The Same ... but Different

Do you remember Anaglypta wallpaper?  It was designed with an embossed pattern, so that redecoration could be achieved by applying a fresh coat of paint, instead of stripping off and replacing the paper.  The new décor was the same as the old ... but different.  The same paradox faced the Jews when Jesus tried to explain his heavenly mission to them.  “Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know?” they asked (John 6:42).  They couldn’t get their minds round the fact that, although He looked normal, and had grown up among them, just like any other young man, He was none other than the Son of God.

I remember a couple of events some sixteen years ago that fit the same pattern.  It was during a period when I belonged to both the Church of England and the Methodist Church.  I had earlier sought a Reader’s licence to help with my then parish during the vacancy between two vicars, but had expressed anxiety that I should still be able to worship with my Methodist friends.  I attended a Methodist circuit meeting where I had exercised my right to vote on the motions being discussed.  At the end of the meeting there was a topic called ‘Anglican news’, and I realised that I was aware of the identity of  our new vicar, but was reluctant to announce this because of some feeling of disloyalty.

I discussed these feelings briefly with our curate, who instantly reassured me of my full rights in both places as a member of each church.  As I recorded these matters in my diary, I recalled the circumstances when I had joined the Methodists some years earlier.  I had just married a Methodist woman and couldn’t reconcile loyalty to her with my existing duties to my then Anglican parish; as a result I clung to the former and relinquished the latter.  That same reassurance by the curate applied there, too.  I was a member of the church I was leaving just as much as I was a husband in my new marriage: two roles, each completely valid, each entitled to fulfilment.

That chapter of John’s Gospel also brings us the story of Jesus walking to his friends across the sea (John 6:16-21).  The disciples were afraid of capsizing in the storm, but calm came with Jesus’ arrival.  Given his powers, we must assume that Jesus could have achieved the end of the storm and secured their safety from the shore but, by making it clear that He was the source of the calm, He also showed them His authority: how He operated at a level beyond the extent of human experience.

Let’s pray that, whether we encounter Jesus through the written word, through the teaching of the church or in the lives of those around us, we may ever be aware that He is fully God as well as fully man.

Creation's 'Liquorice Allsorts'

The sight of rain streaming down the windows, the howl of the wind, and the fact that you might have to drive to work in the darkening mornings – and possibly other signs as well – tell you that summer is over for another year.  I wonder if you managed to visit a spectacular garden somewhere, or perhaps attend a flower show.    Someone once said, “You’re closer to God in a garden, than any other place on earth.”  Certainly it’s a place where you can see some of the most beautiful aspects of His creation.

What a variety!  I’ve never been a ‘flower person’, but even I can appreciate the subtle shades of a dahlia, the autumnal tones of a chrysanthemum, the simplicity of the daisy and the complexity of the iris, the solid richness of a ruby red rose and the delicate tint of some of the hedgerow roses that are almost white ... but not quite.  And that’s before we even consider the scents!

Certainly our Creator God was a master of variety – and still is, of course, if we think of Him working through the skills of the gardeners and hybridisers – and yet, as my recollection of school biology lessons tells me, the components of all flowers are basically the same: sepals, petals, stigma, style and ovary.

But flowers are by far not the only species where there is tremendous variety.  Look at mankind himself.  Look again at what I said about flowers:  subtle, autumnal, simplicity, complexity, solid richness, delicacy; words that could equally apply to people, in either their appearance or their personality.  In people, as in flowers, a wide variety may exist, but each is made of the same basic components: head, torso and limbs; flesh and muscle, skin and bones; brain and heart, lungs and liver and all the other organs ... whatever the colour, ethnicity, nationality or language.

In his letter to the Romans, where he outlines and justifies so many aspects of theology, Paul wrote about the many differences between people, and how we should react to them (Romans 15:7-13).  The principal difference the Romans had to contend with was, of course, between Jews (those who considered themselves to be the ‘chosen’ people) and Gentiles (everyone else).  To help them in this apparent conflict, Paul quotes from scripture time and again (vv. 9-12) to illustrate how the Gentiles were always considered by God as recipients of His grace.

