we are misdirected, knocked out of kilter – we lose the revs of our religion in a trice, and busyness, pleasure or embarrassment deflect us from our purpose. But here in this ancient monument to the greatness that was and remains the contribution of St. Paul…it all makes such wonderful sense, and it all has realism and an earthedness that is precious and which I covet.

I have seen it so often when I attend Mass when I am skiing in Europe…they come with an ease and a quiet assurance, regardless of the level of sophistication their rich furs and best couture seem to imply – and they kneel and they cross themselves and they light their candles…and none of it grates with who they are, or what they believe…and I have nothing in my hand – no tools to tweak and adjust my self understanding as a believer…no weapons to fend off the attacks of neglect and barrenness that assault my feeble religiosity. For my kind of reformed faith – there are always too many words and not nearly enough actions – be they liturgical or devotional. No rosary beads, no stations of the cross, no cluster of candles lit to inspire pray and prayerfulness. Unless I find out differently, I am going to be pretty cross with that nice Mr. Luther for stripping my religious expression of means and methods that would keep what I believe firmly rooted in how I practice my devotional life. Is there not a kind of arrogance in the assumption that a relationship could thrive – or indeed even survive on the bare bones of maintenance – without colour, romance, symbol – moments when it is the most natural thing in the world to make a gesture of love? Who are we kidding – and does it not explain all too easily the shabby and inadequate religious discipline that passes for Protestantism?

Meeting Paul and Peter:

and that feeling was the purpose of the whole trip…to connect with an immediacy that no number of well written theological classics could provide. I’ve never been a great visitor of graves –but there is something important about this visit. I can never again think of Paul in the abstract – as some name I know and use a lot. I have honoured him by standing by his grave – and that has changed my relationship to him forever.

CATCOMBS:
Down in the gloomy tunnels, where bodies had been stacked like books on bookshelves, we found the place where the Early Church celebrated eternal life – and the hope of glory, falling asleep in Christ to rise to new life, a challenge and a contradiction of the pagan notion of necropolis, city of the dead…this was the dormitory of the sleeping church awaiting the wake up call from its living Lord, the Resurrection and the Life. So that instead of being a place of grief, it should be perceived as a place of glory.

It was deeply moving to imagine the early church – stripped of its securities and holding no pretension to wealth, influence or power, gathering for the sacraments in the sacred semi-darkness of the narrow caves, passageways lit by oil lamps – the nervous believers taking the basics of their believing – bread and wine and water – reading from the copied letters of the saints – and growing strong. Nothing could have been further from the sumptuous excesses of the Vatican or St. Peter’s than the vivid simplicities of this place – and once again that sense of attaching to the vital threads of faith became irresistible…Here was the real church living and dying without the props or pretensions of imperial support and without engaging in the dangerous dance with power, influence, wealth and aesthetics that could be so seductive, and destructive of the core values that gave birth to the Church of the Carpenter. This was a church stripped literally to the bare bones. And it was wonderful! It was liberating.

MALTA:
We walked around ancient Temples that dated back to 3500 years BC – and explored the inescapable questions - How did they do it? Why did they do it? What did they do in it? And who decided? Interesting questions about the origin of “the search for meaning.”
Who decided that religion would matter and what was their theology – and who decided they would be the priest?

MARY;
And it made me wonder, their devotion to Mary, the authoress of this miracle, as they perceived it - where are our saints and our saints days – where is the challenge and the inspiration they can give to us self- confident and assured Presbyterians…who actually most of the time don’t make much of a go of it…

WHAT’S IT ALL ABOUT ALFIE?
Is it not simple? God, and love - and the rest is guesswork…rest is optional –just “stuff”? And none of the rest worth dying for – only love and God?

CHURCH WITHOUT WALLS – MALTA STYLE.

We wondered – or at least Carmella did “ what about the people outside the walls…”and I found it interesting that Carmella should be into “Church without walls” as an ideal - at the same time as we were just getting the idea ourselves as a denomination.
The constant danger is that we end up maintaining and sustaining systems.
But how to stop the “ Sunday is for B&Q” mentality, that is so prevalent in the secular world, and alert people to the importance of meaning – a sense of the worth of faith and the importance of their spirituality…the reality is -how many on an average Sunday will stop to smell the roses…?
Are we indeed more spiritually aware as the legend has it – or is it just a few new age hippies manques?
These were all issues discussed over a coffee hanging high above the city soaking in the sun.

CHURCH GETS IN THE WAY?
And how often does the church get in the way of its own truth – e.g. role of the priests in Carmella’s distaste for aspects of Catholic experience – a role she believed in her youth was intrusive and fundamentally counter productive for a living questing faith. She can say that – she knows.
The problem is that after 2000 years we can’t go back to square one…too many other squares actually already exist – traditions –obligations…systems – these will not simply fall apart of their own free will. Indeed, there are some people who actually quite like it that way because it allows it all to be kept under control –their control.
I described a General Assembly Service at St. Giles…and my anxiety as to how Christ would fit into such an experience and would he not wonder “ How did it get like this?” says the little man in the white cloak…” It was never meant to be like this.”
q All the grandeur and pomp and identifying with the great and good of the land well-intentioned but actually counter-productive for new generations.

