Zetland Park Methodist Church Pastoral Letters
But who really cared?
We sat on the pier head and watched the world go by. There was some movement on the water as vessels came to and fro; some of them pleasure craft, others plying their trade: yet this latter function was becoming a part of history through external pressures, and the old trawl skipper who sat at my side, simply shook his graying head as his eyes glazed with tears and what had been and what it was now. The years since that encounter took place have not diminished my thoughts and feelings for those communities on the Moray Coast of Scotland as I remember with fondness being among 'my ain folk' but not as a person 'growing up' there; nor as a visitor but as one of the 'community leaders'. I had the privilege of sharing in matters others simply heard rumours about, but that did not make it any the more easy to either digest nor deal with.
Around us were the bustling, bludgeoning towns whose attitude was 'whatever will be, will be'; yet the dole queues got longer; and the tax bill got higher and communities simply 'died' Who really cared?
Or there was that visit to RAF Kinloss and that view around a Nimrod, packed to the door with a whole variety of sensitive equipment; chatting to the base personnel and the flyers; seeing the role of the Church on that tight-knit base and then feeling a deep sense of personal loss when one of those aircraft which I had viewed was downed during a display in Canada ---- my base colleague was utterly stunned as he too grieved, so you can image how I felt when I heard the news from Afghanistan and some of those names were familiar. But who cares about the consequences?
Then a local 'worthy' prominent by his 30 stone presence in the centre of the small local town, died. I had to deal with the aftermath. The town had lost a 'son'; the community a centre of fun and frolic and someone's son; brother, husband maybe. But who really cared?
And what of a wheel-chair bound individual demanding 'money for a disabled toilet key' "performing" in the manse driveway and seeking to convince one of his 'need', while those around were describing him as 'filthy and unclean' and as 'that thing'? Was he 'slinging the lead', or did he have a genuine need and concern? But who cared any how?
All in the day's work for a minister, who prays for discernment; tact; feeling; responsiveness; love; and the sharing of the love of God, which through Christ came to the marginalized; the forgotten; the destitute and the desperate to name but a few.
'Write a book', says the Lady of the Manse ------ maybe, one day.