Write this......

I note that I have now posted over one hundred blogs on this site. Over four hundred appeared on the website elsewhere when I was in parish ministry. It's a weekly task which remains a pleasure more that a duty; there is always something good to say about God. Together with the occasional poems I  write, these posts are now the main way I witness to the goodness and grace of God.

'My tongue is the pen of a ready writer' says the psalmist- for me, it's the other way round; my pen is my tongue, at least in 'declaring the works of the Lord' in the small corner which is my life. It has about it Dr. Johnson's riff on Descartes' I think therefore I am';- 'I write therefore I am alive'. Writing, such as I practice it, was a vocation I accepted when I was ordained. I had always written in one way or another, but that endorsement of the church in ordaining me gave writing a push it might not have had otherwise. I wanted part of my ministry to be writing something for God, about God, from God (you will be the judge of how successful that has been) each week. Not deep, not fancy, not inaccessible, not super holy, but something simple which reflects the intersection of an ordinary life- mine- with the grace of God as it finds me, challenges me, changes me, confirms me.

We all have a story to tell, many stories to tell. Those stories reveal us to others, and to ourselves. They do not end with death- how that story intersects with others will affect and shape the ones who hear the story, read the story, beyond my life.We know this from the words of those long-dead which still resonate with us. Scripture is but one example. Words impact us. My story is the Word- St. John's name for Christ- impacting me. Robert Louis Stevenson puts it far better than I;
Bright is the ring of words/When the right man rings them./Fair the fall of songs/When the singer sings them./Still they are carolled and said-/On wings they are carried-/After the singer is dead/And the maker buried.

May our story be one of goodness, and our words of grace.

Blowin' in the wind

Out for a brief walk, keeping to a route where we were unlikely to meet others, we came across a man's shirt on the hedge, presumably blown there by a recent high wind. It seemed in good nick; we took it home, washed and ironed it. This is the second gift brought to us by the wind- a year or so ago a single-sized fitted sheet appeared on the fence by the park area in front of the house, directly after some gales. No-one claimed it; after some days we took it in, cleaned it, and I took it to Kenya as part of my bedding last autumn; the shirt, attractive and expensive though it was, was an XXL- I looked lost in it, so it will go to a charity shop when they reopen. Both these 'gifts' were, we imagine escapees from washing lines somewhere near us.

Unexpected gifts, blown in by the wind- how can I resist the direct parallel with the gifts God gives us via his Spirit, usually unexpectedly? I can't. But it did prompt some digging into the metaphor. Neither sheet nor shirt were 'oven ready'; both required some work. And both turned out to be for the benefit of others- via the charity shop, and the work I do as a charity trustee. The largest question these gifts prompt is ' Is this legitimately mine to have?'  In that both were unclaimed, we gave both shirt and sheet a temporary home.

'Is this mine to have?'- an attitude, a question I have asked, and maybe you have too, about the gifts of God which arrive unbidden in our hearts. Why do I continue to ask this question when my experience of the love of God is that it is 'the gift that keeps on giving', boundless, free, unstinting. But once I acknowledge that this is how it is, that God loves to give, I find I can give his gifts a home, make them ready, and use them for the benefit of others. The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind......

Bang-crash-wallop?

Just as we are getting used to life in a quieter register, a more domestic mode, more circumscribed, along comes the resurrection; something tearing through the fabric of expectations, up-skittling what we consider the natural order of things. Tearing, up-skittling; words which suggest possibly a noisy, even violent, irruption into human affairs. A bursting forth.

Certainly St. Matthew's account of the resurrection, with its earthquake,and resurrected bodies seen in Jerusalem, has something of this noisy bursting forth. A degree of mayhem, panic and fear is experienced in this world  where Jesus is now back, very much back, on the scene. Other gospel writers take a more measured approach; the resurrection happens quietly, unseen, in the dark. It sneaks up on an unsuspecting world, although it doesn't take long to move centre-stage.

I don't know any quiet resurrection hymns for Easter Day. They all have something, rightly, of the crash-bang-wallop about them. Victory, the death of death, hope, new life in a divine dimension- what's not to celebrate- fortissimo?

But the resurrection is not one-size-fits-all. Quiet or noisy, fortissimo or pianissimo, celebratory or just a smile, may the resurrected Christ meet you today, address you by name, recognise you, and you Him.

We adore you O Christ, and we bless you, for by your holy cross, you have redeemed all the world.

This narrower time

It takes time to settle into the more enclosed world we are experiencing just now. We must not imagine that as soon as Moses reached the heights of Mt. Horeb, the ten commandments came to him just like that; nor that Elijah experienced God as 'the sound of utter silence' as soon as he arrived in the cave after his escape from Ahab and Jezebel; nor that Jesus was tempted immediately he was in the wilderness. The consciousness of the presence of God has to be cultivated, and takes time.

