A vision for now

There's a fabulous post on the iBenedictines' blog today, called On the Holy Mountain. I hope Sister Catherine won't mind me quoting it in full.

From our monastery we look out towards the Black Mountains and the Brecons. They are a constant reminder that in scripture mountains are a privileged meeting-place between God and humankind. Today Isaiah 11 speaks of the holy mountain on which no hurt or harm will be done. It is a messianic vision, we say, pausing only to pull out our concordances and commentaries to extract every little nuance of meaning we can from the text. It is a prophecy of the end times, not really meant for here and now.

How wrong can we be! The holy mountain on which no hurt or harm is done should be the ground we tread every day of our lives. God wants to be known and loved now, not just hereafter. If we feel there is some block to this knowing, something that hinders us, we need to look at it and be prepared to change. We can be people of integrity, as Isaiah says. We can be ‘filled with the knowledge of the Lord as the waters swell the sea’ — if we wish. That is the crux of the matter. What do we really want? During this Year of Consecrated Life many people will be challenged to answer that question in a way they never thought possible, but it isn’t a question just for religious or clergy but every one of us. We are all called to know the promise of the gospel (Luke 10.21-24), all called to know the Lord.

Amen!

Route diverted

You will have noticed that my blogs have gone quiet of late. I apologise for this. I haven't been idle nor ill-er than usual.

One new thing I have taken on is writing a blog for our refreshed parish website. I fear that this will be at the expense of this blog, and if you'd like to follow me on that here's the link: Michael's blog. I'm not intending to abandon this one entirely, but there's only so many words that two fingers and one slow brain can compose.

My parish blog will refer from time to time to parish life, but I intend to make it of wider interest - including looking at issues which concern what one politician might call "everyday" Christians! If you get there, please feel free to comment.

Making space

A week ago I lay in bed and listened to Thought for the Day, given by Vicky Beeching. As usual she was very down-to-earth. She was talking about our culture of success and activity, and quoted Henri Nouwen: "Being busy has become a status symbol."

"Nouwen suggests that instead of assuming time is simply there to be filled, we should purposefully leave some of it open. Unplanned. Unstructured. Available for spontaneity and imagination. He argues that by adding this into our lives, we become more flexible, compassionate and present. 

"When every minute is scheduled to the hilt, interruptions are annoying. But by building in a margin of flexibility, we’re able to make time and space for others. Nouwen argues that when we do that, what previously would have seemed like 'interruptions' may turn out to be our most meaningful opportunities of the day – the chance to show hospitality to an unexpected visitor, to stop and help a lost person on the street, or just notice the beauty in the world around us.

"Of course time-management and productivity have an important place in our lives. But without balance they become unhealthy and unsustainable. In today’s society, leaving unstructured time in our schedules can feel like a countercultural act. Yet the rewards of renewed energy and imagination may make those times the most productive thing we do all week."

Now I'm inclined to fill my time, with social media, iPlayer, YouTube, music, reading and so on. That evening Jane read this verse to me where Jesus talks to the Samaritan woman, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink’, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water” (John 4). And I had the picture of rows of drinks cans. It struck me that I'm prone to fill myself with cans of spiritual fizzy drink, rather than living water. And I'm under no illusions which is better for me, which is the stuff of life. So I'm going to try again to provide space to let in some living water - or perhaps let it in and out. Just to be quiet with God.

PS Today Vicky was even more challenging in her Thought this morning, which isn't yet on line.

Decluttering

Remember by Sarah Lomas

My old desk is going to a new home, and so I've been emptying all its drawers. It's been a fascinating exercise.

The contents have included my collection of postcards going back to my childhood and the diary of the year I proposed to Jane one July evening - on 8th August it simply says, "YES!!". There was the letter from my headteacher when I changed from teaching to ordination training - very complimentary about my contribution to the school and the community. There was the first page of a sermon I preached in a series where we made the script available. (I don't usually preach from a script.) It was, I thought as I read it with fresh eyes, rather promising, comparing the Bible to the letters I'd kept from Jane until we were married. The Bible, I said, was God's love letters to us, full of everyday life and gritty reality, with the occasional expressions of his passionate love. The analogy broke down, I said, in that I no longer need to read Jane's letters because we live together, but our divine marriage isn't yet consummated and so we need to read God's letters until we see him face to face. Sadly there was no page two of the sermon and so I don't know how I applied it. I hope I said something about the Holy Spirit helping us understand it. But having read it, I did think, "Maybe the congregation did get some sense out of me after all."

