The Sparrow's Prayer

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

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


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

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

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

Sunrise

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

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

When things are all right

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

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

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

Oscar's testament

©The Independent

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

A good Sunday

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

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

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

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

Paradise....

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

"loving company"

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

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

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

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

O boundless salvation! deep ocean of love: yes!

Less Eeyore

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

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

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

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

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

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