Do you find it easy to seek the well-being of “all sorts and conditions of men; that God would be pleased to make His ways known to them, His saving health to all nations”? (Book of Common Prayer: ‘Occasional Prayers no. 31’ [in modern English]).

How do you react to the diversity of God’s creation?

Memory's Wardrobe

Do you sometimes laze in your armchair contemplating the faces and places of long ago?  Do you hanker for those ‘good old days’ when the expression ‘jobs for life’ summed up the experience of a large proportion of the population, and no one had heard of Brexit? ... indeed, some of us delight in the recollection of times when the EU, or its forerunners the Common Market or the European Economic Community, had not come over our horizon!

Jobs, interests and preferences change over the years for all of us and, as life has handed us on from one age to the next, we have built up a history of employers, clubs and organisations that we have joined and left.  We have met and parted company with a variety of friends and acquaintances, maintaining contact with a treasured few, and losing touch with – even completely forgetting – many more.

Most of us are left with a store of memories from several different situations; while the detail may be lost in the passage of time, some of that plethora of faces and personalities will linger ... even if we can no longer fit a name to the face!  Almost certainly we can learn from these pictures of the past, for quite possibly there will be parallels with our present life and sometimes we can link these together to advantage.

It’s not just our working or social lives which are enriched by past experience.  The same is true of our spiritual lives, too.  I was recently asked to recall key people along my journey to faith, who brought home to me the truth of the Gospel.  I came up with three people, all priests, each with two significant claims to answer that question.  The first conveyed an almost aggressive boldness, encouraging me to go out and achieve; he also admonished me when I had opened myself to a potentially scandalous accusation.  The second priest gave me much advice and teaching in my Reader ministry ... and wisely received and reacted to my confession a few years later when I no longer felt worthy of continuing in that role.  The third one became a friend, although aware of most, if not all, of my shadowy secrets, and was not averse to acknowledge some of his own weaknesses and difficulties.

Timothy had such a formative character in the apostle Paul, who gave valuable advice to the young minister in his letters to him that have come down to us in our Bible.  In particular, he reminded him of the way his mother and grandmother had taught him the scriptures (2Tim. 1:5), and of their vital part as the foundation for all of his ministry (2Tim. 3:14-4:5).  We would do well to heed Paul’s words and consider how relevant they are in our lives.

We don’t pass through any experience without learning from it: even the disasters of life, and our memories store each experience away for the future.  If we are invited to a party, we open the wardrobe doors, wondering what to wear; when we find ourselves in a new situation, it is good to be able to open the door of memory and let some experience of the past emerge, or recognise a verse from scripture as it comes to mind.  As we relate this to our present circumstances, perhaps we will find guidance in coping with a new experience.  The present will never mirror the past exactly, but it’s surprising how often there is a link that will help us if we have the patience to see it.

Moving In ... and Moving On!

The other day I washed a windowsill.  There’s nothing special about that, I hear you say.  Quite true, I suppose, it’s not a special occasion ... but for me, it was.  As I did so, I realised that this was the first time I’d washed that windowsill in all the years I’ve lived in this flat; at any other time I would have flicked it with the duster and considered it done.  The thought prompted an exclamation, “Go in and possess the land!”

Of course, there’s a whole back story to that little occurrence.  I suppose it all began during my recent holiday.  While I was away, tradesmen had descended on my flat, redecorating the bathroom and fitting new blinds there and in the kitchen.  Inevitably, there was a small amount of ‘evidence’ of their presence to be tidied away after my return and I used this need as my excuse to accede to a recent temptation to invest in a new vacuum cleaner. 

This small, but powerful, bag-less cleaner removed more dust and detritus in a week than its predecessor had managed in years!  Not only did it clean my carpets; it also uplifted my whole attitude!  A number of reforms have taken place in the last couple of weeks, prompted by the combination of the smart bathroom and the new cleaner.  Thus it was that, when I spotted brick-dust from the blind installation on the edge of the tiling around the kitchen sink, instead of simply acknowledging its presence, I wiped it off, and thereby realised the need for the whole area to be cleaned ‘properly’.

