tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41608130000420217982024-03-08T12:31:26.544-08:00Stumbling Into HeavenRev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.comBlogger226125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-90111679420062943132023-03-07T23:52:00.001-08:002023-03-07T23:53:13.867-08:00Amen<p>After nearly six years, I can hardly call myself '.newly retired' any more. And all things must pass, though, as St Teresa added' God never changes'. Age has brought its infirmities, and I think the time to end these crumbs from off the children's table has come. </p><p>I look back on a period of blogging whilst in parish ministry which saw over four hundred posts, and a solid number here- about 650 in all, some good, some bad, some few nuggets, but all marking something of my journey in God, some stumblings into heaven, where the landscape always astonishes me with its unfamiliarity- so much to be learned. </p><p>So this is the last posting. New pastures, new landscapes, call, and I wait to see the journey, the landscape ahead. Eventually it will lead to a city, the Good Book tells me, but I shall not be able to report from there. </p><p>Travel well. The Lord be with you. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-56145001378458090422023-02-12T01:55:00.000-08:002023-02-12T01:55:03.477-08:00fresh bread<p> There's nothing like the smell, then the taste, of fresh bread. Hot, straight out of the oven ( more likely the bread making machine today), or cold, thickly cut, preferably with raspberry jam. Heaven!. The fragrance of home baked bread lingers for most of the day; I smell it late in the evening as I come down the stairs. </p><p>I am the bread of life, says Jesus. Chew on me. Let me be refreshment and nourishment for you. Let me be heaven for you. </p><p>Mmm. The invitation's there, and the bread, I have found, is always fresh, worth chewing on. It's made real each week, it's a reminder every week, in ' The body of our Lord Jesus Christ, keep you in eternal life', as I eat the bread at Communion. Let it be- a constant source of nourishment. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-75376660446250278612023-01-22T04:19:00.002-08:002023-01-22T04:19:42.027-08:00connected<p> As I write this, I am looking across to my son on sofa, with his dog. Yes, The Dog, of whom I have written before. He lies across my son's lap, one paw resting on Matthew's chest, his head on Matthew's knee, half his body connecting with his owner. </p><p>Matthew meanwhile is on his phone. But The Dog is content;- he doesn't have to have Matthew's constant attention- he is satisfied with connection, in this case, physical. </p><p>It speaks to me of our relationship with God. We don't crave his attention all the time- we are content to be connected. For us, it's prayer, the eucharist, worship, and the rest, but without the physical element of God here in bodily form. </p><p>What image could you offer to encapsulate something of your connection with God? </p><p><br /></p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-52709752696028842612023-01-08T01:42:00.001-08:002023-01-08T01:42:35.340-08:00Waiting<p> When The Dog was with us over Christmas and New Year, I was struck by his alertness to his master's presence, his master's absence. Once, when the master ( our son ) was cleaning the car, The Dog positioned himself with front legs on the arms of the sofa, and so was able to see any movement out of the front windows towards the activity around the car. Or else put himself by the lounge door, sniffing for any tell-tale signs that the master might be just behind it. </p><p>I do not claim that these actions are in any way unique, just that they find parallels in the gospel narratives. Through Advent we observed a period of waiting, expecting, culminating in the season of Christmas, when the promise of a Messiah, a Saviour for humankind comes about. The human equivalent of tail-wagging was much in evidence as Christmas dawned.</p><p>Here on the first Sunday of Epiphany, that waiting can be seen again, as Jesus manifests himself to the world in different ways. ,By that I mean that the waiting and expectation can now be up-close and personal, waiting, variously patiently and impatiently, for Jesus to reveal himself to us, alert to any sign he is near, he is with us. Yes, Immanuel, 'God with us'- with US, even me, even ME! What will be your equivalent of tail-wagging as the wait is over, and Jesus reveals himself to me, to you? How low are your expectations of God?</p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-76364894709354291022022-12-25T00:46:00.001-08:002022-12-25T00:46:59.032-08:00Christmas iignored<p> The crib scene was set out at one end of the coffee table, and the magi at the other, ready for them ( the magi) to move a few centimetres each day across the table, and arrive at the crib scene at Epiphany. </p><p>Then the dogs arrived for Christmas, in company with our son. Mayhem ensued with waggy tails causing the magi to land on the floor a good metre away, and the crib scene now virtually hidden behind the cushions the dogs are not allowed to use, all piled on the foot stool. The retrieved magi have become conflated with the crib scene; it's the only way to keep them safe. </p><p>Thus a scene emerges which encapsulates Christmas in the minds of many, No distinction is made between Christmas and Epiphany, and the birth of Jesus is virtually hidden behind the piles of presents and food, never-mind the discarded boxes, ribbons and wrapping paper. </p><p>Still, Christmas is a season, and not just today. There will be time after son and dogs have left, for the crib scene to be as it should be, out in the open, cushions replaced on the sofa, and the magi now a little closer than before the mayhem. Still time for the real heart of Christmas to be seen. