Human flesh and a Happy New Year

My former college, Wycliffe Hall, kindly sent out an Advent devotional this year. On Christmas Day, reflecting on the Gospel reading from John chapter 1, the principal wrote this about "the Word became flesh". I liked it, and tried to remember it through the day. 

“If God could be God when one cell small in the womb of Mary, then we can be human when we are constrained. When we feel cramped. When we feel trapped. When we feel that life is not giving us the scope to be ourselves. Limited circumstances did not stop God from being God, and limited circumstances will not stop us from being human, or from being ourselves – or (Luke 1:44) from giving joy to others” (Dr Mike Lloyd).

I hope you like it too. Enjoy a fully human New Year - whatever your circumstances!

Hope at Christmas

When I was growing up in Bristol, one of the old buildings which always appealed to me was the Chapel of the Three Kings of Cologne, part of the Foster's Almshouses, at the top of Christmas Steps (full of exciting Dickensian shops!). It was built in 1504, by John Foster, a Bristol merchant, who, it's thought, had seen the Chapel of the Three Kings in Cologne Cathedral, named after the magi who came to visit the baby Jesus after the nativity - whose bones were transferred there in the 12th century. 

On my other blog, I wrote about being interviewed about the end of life by Channel 5, and received this comment from "Leafyschroder", which I liked and thought I'd repeat here.

"Coming towards the celebration of the coming into the world of Life itself, I find your article, and indeed all that is being said about this subject profoundly moving.
"It's difficult to comprehend just how difficult life must be for some and one wishes that they could be enveloped by Love and deeply feel how valuable their life is. I have been listening to this beautiful song about hope: Cologne Cathedral and the Jewish song, 'Inscription of Hope'". 

Suzette, from whose blog this comes, wrote this about the song:

"The basement (of the cathedral) also became the hiding place for Jewish families hiding out from Hitler. At the end of the war, fragments of a poem, believed to have been written by a Jewish child, were scrawled on the wall. Those words from the poem were taken and put to music, the melody coming from an old Russian folk tune, and was turned into the choral arrangement, 'Inscription of Hope.' The music and choral arrangement were done by composer Z. Randall Stroope. Below are the lyrics of the first stanza of the song, taken from the words inscribed on the wall of the Cologne Cathedral:
Inscription of Hope
I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining
and I believe in love
even when there's no one there,
and I believe in God
even when he's silent.
I believe through any trial
there is always a way."

There's a poignancy reading this again at the time when we recall another Jewish child being hunted down by an oppressive régime. Whatever your circumstances this Christmas, I wish you a hope-filled season and the knowledge within you that Love came down at Christmas. Emmanuel - God is with us

Life and death

Today we're in the season of Advent - the period of waiting for the coming of the King, in two senses: the coming of Jesus in such extraordinary circumstances as a crying baby, I believe, to a teenage mum, and his coming again "in great glory to judge both the living and the dead". It's a time full of anticipation and awe.

This afternoon, after a visit to my wonderful dentist and a lunch with my distinguished oldest brother and his wife at The Bull in Fairford (good meal!), we came back to welcome the Holy Family - the pregnant Mary and Joseph, plus donkey - who are doing the rounds of houses in the parish. John, our vicar, brought them round and prayed with us. They'll stay with us until tomorrow when they'll move on until coming to rest finally in the church on Christmas Eve at the crib service.

It's a great way to focus one's thoughts on what is the reason for the season. Tonight Jane's out at a home group, and hopefully I will be disciplined enough to take time out from my usual lapsing in front of the TV for reflection and gratitude. On Sunday, John preached an Advent sermon on preparing for Jesus' coming, which, he said, we could do by watching carefully and serving faithfully. I'm going to try to watch and wait tonight.

This afternoon I also came back to read the news that a good friend (whom I've never met), Alison Davis, died this morning. She is a hero of faith. She was born with spina bifida in 1955. "She later developed conditions including osteoporosis, arthritis and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Coping with these permanently disabling and painful conditions dominated but did not define her life. Indeed, they led her to champion the rights of the vulnerable, the disabled and the unborn, first as an atheist and then as a Catholic." You can read her story here: http://www.catholicherald.co.uk/features/2013/12/03/obituary-alison-davis/. "Finally, on Easter Sunday, 31 March 1991, she was received into the Church.  Although Alison knew she had 'come home', being a Catholic brought its own difficulties. She discovered some churches couldn’t accommodate wheelchair users and she sometimes experienced an acute sense of rejection. She learnt that her Faith would not remove the sorrows of life but that it does provide the grace and strength necessary to live with them. A visit to Calcutta over Christmas in 1991, and witnessing the love a pavement-dwelling family had for their tiny baby, brought home to her the infinite value of each human being created by God." 