My exclamation, therefore, was about far more than a clean windowsill.  Knowing it was of biblical origin, I sought out exactly where.  The phrase occurs many times in Deuteronomy and elsewhere, and refers to the Israelites, after their escape from Egypt and the ensuing years of wandering in the desert, being told to enter the Promised Land.  It’s a two-fold command; they were to go in, and they were to take possession of the country. 

It’s one thing to cross the border and say ‘we’ve arrived’ (Joshua, ch.4-5).  It’s another matter entirely to take possession of the place.  In fact, it could be argued, that was something the Israelites never properly achieved.  Their possession was undermined by all kinds of dealings and compromises with the peoples already living there, whereas God had told them to ‘totally destroy them’ (Deut. 20:16ff).  The early chapters of Judges tell of this disobedience.

So, when I arrived in my new home – nearly fourteen years ago – I went in.  To all intents and purposes, I was living there.   But I realise I wasn’t properly in possession of it.  I wasn’t exercising proper stewardship of the property in keeping it as clean as I would if it were my own, which is the ideal to which I suppose every landlord would like his tenants to aspire.  It would be good to think that the revelations of the last fortnight might make this happen.  Only time, and my prayerful dependence on God for his guidance and encouragement, will tell.

I’ve written here before about James’s examples of ‘oaks growing from acorns’ (James 3:3-5).  Who would have thought that a teaspoonful of brick-dust in the kitchen and a lick of paint in the ‘smallest room’ could overturn the bad habits of so many years?  God can work miracles in the lives of the common man, even today!

Whether we are talking about homes or lives ... are you in possession?  Or have you merely gone in through the door?

Life on the Vine

Some years ago I spent a week at a B&B in Lincolnshire.  From my place at the dining table, I could see a vine growing in the conservatory.  It must have been a good eight feet from the pot to the tip of the topmost shoot, as it stood erect, tied to the metal rods which supported the roof.

If it weren’t tied up like that, the plant would not be so luxuriant, of course.  It would have straggled no more than a few feet from the pot, and perhaps been trodden underfoot.  Staring at it day after day, I wonder whether our lives sometimes parallel the growth of that vine.  

We straggle unadventurously, moving only slightly if at all from the security of a humdrum routine, relying on our own efforts to develop.  How much more can we achieve, how much greater can we be, if we're supported, lashed to something firm like the vine to that roof stay.

There is an unwritten rule within our culture that says we should be able to stand on our own two feet, do everything for ourselves, live independent lives.  We feel that it’s a sign of weakness to admit that we can’t cope, that we need help, support or guidance.  Believe me, it’s one of the most selfish of attitudes.

By kidding ourselves that we can be independent, we are not only reducing our own efficiency, but we’re denying someone the privilege of helping, of being the hands or feet of God in a particular situation for which they are suited, and maybe called.  Next time you aren’t quite sure you can manage something – be it major or trivial – let go, and let God!

Passion-dale?

A friend once remarked about one of these articles, ‘I had to read it again to see just how you got here ... from there!’  I had to agree it was a chain of many links, so that the end bore little relation to the beginning.  I fear this post may go the same way.

I’m writing on the centenary of the start of Passchendaele;  by this time, 100 years ago, many thousands had already lost their lives, either through bullets or mud.  By the end of the battle, half a million lives had been wasted on both sides.  In the last few days, I read this account from a sergeant who had survived:  “We heard screaming coming from another crater a bit away.  I went over to investigate with a couple of the lads.  It was a big hole and there was a fellow of the 8th Suffolks in it up to his shoulders.  So I said, ‘get your rifles, one man in the middle to stretch them out, make a chain and let him get hold of it.’ But it was no use.  It was too far to stretch, we couldn’t get any force on it, and the more we pulled and the more he struggled, the further he seemed to go down.  He went down gradually; he begged us to shoot him.  But we couldn’t shoot him.  Who could shoot him?  We stayed with him, watching him go down in the mud.  And he died.  He wasn’t the only one.  There must have been thousands up there who died in the mud.”