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-7383157094329866532022-12-11T01:24:00.002-08:002022-12-11T01:24:53.940-08:00Advent<p> I'm reading Diana Athill's evocation of her privileged childhood in Norfolk. ( She knew many of the great writers of the 20th century from her long career as literary editor at the publishers Andre Deutsch.) She writes at one point of how she saw her grandparents' faith- ' .....much more like the conduct of people moved by common sense combined with an ideal of gentlemanly behaviour than it did like the conduct of people seeking communion with God .'</p><p>This came shortly after my morning devotions, and the thought the what we long for in Advent is the coming of the One who will enable us to be gloriously and fully human. As Irenaeus wrote- 'The glory of God is man fully alive;.'</p><p>The two viewpoints stand in stark contrast. One, which seems oh, so dated, so class-bound, so English, and the other so freeing, so universal, so adventuresome. </p><p>I recognise that my own crabbed existence is not the same as that Athill describes, but it does direct my prayers to something wider, bigger, deeper, summed up in the Advent longing 'Come, Lord Jesus;. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-32822289228903843122022-11-26T22:55:00.000-08:002022-11-26T22:55:12.435-08:00Quiet<p> I wonder how Jesus found it, coming back into crowds with their pressing needs, their inquisitiveness, their cynicism, their condemnation, after a period of quiet spent in prayer, alone. I ask this after the better part of four days on retreat, by myself last week, Coming home to company/talk/the daily round et al, has made me long at times for some of that quiet and silence I experienced on retreat. And prompts the speculation as to how Jesus found it. </p><p>It is at best speculation; we'll never know the answer. Presumably he was able to meld the quiet and the crowd together, given his mission, his person, his being. </p><p>For me, more difficult. I go back to 'In quietness and confidence shall be your strength'. Strength to face the hurly-burly of daily life. And bring a quiet soul into that hurly burly. </p><p><br /></p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-71074000530749384812022-11-06T00:21:00.000-07:002022-11-06T00:21:25.325-07:00dogginess<p> There's an unfortunate dogginess to the house at the moment as we look after two dogs- a black, and a honey-coloured Labrador. The carpets need extra vacuuming, the air needs spraying, or scented candles need burning, to keep the all-pervading smell of Labrador at bay, keep the shedding of dog-hairs under control. </p><p>Do we all leave some scent behind, of joy or something more noxious? Something shed from ourselves, a blessing, or something irritating? I guess we do, and the dogs are sensitising me to it, in a house not used to doggy smells, nor dog-hairs everywhere. </p><p>There is a verse somewhere in 2 Corinthians, I think, which says we are a sweet-smelling savour to God. We are the aroma of Christ. Well, that's far from what many people experience of Christians in these polarised days, where the 'in crowd' demonises the 'out crowd'. No sweet aroma there, or very little of it. If more grace were evident- and I'm talking to myself here- maybe the aroma would be sweeter, the atmosphere more breathable, liveable. Lord, have mercy, </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-5188165359285067692022-10-23T00:37:00.000-07:002022-10-23T00:37:02.139-07:00Parties<p> Should a party raise anxiety for the host? Ideally, no, it should be a carefree occasion for all to enjoy the food, the drink, the company, the ambience. But there's always the niggle- 'is there enough food?' why didn't John and Fiona turn up?' 'is it warm enough?'..........</p><p>Presumably this was part of the context which motivated Martha to ask Jesus to berate her sister Mary into helping with the hospitality (perhaps not a party) when Jesus and his followers came one day. She was not alone in that anxiety- it was one I shared earlier this week when Mary and I hosted a meal for twenty-some friends in celebration of our golden wedding anniversary. </p><p>Jewish views of heaven all seem to centre around food, feasting, fellowship- a good time had by all, or at least, by all the righteous (even in this instance a word to beware of). God as the host. Presumably, in his perfection, without anxiety that all was as it should be. </p><p>Well, I look forward to that, if only for the awe-inspiring spectacle of God's perfect enjoyment of it all. Now that <i>will</i> be something to see! </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-706716892149242542022-10-09T00:19:00.001-07:002022-10-09T00:19:57.219-07:00A saint near here<p> Not far from here, in the north of Anglesey where we are on holiday, is the reputed landing place of St Patrick, when he was shipwrecked in the year 440AD. A cave with fresh running water, at the bottom of the cliffs, gave him shelter and water until the storm was over. A church now stands at the top of the cliffs, marking the spot. </p><p>Back then, the saints seemed to live larger, more heroic lives. Back anytime- I think of twentieth century saints who were martyred for the cause of Christ's justice and peace- they seemed to live those larger lives. But this is merely to display ignorance of the even larger number of saints who simply kept on keeping on, pursuing quiet lives of devotion to God, in all times and in all places. And ignorance too of the unknown saints who are being called on in our generation to lead heroic lives in the face of injustice, warfare and want in many far from comfortable places far removed from Anglesey. </p><p>Which leads us, or should, to prayer. 