The present moment

I've recently finished reading Stephen Cottrell's book Christ in the Wilderness which I've mentioned before. He used this quote from Jean-Pierre de Caussade's book The Sacrament of the Present Moment: "The present moment holds infinite riches beyond your wildest dreams, but you will only enjoy them to the extent of your faith and love. The more a soul loves, the more it longs, the more it hopes, the more it finds. The will of God is manifest in each moment, an immense ocean which only the heart fathoms insofar as it overflows with faith, trust and love." I very much like, by the way, the cover picture of Christ longing to gather his children as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. It shows that look of attentive care which is the essence of love.

A dear friend of mine recently put this picture of Thérèse of Lisieux on her Facebook status. It's not great art; but she's got the point about love being expressed in the small details of life rather than the grand gestures exactly right.

Sunday is Advent Sunday when we look forward with binocular vision - to the first coming of Jesus which we celebrate in four weeks' time and to His return of which no one knows the day or time. It's a season to ensure that we are ready to meet Him whenever that might be.

Our version of one of my favourite Advent hymns is an adaptation by Charles Wesley and others of the original written in 1850 by Reading-born John Cennick. I rather like his last verse, with its reminder that what we're looking for is the destruction of evil and establishment of universal justice and love:
View him smiling, now determin’d,
Ev’ry Evil to destroy!
All the nations now shall sing him,
Songs of everlasting Joy!
O come quickly! Allelujah! 
Come Lord, come!

I'm intending to take Advent and Christmas off from blogging, as it has distracted me from my main business of book-writing. I wish you a joyful December. À bientôt.

Especially "for you"

This is my current desktop picture taken from the 3 Minute Retreat website. The over-printed text at the bottom reads, "I believe I shall enjoy the Lord's goodness in the land of the living" (Psalm 27:13). I suppose the reason I like it so much is the way it combines the dying year and disappearing path with the bridge in the sunlight holding the promise of life and hope. 

I had the privilege of celebrating communion again today - and, despite an unusually long bout of clonus (leg-wobbling), found the experience moving again, including as it does the extraordinary invitation to all and sundry to share in God's love for each individual: "Receive the body of our Lord Jesus Christ which he gave for you, and his blood which he shed for you. Eat and drink in remembrance that he died for you, and feed on him in your hearts by faith with thanksgiving." I love the way that it says three times, "for you" - just in case we don't get the message. 

What's the connection with my desktop? Well, I think in communion we taste the goodness of the Lord in distilled form. It's not the only place and time we enjoy it - such as the beauty of a woodland walk, or the warmth of family and friends' love... the list is endless. The special truth, however, is that "the land of the living" is not cribbed, cabined and confined to a lifespan. As Kristyn Getty's song puts it, "And we are raised with Him, / Death is dead; love has won. Christ has conquered." 

I hope you enjoy good things this week.

Thank you, Beth

This morning we went to Beth's funeral. She's the 15-year old additionally disabled daughter of James and Lynn whom I mentioned last time. The church was packed. Among those who carried her basketwork coffin were her brother, father and, I guess, her grandfather. It was as emotional service as I can remember, but far from miserable. It included a most remarkable reflection on her life by her parents, which didn't gloss over the pains of having such a disabled child but did not deny either the joy and love she brought.

There were too some of my favourite songs such as "Great is your faithfulness" and "How great thou art". There was one written by Paul Oakley I'd not heard before, "There's a place", which contains this verse:
"No more, no more sadness,
No more suffering, no more tears,
No more sin, no more sickness,
No injustice, no more death." Which would be pretty good news if that was all there was. However the song goes on to the positives:
"There is joy everlasting,
There is gladness, there is peace.
There is wine, ever flowing,
There's a wedding, there's a feast." And it ends,
"We'll see you face to face
And we will dance together
In the city of our God, because of You." (If you don't know it, the best YouTube clip I've found is this -Because of You.) It's hardly a miserable dirge; in fact it's full of resurrection joy.

Yesterday I was simply going to post something that my venerable friend, Brian, had put on Facebook, but today's service made me want to write something more as a thank you to Beth Ross. But I'll still include Brian's lines because somehow they feel all of a piece with the journey of faith walked by James and Lynn and their family.
"I believe in the sun,
even when I cannot see it.
I believe in love,
even when I cannot feel it.
I believe in God,
even when he is silent."

"Death, be not proud"

Andrew, a friend from university days, put the great sonnet by John Donne as his facebook status recently. As he said, he could find no better words to say it. A couple of days ago, we were phoned with the news that the disabled daughter of James and Lynn - whose tender care for her was for me a revelation of God's love at New Wine three years ago - had unexpectedly died.  So it's really with her and them in mind that I include these two quotations.

"Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die." – John Donne

"Death is not the extinguishing of the light; it is putting out the lamp because the dawn has come." ~ Rabindranath Tagore.

Recently I read St Paul, writing to the Christians in Thessalonica, urging them "not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep". 

Stanley Spencer, Resurrection in Cookham Churchyard

The Sparrow's Prayer

I was talking to Tom after church last Sunday. Well, to be accurate 

he was trying to make sense of my marblefull voice and I was hearing him fine. It's always difficult with all the background buzz of conversation and children's voices in a reverberant hall. Anyway, somehow we still managed to communicate. He told me about the book he'd been reading, Christ in the Wilderness by Bishop Stephen Cottrell. During the week a parcel came through our letter box containing the very book. It's about a series of paintings by Stanley Spencer of Jesus' encounter with the world he'd made before he began his public ministry. Tucked into the book was this poem by the late Lord Hailsham, longest serving Lord Chancellor, and committed Christian. I'd not come across it before.
 
Father, before this sparrow's earthly flight
Ends in the darkness of a winter's night
Father, without whose word no sparrow falls,
Hear this, Thy weary sparrow when he calls.
Mercy, not justice, is his contrite prayer.
Cancel his guilt and drive away despair;
Speak but the word, and make his spirit whole,
Cleanse the dark places of his heart and soul,
Speak but the word, and set his spirit free;
Mercy, not justice, still his constant plea.
So shall Thy sparrow, crumpled wings restored.
Soar like a lark, and glorify his Lord.


Clearly Lord Hailsham's thinking of Portia's "The quality of mercy is not strain'd" speech:
"It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice....
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation; we do pray for mercy...." It's remarkable, or perhaps not, that one of our most senior lawyers should have had such a humble perspective, and have clung so fervently to mercy.

Tomorrow I am celebrating communion for the second time in three years. It is the sacrament of mercy. We come with nothing except crumpled wings, broken lives, and at his table God gives us his own broken body and shed blood, and says, "I love you this much." And we can rise with hope restored. We are not lost causes after all. I find it intensely moving and an amazing privilege to be allowed to share God's love in such a way. I hope I don't cry too much.

PS Sunday afternoon - In the event I didn't weep, though my voice had a wobbly moment! People were very kind with their comments after. Paul, the curate, had been preaching about humility - and I must say that the way my less than fluent delivery seemed to help people connect with God was very humbling.

Sunrise

A friend of mine, just back from another round of cancer treatment, quoted this today: "Life is a constant sunrise, which death cannot interrupt, any more than the night can swallow up the sun." George MacDonald in Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood. Isn't that good?

By the way, today is the feast day of St Thérèse of Lisieux, from whose journal Story of a Soul I took the title of Jozanne Moss's and my book, "I Choose Everything". I've been reading the entry about her on Catholic Online. She died at the age of 24 in 1897, having been a Carmelite nun for less than ten years. She lost her mother when she was a child. When her father was committed to a mental institution, "Horrified, Therese learned of the humiliation of the father she adored and admired and of the gossip and pity of their so-called friends. As a cloistered nun she couldn't even visit her father. This began a horrible time of suffering when she experienced such dryness in prayer that she stated, 'Jesus isn't doing much to keep the conversation going.' She was so grief-stricken that she often fell asleep in prayer. She consoled herself by saying that mothers loved children when they lie asleep in their arms so that God must love her when she slept during prayer."

When things are all right

It occurs to me that I tend to use this blog for down-beat moments. But what about those times when things are going all right? Is there something to say then? At the moment things are quite sunny here, both literally and metaphorically - and I'm grateful. I've written elsewhere about my cousin, Grace Sheppard, wife of the cricketing bishop, who even when she was suffering the same cancer as had killed her husband, maintained her attitude of gratitude to the end. She wrote a beautiful book about caring for her husband, David, called Living with Dying. It seems to me that if Grace could be full of thankfulness in such a hard situation, then when "the sun's shining down on me" there's no excuse for not saying, "Blessed be your Name!"

Ironically, I've just discovered from the lovely iBenedictine nuns that today Catholics remember Our Lady of Sorrows. That's of course Mary, the mother of Jesus, and recalls the prophecy of Simeon that a sword would pierce her soul - looking forward to the agony of seeing her Son tortured to death before her eyes. I cannot conceive of the depth of suffering that was for her. I am fairly sure that she'd have said what a friend once said to me: "I wish it had been me, not him." There's no comfort for that moment, just the company of "the beloved disciple". I can't imagine there was blessing in her mind at that point, just bewilderment. Maybe she thought back to her poem of praise when her Son was conceived and she said about the Almighty, "Holy is his name" - meaning that his nature is incomprehensibly different.