The fact that that poor soul was from the Suffolk regiment caught my eye.  One of the many recorded on the Menin Gate or Tyne Cot memorials ‘with no known grave’, he could have been a relative of mine.  My family history researches have revealed many characters whose names I carry with me to the annual Remembrance Service, with their dates and place of commemoration.

My thoughts thus turn abruptly from the horrors of war to the pleasures of armchair researches ... and my frequent trawls through census records ten years apart in time, but only on the next page on the computer screen.  I’m amazed how often I come across couples ten or twenty years prior to marriage, living in the same street, sometimes only two or three houses apart.  The romantic in me wonders when it was that one saw the other, when it was that an attraction was first felt.  Of course these are questions no documentary record can answer.

Across the road from my home, a flat has recently been created above a motor parts store: unused space turned into living accommodation for ... whom?  The people who have moved in are, technically, my new neighbours, but it’s unlikely I shall ever know very much about them ... even less than I do about those living on my side of the road, in the same block!  It’s one of the penalties of being flat dwellers, that our lives tend to be insular, opportunities for exploratory conversation limited.

I’m reminded of a certain lawyer, who asked, “Who is my neighbour?” (Luke 10:29).  It was the response to this that we have come to know as the parable of the Good Samaritan.  At the end of the story, the lawyer is asked to answer his own question: an answer that is defined by behaviour rather than location.

Living alone as I do, it isn’t easy to relate to those around me, as I’ve said, for our paths rarely cross.  What is easier, is to relate to those I meet regularly, in clubs and societies, in the ringing chamber or at church.  It’s there that I can become known by my behaviour to others, whether I’m prepared to put myself out to help them when they are in need, or whether I choose to ignore them and carry on with my own life, interests and hobbies.

Like all of us, I suspect, my life is a mixture of these two opposites: what I spoke of yesterday to one friend at church as ‘me’-time and ‘us’-time.  Too much of one, and life is very lonely; too much of the other, and you can begin to question just who you are.  Fortunately, God loves us, whoever we are ... but I like to think He smiles more broadly when He sees us doing His will.

Money, Money, Money

Whether it’s at work, in the pub, over the dining table or when you’re trying to get to sleep at night, it’s almost certain that there will be times in your life – and it’s quite likely too many times – when you worry about money.  Occasionally people are confronted with how to deal with a surfeit of the stuff; more likely it’s all about a real or perceived shortage.

The Bible quotation most often trotted out when money is the subject is from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, “God loves a cheerful giver.” (2 Corinthians 9:7).  A strong second is another from Paul, “money is the root of all evil” (1 Timothy 6:10, KJV).  Money apart, these two verses have something else in common: they are rarely quoted in full, and therefore are rarely understood properly.

In his letter to Timothy, Paul’s emphasis is on teaching people to be interested in the right things in life; not to indulge in controversies, exploit frictions between people, or envy what others might have.  So long as people have food and clothing, he urges them to be content and avoid foolish and harmful desires, “for the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.” (1 Tim. 6:10, NIV [my italics]).  In saying this, Paul was merely echoing Jesus’ own teaching, for in the sayings that Matthew records, known collectively as ‘the sermon on the mount’, we find instruction about not putting our faith in the sort of things that can be stolen from us or destroyed, but to aim for other ‘treasures’ for, “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matt. 6:21).

When it comes to donations to national charities or sponsoring local fund-raising efforts, the term ‘cheerful giver’ often invites a begrudged scrabbling around for a coin or two which are then handed over with a forced grin, or a false bonhomie uttered through gritted teeth.  The essential emotion here is reluctance, born of the donation being unplanned.

