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!

Understanding God

Here's something that Bo Stern has recently written about working on her new book, Ruthless - Knowing the God who fights for you.

"Here's what I'm convinced of, friend:  God longs for us to know Him.  Just like we long to be known and loved by those dearest to us; He longs for us to pursue an understanding of His character.  I'm freshly aware of how painful it must be for Him when we shake our fist at the problems we think He caused or treat Him like a vindictive, volatile taskmaster.  I'm also convinced that this ignorance regarding His ability and integrity (aka: bad theology) is why so many Christians are stuck in bitterness, frustration and purposelessness, especially when they face a Really Big Battle."

And something else, adapted from a book I've just finished reading by Salley Vickers, Miss Garnet's Angel. "What do you think a god looks like when he works in men? ... courage and truth and mercy and right action...", said by the Archangel Raphael to Tobias. 

I apologise not to have blogged recently. I blame our daughter's new therapy puppy - but perhaps it would be fairer to accuse my own lack of resistance to Wimbledon and the Tour de France! And I'm trying also to get on with my own book....

Just breathe

Last week we had a delicious lunch with our friends Rob and Lib in Essex. Rob and I have known each other since university days, and known each other well enough to interfere significantly in each other's lives in the sort of way that only good friends can.... He sent me the text of his sermon on Pentecost sermon which addressed what I reckon is a common Christian experience, the feeling of insecurity and inferiority - in other words, not being sure about whether we are "saved" or destined for heaven and suspecting we're not good enough and others are all better than us. I'd say this is because we haven't grasped the hugeness of God's grace, or as Frederick Faber put it "the wideness of God's mercy". Like baptism, it's not what we do that counts; it's what He does and has done eternally. We really need to get rid of our own sense of self-importance. Anyway here's a short extract from Rob's sermon:

"Let me tell you something that a famous Indian priest, Anthony de Mello, taught. All you have to do to experience God’s Holy Spirit is simply to breathe in. Anthony de Mello spent a huge amount of his life teaching people to breathe in, and hence to receive God’s Holy Spirit. When you have learned how to breathe in you will stop worrying about other people and whether you are beautiful because you will have received God’s Holy Spirit, and nothing else will matter again in the same way. There is nothing living that is not enlivened by God’s Spirit. What must we do to be saved? Breathe."

Touching the face of God

Leafyschroder sent me this prayer based on Victor Hugo. It comes from a website called Praying Each Day. It is for 22nd May (http://www.prayingeachday.org/May22.pdf) presumably last year. It reflects on Les Miserables. 

"We who weep come to you, Lord, 

because you always share our sorrow.

We who suffer come to you, knowing that you cure.

We who are afraid come to you, because you smile on us.

We share in your life because you share ours 

and so we know, God of love, 

that 'to love another person is, indeed, to touch your face'.

May we live in your love forever. 

Amen."

This week I've been away talking in London and Chelmsford about the sanctity of human life. Something I profoundly believe is that not only did God mysteriously and wonderfully create life, but also in the incarnation God made it sacred (John 1.14 - "The Word became flesh and dwelt among us... full of glory"). With Western eyes, we tend to think this means He became a perfect physical specimen, but in fact St John tells us His glory is revealed only on the cross, in that battered, helpless and all too mortal body suffering to the very end. That should make us radically redefine our view of "dignity".

Spring in Sussex

Over the weekend we visited our family in Ashburnham near Hastings, a lovely estate which is the home of a large Christian Prayer and Conference centre. The weather was clear and sunny, mostly, if a bit chilly. Spring had definitely sprung in East Sussex. I've written previously about visiting there last autumn - Ashburnham. This time we heard a nightingale singing in the bushes near the family's garden on two evenings - the first time I'm sure I've heard one. There is something special about listening to its varied song in the twilight.

On the Sunday morning we attended the small local church in the centre of the grounds next to the once grand house. The people were very welcoming, but I especially liked the invitation to communion which the visiting minister used. It was something like this:


"This is the table, not of the church,

but of the Lord. 
It is made ready

for those who love him,

and those who want to love him more.

So come, you who have much faith

and you who have little,

You who have been here often 
and you who have not been for a long time,

You who have tried to follow and you who have failed,

Come …

Not because it is I who invite you. 
It is our Lord.

It is his will that those who want him

should meet him here."

