I thought until recently I had some sort of understanding of the geography, as it were, of the faith; after all, I've talked it, prayed it, professed it, preached it for 50+ years. I thought I had a 'map', with, if not all the details (by no means all the details!) then at least the salient features; baptism, prayer, the sacraments, etc.
But a hard evaluation has shown me that I have some understanding of the small hinterland around me, and that is all. Why I was so foolish to think that I had a bigger picture, I can only put down to vanity and pride.
My thoughts go back to Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's Progress'- that seminal book which has had so much influence on personal devotion in English homes since its publication in 1678. (Since when it's never been out of print, I'm told). A grand landscape emerges in the book- as it does in C S Lewis's 'Narnia' chronicles. Christian ranges far and wide through rivers, bogs, mountains, byways, highways and the rest to come to the Celestial City. And all these places have their symbolic meanings; compared to which my narrow and small experience is as nothing.
'Bloom where you are planted' says the adage. So although my experience, range, understanding, and practice of the faith may be, as it were a small garden, my task is to nurture that, and venture out from there and learn to inhabit a bigger picture. The Delectable Mountains still call. Here is opportunity to tend a small garden, with my eyes and heart ready to explore a grander landscape.
Saturday, 18 January 2020
Saturday, 11 January 2020
Epiphany
After more than sixty years, I can still remember by heart most of the verses from Matthew chapter 2 which tell the story of 'wise men from the east' come to seek the Christ child. Our primary school class learned it, under the direction of our teacher Miss Vickers, for the school carol service when I was nine in Junior 3, and if memory serves, we recited it again when in Junior 4.
Strange what stays. I can see us know, on the risers, reciting this to parents in the hall in front of us. We were a large class- thirty plus. I wonder how many of them, like me, come into contact with that reading, and can say it, all over again?
'Wise men from the east, come to worship him'.And bring gifts- gold, frankincense, myrrh. It's one of the important readings from scripture which met us this first week in in this Epiphany season, when Jesus is manifested to a wider world than his own people. By the grace of God, he has manifested himself to me over the years, and I'm grateful. My gifts to him have been adoration, forgetfulness, wilfulness, disobedience, surrender, anger, love. The best and worst of my life. And the mediocre in between. But like the wise men, his bright star draws me on, into a mystery I don't understand, but know is true, just as the wise men must have felt in presenting gifts to a child they believed was a prophet, priest and king, judging by their gifts, but found in an ordinary house far from palaces and the trappings of royalty.
'Show me the way'- it's a prayer I often make, an acknowledgement that the Bright Morning Star I follow is the true one, even though it leads I know not where,and has mystery about it. But in the mystery, grace and truth above all, .
Strange what stays. I can see us know, on the risers, reciting this to parents in the hall in front of us. We were a large class- thirty plus. I wonder how many of them, like me, come into contact with that reading, and can say it, all over again?
'Wise men from the east, come to worship him'.And bring gifts- gold, frankincense, myrrh. It's one of the important readings from scripture which met us this first week in in this Epiphany season, when Jesus is manifested to a wider world than his own people. By the grace of God, he has manifested himself to me over the years, and I'm grateful. My gifts to him have been adoration, forgetfulness, wilfulness, disobedience, surrender, anger, love. The best and worst of my life. And the mediocre in between. But like the wise men, his bright star draws me on, into a mystery I don't understand, but know is true, just as the wise men must have felt in presenting gifts to a child they believed was a prophet, priest and king, judging by their gifts, but found in an ordinary house far from palaces and the trappings of royalty.
'Show me the way'- it's a prayer I often make, an acknowledgement that the Bright Morning Star I follow is the true one, even though it leads I know not where,and has mystery about it. But in the mystery, grace and truth above all, .
Saturday, 4 January 2020
Twelfth Night etc
Tonight is Twelfth Night; but I wonder how many people know what this refers to? 'Isn't it a play by Shakespeare....? Something about misrule, the world turned upside down? Yes, but the reference is originally to the last day in the season of Christmas. 'Season of Christmas? what do you mean?