A preacher once spoke about going to a fairground in his teens.  Money was short and, before leaving home, he totted up his funds and decided how much he could afford to spend at the fair.  He took that amount with him and no more.  ‘When I got there,’ he said, ‘I didn’t have to worry whether I could afford this ride or that, or whether I should have a go on the coconut shy.  I just spent and spent until my money ran out, and had a really good time.’

Paul wrote to the Corinthians about a collection for people in Jerusalem, which had been announced earlier and plans for it made.  He was anxious that when the time came for it to be handed over, it should not be a matter of last minute panic, but should be already prepared.  “Each of you should give what you have decided in your heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for ...” (the first part of 2 Cor. 9:7).

What was good for the Corinthians of the first century is good for us in the twenty-first.  We need to decide at the start of the week/month/year just how much (perhaps a tithe or tenth) we can/ought to give to God and then put it aside, or at least make plans for it to be ready when called for.  Then, when there’s a special appeal, we don’t have to ponder what to give.  It simply falls into our regular search for good causes, including the church, to which to apply the already dedicated funds.  We can then freely spend whatever we like on ourselves without feeling at all guilty.

No Laundry in Heaven?

Like many people, I’m not a fan of wash day.  I think there’s a lot of truth in the expression ‘washday blues’ (and I don’t mind admitting my age by adding that this doesn’t refer to a little blue cube in a cloth cover, made by Reckitts!)

There’s a feeling of resentment as the wash basket gradually fills and the day draws nearer for the well-rehearsed routine to be kicked off again.  OK, it’s much easier for us today than it was in Victorian times, but the general sequence of load, wash, unload, dry and iron remains and the finale is putting away the clean clothes in the knowledge that they won’t stay clean for long.

It’s a thankless task and one inevitably needing constant repetition.

Similar in its quality of a relentless need for repetition was the Old Testament pattern of Temple sacrifices.  The sacrifices were demanded by the Law in an attempt to obtain forgiveness for specific sins, which were detailed in a very long list.  In essence, it was contended, the blood spilled in killing the animals for sacrifice settled the account with God instead of the blood of the sinner.  The sacrifices had no more effect on the underlying sinfulness of the people than the constant washing has on the propensity of the clothes to get dirty in use.

Although the dimensions are different, a similar argument can be offered in respect of the 21st century Christian church.  The sequence of confession and absolution, whether individually or corporate, is effectively a reminder of the once-for-all sacrifice of Jesus to pay for the sins of those who believe in Him and repent of them.  It has no lasting effect on the underlying sinfulness of humanity.

St Paul presents us with an excellent explanation of the sinful human condition (Romans 7:15-25).  In the following chapter he makes it clear that, once we have accepted God’s Holy Spirit into our lives (8:9), it controls us, rather than the sins that did before (what Paul refers to as ‘the flesh’).  If we set our minds (8:5) – in the sense that a piece of machinery is set according to surrounding conditions or local legislation – on a worldly basis (the flesh), then our destiny is no better than that of the people of the ancient world.  If, however, we use the Spirit as the basis for ‘re-setting our mind on Him’, then we can look forward to ‘life and peace’ (8:6) with Christ, the Lamb of God.

Revelation is a book of images; there are lots of pictures and as many interpretations of them as there are people willing to contrive them.  However, one image that I find particularly encouraging is this one.  “After this I looked, and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb.  They were wearing white robes and we holding palm branches in their hands” (Rev. 7:9).

A few verses later we are brought back to my opening theme, when John, who saw all these images and described them in his book, asked about these people.  He was told, “they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb” (v.14).  I like to think that the verses that follow imply that, once so powerfully washed, those robes would require no further cleansing!

Two's Company; Three is ...?

What begins with S, and is found in almost every newspaper you pick up? 

Forget about all the political claims and counter-claims; in the last decade or so, in a variety of formats, the Sudoku challenge has quietly conquered the nation.  Nine numbers in nine spaces, nine times; all you have to do is miss the ones that are already there.  There isn’t even the need to make them add up to anything: no calculation is involved!   The principle is so simple, yet so addictive.  I wonder how many man-hours this little square absorbs each day?