ANCIENT TEMPLES – WHAT DO THEY MEAN?
But these even more ancient structures raised all the same questions about the dawn of faith – for busy people wondering how to survive to enter into dialogue with the questions of existence and meaning – which comes first – where does the idea come from? Is a word of revelation needed to someone from somewhere – or like the Americans – can you just sort of work it out for yourself? Guess you are loved – or need someone to tell you in word?

MIRACLES ON MALTA – WHY NOT?

There is something achingly poignant in the sight of all the clothes and crutches…prayers and petitions thanks and pleadings…the discarded detritus of recovery - photographs of children and parents - all of whom had been embraced by the belief that there are special places where special things happen. And the devotional visit of Pope John Paul 2 offered a well documented and precious affirmation of the power of faith and the power of the saints.

TURKEY AND THE SENSE OF HISTORY’S SWEEP!

Isn’t history just crazy and isn’t theology so inadequate and so not worth fighting about? More of this tomorrow I’m sure as the facts of the history begin to impinge…

TOPKAPI PALACE AND INSENSTIVE PEOPLE:
What do these relics mean to those who are devout Muslims? The beard of the prophet…the sandals of the prophet…the sword of the prophet…what’s that about? I fall in love with the simple intricacies and dignity of Islamic architecture and art.

THE HIGH POINT:
At the little church cut into the hillside, Mass in progress. Maybe because I am so vulnerable and weak but being there is a wonderful moment for me…overpowering in its sense of connecting…The contrast with other St Peter’s couldn’t be more stark…and I feel I know which he would have preferred!
The mass is taken by a kindly loving priest –who sensed I was a bit adrift - and he invited me to join with Italian congregation. It was the singing what did it…I was emotionally engaged and overcome

IN THE TOWN – ISLAM IS THREADBARE KING.
Call to prayer sounds – unexpected in this bustling market town and largely ignored by the populace – Antioch once a centre of Christian galaxy home now to the minaret the mosque and the imam.

CAPPADICIA:
It represented a total counter culture and for the church - a place to hide. I was filled with amazement as to how they lived and overwhelmed by the sheer size and scale of it a whole valley stretching for countless square miles.It begged the question -
What brand of religion did living in a place like this spawn?
Anyway, what was it all about the hermit phenomenon? Should they not just get a life - or am I missing something important about the reflective contemplative life?
q Time to read about Cappadocia – Peter’s epistle suggesting it was a going concern and key area for the early church – but what was the role of the Basils and George’s and Theodosius people and the contribution of the Cappadocian Fathers?

EPHESUS:

• 
  Is quite a story is Ephesus – ravages of time and tide and an illustration of human folly: wars and empires and geography conspire to make for terrible and turbulent times
  
• A visit to the House of Mary requires assessing whether the argument of history and myth is sound or not? Jury still out though Papal visit gives it some integrity –they do their homework for fear of future embarrassment. But – whatever the provenance it is still a place of serenity and wonder, A Mass is in progress for a batch of pilgrims and I wonder is this just Catholic superstition- or another tool for devotion or a bit of both? Good to feel the feelings even if only role playing – if such it were. The Mass was a witness and a statement of faith as well as an expression of spiritual connectedness.

THE PRAYERS OF THE PEOPLE:

The much valued prayers of my people came to mind – well and truly answered given that I am having a wonderful and creative time.

A delightful meal with the Mormons throws up an interesting internal discussion.

• They talk about the Book of Mormon with all the joy, familiarity and loyalty that our kids speak about the great stories of the Bible…background and upbringing. But they have a healthy earthiness about their humanity and there is no false piety. The practice of rigour discipline and sacrifice seems to weld them more fiercely to it, rather than create resentment and resistance in them.
• I feel a kindred spirit in so far as we are all conviction people with at least a common dynamic of devotedness to values above and beyond ourselves and we have a common vocabulary of faith – as to error or not I am seeing in the unfolding and disintegrations of history that error and truth struggle to impose are not very creative concepts. Does it matter in the end – what was Cappadocia and the Inquisition and the Reformation worth – or all about in the end. One set of approximations against another. And who should have the arrogance to dismiss another’s creative beliefs.

GREECE:

Seated at the Areopagus, in the shadow of the great ruined temple, the reflections tumble around the brain –about the sands of time – human creativity – matched by crazy self- destructive tendency. War, and the waste and destruction of beauty – over and over again, like a sad chorus. History is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.
Broken bits of masonry and the vast size of the frieze give a sense of scale of the whole operation. Like huge baby! And yet worthless and destroyed by the ruthless ravages of time.

I look into the local Greek Orthodox Church and I am stunned at the richness and excess of it –first impressions are overwhelming - silver icons, Stations of the Cross – devotional acts aplenty. The congregation cross themselves three times, kiss the icons that nestle under ornate candelabras. And outside as ever the Beggars Union sit or stand on the church steps. They are not so daft –after all, where better to ply your trade than among the tender consciences of those who have just faced the call to love their neighbour?