In the Christian calendar, Christmas is a season of twelve days, and today is the last of them. Tomorrow we begin the season of Epiphany- a difficult word, which means 'showing' or 'manifestation'.
Let's go back to basics. The Christian year has a shape to it; it starts in Advent, at the end of November, and climbs, as it were, to a mountain top for the twelve days of Christmas, after which it gently descends again through Epiphany, and some 'Ordinary Time' to Ash Wednesday, when Lent begins. Then a longer climb, over roughly six weeks, to the mountain top of the Easter season, where we stay for another six weeks till Pentecost, when we gently descend again through Ordinary Time till the beginning of Advent, when the whole process starts again. The climbs and descents are indicative of the importance of the season, rather than anything else, in the picture I have drawn.
It all has something to say about the life of Christ, the love of God, and our response to different points of his life. I wonder, as we begin a new season- Epiphany-, what God will show me? show you? How God will manifest Godself to me? to you? And are open to it? Today's gospel talks of Jesus being 'full of grace and truth'. May we apprehend at least some of that, be apprehended by grace and truth, so that any misrule, anything upside down in our lives and experience may be righted, and ourselves set on our feet, as on a rock .
In the Christian calendar, Christmas is a season of twelve days, and today is the last of them. Tomorrow we begin the season of Epiphany- a difficult word, which means 'showing' or 'manifestation'.
Let's go back to basics. The Christian year has a shape to it; it starts in Advent, at the end of November, and climbs, as it were, to a mountain top for the twelve days of Christmas, after which it gently descends again through Epiphany, and some 'Ordinary Time' to Ash Wednesday, when Lent begins. Then a longer climb, over roughly six weeks, to the mountain top of the Easter season, where we stay for another six weeks till Pentecost, when we gently descend again through Ordinary Time till the beginning of Advent, when the whole process starts again. The climbs and descents are indicative of the importance of the season, rather than anything else, in the picture I have drawn.
It all has something to say about the life of Christ, the love of God, and our response to different points of his life. I wonder, as we begin a new season- Epiphany-, what God will show me? show you? How God will manifest Godself to me? to you? And are open to it? Today's gospel talks of Jesus being 'full of grace and truth'. May we apprehend at least some of that, be apprehended by grace and truth, so that any misrule, anything upside down in our lives and experience may be righted, and ourselves set on our feet, as on a rock .
Saturday, 28 December 2019
Aaaaaah!
Christmas is the time for all those soft-centred films to be paraded on tv; the annual outing for The Snowman, plus assorted other films and programmes with the feel-good factor which- forgive my cynicism- leave something of a saccharine taste.
I say this because the Christmas story is far from sugary. Yes we have hardship overcome- the journey to Bethlehem; and the birth of a baby- sure to bring a smile. But Christmas is not just the 25th. It is twelve days, and hard on the heels of the birth of Jesus comes St. Stephen's day, when we remember the first Christian martyr; and two days later the Holy Innocents, who might be called the 'collateral damage' in the ruthless attempt by King Herod to kill the baby Jesus, who himself has to flee, a refugee, to Egypt, with his parents. The Prince of Peace (so named by the prophet Isaiah) surrounded by mayhem.
It all reminds us why Christmas is so much more popular than Easter. We can throw sugar and sweetness over Christmas, and forget the hard bits; only the devout will remember St Stephen, and the Holy Innocents. With Easter, death, torture, injustice stare us in the face, are harder to ignore. But underneath, Christmas has its shadows, its reminders than this saviour, this child was born to collide with evil in order to overcome it. The first collision comes with the massacre of the Holy Innocents; after Jesus' resurrection and ascension, the first collision come with the stoning of Stephen.
Less 'aaaaaaahhhh!' than we thought then. If we take it seriously, if we talk about the real Christmas, as opposed to the sugary confection of food/good times/ tv/ booze/ repeat-until-we're-bloated that we have made it. Mat it surprise us all with its reality.