I believe these words come from the Iona Community. I like the way it's phrased as an invitation from Christ and is addressed to people who are aware of their imperfections. It's not the well, it's the ill who need a doctor. The good news is that in Christ we have the perfect doctor.

PS I've just come across this quotation on the blog called Goodness and Beauty:
“If I were a nightingale I would do the work of a nightingale; if I were a swan, the work of a swan. But I am a rational creature, so I must praise God.” – Epictetus. Right on!!

Abandoned?

I've recently come across an app of the Stations of the Cross produced by the Daughters of St Paul. This comes at the 13th, when Jesus is taken down from the cross. It reminds me of one of my favourite sculptures, The Pieta by Michelangelo. The meditation imagines God the Father speaking. “My only begotten Son, how my heart breaks for you. You perfectly accomplished my will. For love of me and love of humanity, you withheld nothing. You gave and gave and gave. With you I am well pleased. I sent you into the world as the very incarnation of my heart. You are heart of my heart. I could never forsake you, my Son, never. Though you did not feel my presence, I was there. I was with you in the garden, as you took upon yourself humanity’s sinfulness. I was there when you accepted the cross and fell on the road. I was there when the spikes pierced your body, and when you forgave those who brought you to the cross. I was there when you surrendered your life to me. I was there. And to your devoted disciples who have walked with you, I say I am with you as I was with my only begotten Son in his agony and death. When you can’t feel my presence, I am there. Grasp me through faith. That is how you grow – through faith. I could not and would not that forsake my Son; I will not and cannot forsake you, his disciples. I sent you my very own heart in my Son. I am with you always.”

God our Father, sometimes I feel like Jesus that I am all alone in my struggles. At those times you are closest to me, but my faith is weak. Faith is your gift to me. Help grow in faith and to remember that You are with me always.

The secret of grateful hearts

Here are three contributions I've received this week which I'd like to pass on.  The first is from Ann (to whom I'm also indebted for the seasonal - let's hope! - photo). "We learn to let our neighbour be, just as we learn to let God be. Not to manipulate our neighbour, but rather to reverence him, to reverence his importance, the wonder of his being. In other words, to love him" (John Main).

The second comes from Alice Tremaine's Prayers for Health website.

Gratitude changes everything.

"Time and time again I learn that having a grateful heart really does make all the difference in how we live, how we are able to cope with life's tragedies, and whether we are able to bless others. There have been numerous studies on the positive effects of gratitude to one's mental and physical health. Gratitude is often associated with greater happiness and sense of meaning, and even overall health. 

"I remember the first time my father was hospitalized after being diagnosed with ALS. He had fallen and had developed a blood clot in his brain. I traveled to Brazil (where he lives) to be with him and help care for him during that transition from hospital to home. 

"Those first few days after his hospital discharge were very stressful and difficult. In a short time, my father had suffered significant losses in his ability to care for himself. 

"I remember taking a few moments to be by myself during those difficult days. There was an enormous temptation to feel sorry for myself and for my family; why has this happened? How are we supposed to do this? 

"I realized quickly that, if I were to be any help to my father, I couldn't wallow in self-pity for long. Some lamenting and crying and protesting is normal and probably healthy, but I decided I couldn't let myself stay there. I had to find the small and big things that I could be grateful for, like the good care my father received in the hospital and the fact that I had the chance to spend some meaningful time with him. "Gratitude really does change everything, and there is always something to be grateful for. We just need to look. 

"Verbal prayer: Merciful God, thank you for the gift of Life. Thank you for the beauty of nature, and for the love of family and friends. Help me to have open eyes to see the ways in which you are blessing me, and to offer thanks in every circumstance. Amen." 

And last but by no means least from Leafyschroder. "This prayer of Cardinal Newman's called the 'Fragrance Prayer' means a great deal to me...
Prayer of Blessed John Henry Newman
Dear Jesus
Help me to spread Thy fragrance everywhere I go.
Flood my soul with Thy Spirit and Life.
Penetrate and possess my whole being so utterly
That all my life may only be a radiance of Thine.
Shine through me,
And so be in me that every soul I come in contact with
May feel Thy presence in my soul.
Let them look up and see no longer me
But only Jesus.
Stay with me
And then I shall begin to shine
As Thou shinest,
So to shine as to be a light to others;
The light, O Jesus, will be all from Thee;
None of it will be mine;
It will be Thou shining on others through me.
Let me thus praise Thee in the way Thou dost love best
By shining on those around me.
Let me preach Thee without preaching,
Not by words but by my example,
By the catching force of the sympathetic influence
Of what I do,
The evident fullness of the love my heart bears to Thee.
Amen." 

