As I opened my front door this morning I was greeted by fog.  I got into the car to take my husband to the station.  I knew the direction I wanted to go in but I couldn’t quite see everything in front of me.  It wasn’t until I was right upon something that it became clear.  Inch by inch the direction of our path was revealed in front of us.  I dropped him off at the station where he took the express train to London.  I went back home.  I was cold and my bed that I had not long left seemed inviting.  The pull was strong. I couldn’t resist.  I got back into bed.  Snuggling down I felt the familiarity of the warmth that was still there from before.  Pulling the covers back over my head I felt the comfort and reassurance of my bed.  I began to dream…

This is a popular and attractive philosophy. It demands nothing, expects nothing and changes nothing. It is a sentiment detached from our involvement and influence. It is beyond us. I’m way too young to remember Doris Day, who first uttered these words in her song (I was born when Sly and the Family Stone did a cover version of it in 1973) but I am only too aware of how Que Sera, Sera is sung in the heart of every football fan who dreams of the journey towards Wembley (I’ve only followed the dream once with my team).

My main beef with this phrase is the hopelessness and resignation that the future is outside of our influence and the utter disregard for the resurrection. St Paul was frustrated by this kind of worldview too when he quoted those who did not believe in resurrection by saying “Let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die.” I wonder whether now, through this forum and discussion what we are all crying out for is a resurrected Baptist movement. I certainly am.

As I sit by the window with my battered bible in my hand sifting through the blood, sweat, and coffee stained pages; the phone rings for the 23rd time in 3 hours. I know it was 23 because I have counted the deafening rings that indicate one of the first baby steps back to technology that so many have longed for. The sharp noise is a painful reminder in my temporal lobe, that I, we all had fallen prey to the seductive tones of Technomonster.

No one –other than those who used their gift of discernment, recognised the web in which we had become entangled. Technomonster was cleverly and rapidly dulling our senses, making us rely heavily upon him for our every need. He had a way about him that would leave you wanting more. He made life simple –we lived in high definition and at the speed of super fast broadband, and we reveled in it! Before we knew it, we were addicted, jacking up through fibre optic cables and wi-fi. It was beautiful; we could be so much more productive than we had ever been. Industries grew at alarming rates. For us, we could reach so many more souls without ever leaving our desks. Mission was at the touch of the ‘return’ button.

‘The dodo is dead everybody knows that’, thus began an episode of David Attenborough’s Life Stories broadcast on Radio 4 on Sunday 4^th September 2009. Attenborough then unfolded the less well–known aspect of the story, the reason for the dodo’s extinction.

It is likely that its ancestors were blown to the Island of Mauritius in a storm. The Island was a haven for its new inhabitants. It was large, 50 miles across, with good vegetation, plenty of food and nothing that would attack or threaten the new arrivals. It was easy and safe to stay on the ground. They conserved energy and reduced the risk of being blown away again. So they didn’t fly; for generation after generation. There was plenty of easy food – the dodos grew big and fat. The wings they no longer used dwindled in size and would no longer lift the large bird into the air. Life was easy.

And then things began to change. In the last years of the sixteenth century sailors arrived on the island. They were hungry and wanted fresh meat. The dodo was big, fat, flightless and defenceless. They were also innocent and inquisitive so made no attempt to run away. It was easy for the sailors simply to club them to death. As more humans settled on the island the threat to the dodos increased, until the bird was no more. 

Fundamentally the dodos became extinct because they lost their powers of flight.

The story made a huge impression on me. Was the Church becoming flightless? Was it in danger of extinction? I received Attenborough’s words in the tradition of Old Testament prophecy, not a foregone conclusion but a spur to act. We need to re-learn how to fly.

The image of relearning how to fly and its implications has underpinned my reflections of what God has called our group to do in our new church project.