Some of my best friends are Grey Suits. That is, they belong to that company of men (and they are all men) who present a rather formal and conservative aspect to the world, soberly clad in charcoal worsted. Accountants and bankers, surveyors, civil servants, lawyers, managers and librarians, these suited gents have for decades, perhaps centuries, been the backbone of Baptist congregations. They have been elders and deacons, church secretaries and treasurers, - the folk who write constitutions, who draw up agendas and sit on committees, the folk who know the rules and make sure we follow them.

Mainly now on the ageing side - grey grey suits - they appear to have joined Little Old Ladies as one of the categories of human being who have Had Their Day. To be called a Grey Suit is not a compliment. And indeed the church does not thrive on a diet that is exclusively grey and suited. We need some greens and yellows, the occasional Kaftan and a few purple hats. Grey suits can be cautious, over concerned with procedure, bound by convention and rules. They have sometimes used the knowledge of how things are done as a mechanism of control, whether consciously or unconsciously. As a somewhat lackadaisical, post-modern woman I can understand the shift in mood that has led to the sidelining of Grey Suits.

But these friends of mine know full well that the gospel is not in the end about agendas and constitutions. They know it is about the redemption of broken humanity by Jesus, and the wide welcome of his Kingdom. And, among all the many treasures of the Kingdom, I want to celebrate those bread and butter virtues of integrity and faithfulness - the generosity of those who give freely of their expertise for the love of the Lord, those whose love finds expression in dependability, and who always turns up.

In the strange company of the pilgrims you never know what delights are lurking beneath the unlikely surface - what grace and kindness, intelligence and humour, faith, wisdom and courage might be hiding in those Bermuda shorts, or behind that body-piercing, or under the old felt hat. You never know what a diamond geezer you might discover soberly clad in slate acrylic. So let's hear it,  let's big it up for the grey suits.