It encouraged me. I guess it's in my nature to question what I've done, to recall my failures and to view others as achieving so much more. So to see how the parish did develop (via notices and agendas and bits and pieces) over nearly twenty years was healthy. Most healing of all was to read letters and cards of appreciation from individuals saying how much I'd helped them. Interestingly a number were from after I was diagnosed with MND. I'd forgotten that.

I could just have dumped the entire desk contents in the wheelie bin - well, asked someone else to! - but I'm glad I didn't. I'm glad I went through it drawer by drawer. I suppose it could have been a melancholy way to spend a day and a half; but in fact it made me continually grateful. God has been good to me. I am now going to jettison most of what was in the desk. But I'm keeping a few things to remind myself, in case I need to, of God's faithfulness.

Remembering is a repeated theme in the Bible. When the people of Israel come across the Jordan into the promised land, they build a monument of twelve rocks. Joshua tells them, "When your children ask in time to come, ‘What do those stones mean to you?’  then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial for ever.” And of course today Communion is a weekly act of remembering the ultimate declaration of God's love for us. We do this in remembrance of Him - until He comes!

Surprised by Devon

I'm sorry to sound so metropolitan, but I really didn't expect what I heard a week ago on Sunday - in mid-Devon. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, as St Andrew's church in Cullompton has been consistent in giving memorable worship. The previous time, when the bluebells, stitchwort and campion were scattered in the hedgerows, three of the ten people who had been baptised the day before gave their testimonies - evidence that meeting the risen Christ does radically change lives.

However this most recent occasion was something else. The sermon was to be given by a Simon Friend. I knew he wasn't one of the clergy there. When he stood up at the front, I recognised him from our previous visits. "Just another member of the church," I thought. "Nice chap. Probably we're in for a few pious thoughts for the day." It's not what we got. You really need to listen to this: Simon Friend "How sins are forgiven".

I think it's one of the most thoughtful and challenging talks I've ever heard delivered in a church - and I've heard a few fair in my time! Don't be deceived by the very measured manner in which it's given. I could pile on the superlatives, but I really hope you will take the time to hear him out as he contrasts our "redemptive violence" with God's "redemptive grace". He challenges cultural, political and religious powers in a quietly prophetic way. He is utterly relevant and up-to-date, but in my view utterly faithful to Jesus as we see him in the gospels. And like the best preachers he applies it personally.

I hope when you've listened you'll agree that here is an amateur whom the professionals (like me) would do well to listen to and emulate. I suspect, however, that Simon would want to give the credit not to him but to the Holy Spirit, who was in my view speaking loud and clear that Sunday.

(PS When he refers to the Cully Gazette, I imagine he's talking about a mythical local journal.)

My wife and the Holy Spirit

Chapel of the Holy Spirit, Walsingham, Norfolk

I hardly know where to start! Most churches have celebrated Pentecost and Trinity Sundays in the past few weeks. But it strikes me that the Holy Spirit nevertheless receives something of a raw deal, even though Pentecost is "His" festival, and since the 70s He has appeared much more in Christians' vocabulary.

There was once a widely used and mildly derogatory expression, "nominal Christians", meaning people who called themselves Christians but gave very little evidence of committed faith in practice. (The oft-reported decline in church attendance seems to me to be more a symptom of the increasing demands of real faith on nominal allegiance in a society drifting towards secularism.) I wonder whether today we are witnessing a new phenomenon of "nominal charismatics", ie Christians who talk about the Holy Spirit but who deny His reality and power.