Nevertheless, the reports from this enclosed world are encouraging. I remember visiting Mother Julian's room in Norwich, where she was walled in for decades as an anchorite in the late 14th century. Her legacy from this enclosed world- there was a window through which she could receive food, and counsel people- is most famously summed up in her phrase 'All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.'

We have resource to others, as Mother Julian had through her window; all manner of tech-stuff is available to us. But importantly we have resource to God, and this could be a time for deepening our relationship with him. It has to be cultivated, but this epidemic seems like a long haul. There is the time. This is the time.

Let me come at it another way; the rubrics for the Communion of the sick, in the Book of Common Prayer, state that 'although he do  not receive the sacrament with his mouth'- and few will receive the sacrament in these days- there is an inward communion 'profitably to his soul's health' which may be found in steadfast belief, confession, thanksgiving and meditation on the benefits of Christ's passion.

All these aids to our enclosure point to the fact that we are invited, in the words of the old hymn, to say 'it is well, it is well, with my soul'. Settle into this wellness and health.

A larger heart

As self isolating becomes the norm, we might be tempted to become inward, focussed on all the worst that this culture urges us to think is important- Me! Me! Now! Now!
The news would have it that there is nothing else worth considering but Covid-19. But there is of course a bigger picture, which is that God is, that God is love, and that we serve him by serving others.
So today's blog will be short, and will bring God and others to the forefront of minds and hearts. It was sent me by a friend, who received it from one of the Bar Convent ( York ) sisters- the Community of Jesus- in Rome.
May we all be blessed as we keep in mind and heart the bigger picture of God, and others.

May we who are merely inconvenienced-   Remember those whose lives are at stake.
May we who have no risk factors-    Remember those most vulnerable.
May we who have the luxury of working from home-    Remember those who must choose between preserving their health or making their rent. 
May we who have the flexibility to care for our children when their schools close-    Remember those who have no options. 
May we who have to cancel our trips-    Remember those who have no safe place to go.
May we who are losing our margin money in the tumult of the economic market-   Remember those who have no margin at all. 
May we who settle in for a quarantine at home-    Remember those those have no home.

As fear grips our country; Let us choose love. During this time when we cannot physically wrap our arms around each other, let us yet find ways to be the loving embrace of God to our neighbours. 

And all the people said 'Amen.'  

An extraordinary week

Last Sunday I was in Limassol, Cyprus, preaching at the Anglican church (and I apologise that the prepared blog did not appear- Technowhizz First Class I am not, and couldn't somehow get it all together to publish it). Today I should still be in Cyprus, but am home, tired and thankful that Mary and I managed to get home.
We are in self isolation. For many, this will be a new experience, and possibly unwelcome. We are social beings, after all. But before that- I take this as one of the lessons of the Garden of Eden story- we are made by God, and for God, and this could be a time to discover more of that.
This poem was sent to me, and it says all that many hope for in this turbulent, distressing, opportune time;

And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened,
and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games,
and learned new ways of being, and were still. And listened
more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced.
Some met their shadows. And the people began to think
differently.
"And the people healed. And, in the absence of people living
in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal.
"And when the danger passed, and the people joined together
again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and
dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal
the earth fully, as they had been healed."
~Kitty O'Meara (unknown publication)

May it be so. The Lord be with you. 

curiosity, observation

I'm taken up presently with Gilbert White's Natural History of Selborne,  a record of his observations, mostly the bird-life, in what was in the late eighteenth century, a small settlement in Hampshire which counted for little in those days, and probably doesn't now. Partly, as we read it in the present day, it's a reminder of how much we have lost as the changing patterns of agriculture have impacted on our landscape, our flora and fauna. Partly, it's a reminder of how far we've come in our understanding of migratory behaviour in birds; some of White's theorising doesn't seem to stack up - from the little I know!- about migration.

But in spite of all this, I'm much impressed by the curiosity of the man, and that mindset which will record from one year's end to another the observations he has made, which helps him understand- sometimes mistakenly (see above)-  a bigger picture.

Curiosity, observation; it's a process we know in the faith too. Few of us would be so foolish as to have 'blind faith'; our belief is built on experience as much as scripture and the teaching of the church. It's our experience of a good God which leads us deeper into Godself, although it would be foolish, nay, misleading, to say we have - I have- never taken a wrong turning, made a wrong assumption, gone where nothing stacked up. The pole star for all this is 'truth', found in the One who is also the way and the life. That is where my curiosity and experience has led.