There were naturally huge questions for Mary throughout the lifetime of her Son, from being asked to be an unmarried mother to becoming a widowed single mother, from seeing her Son quitting home as an itinerant teacher to his ending up on a cross and then leaving her at the ascension. And yet the song which is her trademark was "My soul doth magnify the Lord and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour". Though we will certainly have major questions in life, may we have a prevailing attitude of gratitude because there have been moments when the shutters have been open and we have seen the goodness of God.

Oscar's testament

©The Independent

As I blogged earlier, Days at the Paralympics, I much enjoyed my visits to the Paralympics. South African, Oscar Pistorius's run for the 400m was a fitting climax to the stadium competitions. He stormed in to win the gold medal. In the post-race interview, the double amputee twice said what a blessing it was.
Yesterday our friend, Sally Lewis, posted these quotes from him:
“You’re not disabled by the disabilities you have; you are able by the abilities you have”.
“Christ makes all the difference. He aids me in my struggles and makes my glories that much better.” 

A good Sunday

Maybe someone's been praying especially hard for me. Maybe I'm on a post-holiday high. But yesterday was a particularly good day. As I wrote yesterday, I appreciated the service from Greenbelt on the radio. Then it was good meeting friends again at the real church service here. There was a large baptism party there; I always enjoy it when people, by hook or by crook, are welcomed into the church. Jane was on crèche duty, looking after the youngest children. One dad came in who'd lived his whole life in Grove and had never entered the church before. I hope he was pleasantly surprised by how friendly and normal Christians can be - like Jane!

It was a pleasant sunny day, which always helps, and as Jane hadn't had a service in the morning we took ourselves off to St Aldate's church in Oxford, after I'd set the record button on Songs of Praise and Countryfile on TV. We'd hoped for some up-lifting worship, but when we got there and had a chair removed for my wheelchair, the church seemed a quarter full (it did get fuller!), there was no sign of the band, and eventually the curate stood up and told us to be ready for anything. We looked at each other, thinking, "Bank Holiday weekend - maybe everyone, including the musicians, is having a night off - leaving one chap to wing it!" So it was a great relief when he invited the band up, and the worship songs started. It was a good relaxed service. Best, for me, was the sermon given by Laura Gallacher, the young student pastor, on "The Spirit who satisfies". The Bible passage was John 7.37-39, where Jesus stands up in the Temple at the climax of the Festival of Tabernacles and cries out, "If anyone thirsts, let them come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, 'Out of their heart will flow rivers of living water.'" St John comments that Jesus was talking about the Holy Spirit who had not yet been poured out. (Listen to "The Spirit who satisfies" here.)

Because of the way the sermon was structured I can still recall its main points. The message was that thirst is a universal human condition, spiritually as well as physically, and that Jesus satisfies the thirst of all: the parched (who've never tasted His Spirit's refreshing), the quenched (who have tasted it in the past, but have run dry), the waiting (those who feel He won't return), and the wanting (those who have taken to substitutes to satisfy their thirst). There was more of course to the sermon than that. Two more points come back to me. The Bible's story of God's dealing with humanity begins and finishes with flowing water, with the rivers in Eden and the river flowing from the throne for the healing of the nations in Revelation. But there's also meant to be this river in the middle of the story, flowing from those who believe in Jesus - which is why it's so vital that we take up Jesus' loud invitation, "Let them come to me," because that's the source of spiritual refreshing for a parched society. The other point was that the opening of the floodgates for the Spirit began when Jesus shared the universal human condition on the cross, "I thirst," as St John also records. (I remember the great Bible teacher, John McKay, commenting that the sour wine He then drank inaugurated the Kingdom.) It was a challenging but realistic sermon. We were glad we'd driven in. On the way home there was a spectacular sunset to our right.

Then, before going to bed, I thought I'd see what Songs of Praise had been like. It was advertised as "The Great Outdoors" with Eamonn Holmes - not very promising, I thought; probably one of these cobbled-together holiday-type programmes frequent in the summer. I had to eat my thoughts! The hymns were mainly traditional, but they tied in with the interviews. A bit slow, but interesting light accompaniments. However, the three interviews were cracking, especially the first with a champion surfer, called Andy Hill. "A former atheist, Andy says a period of illness 11 years ago put big life questions back on the table. He researched a lot of religions looking for answers and Christianity was the only one that made sense. Now, his faith is everything and he’s an enthusiastic member of his local church. While he still loves surfing – and still competes – he’s just as passionate about sharing his faith with others." He was an example, it seemed to me, of someone who'd found his thirst satisfied by Jesus and who was a conduit to others. The same was true of the other two interviewees: with a couple of Ulster's rugby team and with a hard-core mountain-biker. As a bonus, there was an item from the excellent band, Rend Collective Experiment, "Build Your Kingdom here", and the different but equally good, Keith and Kristyn Getty. Altogether a rich programme, to end a refreshing day.

Paradise....