In simple terms nominal charismatics refer to the Spirit as an inanimate "it", or "spirit" with a lower case s, implying something like "influence" or "character". The legacy that Jesus left behind was... his spirit, his influence, his example. The truth, as Jesus makes clear repeatedly, is much more than this, just as a person is much more that a shadow. The Holy Spirit is dynamic, active and above all personal. He is no less personal than God the Father and God the Son. (By the way, I use the masculine pronoun "He" as that's the habit of our Bible translations; but I'm equally at ease with the feminine "She", being equally personal - but never "it". God must be at least and more than personal, but never less.) His coming to the disciples at Pentecost demonstrated His power and interaction with people.

As this beautiful hymn by Irish musicians, Keith and Kristyn Getty, makes clear, the Holy Spirit is part of the mystery who is God: "Holy Spirit, Breath of God" with Kristyn & Keith Getty. Whatever else He is an active agent, not a passive possession. And so Jesus describes Him as a helper, a witness, a counsellor, a strengthener, a guide. I could go on, looking at what is sometimes known as The Acts of the Holy Spirit (Acts) and what Paul says about Him. I could relate how He impacted, unlooked for, my life. But I want to finish with what I recently found a helpful picture.

It starts, inappropriately, with my regular expeditions to the toilet. I am very unsteady on my feet and use a rollator (a wheeled zimmer). Getting into our toilet is a tricky operation, leaving my rollator outside and transferring precariously to grab-rails and trying awkwardly to turn round. Often I find hands steadying my waist at the point of greatest danger. Jane has glided up silently and unasked, and saves me from disaster. Occasionally in dire straits I shout out and there she is - panic over! Then I reflect how many details she has already thought of - everything is prepared, in position as I need it.

And wider than that, actually I depend on her for my survival from waking to going to sleep. She's there with me through my tough times - helping and encouraging. She enables the highlights of my life! She's my constant companion - and she does not seem to mind. In fact she likes to do it. Which is why I'm confident that she will, as she said well nigh 40 years ago, have and hold me until death parts us.

Of course I can be bolshy. I can refuse her help. I sometimes won't ask for her help; and in that case she doesn't force herself on me. I can and have been ungrateful and ungracious. I sometimes grimace when she stretches my muscles to keep me as mobile as possible, even though I know it's for my good. In a literal way through her I'm still alive and move and have my being. Mostly I am quite aware of how much I owe her and am full of gratitude.

It strikes me that there are a lot of parallels between the way Jane relates to me and the Holy Spirit's relationship with the believer. It is a personal relationship. There is a dynamic about it. I frequently grieve Him. He often surprises and delights me. One difference is that He proposed to me! Another is on His part, although He relates to me personally, it's not exclusive. The Holy Spirit - much as I love my wife - is infinitely greater in his scope. His activity is not restricted to caring for one person, or even one group of people.

As the great Jesuit poet Hopkins put it:
"There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs -
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings."

He has an infinite individual love, because He is God. And I'm grateful.

Treading the verge of Jordan

On Easter Day this year Denise Inge, wife of John Bishop of Worcester, died. Last week Bishop John said thank you at the Diocesan Synod meeting. As a statement of resurrection faith it is really worth hearing, and so here is the link:
http://www.cofe-worcester.org.uk/news/news_n.php?i585.

When she was diagnosed with the cancer which was to kill her, she told her friends, "Whatever happens, Alleluia is our song!" I learned from the Dean's funeral sermon the Dean's funeral sermon that Denise Inge was something of an authority on Thomas Traherne, a Metaphysical poet about whom I'm shamefully ignorant. I have just begun to read some. Here's the last verse of The Recovery:
"The voluntary act whereby
 These (our gifts) are repaid is in His eye
 More precious than the very sky.
 All gold and silver is but empty dross,
 Rubies and sapphires are but loss,
 The very sun, and stars, and seas
 Far less His spirit please:
 One voluntary act of love
 Far more delightful to His soul doth prove,
 And is above all these as far as love." 

Garden thoughts at Eastertime

Yesterday evening we had a meal with our friends Pete and Jane. The week before Easter we had gone with them to the open garden day at The Old Rectory in Farnborough (just on the Downs above :). Once owned by John Betjeman the poet, the house has been owned for 40+ years by the Todhunter family. (See John Grimshaw's Garden Diary, for more information and pictures.) It is a beautiful four-acre garden full of unexpected "rooms" and very relaxing. Here are photos from our day.