Paul came to Thessalonika in 49 A.D. - and the church is still in business 2000 years later. Being close to the reality of that cannot leave you untouched, and it certainly reaches me!
It is hard to miss the fact that roadside shrines are a feature of the journey. And the simple – point is that ritual gives your faith somewhere to go…hooks to attach your connections to…otherwise there is the risk that it will all be just vague and you will have only the hope that occasional sermon will help you.
Everyone on the bus crosses themselves as we go past a church…young and old alike. Interesting phenomenon. It seems that faith and prayer and acts of devotion are as natural as breathing for these people who express their convictions without embarrassment.
For me it is a strange feeling to be alone in the midst of the celebrations – I realise with a sharp clarity that it must be like this for the stranger –or for people alone at Christmas…though for me not the profound existential crisis it would be for those with no one…this is a chosen moment for m. I know where there is warmth welcome and love – not to know that must tear the heart in two. Alone is a bad place. I wish it for no one.
Unfortunately, once again no-one spoke to me or made any effort to find out who I was - not even the preacher who must have known I was a visitor…I have not felt well served as a stranger…lessons to be learned…it’s true…never very crowded on the second mile.

PATMOS:

However, finally I get to the cave of the Apocalypse! It is busy and the usual complement of mobile phones ring at inappropriate times - and also usual additional refinements and gilded lilies that you come to expect at a holy place.
But when you think a book that Jan of Leyden, David Koresh and Ian Paisley all quoted extensively and used to be featured frequently on Radio Luxemburg - was written in this place – pause for reflection. And of course used at countless funerals by none other than myself – “no more tears, no more pain…etc” Coming close to the source of something..

RHODES;

I visit the synagogue and learn that the Holocaust reached even Rhodes. 1500 Jews were taken to the death camps from this delightful island

IRELAND:

· ! Read stuff about Indulgences and going round the Stations of the Cross seven times and all that stuff…I confess it sounds strange to my ears. Hail Mary’s by the dozen…etc. Is this the first excesses of Catholic devotion that I cannot handle. We all have our threshold!
· I visit the sites – Mouth of Slaney a precious moment – brushing against the history – reliving the scene and understanding its meaning. The ancient church at Saul Patrick’s first established church again offers a meaningful connection while stopping at – St. Tachans, to reflect on Patrick the night before he dies –taking communion and knowing that the end was near was deeply-touching. A brief stop at the Wells at Struell offered an intriguing and intimidating look in on the devotion that was normal – and leaves us for dead.

· Open top bus trip with a lovely commentary from a delightful driver, Boy did we Brits stick it to the Irish and don’t they know who their heroes are. Mostly people we killed.
· I was surprised by how deeply moved I was by the trip through recent Irish history….and I was converted to deepest sympathy for Irish nationalist aspirations.
· And amazed at the disproportionate cultural impact little Ireland has made.

This is all part of the learning process – without exposure to these ideas and discoveries – my vision would be blinkered and limited. It is true what they say that travel broadens the mind – and certainly takes the edge off our xenophobia.

EDINBURGH:

· Political activism much more than Luther – very radical and saw no divide between political and religious issues. More Ian Paisley than Dalia Lama.
· Unfortunate coarse style defines Presbyterianism as severe and harsh and ungenerous – though commitment to education and contribution to literature is significant.
· Does it take that kind of rather scary passion to effect change? Will bland niceness ever achieve anything? What chance mild mannered LHT ever making a difference?

Decided today not to go to Israel….there are many reasons not least one particular factor which was either a sign or just stupidity. Either way feel fine about the decision – which also goes down well with family and friends. I have learned the folly of vain bravado and don’t want to push my luck. How stupid I would feel to be maimed for three days in my diary. The decision taken je ne regrete rien.

BRISTOL AND THE METHODIST MOVEMENT:

· The sheer volume of work is breathtaking…and humbling…passion for God and hard work seem a powerful cocktail.
· The sadness of Charles Wesley at the split with Anglican church…once again the intransigence of the church bureaucracies and their defensive attitude to criticism leads to schism. Where have we heard that before?
· Note: Charles Wesley had three children die in their infancy and youth and John Wesley had no children. They were not ivory tower theorists but knew the stress of faith. Stoned and beaten and hounded and insulted they had no easy experience of the Way.
· All they wanted was a faith that was passionate and brave, disciplined and joyful – committed-not bland and bureaucracy driven. No offence

THE END.

WHAT WAS GAINED/LEARNED?

· A sense of the world church – and the place of the Church of Scotland within the big picture
· A realisation that there are other ways of being the Christian Church forby the Church of Scotland – and that we have things to learn from those other traditions. I sort of knew that in theory – but coming up close with other ways of doing things was enlightening and challenging.
· The enormous enrichment in connecting in a very personal and spiritual way with the people and places who made the story happen has been an incalculable blessing.

I have already sensed in put from the experience in the way I lead worship and the elements that I can see would enrich the experience of the people of God.