'Remember your church, Lord, in many lands, especially......' as the Eurcharistic prayer has it. We may be on holiday, but it is not a holiday from prayer. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-62759005175437313232022-09-24T22:51:00.005-07:002022-09-24T22:51:45.422-07:00The Angels<p>(<span style="font-family: inherit;">I wrote this before I checked the facts- I thought today was the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels. It is celebrated on the 29th- this coning Thursday).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Odd that an angel should be a saint. But in another sense, quite fitting- a saint is a holy being, so why not? This commemoration is a reminder that there is a realm beyond the material. We practise our faith in the world of sight, sound, touch, smell, but conscious always that there is a 'beyond' which has a very present reality to us. We are, after all citizens of that 'state', dwelling here in this earthy domain. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">We do not know much of the citizenry of the heavenly realm, but that there should be messengers from there to here seems a reasonable assumption, and angels and powerful heavenly forces are those messengers. There is a 'wavelength' which aligns humanity and the angel world, and I am aware of it all to rarely. St. Michael's feast is a reminder that '<span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">My soul, there is a country, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">Far beyond the stars, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">Where stands a winged sentry </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">All skilful in the wars.......</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;">May the angels who serve as a reminder of our citizenry elsewhere, guard us today, </span></span></p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-36337398887051909192022-09-17T23:30:00.004-07:002022-09-17T23:30:30.692-07:00the sign of the cross<p> J have been surprised, as I have occasionally peeked in, via the laptop, to the lying-in-state of our late Sovereign of happy memory, to see so many people make the sign of the cross, or an attempt at it, before the coffin as part of their mark of respect. </p><p>I had no thought that the UK was so religious, Maybe it isn't; maybe it's what people think they should do. Maybe they think that, given the late Queen's faith, she would somehow appreciate a mark of faith from them. Whatever, it is heartening to see. </p><p>The sign of the cross; the cross as a sign. Of God's activity in life, and in death. A sign I identify with as I make that sign over myself. More often, though I know technically how to make it, and make it often, I'm more like those who fumble, make an approximation of it. Given that my life will always be an approximation to what that cross means in the outworking of those who are content to make the sign on a regular basis, a fumble seems about right.. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-40683942135770738702022-09-10T23:13:00.000-07:002022-09-10T23:13:22.816-07:00The king<p> For the past seventy years we have been used to the phrase 'the Queen' so that it's taking some getting used-to, to hear or see the words 'the King', such as on Friday night, when the strapline under Charles as he spoke to the nation via TV, was 'HM the King'. </p><p>Yes, we know it's what he was born to become, but he's been waiting so long, and the queen seemed such a permanent fixture, that something of that expectation had slipped from this mind, at least. Well, the reality has arrived at long last for him. </p><p>Christians can experience something of the same mindset with regard to the reality of Christ the King. We celebrate that feast on the last Sunday of the Christian year in mid-November, immediately before the beginning of Advent- an affirmation that Christ is all in all, is supreme and King in all creation. </p><p>And yet, as we look around our very broken world, we know that in some deep sense, this is not so, at least not yet. And the temptation is maybe to downplay, forget, fail to see, possibly deny, the reality that Christ's triumph from the cross, his resurrection and ascension, has already taken place, and we are in the endgame, where the mop-up operation is taking place. </p><p>Now and not yet. For Charles, the promise has been fulfilled. For us in the faith, we continue to pray 'Come Lord Jesus'. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-51456680879881733432022-09-03T22:58:00.001-07:002022-09-03T22:58:19.023-07:00This time of year<p> Although the church year begins in late November, it often feels to me, at least, as if the beginning of September- the new school year- has more of a sense of a new start about it. We caught Year 7 pupils walking to the High School on Friday morning, for their induction, without the rest of the school being there. Church activities which have been laid aside for the summer months begin again. It's difficult to resist the gearing-up feel which early September brings.</p><p>It's a reminder that the faith has about it that element of learning. Not just adding to the store of facts about the Bible, the peculiarities of this denomination as opposed to that one, and all the rest- it's about learning to inhabit the knowledge we already have. Living from the heart what one las learned in the head. </p><p>In the end it's about wisdom. The getting of wisdom, the living from wisdom, the inhabiting the kingdom, the reification of all Jesus said about 'the kingdom of God', This requires more than school; it's about a change of heart and mind and soul which I find on no curriculum outside the faith. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-11733605652570418402022-08-27T23:19:00.002-07:002022-08-27T23:19:29.240-07:00stumbling<p>(Apologies- I forgot to post this last Sunday)</p><p>Stumbling into heaven- it's struck me this week how apposite that is as an image of my pilgrimage. Unsure of the way, not very sure-footed when I do find the path, discovering it's all a surprise as the scenery open up before me, tiring, even exhausting, wondering if I'll ever make it. </p><p>I try not to be a tourist, with all the itinerary pre-planned, everything experienced through the microphone of a guide, or from the hermetic seal of a coach window. More first hand, a bit riskier.. I think of a bus ride to Kampala, and having no idea how to negotiate the Kenyan-Ugandan border, afraid I would take so long ( the bus already three hours behind schedule) it would go without me. And the rest.....</p><p>There are landmarks, of course, places, people where the heart rises on seeing, meeting something familiar. In the faith it's usually the cross. Always a guarantee one is on, or near the right road. I stumble less near to it, although it often seems far from heaven. Nevertheless, it's some sort of guarantee I can stumble on ,continue with some degree of confidence. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-12277162483353720862022-08-13T23:14:00.000-07:002022-08-13T23:14:15.502-07:00Dog-sitting<p> We are looking after our son's dogs- Blake, a black Labrador, content and easy, and his daughter Parker, golden and nervous. She chatters all day in short whiny bursts. What has amused us most about her is the discovery of herself, or rather. of another dog, in her reflection in the tv screen. She cannot understand it. Staring back at herself, dimly, from the black screen is this other, who is not in this room, I will not attempt to say what goes on in her mind- if she has one. </p><p>Through a glass, darkly; a phrase of St Paul as he writes to the brethren in Corinth, taking the metaphor of a Greek mirror, probably made of silver, or some silvery metal, reflecting very imperfectly the image of the one who looked into it. So it is with our present life- we see dimly what in God's good and eternal time we shall shall see and know and experience 'face to face'. . </p><p>The dogs are alert, on watch, when they remember that their master is away, and will be back. Blake has found a perch on the settee where he can stand and look out of the window for signs of the car returning, when all shall be very waggy tails, whimpered joy. They long for the 'face to face'. </p><p>Is it too much to echo their behaviour in the life of faith, with a longing expressed as 'Even so, come Lord Jesus'? </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-8994470438772716712022-08-07T10:15:00.000-07:002022-08-07T10:15:47.202-07:00Celebration<p>Mary and I celebrated, quietly, our Golden Wedding earlier this week. Cards arrived, and we have received two plants for the garden, but we had sought neither- after fifty years of marriage, what does one need? We were content to be thankful, visit York for the day, and return home tired. Bur just to prove we are not stingey old curmudgeons, there will be family and then friends' celebrations later. </p><p>It is a rarity in today's world to mark a 50th wedding anniversary. I'm not boasting here, just stating a fact. I hope we continue for a good many years to come. Any marriage which survives this long will have been through several phases, and ours is no different. We are not the same people as in 1972.</p><p>I'm reminded of my relationship with God. Of long duration, but changed on my side many times over, as my perception of God changed. marked by stickability on God's part; love, and variously desperation and lack of other credible alternatives on mine. </p><p>Still, it's lasted. Both marriage and faith have lasted. Just stating a fact. Above all, the grace of God, and of Mary to last out with such unpromising material as I am. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-43926950938217628342022-07-30T22:38:00.000-07:002022-07-30T22:38:18.565-07:00watching<p> I sat for three hours in a reception area at St. James, Hospital, Leeds (aka 'Jimmy's) while my son had treatment on his eyes earlier this week . It gave me much opportunity to people watch. The anxious, the talkative, the lost, the eccentric (an elderly man who filled his wheeled grocery bag with packets of crisps), the purposeful, the hurting;- all human life was there- red and yellow, black and white as the none-too subtle Sunday-school song has it. </p><p>And yes, they are precious in his (that is, Jesus) sight, to continue that song, although I found myself wondering, after the book I had brought was finished, and I resorted to people watching, what barriers these precious ones had found in life, who had put them in an 'out crowd' who had welcomed them, if at all, into an 'in-crowd', The shabbily-dressed old man who so carefully laid out on a seat some yards from me the eighteen on so packets of salt-and-vinegar crisps; who would give him a wide berth in daily life?</p><p>How good we are at assumptions! -when within the kingdom, the only one we need is 'all are precious in his sight'. The over-dramatised colours-red and yellow, black and white- can be erased after that. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-28064602997527636332022-07-23T23:43:00.004-07:002022-07-23T23:43:51.511-07:00Heat<p> <span style="font-family: inherit;">We survived the heat of the early part of the week- the thermometer in the warmest part of the garden went off the scale, but the likelihood in the open was about 39 degrees. The hart in psalm 42 was not alone in seeking the solace of a cooling stream- or at least an extra shower or two, all set to much cooler than normal. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The park opposite was devoid of kids playing; the gardens we overlook at the back were empty. Everyone seemed to seek such cool as may be found inside, and truth to tell, there wasn't much of that. Climate change came with a vengeance. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The prognostications on several fronts- climate change, cost of living, the war in Ukraine, the austerity which will have to come to pay for the government's profligacy- is not good. 300 new clients every day turn up at the UK's food banks. Fuel bills are likely to rise to £3000+ in the autumn. Prayer seems an inadequate response; I bang on about 'the common good' at all and every opportunity, but the common good does have a special resonance at this tim</span>e.</p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 16px;">'We must all hang together, or, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately.', as Benjamin Franklin said- although the likelihood is that the poor will be hung out to dry, and will certainly feel the heat, before the rich begin to suffer. This is the way of the world, although not of the kingdom of God. I wonder which way we shall choose? </span></span></p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-19182308748182205572022-07-16T23:33:00.000-07:002022-07-16T23:33:34.338-07:00water<p> Coming over the Pennines some weeks ago on our way back home from holiday, I was shocked at the low levels in the reservoirs high in the hills. The situation will be worse now, as the dry weather continues, and our profligacy with water continues. Water rationing is being mentioned. </p><p>I was reminded of this again on Friday, when traffic queues in York near the hospital were caused by a burst water main. It gushed forth in force; traffic sprayed the pavement as in a heavy downpour. Water is a finite resource- there will be suffering somewhere as a result of this leakage. </p><p>A finite resource, and precious. Such a contrast to the infinite springs of water promised to the faithful, welling up inside us, the gift of the well-spring of life himself. We often stumble around in parched or drought mode, failing to see the reservoir at hand, failing to turn some spiritual tap to fresh supplies, and wonder at our ineffectiveness. </p><p>St Isaac the Syrian imagined the believer swimming, diving, in an infinite sea of grace, diving deep for God's pearls. No shortage of pearls, no shortage of water, no shortage of grace. Divers wanted. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-69463390073974427952022-07-09T23:22:00.001-07:002022-07-09T23:22:41.528-07:00Neighbour<p> 'Who is my neighbour?' asks the lawyer of Jesus in the gospel. Perhaps part of the sub-text here is 'I know the answer to this- and I'm quite satisfied with my relationships with my neighbours, thank you'. Ah yes, the tightly drawn circle with well-defined boundaries. Don't we love them? we know where we stand!</p><p>The lawyer has a reluctance to name the one who showed mercy to the stupid man who travelled alone on that bandit-ridden road between Jerusalem and Jericho. 'Who is the neighbour?' 'The one who showed mercy'. he replies to Jesus. Subtext- 'the damned Samaritan'. </p><p>An invitation, almost a command, to widen the tightly drawn circle of those included under the heading 'neighbour'. That's how we may read the parable of the good Samaritan. Where are the lines in the sand drawn this morning, which we are being invited to cross. the circles we must widen?</p><p>This is not new, but it's always a question worth asking, always a question worth answering. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-25792652995525737562022-07-02T22:45:00.000-07:002022-07-02T22:45:41.771-07:00Illusion<p> The last time I was with the man standing before me making pennies disappear, was when he sawed me in half. That was at the celebration party for Tockwith church's 150th anniversary. Tonight (well, Friday actually, as we party our way down the Ouse in York ) we're just as amazed and delighted at his skill, just as wondering 'how does he do that?' as he works his way round the tables with less exalted material than a box and a saw; pennies, cards, a pen. small oranges. </p><p>Illusion and reality- finding our way though life's maze with a degree of wisdom and common sense keeping our feet on the ground whilst our heads are in the clouds. That has something of reality about it; a life-long task, distinguishing between life's illusions and life's realities. Like many, I find it hard to understand why large portions of the American church seem to have opted for the illusion that The Orange One is some sort of divinely appointed presence. And why our own C of E deals in so much management-speak, rather than prayer. </p><p>Easy to say, easy to see- less easy to admit to one's own propensity for illusion. The prejudice, the false values, the unrealities, the false gods we deal with. But somehow I'm drawn back to the person of Jesus, what he said, what he espoused, as the touchstone for reality. Reality found in the fulness of a person's life, and not just in ideas. Something anchored to earth, whilst coming from the eternal. As I said, keeping feet on the ground whilst the head is in the clouds. </p><p> </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-18480545211626500772022-06-25T22:47:00.003-07:002022-06-25T22:47:42.794-07:00Heaven<p> <i>Nantmawr, Shropshire, midweek</i></p><p>Sitting here on the patio in the afternoon sun, a gentle breeze making the heat bearable, not a cloud in the sky, and the distant sound of birds chirping- it's a vision of a sort of heaven. To complete the picture, a good book, a cup of tea, doors and windows flung open, sheep making their way across the steep hillside opposite. It's a very English vision of heaven, even though everywhere round here is blessed with Welsh place names,,,,,, so thoughts turn from the book I'm reading to wonder what other nationalities, other folk, would include in their heaven. </p><p>Whatever, heaven is unlikely to be as we imagine. 'Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man what God has prepared for those who love him' St Paul tells the Corinthians. Well, not strictly heaven there, but it about covers it. Meanwhile, there is work to do to make what we know of this 'kingdom of heaven' a little more visible on earth- 'the kingdom of God is justice and peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit; Come Lord, and open in us, the gates of your kingdom'. </p><p>Little time for the reveries of bucolic Shropshire in that. Work to be done. Starting from today -Sunday- now that holiday is over. . </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-26473293279038287932022-06-18T23:16:00.002-07:002022-06-18T23:16:53.007-07:00Perfect<p> There's a verse in Matthew chapter 5 which has always troubled me, 'Be perfect, as your heavenly father is perfect'- and it's troubled me on a number of levels. Firstly, how can the imperfect be perfect? Secondly, if I strive for perfection, I am, as an imperfect creature, doomed to failure, and if I take this command to perfection seriously, and am always doomed to failure, this could seriously impact my mental health, my spiritual confidence; is this part of God's desire in my search for the unattainable?</p><p>Pity that ihis verse trapped so many into falsehood about what it means, and what it encourages us to be, to do. A better translation is 'be all-including, as your heavenly father is all-including' .Or, 'be indiscriminate in your loving and well-doing' Well, still difficult, but a bit more accommodating of prejudiced eejuts like me. We love tribe- is he one of us? - and these words of Jesus are a challenge to tribal boundaries, in-crowd mentalities, exclusive zones. </p><p>So, to love the next person whom I meet, even if it's Boris Johnson.......</p><p><br /></p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4160813000042021798.post-59269035310482870062022-06-11T23:04:00.001-07:002022-06-11T23:04:57.584-07:00unfinished<p> There are one hundred and thirty three words that would fit into the last space in the weekly cryptic crossword. This, according to my laptop's crossword solver. I've been through them all once, and none seems to make sense in the context of the clue, and although the last two or three clues often benefit from being left for a day or two, I suspect that this crossword will remain unfinished. </p><p>Unfinished. Incomplete. It's a reality that life will always be this way. We say 'My life is complete', but I suspect it's the thought of a moment, a passing, possibly sentimental, feeling. There is always more to know, more to learn, more to be taken up into in the love of Christ. We don't know what, but we do know there is more. </p><p>The Trinity season offers us the opportunity, now filled with the Spirit, to explore those familiar landscapes we have traversed in the salvation story from Advent to Pentecost. There are likely to be few places marked 'Here be dragons', but although we know the outlines, we all have room to plumb the depths, navigate the heights of of this salvation landscape. Even though its exploration will be the task of a lifetime, and at the end, still unfinished. </p>Rev, Roy Shawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02123189478715130815noreply@blogger.com0