After we'd had tea in the courtyard, Jane and Pete took us over the road to the church, where there is a window designed by John Piper in memory of Betjeman. It reminded me of St Francis' Canticle of the Sun, better known to us as the hymn, "All Creatures of our God and King", containing the remarkable resurrection verse:
 And thou most kind and gentle Death,

Waiting to hush our latest breath,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Thou leadest home the child of God,
And Christ our Lord the way hath trod.

O praise Him! Alleluia!...

Let all things their Creator bless,
And worship Him in humbleness,
O praise Him! Alleluia!
Praise, praise the Father, praise the Son,
And praise the Spirit, Three in One.

O praise Him! Alleluia!...

When we were looking at my photos last night, we also read George Herbert's poem The Windows. The rectory in Bemerton where George Herbert lived was nothing as grand as Farnborough's, but the church looks quite similar. Here is the poem.

Lord, how can man preach thy eternal word ? 
  He is a brittle crazy glass : 
Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford 
  This glorious and transcendent place, 
  To be a window, through thy grace. 

But when thou dost anneal* in glass thy story, 
  Making thy life to shine within 
The holy Preachers, then the light and glory 
  More rev'rend grows, and more doth win ; 
  Which else shows watrish, bleak, and thin. 

Doctrine and life, colours and light, in one 
  When they combine and mingle, bring 
A strong regard and awe :  but speech alone 
  Doth vanish like a flaring thing, 
  And in the ear, not conscience ring. ('Anneal' means toughen by heating and cooling.) I like the idea that God's grace is not communicated through words alone but in combination with lives tempered by God through the ups and downs of life. 

For some reason

For some reason, after breakfast today, this old hymn popped into my brain. It is old, written by Synesius of Cyrene in about AD 430. The tune is Elizabethan, composed by William Daman (from The Psalmes of David in English metre). I love the tune. This version is an abbreviation of the whole poem, but it works well, I think.

Lord Jesus, think on me

Lord Jesus, think on me
And purge away my sin;
From earthborn passions set me free
And make me pure within.

Lord Jesus, think on me,
With many a care oppressed;
Let me Thy loving servant be
And taste Thy promised rest.

Lord Jesus, think on me
Amid the battle’s strife;
In all my pain and misery
Be Thou my Health and Life.

Lord Jesus, think on me
Nor let me go astray;
Through darkness and perplexity
Point Thou the heavenly way.

Lord Jesus, think on me
When floods the tempest high;
When on doth rush the enemy,
O Saviour, be Thou nigh!

Lord Jesus, think on me
That, when the flood is past,
I may th’eternal brightness see
And share Thy joy at last.

Lord Jesus, think on me
That I may sing above
To Father, Spirit, and to Thee
The strains of praise and love.
                 (translated from Greek by Allen W Chatfield in 1876)

We don't often sing worship songs which acknowledge the harshness and perplexity of human life. Perhaps we should sing more of them - with hope at the end. I hope you find it helpful.

Bo and Steve Stern

I have mentioned this couple before in my blogs. Bo has chronicled their experience of ALS/MND in her own blog. Yesterday's was especially moving for me, because I find it so easy to transpose Jane for Bo. My form of MND is not the same as Steve's, not so rapid, but the "muscle" in our marriage is very much Jane's. Here is Bo's blog post, called A Letter to 1985 revisited - in our case the date would be 1974. Do follow the link to Steve's part of the story.