I say this because the Christmas story is far from sugary. Yes we have hardship overcome- the journey to Bethlehem; and the birth of a baby- sure to bring a smile. But Christmas is not just the 25th. It is twelve days, and hard on the heels of the birth of Jesus comes St. Stephen's day, when we remember the first Christian martyr; and two days later the Holy Innocents, who might be called the 'collateral damage' in the ruthless attempt by King Herod to kill the baby Jesus, who himself has to flee, a refugee, to Egypt, with his parents. The Prince of Peace (so named by the prophet Isaiah) surrounded by mayhem.
It all reminds us why Christmas is so much more popular than Easter. We can throw sugar and sweetness over Christmas, and forget the hard bits; only the devout will remember St Stephen, and the Holy Innocents. With Easter, death, torture, injustice stare us in the face, are harder to ignore. But underneath, Christmas has its shadows, its reminders than this saviour, this child was born to collide with evil in order to overcome it. The first collision comes with the massacre of the Holy Innocents; after Jesus' resurrection and ascension, the first collision come with the stoning of Stephen.
Less 'aaaaaaahhhh!' than we thought then. If we take it seriously, if we talk about the real Christmas, as opposed to the sugary confection of food/good times/ tv/ booze/ repeat-until-we're-bloated that we have made it. Mat it surprise us all with its reality.
Sunday, 22 December 2019
Snow on snow
We awoke on Wednesday morning to a thin covering of snow; not the 'snow on snow, snow on snow' of Christina Rossetti's poem 'In the bleak midwinter', but enough, with the fog which accompanied the smattering, to turn my mind to her poetry.
I've come late to admiring her work; I've used one or two of her poems recently in stuff I've been doing. I like its quiet insistence, the way it burrows into the truths of her faith, truths beyond fact. Few can think, for example, that Jesus was born in the midst of a snowy landscape, Bethlehem being so far south. But a picture of a bleak midwinter would not somehow be complete without cold and snow, and it paints a picture of a moral and spiritual landscape which longed for the sunshine and light to come in the revealing of God's purposes in Jesus, hidden and quiet though they were in a stable, far from the centre of things.
The year turns today; we start that increase of light and warmth which comes with the shortest day behind us. It will be difficult to see this for some weeks to come, but it's there. May the light of Christ- the 'gladsome light' as the ancient hymn has it, warm, refresh and illuminate whatever winter, or dark, or cold, of body, mind or spirit you may be experiencing.
I've come late to admiring her work; I've used one or two of her poems recently in stuff I've been doing. I like its quiet insistence, the way it burrows into the truths of her faith, truths beyond fact. Few can think, for example, that Jesus was born in the midst of a snowy landscape, Bethlehem being so far south. But a picture of a bleak midwinter would not somehow be complete without cold and snow, and it paints a picture of a moral and spiritual landscape which longed for the sunshine and light to come in the revealing of God's purposes in Jesus, hidden and quiet though they were in a stable, far from the centre of things.
The year turns today; we start that increase of light and warmth which comes with the shortest day behind us. It will be difficult to see this for some weeks to come, but it's there. May the light of Christ- the 'gladsome light' as the ancient hymn has it, warm, refresh and illuminate whatever winter, or dark, or cold, of body, mind or spirit you may be experiencing.
Saturday, 14 December 2019
Good things in small packages
Out to a Christmas party on Friday night; drinks, a meal, a disco. My disco days are over, especially with the present sciatica; careless movement would lead to a wince at least, a cry of pain at most. But let's focus on the positives....
Pudding was a small pot of chocolate; thick, rich, intense. And no bigger than a tin of shoe polish. Not that I could have managed more at the end of a three course meal. And the small pot came not the blandness of a chocolate bar or some chocolate mousses, but with real taste.
It caused me to reflect on that adage 'good things come in small packages'. Somehow our world-view sees disaster and tragedy, as I see it reported, in screen-filling terms. SHOCK! scream the headlines. Good is somehow smaller and quieter, a filler on the back page. The neighbour who day after day fetches a pensioner her paper; the folk who week after week, without fuss, put something in the food-bank trolley at the supermarket, who turn out to make tea at the disabled club. Good, in small, unsung packages.