There was morning worship today on Radio 4 from the Greenbelt Festival. I've never been there, but have listened to talks given there, in particular by John O'Donohue who died four years ago. Greenbelt, from what I gather, combines strands of Celtic Christianity and social engagement. It's altogether quieter than something like New Wine! However, the message of this morning's act of worship was pretty hard core.

"loving company"

It seemed to be that Paradise, to which humans aspire and which lies out of reach in this life, is not to be found in escaping into the beauty of creation (the garden) but in entering into relationship with God and with others (the heavenly city). So Jesus says to the dying thief on the cross, "Today you will be with me in Paradise." This rang true with my experience of the holiday from which I've just returned - see my "Dancing Donkey" blog. What made it special wasn't the beautiful surroundings, though we were in the Brecon Beacons; it was the loving company I was with.

The picture of Paradise in Revelation 21 - which I have found impossible to read aloud without aching tears for some years - is of the most intimate of human relationships, husband and wife. "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain any more, for the former things have passed away.'" That's how deep a relationship the eternal God longs to have with the human beings He made, if only they'd say Yes to His proposal of love! Incredible, but true. Relation, not creation, lies at the heart of Paradise.

The Greenbelt service included this thoughtful prayer:
"God of all, we are grateful that Paradise is not lost, 
in spite of us, our sin against You, each other and our wilful neglect of the world and the resources entrusted to us. 
Indeed we realise that in Your great love You secure the promise of Paradise because of us. 
Wherever deep and true relationship exists between people and with God, Paradise is not lost. 
So, Lord, whenever we are blinded by the pain and turmoil of this broken world 
and lose sight of the harmony of Paradise that was, can now be and is yet to come, 
remind us once again of the cross of Jesus and of the lengths to which You have gone 
to manifest both the power and possibility of Paradise."

At New Wine an inspiring Salvation Army officer, Danielle Strickland, mentioned a hymn written by William Booth which I'd never heard before. However, I got the point. It's about the power and possibility of Paradise. It's a similar thought to Frederick Faber's "we make His love too narrow / with false limits of our own". Why did God go to such lengths? 
"O boundless salvation! deep ocean of love,
O fullness of mercy, Christ brought from above,
The whole world redeeming, so rich and so free,
Now flowing for all men, come, roll over me!" (If, like me, you didn't know it, you can learn it here on YouTube!) 

O boundless salvation! deep ocean of love: yes!

Less Eeyore

You may have gathered I have, for the moment at least, decided to maintain both my blogs. I'm glad there's some consistency between them but I think they're different. Anyhow, I've decided to try to be brief!

The final quote which I can remember from New Wine came, I think, from Simon Ponsonby, the Oxford theologian and preacher, and it went something like,
"We have too much Eeyore and not enough 'in awe' in our worship."
Eeyore, you'll remember from A A Milne's Winnie the Pooh was constitutionally glum in diametric contrast to the irrepressibly bouncy Tigger.

Simon clearly wasn't recommending we adopt Tiggerish immaturity in our worship, that we should bounce around with never a care in the world. If the galaxies in the night sky elicit a reaction of awe in us, how much more should the God who brought them into being! He is a mystery beyond our comprehending. AWE is the right response. BUT that doesn't mean miserable.

It doesn't mean singing everything in a minor key; it doesn't mean singing only hymns; it doesn't even means keeping your hands down by your side and standing to attention. Yes, our God is an awesome God, BUT He loves us. In fact He loves the whole cosmos - and He loves you. As a child might say -  "Wow!" That's awe, and it should make us celebrate wildly. The Jubilee crowds in the Mall and the Olympic Stadium on the Saturdays didn't have as much to cheer about! God is love!

However, it's not just about Sunday services that Simon was talking. As they say at Bethel in California, "Worship is a lifestyle." We are loved and we have hope. We should be filled with the Spirit of worship every day. That should keep us from being like Eeyore!

I'm just back from praying outside a psychic fair. People drifted in looking depressed and walked out again looking equally sad. They clearly had not found peace or joy. There's better on offer, folks! "I have come to bring you life in all its fulness" (Jesus).

God made him fast

Here's a fascinating account of Usain Bolt, the flawed but unashamed Christian: Diary of a WIP: The BBC and Christianity. You might not have been aware of it. I certainly wasn't.

No hands but ours?

"Transformation is nearer than temptation."

This was again a watchword of Alan Scott's. I took it as a reminder that God is constantly proactive and creative, whereas the devil is just opportunistic. Sometimes we are overwhelmed by a sense of failure or of facing overwhelming odds. However, it's not true.