I can’t begin to describe this past week, but my husband has done a good job telling part of the story here. I’ve never known a season more emotionally demanding. After a sleepless night, turning decisions and memories over in my mind a million times, I finally came to this one conclusion: Life is harder than I ever dreamed it would be, but as beautiful as I’ll let it be. So, on this the 14th day of March, 2014, I declare to you that Life. Is. Beautiful. Here’s a post I wrote awhile back. I believe in it more now than ever: —————————————————– Dear Very, Very Young Bo, You are about to walk down the aisle and marry the love of your life. You will say vows that are made of fancy words like protect, honor and “troth” (pretend you know what it means). You will promise to love Steve. He will promise to love you. You will promise to take care of him. He will promise to take care of you. In your heart, you will feel love beyond all sense of reason and you will be ready to sacrifice anything for him. Anything. Then the laundry will pile up. And he will want to go golfing when you want to have a long talk about a subject that is only interesting to you. And that’s when you’ll start to build some bargains into your relationship and they will sound almost vow-like in their virtue. You will tell him he can go golfing on Saturday if he will also clean the garage on Friday. You’ll agree to fold his underwear if he agrees to wash your car. You’ll make deals and he’ll make deals and before you know it, you’ll be living in a world that is fair-and-square and even-steven. You’ll learn to expect all the emotional ledgers to be balanced with exactly the right ratios of give-and-take. But eventually, your fear will get the best of you and you’ll have no courage to bring into…anything. Steve will find that all the chips have been moved to his side of the table as he works triple time to assure you that you are loved and safe. It will make him weary, but don’t even worry, he’ll handle it like the champ you only suspect he is now. He’ll love you fiercely and fight for your freedom and you will never feel for a moment that he regrets choosing you. Never for a moment. His love will help you find what you need to become brave like you’ve never imagined you could be. And that newfound courage? Hold onto it with both hands. Because, sister, the future you see as you peer through your wedding veil is going to take a turn you cannot possibly see coming. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. The day will come when you will be all the muscle in this marriage and you should stop laughing now, because I’m not actually kidding (but the comedy of the situation is not lost on me.) A dark day will come when you will steady his shaking hand as you sit in a hospital waiting room. You will button his shirt and help him shave. You will do the driving and the lifting and the working…but he will still be brave enough for both of you. Not gonna lie: some moments you’ll feel like you’ll buckle beneath the weight, but you won’t and neither will he. Because it turns out the vows aren’t perfect and they aren’t even-steven, but they are strong and real. They’re as strong as you’re willing to live them and as strong as the God who heard you say them. One day you’ll see a young, healthy couple make their promises, dressed in white. You will think about how they have all their days ahead of them and your heart will do a little squeeze because you remember that very moment in your life when the future stretched out so wide. But here’s the thing: you won’t envy them. Because you’ll know what you have is proven and true. It’s made of long nights and hard fights and a lot of giving when it seemed there was nothing more to give. In a world that is more comfortable with quitting than sticking, you will discover that the truest joy is not found in the shallows, but out in the deep. So, go say your vows. Eat the cake. Love your life. You will never regret this choice. But you might regret that dress. With courage, Much Older Bo

 "Many waters cannot quench love,
    neither can floods drown it.
If a man offered for love
    all the wealth of his house,    
he would be utterly despised" (Song of Solomon 8.7)

“I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”

It's clearly been a month since I posted on this blog because yesterday morning we were back in St Andrew's Church, Cullompton. Once again we were down visiting Jane's parents. We have developed a routine which means we drive down to Sidmouth on Saturday morning, spend the afternoon with the in-laws after I have ascended their Everest of a path and stay the night at the very convenient and comfortable Park and Lodge at Westcott.

Somehow we usually manage to arrive in Cullompton when they have "all-age" worship. This time it was a beautiful day. It had brought the tortoisehell butterflies out of hibernation in the church, around the windows and under the barrel roof. When Jane had manoeuvred me down the ramp, we were both given a pebble.... It became clear why soon. Jo, the children's worker, explained that members of the school's Kidzone Club of whom there were a lot present would be involved. And they were! She was telling the story of the two houses built on rock and on sand. When the rain came down, the water pistols came out and we got wet! And the house on sand went CRASH! The pebbles of course were symbols of the rock, and we'd written our names on them. They were also linked to Jesus renaming Simon as Peter the rock.

When it came to the prayers we were told to look under the pews where there were small containers of bubbles. "Now quietly think of someone about whom you're concerned or a worrying situation you're in. Then as a symbol of releasing those worries to God, blow those bubbles into the air." What a good action prayer! Since I can't blow bubbles anymore, I held the stone in my hand as I committed friends to the One who is the Rock. Somehow, for me at least, it was a more engaging form of prayer than the usual intercessions led from the front.

