I am on the bouncy bus to halifax with the slight smell of exhaust fumes on the back seat compensated by being able to look at everybody. It's snowing! Thw bus is a collection of the young and old with me probably the only one on board travelling the old fashioned way with cash. I've never been one for the upstairs of buses probably a remnant from when that was a shortcut to nicitine addiction.
It's been a calmer day so far, with a great deal of fun chosing hymns with my organist Denis this morning.
"Donald won't like that one!" he says.
I reply that as far as I know we're not trying to please Donald!
Set me to contemplating who we are trying to please with our worship.
Is God really sat in heaven like a cosmic simon cowell.
"oh, I like that one" God says as we burst into Thine be the glory.
I like the idea of worship being like a dance. We make a stumbling kind of a move and God ever the expert dancer is able through their skill to make us look good.
I suddenly have a vision of the people on the bus as sitting like wallflowers round the room while God and I take the floor.
So to the wall flowers around the edge... I wish I had the guts to ask
Come and join us in the dance.
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