Healing of lame man (St Peter's, Rome)

The truth is that "God is for us", i.e. on our side, or as Jesus put it, "He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world." And the point is this: that we are the means through which God wants to transform the world. It's not just about our transformation. God wants to transform the world He made and we keep spoiling. He wants to restore it to His original intention, through us, His Church - which means we can't retreat behind closed doors. Like the Pentecost Church we have to spill out on to the streets. However, doing so under our own steam, because we've "got the idea", isn't transformative. The apostles are told to "wait... until you are clothed with power from on high", i.e. until they receive God's Spirit.

God's life-giving touch (Sistine Chapel)

Ironically, it is our emptiness, our feeling of failure and inadequacy, which best forms a channel for God's love to flow to others. That is utterly counter-intuitive and incredible. But it's true because He is even keener and more able to transform His creation than evil is to thwart Him. He wants to fill us to bring His glory to the world. I have a feeling that this is what St Paul meant by "Christ in you, the hope of glory". I always thought it meant the hope of our glory; now I think it means "Jesus in us is the hope of the creation's restored glory". The reassuring truth remains that it's not through our best laid plans and efforts but through our being who we are in Christ and letting His Spirit have a say that God's transformation happens.  

Come, Holy Spirit!

The lifestyle of lovers

Here's something else that struck me from this year's New Wine. I think this came from Alan Scott.

"Ask questions in His presence. Asking questions is the lifestyle of lovers."

It is after all the nature of love to ask questions - that's how lovers get to know each other. It's all right for us to ask God questions. Ask Him questions not about our brokenness but about His love. I think he's right, that asking each other questions is natural in a healthy relationship. Isn't it natural for us to ask, "Lord, I don't understand how this comes out of your love. Can you tell me?" There can be a difference in the context of our questions, of course. You can ask really not wanting the answer, like Pilate's "What is truth?"or even not believing that God is real. Or you can ask sincerely, because you don't understand how your experience and God's love match up, like "My God, why have you abandoned me?" That's a lover's question.

That rings true, doesn't it? Asking questions of God is the stuff of a true relationship with Him. My friend, Nicky, calls God "Daddy". He is the perfect Father. Who more appropriate to bring our concerns to? Who more natural to seek explanations from? Who better to trust?

Beauty for ashes

You might like to read my Diary of a Dancing Donkey blog, where I described what Julian of Norwich  called a "revelation of divine love". We spent last week at the New Wine Festival, a big gathering of Christians in Somerset, which led to my starting this blog a year ago.

Gorgeous Grace - Click for link

In the end it was an encouraging time for me. On the way I noted things which people said. Unfortunately I was just using my iPod on which I'm very slow, and so they may be approximate quotes. Anyway here's the first of them, from Karen Jones - who's recently published her first novel with the unlikely title of The Babe's Bible - Gorgeous Grace, which I am reliably informed is gripping. As I was saying, here's the quote:

"Our sufferings cost us too much to waste them."

It's true, isn't it? We can either nurse our pains and almost cherish them, clinging to them rather like Gollum and his "my precious" ring. Or we can release them and use them more like St Paul who used his afflictions "to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God." 

I think Karen was thinking not only of that, but also of our suffering being a seedbed for the growth of our own maturity and our relationship with God. We can regard suffering as entirely negative and destructive, or we can allow it to be turned to good. I say "allow" as I don't think it's merely a matter of the will. Paul talks about "the God of all comfort" who enables us to pass on the comfort we've received. That has to be the work of the Holy Spirit. And equally it's Him who turns our ashes into a crown of beauty and gives us a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair (Isaiah 61). It's certainly true that when we're going through suffering like depression or bereavement it doesn't lie in our power to drag ourselves into the light, not really. We may put on a brave face, but it always conceals a weeping heart. But God... "is able to do immeasurably more than we ask or imagine". YIPPEE! 

"Weeping may last through the night,    
but joy comes with the morning."   
So I wait for you....

Through the window

Among his many talents, Martin is a freelance photographer: http://martinart-photography.com/. He has a knack of seeing and capturing the unusual.  He brought some of his work to the MNDA Bake History coffee morning we had here on Saturday. I don't know how much he sold, but I liked this one called Window - so I ordered one of the limited edition. He brought it round today.

The sea and the sky really were that blue. Besides the interesting ruined walls (How many faces are hidden in the stones?), I love the fact that even through the small hole as well as through the roughcast "window" you can see the variety of life in the cliff-top flora and the sea breaking against the promontory. (By the way, any ideas of where the photo is?)

It's a sort of picture of the potential which still lies within human wreckage. You can still find beauty, and life and hope, even when all you yourself feel is a ruin. It's a matter of perspective. You can focus on the ruin or you can focus on the sun beyond.

Sometimes, however, even that view gets obscured by mist or rain. I've just heard today of an inexplicable grief. I have to confess that I have wept for those involved - and I don't understand it. Why does God allow hopes to be so sadly dashed? I don't get it. 

