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....

Divine Mercy

I wouldn't have known if my good friend, Mary, hadn't told me that today is the Feast of Divine Mercy.  (Hitherto I'd known it as Low Sunday, which seems a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy both of mood and attendance in church. Much better having a feast to reflect on the heart of the Holy Week story.)  I'd downloaded an app which I looked at before this morning's service, since we'd got to church early so that Jane could set up crèche. In the Litany for today there's this lovely line, "Divine Mercy, astonishment for Angels, incomprehensible by Saints - I trust in You". We see God's mercy personified in our Lord Jesus himself. It reminds me of the lines in Charles Wesley's And can it be:
"Tis mystery all: the Immortal dies! Who can explore his strange design?
In vain the first-born seraph tries to sound the depths of love divine.
'Tis mercy all. Let earth adore, let angel minds enquire no more." Sadly that verse isn't on my favourite version, by Lou Fellingham and Phatfish, though the new Archbishop had it near the end of his service (Justin Welby's inaugural service, 25+min in).

At the end of the Litany comes this prayer, "Eternal God, in whom mercy is endless and the treasury of compassion inexhaustible, look kindly upon us and increase Your mercy in us, that in difficult moments we might not despair nor become despondent, but with great confidence submit ourselves to Your holy will, which is Love and Mercy itself. Amen."

I'm chuffed to bits that my original hope for this blog, that others would contribute their own insights, has begun to happen with comments like those of Leafyschroder and others that have been sent direct to me - of which more tomorrow or soon!

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.