I came into contact with her through our shared belief in the sanctity of life. I think she contacted me after reading My Donkeybody. It was only over the years that I realised what a remarkable lady she was. She is a real example of serving faithfully, and I am really grateful to have known her. In her last email to me she talked about being "content with life as God has given it, which I think is the secret to a really fulfilled life". She lived a fulfilled life in spite of her limitations, beside which mine are tiny. I believe that Paul's expectation is true for Alison: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that Day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing" (2 Timothy 4.7,8). I hope I'll meet her then.

Pour forth, we beseech Thee, O Lord, Thy grace into our hearts, that we to whom the Incarnation of Christ Thy Son was made known by the message of an angel, may by His Passion and Cross be brought to the glory of His Resurrection. Through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen.

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.

The Queen's Speech

With Jane out of action, the A team did a sterling job on Christmas lunch yesterday. We lingered over the turkey and trimmings with Château Capville  2009, and the sherry trifle and mince pies. One result was that we watched the Queen's Christmas address after 3 o'clock. However in my opinion it was worth waiting for. You can watch it here. I gather it's all her own work, without political advisers interfering. Perhaps it was an illusion fostered by the fact that Prince Philip was in Papworth Heart Hospital while the broadcast went out (obviously it had been filmed some time ago), and perhaps because Jane and I have been extra aware of the fragility of life, but to me there was a sense of the Queen wanting to record her most urgent message while she could.

It was nicely constructed, reminiscing over the royals' past year in which they'd seen extreme hardship in Australia and New Zealand and South Wales, and the response of courage. It reflected on the strength of friendship and family, mentioning her two grandchildren's weddings. Its conclusion, somewhat flinched at by the press, was uncompromising and uncoded, simple and profound:

"For many, this Christmas will not be easy. With our armed forces deployed around the world, thousands of service families face Christmas without their loved ones at home.

"The bereaved and the lonely will find it especially hard. And, as we all know, the world is going through difficult times. All this will affect our celebration of this great Christian festival.

"Finding hope in adversity is one of the themes of Christmas. Jesus was born into a world full of fear. The angels came to frightened shepherds with hope in their voices: 'Fear not', they urged, 'we bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. 

"'For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Saviour who is Christ the Lord.'

"Although we are capable of great acts of kindness, history teaches us that we sometimes need saving from ourselves - from our recklessness or our greed.

"God sent into the world a unique person - neither a philosopher nor a general, important though they are, but a Saviour, with the power to forgive.

"Forgiveness lies at the heart of the Christian faith. It can heal broken families, it can restore friendships and it can reconcile divided communities. It is in forgiveness that we feel the power of God's love.

"In the last verse of this beautiful carol, O Little Town Of Bethlehem, there's a prayer:

O Holy Child of Bethlehem,

Descend to us we pray.

Cast out our sin

And enter in.

Be born in us today.

"It is my prayer that on this Christmas day we might all find room in our lives for the message of the angels and for the love of God through Christ our Lord."

"Neither a philosopher nor a general... but a Saviour with the power to forgive" - that is strong stuff. It's not PC, but yet it's true. "Forgiveness lies at the heart of the Christian faith" and it is able to heal families, friendships and communities, and, as her Majesty's prayer implies, it is not something endemic to humanity, but something given through Jesus Christ. Well said, Ma'am! 


And thank you, family, for a wonderfully lovely Christmas.

Bathing in kindness and grace

Didn't Cleopatra have baths of asses' milk? Well, I've found something better. It's the milk of human kindness and the grace of God - both of which we've experienced in buckets these past few days. It began on Tuesday...

I was dozing in my chair before our annual mulled wine and mince pies party, when all our end of the close get together. Jane was busy preparing canapés, sausage rolls, mince pies, drinks and glasses - and things for the kids to do. Suddenly, I was roused by a tumbling crashing followed by a heavy thump - and silence! On the other side of the door. Unable to move, I shouted. It wasn't long before Jane said, "I'm all right." Somehow, I didn't believe her. She didn't sound all right. Amazingly, she staggered in to the sitting room and sat on the sofa next to me. Her face was a pale shade of putty. She'd been on the loft ladder bringing down some games, and had fallen halfway down the stairs. Her first self-diagnosis was severe bruising; then something worse... like a dislocated collar-bone. It didn't take a genius to tell it was serious. There was nothing I could do, confined to my chair, except gibberingly ring Rachel who drove seven miles in not many more minutes (the road was unusually clear), and then a bit later our next door neighbour who also came round pronto.