And yet, as I've written in My Donkeybody, I still believe that the sun shines behind the closed shutters. I just can't comprehend the total nature of that Love.

"I'm a failure"

I can do no better than copy this post from the iBenedictines' blog  today.

The Prayer of Incompetence and Failure

by Digitalnun on July 1, 2012
From time to time someone will ask how to pray ‘better’. When we tease out what is troubling the questioner, it usually turns out that he or she expects something to ‘happen’ in prayer; and when it doesn’t, feels a failure. Of course, something always does ‘happen’ in prayer, but not always what we were expecting or hoping for. Remember Naaman and his indignation at being told to wash seven times in the Jordan when he was expecting Elisha to come out and perform some quasi-magical ceremony for him? We can be like that in prayer. We want things to go according to our notions, but God has his own ideas and they are rarely the same as ours.

One of the first lessons any of us has to learn is to pray as we can. We need to keep in mind that God is in charge and rather keener on this prayer business than we are. Our enthusiasm tends to come by fits and starts. Not so God’s. He has been planning this moment of closeness with us from all eternity. That can be an encouraging thought when prayer seems dry and pointless, when all we experience is incompetence and failure. The secret is to keep at it, to go on trustingly with our prayer times. One of the lovely phrases George Herbert used to describe prayer was ‘the heart in pilgrimage’. Anyone who has undertaken a real pilgrimage, walked the Camino de Santiago, for example, will know that temptations to give up crowd in when one is tired and footsore, but one just goes on. So it is with prayer. Incompetence, failure, what do they matter when God has promised us his very self?
Note
There are some simple guidelines for prayer on our main website, here.

Jane tells me the guidelines on the website are very helpful.

I find it consoling that nuns, who I imagine are in the premier league of pray-ers, understand the sense of being a failure at praying. My father, I think it was, had a saying: "Pray, pray - and peg away."

The vulnerable mind

Last Friday, the Evangelical Alliance published an article of mine in their Friday night theology series. The aim is to write about 500 words on something topical. I've written for them a number of times, but I think in the end I have been most pleased with this article. You can read it here: Friday Night Theology: The Vulnerable Mind.

It's very tempting for Christians to pretend life is a bed of roses for them. I think that has a number of causes. One is the habit that preachers used to have of saying something like, "Come to Jesus and all your problems will be sorted." As Anne said at Stanford's Festival Songs of Praise last Sunday, that certainly wasn't the message that Saul, later St Paul, was given at his conversion, as God tells the reluctant evangelist, Ananias, “Go, for he is a chosen instrument of mine to carry my name before the Gentiles and kings and the children of Israel. For I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.” Not a great sales pitch! 


Another is the culture of "strength" fostered among the clergy. It's not done to admit weakness, either mistakes or mental fragility. I was very fortunate when I was an apprentice pastor to have an understanding boss - as within my first year I was plagued by panic attacks. Early intervention and counselling restored my equilibrium. Later on, I actually believe that my MND, which is such an obvious weakness, helped some in our church to feel free to admit to their vulnerabilities. It made us all more real with each other and with God. 


Depression is of course not at all obvious. It may creep up insidiously as MND does, but it's easier to conceal and has a public stigma which encourages concealment. However, to my mind, it's worse than any physical ailment, as is true for all mental unwellness. The truth is that people of faith have never been insulated from mental struggles. Look through the Old Testament and try to find heroes of faith who sailed untroubled through life.... Of course the example who is most often cited is Elijah, whose treatment begins with food and rest, but you can uncover questionings, doubts and tears all over the place. The psalms contain their fair share of complaints and honest misery. If you've suffered depression, you'll recognise the feeling of Psalm 55: 

“Oh, that I had wings like a dove!
    I would fly away and be at rest;
⁷ yes, I would wander far away;
    I would lodge in the wilderness;
⁸ I would hurry to find a shelter
    from the raging wind and tempest."

Jesus himself was not immune from doubts (in the temptations) or from the sense of God having abandoned him. When he said, "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" I can't believe he was pretending, or merely reciting poetry. I believe he was using the closest words he could find to describe his experience. "This is what I'm going through - and it hurts even more than the nails." The sheer cliffs of the mind are dreadful places to hang.

My article was inspired, oddly enough, by the transparent honesty of four MPs in a recent debate. When, I wondered, did I last hear a prominent church leader talking about his struggle with mental health? Would someone who admitted the vulnerability even be considered for ministry in the church? And if not, what sort of message does that send to other Christians? The wrong sort. The Church is not the domain of the strong and satisfied; it's the haven for the hurting and the hungry. It's not the resort of the successful, but of the lost and limping. It has good news not for the righteous, but for washed-up sinners. It's meant to be a ragbag of mixed-up, messed-up men and women, not there in the first place because they need mending, but there because they need loving - and they are loved. And because Christ loves every member of his motley Church and gave himself for them, so they in turn are meant to accept and love each other in the same way, without conditions and without reservations.

