A wide mercy

Among the unlikely candidates for guiding me onto the Christian path I would place the 1944 Education Act, with its stipulation that there should be a daily act of worship in each school. This was where I learned my first hymns, still remembered today, and such an important part of the formation of a heart and mind attuned to God. 

It helped of course, that I loved to sing- still do- and that daily assembly at primary and secondary school channelled a love of singing into a proto-love for God. It gave the Spirit stuff to work on to awaken me more fully to the love of God, so that words sung became at last words believed, words experienced. 

All our experience is grist to the mills of the Spirit, to bring us to God. As I listen to people telling me how their story became part of God's story, no two are the same, and many have a part introduced by a phrase such as 'it may seem unlikely but....'. 

The wide mercy of God is able to harvest all our experience, in order to capture us into the love which frees.  

 

behind the words

 It struck me again this week that words are a mask as much as a revelation. I was reading Niall Williams' book 'As it is in heaven'- a beautifully told, deft and delicate love story, which might almost be a parable for the love of God, the grace of God. 

Stephen tells Gabriella 'I love you'. A phrase heard a thousand times a day. But as I read it I wondered, as we are such complex beings, what else he meant by it. Did he mean 'I need you'. What demands did the phrase bring with it, on top of the self-giving implicit therein? Well, no need to answer that particular instance, but it's worth reflecting on as a general enquiry- what else is being brought to the table when those lovely words 'I love you' are spoken?

When we talk of God, we talk of the perfect. So I wonder if God is the only one with the unalloyed right to say 'I love you' and have no other agenda. And where that leaves me, what my response might be, should be, could be. Awe/questions/doubts/surrender/resistance- these will occupy me for a while, head and heart being so small. My conversion is far from complete, mixed messages being my speciality. .        

cleaning

A week and more has passed since The Dog (our son's black Labrador) has returned to its owner; great was the rejoicing at the reunion. Since then, inter alia, we have been cleaning, and been surprised at where dog hairs have lodged themselves. Carpets, rugs- fair do's. Ditto the filter in the drier, although a frown crosses my forehead a week after his departure as hairs still show up there, 

But how come I discover dog hairs on the mattress, under where sheets, mattress topper, etc have been? 

Aware as I am of the shortcomings of my life, I see this as an illustration of the pernicious nature of that old fashioned word 'sin', which clings so closely, as the writer to the Hebrews puts it. I remain grateful therefore for the multiple ways of grace which keep me more or less tidy in the sight of God; those spiritual parallels to soap, hoovers, scouring  pads, mops and the whole armoury of cleaning stuff we use in our houses.      

Expectation

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a healthy Labrador, in possession of all its faculties, must be in want of food. Well, universally acknowledged, or more accurately, confirmed, at this address this week as we have looked after my son's Number One dog (of two) and seen lightning-speed activity any time there is the merest shadow of a hint that food may be being prepared or eaten in the next two nano-seconds. 

It could be scraps, or a treat; it could be a more substantial meal. Whatever, there is the expectation that whether the food is for human or canine consumption, there will be some, at least, that is destined for the pooch. It never fails.   

The expectation of being fed- I mean in a spiritual way. And of always being fed. I wonder if this is something of our experience? Or does our expectation of God wane at times, to the point where God passes out of mind, and being fed by the hand of God becomes of no importance at all. 

The pooch has something to teach me here........  

In sickness and in health

 It struck me, as the world wobbled uncontrollably, as I heaved my guts up, and as I had to crawl on hands and knees to the loo, and then ditto to bed- yes, dear reader, I have had a bout of labytinthitis this week, and I would not put it among the top ten cosy illnesses to suffer from- that with some sicknesses, the beginning of the sickness can mark the beginning of the cure. Perhaps better; the recognition of the sickness can mark the beginning of the cure; the sickness is brought to our attention. 'Do something about me' it cries.  

I knew what was needed in this case, having had this twice before; a course of Stemetil to stop the nausea, and steady the world's spinning. Several doses later, the desired effect has come about, although there is some way to go yet before the peak of rude health is achieved once again........

But this recognition; surely that chimes with the gospel view of sickness- be it physical or spiritual or mental? The recognition that something is wrong may not lead to seeking a cure, but in many of the gospel stories of Jesus' healings, that is the impetus for seeking his help. 

Odd that our sickness may contain the key to our health; I'm sure that's true in many cases of spiritual malaise.  Let's call the spiritual sickness 'sin' in its widest context- that which separates us from God. We know the cure; if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and purify us.... as the first letter of John has it.    

Crossword puzzles

I'll let you know straight out that it's a big sacrifice to put the Church Times crossword to one side- without even starting it!- to write this blog. Cryptic crosswords hold an attraction for me which is irresistible. A sign of my twisted mind, I suppose. 

If only the life of faith were like a crossword puzzle! Clear boundaries, always amenable to solution, black and white......... well, I guess we have helpful clues, but all the rest is missing. It can be something of a puzzle right to the end. 

St Paul talks of 'seeing in a glass, darkly', which about sums it up, in spite of one of clues being 'a lamp unto my feet, a light for my path'. Largely we make the best way we can, hanging on for dear life to the clues, aware that we make a mess of it all. 

One clue which I hold dear is the assurance that any attempt to navigate the path of faith brings joy to God's heart. With this, I'll happily stumble on; it brings infinitely more contentment than the completion of today's puzzle. Now let me see, 3 down........

The long-handled spoon

 I've made both marmalade and jam this week; for both I used the same long-handled wooden spoon I've always used. It (mostly) keeps me from burning myself on those spits of jam as it boils away. And keeps the jam from burning with the constant stirring. 

Over the years, of course, it's taken on the colour of the fruit, so that when dry and out of use, it's a chocolatey colour, distinct from the paler wood higher up the handle. Once in the fruit-and-sugar mixture, stirring away, it has even richer tones. Curiosity wonders how far through the wood the colour of the fruit has soaked. Only prudence prevents me taking a small saw to find out....

And the faith I profess, is it more than skin deep? How far into me has it soaked, aware as I am that I bear little resemblance to Christ, seem no nearer to the kingdom than forty, fifty years ago. It's a reminder that living this faith is a moment by moment affair. 'Now is the day of salvation, and now, and now, and now and...