Simple it may be, but Sudoku can be far-reaching in its application, for doesn’t it reflect the very nature of life?  Life itself is a mixture: I’m sure each of us can think of nine different components – and more – that make it up.  For a happy and contented life these components have to be in balance: some of each, and not too much of any one of them, rather like each line and box of the completed Sudoku puzzle.  Some food, for example, is essential, but too much causes indigestion and obesity.  St Paul counselled a little wine for the stomach (1Tim. 5:23), but there is condemnation of drunkenness (1 Peter 4:3); and while laziness is to be discouraged, “all work and no play …”

It may be a contrived symbolism, but notice, too, that the Sudoku square is divided into threes: three squares by three; three smaller squares by three in each larger one.  In the church calendar, last Sunday was Trinity Sunday, when we marked especially the fact that our faith is Trinitarian.  Not three gods, but three distinct components of one God, seeing Him as Father, Son and Holy Spirit ... respectively the creator of the universe, the redeemer of mankind and the counsellor present within every believer. 

It’s easy to look at the state of world affairs and be discouraged.  It is important to  remember the balance of life, both international and personal, and see the good as well as the bad, to recall the presence of our triune God in it all.  We’re not alone.  In one of His final moments on this earth, Jesus said to His disciples, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matt. 28:20).  This wasn’t just a parting comfort to those few, who had spent years with Him in Palestine and now would see Him no more. 

If we look back to the beginning of Matthew’s gospel, we find lots of genealogies but, at the end of his first chapter, he gives the meaning and promise that Jesus came to fulfil.  Centuries earlier, the prophet Isaiah had told the people, “Look!  The virgin will conceive and bear a son, and they will call him Emmanuel” which means ‘God with us’ (Isaiah 7:14, Matt. 1:23).

Next time you pick up a paper and turn to the puzzle page – perhaps in frustration or despair – look at the Sudoku square and remember those three words, ‘God with us”.

Stones

If you’re planning a seaside holiday, you may well bring back some stones from the beach as a memento of your visit.  What will happen to them after the excitement they recall has faded?  They could lead you into worthwhile meditation.

The feast of Pentecost this weekend concludes the sequence of commemorations that began back in February with Ash Wednesday at the start of Lent.  We easily recall the good news of Easter, when the stone was found to be rolled away from the tomb (Matt. 28:2).

But the Bible has much more to say about stones.  For example, used with a skill born of experience, they can be an effective weapon, as Goliath found to his cost (1 Sam. 17:49)!  Spectacular as this story involving stones is, however, we mustn’t be deterred from thinking of their constructive use.

Stone is a strong material, and hence a very good structural basis for a building, but it doesn’t necessarily provide the fine finish that makes the end-product beautiful. Subject to strict guidelines (1 Kings 6:7), quarried stone was used by Solomon for the building of the temple, but this was all covered with cedar so that no stone was visible in the finished structure (v.18).

Writing about the perils of everyday life, the ‘Preacher’ of the Old Testament warned about the dangers associated with quarrying stones (Ecclesiastes 10:9).  Perhaps with the many powerful things that man has created in modern times, we should be even more careful, such as in driving fast cars, dealing with high electrical voltages or using potent drugs.  Stones are also a reminder to avoid temptation ... or at least to seek help in overcoming it.

During those long days in the desert, Jesus was tempted to use His divine powers for His own ends by turning stones into bread (Matt. 4:3), but He was able to turn to Scripture to defeat Satan: “Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.” (Deut. 8:3).

Looking at those stones you bring back from the beach, there is much to learn from them.  One example is our responsibility.  Look at the story of Palm Sunday, beginning at Luke 19:28.  The crowds were cheering and rejoicing as Jesus entered Jerusalem but the Pharisees didn’t like this and tried to quieten them.  Jesus’ response was, “if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out!” (v.40).  The idiom of speaking stones is an echo from the Old Testament (Hab. 2:11), and tells us that we are to speak out about Jesus and the salvation he brings.  If we don’t, creation itself will take up the call.