Blessings

I owe a lot to my friends Miles and Sarah, who now live in posh London. They used to live in Stanford in the Vale where I was vicar. Sarah has a lovely voice and used to lead worship for us. Every now and then she makes a comment on Facebook about a singer whom she's discovered. When I've found them on YouTube, she invariably proves a great talent spotter. One was Alison Krauss. Yesterday she posted, "Just discovered the amazingly beautiful voice and lyrics of Laura Story - loving Blessings." So I followed it up, and of course she's right! Blessings on YouTube

On her website, I found this account by Laura Story, which I reckoned was very helpful and rather good theology.

"The album that I did three to four years ago happened right after my husband went through surgery for a brain tumor. So a lot of the ideas that I was writing about then were just very fresh, about how do we worship in the midst of trials. So fast forwarding a few years later, a lot of things have changed. A lot of things have gotten better with his health, and a lot of things have not. We pray for God to bless us, but what does it look like when I spend four or so years praying for healing for my husband that never comes? I feel like we’ve kind of gotten to a place of having to make a choice. Are we going to judge God based on our circumstances that we don’t understand, or are we going to choose to judge our circumstances based on what we know to be true about God? Not that I choose the right thing every day, but I’m learning that every morning when I wake up to choose to trust God.

"And that’s what 'Blessings' is about. It’s just considering that maybe the blessing is actually found in the absence of the thing that I’m praying for. No one wants a brain tumor, and no one wants a severed marriage and these things that we pray that God will reconcile. But even though this situation is definitely nothing that we ever would have asked for or prayed for, there has been a depth of intimacy with the Lord that I’m not sure I would have known apart from such a hard road that we’ve walked. And in the end, if I’ve learned to cling to that old rugged cross all the more, I truly can say that I’m a blessed person."

http://laurastorymusic.com/2011/09/story-behind-the-song-“blessings”/

Isn't that a paradoxical insight: "maybe the blessing is actually found in the absence of the thing that I’m praying for"? I wonder what Laura means by learning "to cling to that old rugged cross". (It was a favourite funeral hymn among Stanford villagers, which always fascinated me...!) I suspect it's to do with learning to trust the love of the crucified God in the teeth of everything. 

Don't miss out

I enjoyed Saturday. It was dry, which helped. We'd arranged to meet my college pal, let's call him Murgatroyd, and his partner, I'll call her Annie, in Oxford. It's a long time since I've spent time with him and we'd never met her. We arranged to meet at the Ashmolean Museum. They're architects and he had not seen it since its £ multi-million rebuild. It is a most impressive, if confusing, building. They spotted, before following us to Brown's for a meal, the Vermeer painting on loan there.

Jane and I went to see it after lunch. It's the only painting by the Dutch master in private ownership, Young Woman seated at a virginal, and it's quite small (10 x 8 inches); but it stands out from all the others on the wall. It's very simple, but beautiful. It's in Oxford only until September, when it returns presumably to the wall of a very wealthy and lucky person in New York. You might easily miss it.

Opportunities to renew old friendships and make new ones are precious, and it's easy to miss them. That meal in Brown's was a quite simple sharing of good food and talk. Which is what "companionship" meant originally. But it was more. It was the seizing of a moment. It's all too easy to dwell in the past and so to miss what God may have in store. We've all made mistakes we regret, leaving behind hurts. And yet, it seems to me, that Jesus didn't hold such things against people. He invited himself to their homes for a meal. We've all had experiences which have scarred us. And yet he didn't allow such things to keep a stranglehold on people. He restored them to live life again in the future.

I'm sad to see yet another programme is scheduled on Channel 4 about Tony Nicklinson, trapped by a stroke in an unresponding body. Its title tells us that it will be an emotional tract advocating euthanasia: "Let our dad die". I'm sad because I believe he is actually missing out on what fellow-sufferer, Bram Harrison, said, "I enjoy my rather limited life"- see Bram Harrison's locked-in life. I quote Bram because his life is more like Tony's than mine is, for the moment. However I agree with Bram. It's surprising how much can be made of how little, given the opportunity and a positive attitude.

Times and seasons

I see it's a very long time since I last posted here. Business isn't the reason. I suppose it's because I've not had much to say. However I was struck in the interim by what Jesus said before ascending: "It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed...".


At the end of May, Jane had to make the difficult decision to uproot our wallflowers and pansies which were still in full bloom. The result was that the flower bed and the pots were left bare and brown. Of course that wasn't the end. The next stage was putting in the young plants we bought from the local garden centre. Even so the view from my seat is a tad dull and not a patch on what it was before.  

