On flea bombs, sick kids, old wardrobes, the Grim Reaper – and resurrection life! (Listen here.)

Hi, I’m Alison, and I’m the daughter of a dynamo! My mother, Ruth Sampson, was a pastor of this church in the 1970’s and 80’s. She was energetic, dynamic, well remembered by many, yet she is long gone. In her absence, I’ve been asked to talk about her contributions, both at Box Hill Baptist and elsewhere in that era, and to draw out some points for your future.

Maybe the lost are not always the people we assume. (Listen here.)

‘Would you like a drink?’ I asked our friend Carl. ‘No thanks,’ he said. ‘Is that an Anglo no, or a Lebanese no?’ I asked. Our friend Carl is from a Lebanese family. In Lebanon, if someone offers you a drink, it is the height of rudeness to say yes straightaway. It might be 36 degrees, you might have walked across Beirut to get there, you might be so dry your tongue is sticking to the roof of your mouth. But you graciously say no, giving your host the opportunity to demonstrate their generous hospitality by offering again, and again, and again. By the sixth time, you can finally say ‘Yes, actually, now I come to think of it, and in response to your exquisite hospitality, perhaps I could manage a small drink!’ Then your host pours you a long cool glass of something refreshing, and hovers at the ready to refill it.