There is much more that I could comment on. They obviously have a talented writer of original worship songs - including action ones for children. I always like churches writing their own songs and singing new songs to the Lord, as the psalmist urged. And of course they sung one of my current favourites, My hope is built on nothing less (Cornerstone). I have been reflecting on why an old grouch like me should actually be so touched and helped by a service packed with all ages, but particularly children. I mean it all makes for a fair amount of chaos and "toing and froing", not exactly the passive reverence of much worship. Yet perhaps that is the point. It is very much worship. It is clearly surrounded by prayer. It's carefully prepared (160 pots of bubbles for a starter!). And it all focuses on God - and I suspect the presence of the children is a means of grace. "Unless you become like children, you will never enter the Kingdom of heaven": I have a feeling that in such services we are privileged to follow the kids into that Kingdom and receive from the King.

Thank you again, Cullompton!

Devonian refreshment

At the weekend we drove to Devon to visit Jane's parents and spent a very happy Saturday with them. On the way home, we spent a night at the very convenient Park and Lodge near Cullompton and then went to church in the ancient magnificent parish church. It has a wonderful wagon roof and rood screen. Built in red Devon sandstone with a tall tower, its upkeep must be an expensive nightmare. We always receive a warm welcome when we go there, and we enjoy the music and the teaching. The service on Sunday was all-age worship led by the children's worker, Jo Keil. It was based around Psalm 139, and its theme was God knows me completely. It was moving and engaging. What moved me most, I think, was the act of confession with which it ended. It seemed to me so comprehensible and related to real life. Here's my adaptation of it: "God, examine me and know my heart. Test me and know my thoughts. See if there is any bad thing in me and lead me in the way everlasting" (verses 23,24) O Lord, you notice everything I do and everywhere I go!... Where can I go to escape from your Spirit?... Nothing about me is hidden from you. Hands out Father God, this week you have seen all that I have done, everything I have said to others and done, both good and not so good. Father God, this week you have seen everywhere I have gone, all I have watched and read; you have heard everything I have listened to.  Hands across chest Nothing is hidden from you – and this need not alarm me because you are a good and loving God. But I ask for your forgiveness now for the things I have said and done, and for what I have not said and done, the places I have been, the things I have watched or read, which have hurt and displeased you. Thank you that you forgive me because Jesus died for me, and thank you that you go on loving me, forever! Amen.

Prayer for today

I have read this short prayer on Facebook this morning. I hope you may like it.

May I live this day

Compassionate of heart,

Gentle in word,

Gracious in awareness,

Courageous in thought,

Generous in love.

(John O’Donohue)

New Year Reflections

One of the pleasures of blogging - usually, when trolls aren't in the vicinity - is receiving comments which inspire me or provoke me. I received one on my Dancing Donkey blog last week, which included this reflection. It's a sort of Beatitudes, which personally I'd like set the tone for my 2014.

REFLECTION 
Happy are those who are poor in spirit
whose heart freely gives and receives,
who say with Mary: “Be it done unto me.”
Theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Happy are those who are gentle,
whose concern brings comfort,
whose touch, healing,
whose manner says: “The Lord is with you!”
They will inherit the earth.

Happy are those who mourn with the mourning,
who reach out to the suffering, the oppressed,
who stand with Mary near the cross of her Lord;
in His cross they will be comforted.

Happy are those who thirst for what is right,
who use mind and heart for the Kingdom,
though persecuted in the cause of what is just,
with living waters they will be filled.
Theirs is the Kingdom of God.

Happy are the merciful, the peacemaker,
who forgive and accept the other,
who heal the wounded, reconcile the broken,
feeling oneness with sinful humanity.
Mercy will be shown to them.

Happy are those, pure in heart, transparent,
who pray, “Your name is oil poured out…
in your footsteps, draw me. Let us run...
You are my joy and my gladness!"
Yes, they will see God.





I'm also indebted to Vicky Beeching for pointing this out. I believe it's from the "Think before you tweet" campaign, but could equally apply to all social media. 

My mother used to tell us as children before we spoke to apply the Three Rule test: 
Is it true?
Is it necessary?
Is it kind? Sadly I did not always pass the test.

Another ideal to aspire to this year!