Why did she grub up flowers in their prime? Vandalism? Perversity? Of course not. We know the reason. The season is the reason. In order for new flowers to blossom in the summer, the winter/spring flowers need to be grubbed up. As I look at the incomplete garden, it occurs to me that it might be how God works with us. Why does he take away? Why does he cut us down in our prime? Why does life hurt so often? Maybe it's a matter of times and seasons. Maybe it's because, as St Paul says, we are his workmanship. Maybe he has something good in mind.

Is he really with me?

Last Thursday was Ascension Day, the day when Christians recall the end of "all that Jesus began to do and teach, until the day that he was taken up", as St Luke says in Acts. On Thought for the Day the speaker told us, as far as I understood her, that the message of the day is that Jesus left his disciples, and us, on our own to get on with it. She finished with the gnomic statement: "It is possible to make our peace with God when we live with the reality that we live together, alone."

I was sorry Lucy Winkett ended there, because, of course, the story doesn't end there. It was just the end of what "Jesus began to do and teach". St Luke proceeds to tell us what Jesus went on to do in The Acts of the Apostles, and he certainly doesn't mean that the apostles did his work for him together, "alone", i.e. without him. Arguably they are "on their own together" for ten days. But on Pentecost they receive "the promise of the Father". On the night of  his arrest, Jesus had told them: "I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you." Putting it a different way, he'd said,  ^"And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you for ever, even the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, for he dwells with you and will be in you." And, pow! on Pentecost, don't they know it! I have a feeling that that's the significance of the physical signs they experience - they're to be in no doubt that Jesus has kept his promise: "Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age."


It remains true. The Holy Spirit of Jesus dwells in those who follow him. On 24th May 1738 (anniversary - Thursday), the Rev John Wesley wrote in his journal, "In the evening I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street, where one was reading Luther's preface to the Epistle to the Romans.  About a quarter before nine, while the leader was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ alone for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death." He was never the same man again. It was the same transforming experience which radicalised the first disciples at Pentecost. He had no doubt that Jesus had answered his longing and kept his promise.


On 30th September 1994 another Anglican cleric wrote, "God answered immediately and dramatically, as it seemed to me. The conversation between my spirit and the Holy Spirit was humbling, yet full of his fiery love. I knew and physically felt that, in spite of everything, God loved me. It was the most liberating and wonderful experience.... It was not surprising that next morning I was different." He would tell you that, although his life has not been easy, he still has no doubt of the presence of Jesus.


Last Friday we read the story of Jesus asleep in the storm. "On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, 'Let us go across to the other side.' And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, 'Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?' And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, 'Peace! Be still!' And the wind ceased, andthere was a great calm. He said to them, 'Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?'" The accompanying note suggested we imagine the Father's arms around us. I have to admit that didn't really help me. I actually found the picture of Jesus there sleeping in the storm-threatened boat more like my experience. It's clear that he's there, and therefore it's ok, but nevertheless it can be pretty scary - but it's all right. You can't sink Jesus, and he's not suddenly about to take to the lifeboat. This is the lifeboat!

Psalms of complaint

We've just had Pete and Jane round, and, as always, had a lovely evening. They became good friends from soon after we moved here to Grove. We enjoy eating together. Jane (of Pete and J) makes rather good cakes; so Jane (of Michael and J) makes the first course. Pete and I do our bit by showing appreciation. We usually end up reading the Bible together, discussing and praying for our shared concerns.

Today we were talking about psalms of complaint (or disorientation, as Walter Brueggemann called  them), like 74, 79 and 137, and thinking how little real honest pain we express together in our worship services. We're always so polite and afraid of offending God's sensibilities - as if he doesn't already know exactly what we're feeling! I mentioned the song by Graham Kendrick which we'd had in church last Sunday, "For the joys and for the sorrows" sung here in Coventry Cathedral on Pentecost 2007. Here are the words:

For the joys and for the sorrows
The best and worst of times
For this moment, for tomorrow
For all that lies behind
Fears that crowd around me
For the failure of my plans
For the dreams of all I hope to be
The truth of what I am

For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus
For this I have Jesus, I have Jesus
(Repeat)

For the tears that flow in secret
In the broken times
For the moments of elation
Or the troubled mind
For all the disappointments
Or the sting of old regrets
All my prayers and longings
That seem unanswered yet

For the weakness of my body
The burdens of each day
For the nights of doubt and worry
When sleep has fled away
Needing reassurance
And the will to start again
A steely-eyed endurance
The strength to fight and win

Graham Kendrick
Copyright © 1994 Make Way Music,
www.grahamkendrick.co.uk 

I have to confess this is a song which brings tears to my eyes when it's sung in church, where in fact so many are experiencing some or all of the song. But the refrain, "For this I have Jesus", is true in a profound way, because he also experienced the whole gamut of the song and more, and he knows and feels with us.