I think Newman was echoing Paul in 2 Corinthians: "Thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumph, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere." Or maybe he's also thinking of Mary of Bethany in John's Gospel, "Mary took a pound of costly ointment of pure nard and anointed the feet of Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair; and the house was filled with the fragrance of the ointment." Whichever, they are both a heart response to Jesus' great love for us. May you receive that love tomorrow.

Love unknown

"Faith is not a thing of the mind; it is not an intellectual certainty or a felt conviction of the heart. It is a sustained decision to take God with utter seriousness as the God of my life. It is to live out each hour in a practical, concrete affirmation that God is Father and he is 'in heaven'. It is a decision to shift the centre of our lives from ourselves to him, to forego self-interest and make his interests, his will, our sole concern. This is what it means to hallow his name as Father in heaven." Sister Ruth Burrows, O.C.D.

I am indebted to "Leafyschroder" who comments on this blog for introducing me to Ruth Burrows, a Carmelite nun, who wrote the Archbishop of Canterbury's Lent book last year. In particular she recommended Before the Living God. I found this in an on-line review: "Her other books demonstrate the way God used even her worst experiences in the convent for her (and other's) spiritual benefit. It seems one purpose of the book might have been to encourage the reader to realize that God will take the most traumatic, or unfair circumstances if we turn to Him and transform it into one of our greatest blessings that brings spiritual peace and personal intimacy with God." 

Leafyschroder then sent me this beautiful extract from a review of Ruth Burrows' latest book, Love Unknown:

"She has been trying to pray as a nun for 65 years. And what has she to show for it? Darkness, by her own account, and the feeling that God does not exist. As a young woman, when she prayed, nothing 'happened', and she soon realised it would always be like this. 'It is impossible to understand my life unless it is seen all the time against the background of black depression,' she wrote 36 years ago, in one of the great autobiographies of the twentieth century, Before the Living God.


"Her depression did not stem from any 'Dark Night of the Soul'. It came not from her vocation as a nun, but happened to be something that she brought to it with her, as part of her disposition. Those who have met her find her a sharp, intelligent, amusing interlocutor, but things are no easier for her in her spiritual life today. The difference is that now she is 'happy to be poor'. This attitude of poverty is the underlying, human theme of Love Unknown. The two themes go together: the objective reality of a loving God, and on the other side a radical human poverty on the part of the Christian loved by him.

"In this lies the answer to the person who finds that he or she is 'not getting anywhere' with prayer. Ruth Burrows challenges any such judgement based on subjective experience. Since it is God who prays in us, what would we expect to see and feel? Only by focusing on what is revealed by the risen Christ can we be sure that our God is real and not just a projection. We can only know the true, living God through his incarnate image."


Forgive me if you've already read my conversation with Leafyschroder, but I thought that last quotation really merited being a main blog entry. I'm ordering some of Ruth Burrows' books.

Disempowered Friday

Today I've had a fresh reflection on Good Friday. For disabled people, one of the most painful experiences is that of being disempowered. No one can really understand the acute frustration of sudden or gradually increasing powerlessness, unless they've experienced it themselves. All at once or bit by bit your ability to do the simplest tasks is stripped away. You can't dress yourself. You can't turn on the light. You can't cook what you want. You can't get out of the house. The "can'ts" proliferate endlessly.

from "The Passion of the Christ"

I'm fortunate in that I have a wife and family - and friends - who enable me to do what I wish or have what I need. But not everyone is so blessed. In a strange way, having disability forced upon you, mitigates the pain, because you just have to lump it and make the most of it. You have no other option - except to wallow in the quicksands of self-pity. That way, as I've said before, lies madness.

Yet it struck me, as I was coming down in the lift this morning (it takes longer when it's this cold), that on that Passover preparation day, which we now call Good Friday, Jesus experienced the nadir of powerlessness. Mel Gibson's film The Passion of the Christ showed in stark and shocking focus the extent of his powerlessness in the face the able-bodied empowered representatives of political, religious, philosophical and popular forces. Not only are his clothes stripped off, but also his skin is flayed off him.