Rachel is fantastically clear-thinking in an emergency. She contacted a first responder friend of ours, who told us we had to have an ambulance as it was a left-shoulder injury. So she did that, rang round those who needed to know, took instructions for the party, while our neighbour did a round of the houses to postpone the gathering till the ambulance had taken Jane away. Well, it would have been a shame to have wasted all her creative hard work.

The ambulance was here in no time, and the paramedics were excellent. Jane had gone by the time the neighbours poured in. And we didn't remember everything - like the canapés - but people didn't mind. They helped Rachel with mulling the wine and washing up (thanks - Astrid and Naomi) and at the end, when the news came in that it was a serious fracture and that she would stay in hospital until an operation, possibly on the Thursday, everyone offered any help we could use. Rachel rang her brothers who began to change their schedules to come and help. By Wednesday afternoon Stephen (on holiday) and Bryan (his boss having said, "Go!") were here. On Facebook next morning I wrote that Jane had fallen and we were in for an interesting Christmas, and was flooded by offers of help and prayer. My overwhelming feeling was how full of kindness people are, which shows when they have an opportunity. I love that.

Later that evening I emailed a few of our close praying friends, briefly. As I wrote to one of them today: "We visited Jane yesterday afternoon, and she's counting her blessings. The way things happened after she'd fallen was amazing, like the ambulance was already in the area and was diverted here as a priority, her friend from Stanford got here just in time to go with her, leaving Rachel with me; the driver was INCREDIBLY gentle going from here to Oxford; because it was a suspected dislocation she went to the front of the queue which became five hours long behind her; the xray revealed this severely fractured collar-bone, which needed to be seen by a consultant, who just happened to be walking past at that moment. There was a possibility of an operation before the weekend, otherwise she'd have been sent home with a 3-4 week wait. There was a bed in the Trauma unit - in her own room - available. 
   "The fall was steep and twisty and long enough, and she could easily have broken her neck, or concussed herself - neither happened. In fact she was able to get to where I was sitting and could see we needed help. We've been in touch this morning. The main man (who used to patch people up in Afghanistan) hopes to operate and put a plate in this afternoon, and to get her home for Christmas. We're praying for no emergencies before then...

   "Rachel, Stephen and Bryan have moved in and the three of them are looking after me and getting ready for Christmas - it will carry on as normal, we trust, with Jane's parents coming on Saturday and our friend Margaret for Christmas lunch. :) They're a super-competent team.

   "Meanwhile I'm going to have to arrange some care cover for when they're all back at work." I reckon that's all God's grace.

So now I'm writing this as Jane's in theatre or the recovery room and the sounds and smells of cooking emerge from the kitchen, and I'm reflecting that if even stubborn donkeys like me can be in receipt of God's grace and the kindness of friends and family, it's good news for everyone. Maybe the traditional presence of the ass in the Christmas stable means a bit more than it happened to have carried Mary there. I think it means that rather than squeezing our juice out until our pips squeak God wants us to enjoy his love which, if we look out for it, appears in the most unlikely of places and improbable of circumstances:

In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
A breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Preparing for Christmas

A Facebook friend posted today this message: "Christmas without 'Christ' is just 'M&S'." I thought it was quite apt. (For readers abroad, M&S is the archetypal British High Street retailer, Marks and Spencer - which, like other retailers, relies on Christmas shopping for its profits.)

I've just come across a whole lot of Advent podcasts from 24/7 Prayer Spaces. I wish I'd found them three Sundays ago, because they are so good. And really you want to use one a day rather than catch up with them all at one go. Anyway the first one is by Pete Greig for Advent Sunday, and then, if you want to, you can work through the sequence up to date. (By the way, they're good models for sermons - short and to the point.)

Of the other ones I particularly enjoyed Mary's Song, about the Magnificat, about how focusing on the good God who loves us, whatever our circumstances, and Simeon's Song, which asks where we find Jesus today.

I'm sure we do find him on the High Street and in many unexpected places - even in the darkness. But we need to be looking - and listening - for Him. Otherwise we'll miss Him. But the greatest truth of Christmas is not that we find Him, but that He has come and found us.

There's a rather good blog today, by the way, on the iBenedictines' blog about the corrosive effect of grumbling. "... most grumbling is not justifiable and is corrosive of community. Advent isn’t usually seen as a time for giving up things, but I certainly intend to try harder to give up grumbling. Being nice to be near isn’t just a question of which soap one uses."