Chief of these, in my view, is the birth of our saviour at Christmas. Just a baby, among so many babies. Small, born at night, in an out-of-the-way place, in a third-rate province of the Roman empire. Who would have guessed he would change the course of the world? A small quiet package, as it were, but rich, intense, far from bland, a shock to the system with his taste. Dig in, and savour!
Pudding was a small pot of chocolate; thick, rich, intense. And no bigger than a tin of shoe polish. Not that I could have managed more at the end of a three course meal. And the small pot came not the blandness of a chocolate bar or some chocolate mousses, but with real taste.
It caused me to reflect on that adage 'good things come in small packages'. Somehow our world-view sees disaster and tragedy, as I see it reported, in screen-filling terms. SHOCK! scream the headlines. Good is somehow smaller and quieter, a filler on the back page. The neighbour who day after day fetches a pensioner her paper; the folk who week after week, without fuss, put something in the food-bank trolley at the supermarket, who turn out to make tea at the disabled club. Good, in small, unsung packages.
Chief of these, in my view, is the birth of our saviour at Christmas. Just a baby, among so many babies. Small, born at night, in an out-of-the-way place, in a third-rate province of the Roman empire. Who would have guessed he would change the course of the world? A small quiet package, as it were, but rich, intense, far from bland, a shock to the system with his taste. Dig in, and savour!
Saturday, 7 December 2019
Marmalade
Home made marmalade; there's nothing like it. Gone are the days when, just after Christmas, we'd look out for the arrival of seville oranges at the greengrocers, and spend hours peeling, cutting up the rind, sifting out the hundred of pips; now it's a tin of prepared fruit, and off we go!
But lemon marmalade- that's less of a favourite. To be honest, I've only just come back to it, having neglected it since late childhood. Orange, lime, grapefruit- these all pass muster, but lemon fails to make the grade for me. It's my sweet tooth, product of a childhood just after the war.
So into the prepared lemon fruit this week went a pound and a quarter of mango from the freezer, and the result was much to my liking. The mango has taken that edge of bitterness off the lemon. I shall relish it.
Taking the edge off bitterness; now there's a grand theme! Adding sweetness to life. I'll go with that, given the cynicism which seems to be the essence of cool just now. A little sweetness, to add to the stock of joy in the world- not something cloying, but enough to remind us that not everything need be acerbic, cynical, distant, cool. The psalmist found the ways of God 'sweeter than honey in the comb', and invited us to 'taste and see that the Lord is good.'
I know what he means. Every time I make jam or marmalade, I leave enough in the jam pan, and on the spoons I've used, to scrape several spoonsful into my mouth, and cynical and cool I am not. Inward satisfaction, contented smile. Yeah! Taste and see it's good and sweet! As have been my tastes of God, and as I trust they will continue to be.
But lemon marmalade- that's less of a favourite. To be honest, I've only just come back to it, having neglected it since late childhood. Orange, lime, grapefruit- these all pass muster, but lemon fails to make the grade for me. It's my sweet tooth, product of a childhood just after the war.
So into the prepared lemon fruit this week went a pound and a quarter of mango from the freezer, and the result was much to my liking. The mango has taken that edge of bitterness off the lemon. I shall relish it.
Taking the edge off bitterness; now there's a grand theme! Adding sweetness to life. I'll go with that, given the cynicism which seems to be the essence of cool just now. A little sweetness, to add to the stock of joy in the world- not something cloying, but enough to remind us that not everything need be acerbic, cynical, distant, cool. The psalmist found the ways of God 'sweeter than honey in the comb', and invited us to 'taste and see that the Lord is good.'
I know what he means. Every time I make jam or marmalade, I leave enough in the jam pan, and on the spoons I've used, to scrape several spoonsful into my mouth, and cynical and cool I am not. Inward satisfaction, contented smile. Yeah! Taste and see it's good and sweet! As have been my tastes of God, and as I trust they will continue to be.
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