And the crucial difference, of course, is that at every point he does have an option. He could at any point have said, "Not yours, but my will be done." He could have asserted his power. However his was an entirely voluntary powerlessness in order that death and evil should be allowed to do their worst with God. What they did was as bad as it can get, worse that the greatest film-maker or artist could ever depict.

And yet, as we know, today is not the end of the story. But it already holds a crumb of encouragement for the powerless. He has been there - and beyond. As the Bible puts it, "We don't have a High Priest who's unable to sympathise with our weakness but one who's been tested in every way like us except without failing." There's a modern song which has the line, "It was my sins which held him there / until it was accomplished". In fact, I think a stronger power than "my sins" held him to the cross that day, and that was His love.

The Deer's Cry

Before I begin my writing, which is making slow but steady progress, I usually look for some music on You Tube, which I'm not familiar with. Today I found a piece by Arvo Pärt, the Estonian composer probably best known for his haunting Spiegel im Spiegel. Today I was listening to a beautiful unaccompanied choral piece called The Deer's Cry. These are the words:

Christ with me,

Christ before me, Christ behind me,

Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ on my right, Christ on my left,

Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,

Christ in me, Christ when I arise,

Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,

Christ in the eye that sees me,

Christ in the ear that hears me,

Christ with me. 

I don't know, but I suspect the title is inspired by the verse from the Psalms 42: "As the deer pants for the water brooks, so my soul pants for You, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God; when shall I come and appear before God?"
I think Pärt's answer to that question is that the living God has come to us. If only we would look and see, listen and hear, trust and rest.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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.

Keeping hope in the storm

I've not been aware of this picture by Rembrandt "Christ
in the Storm" before today when a friend from University
who has cancer pointed it out. He likes especially the
cruciform mast and the use of light and dark contrasts. 

Two years ago, at the New Wine festival, from where this blog originated, some folk from Exmouth prayed with me. Since then they have become good friends. Sadly we didn't see one couple again as they set off on an expedition of faith. They are visionaries and pioneers. Nicky and Mike Temple began a blog for their friends, called "P is for pilgrim". Nicky has just posted one entitled Stormy Weather, illustrated, I assume, by some of Mike's great photographs (Mike Temple Photography). These are extracts:
"I have been pondering the storm and its effects over the past few weeks, pondering how we, as followers of Jesus, navigate the storms of life, how are we to ride the 'perfect' storm? How do we remain in victory through the storm? What does it look like to come through the storm without losing hope and remaining steadfast?" 

She writes about Brendan (the Celtic saint) and Reepicheep (!) in their coracles launching into uncharted waters, having to ride the storms and trust in God's navigation for them. I don't know what storms Nicky is talking about in her case, but they're clearly real; she loves to call God "Papa" (the English equivalent of Jesus's Aramaic name for him, "Abba"). And she also talks about the childhood experience of having a rotten day at school.
"Our storms often feel like 'one of those days' in which we're just getting it all wrong and bumbling our way through the wind and rain. It is so easy for shame and heaviness to set in but Papa is there, right there, closer than air, taking our head in his gentle hands and saying "I'm so proud of you". He loves us through the storm, pure, simple, powerful love that keeps no record of wrongs. Religion might measure how well we navigate the storm, keeping score of good days and bad - ticks and crosses. That is not the heart of Papa God. He knows storms are a messy business! He loves us through the raging seas and is not concerned with our response. He is concerned with loving us more fiercely than raging circumstances and telling us how well we're doing, how amazing we are! He never once abandons us. 

"He has a plan, a great plan that He is forging through the storm. All storms end and as we keep hope, as we cling, as we yield through them we are transformed and transported to new places in Him. I'm not sure when  my stormy weather will finally break, but I know it will. I believe that Jesus is good always, faithful always and kind always. He knows my heart, He understands me fully and loves me beyond imagining. So I can wait, I can ask for rescue and I can trust knowing that the sun will come out."

As I remember, Reepicheep, the valiant mouse, in the Narnia Chronicle The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, sailed in his coracle on a huge wave straight into Aslan's country. Scary but infinitely worth it.
I recommend Nicky's post.  Thank you, Nicky.