Finally, if you are in any doubt about this implied charge, check out what Peter has to say (1 Peter 2:4-9).  He reminds his readers, “You also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.” (v.5).

Happy holidays!

Remember to Fill Up

One of the advantages of the life of a courier (that’s what I did before I retired) was going to unexpected places.  One day I found myself in Wicklow in the Republic of Ireland, with time to spare before catching the ferry to come home.  In a charity shop, I found an unused pair of stout walking shoes priced at only €6.  The bonus, when I took them to the cashier, was that they had a sale on that day and I got them for even less!  I found that they were a little on the big side, but I fitted them with insoles and heel-grips; I use a second pair of socks and there'll be years of wear in them.

The presence of a gap where there shouldn’t be one is surprisingly common.  I’m sure at least some of you will know about the adverse effects of an air-lock in a fuel line.  Many more will have experienced the chilling consequences of a radiator that needs bleeding to remove air in the wrong place.  As if by a miracle, the water gushes in to fill the space and warmth is restored. 

The common factor is a need to fill space with what ought to be there.  It’s not too late to think of spring cleaning.  If you’ve spent a while going through your home, you may agree that it’s definitely a two-stage job.  First comes the identification of what’s not wanted, and clearing out the rubbish.  Do you then declare the job finished at the end of stage one, i.e. with empty drawers, or a spare alcove somewhere?  I’m inclined almost to guarantee that someone will find something that ‘will fit that space nicely’.  If you don’t want that alcove to provide a parking place for a pile of old newspapers – or worse – you have to move quickly on to stage two: fill the space with something worthwhile.  My advice is to invest in a large pot plant and a tall stool to place it on!

You may ask, "What have all these examples to do with our faith?"   Of course, the same logic also applies to spiritual things.  Look at Matthew 12:43-45, where Jesus speaks of removing an unclean spirit.  In modern parlance that might be an unhealthy or sinful habit. The cleaning operation leaves us with an empty space, or our life with spare time; how should we fill it?  If we don’t take on some good work, a new occupation or hobby, how easy would it be to go back to the old habit that we thought had been ‘cleaned out’?

Eight or nine times in the New Testament (according to your translation, of course), St. Luke uses the expression ‘filled with the Holy Spirit’.  See if you can find them all; here are some clues.  Three of them are part of what we consider to be the Christmas story.  Of the rest, one refers to Peter and two to Paul; arguably the remaining others are the most significant, since they refer, in one way or another to all believers. 

Is there a space in your life that ought to be properly filled?

The Door to Salvation

I don’t know about you, but most men have keys in their pockets.  Maybe just one, sometimes a whole bunch.  This isn’t a sexist thing, either.  What woman doesn’t carry keys of one sort or another in her handbag?  Keys come in all sorts and sizes, for cupboards and cash tins, cars and doors ... even flat ones like a credit card for hotel rooms!

I have a phobia about locking myself out of my flat.  Fortunately, there’s a shelf just inside the door, where I keep all my keys.  Whenever I go out, it’s difficult to do so without looking at that shelf, and it’s a reminder to pick up a key before passing through the door.  Fortunately the flat door is not the ‘slam’ kind; it actually needs a key to turn in the lock to fasten it, so there are a few extra moments of safety before I reach the outside door, in which I can check that I’ve got the key.  So far I’ve never got as far as the street without.

I’ve recently been pushing leaflets through letterboxes, so they’ve suddenly found a raised profile for me, but doors – and the keys that unlock them – are generally something we take for granted in the western world.  They are so much a part of life that, while our security depends upon them, they don’t come over as having their own identity, style and beauty.

In our home group this week, we took a look ‘over our shoulder’ at Easter and its significance.  John, a man of comparatively few words, but of deep thought, picked up on the theme of salvation (we had just read John 3:36, noting that the verb for possession of eternal life was in the present, not in the future), and asked, “Is it really that simple?”  I looked up in some surprise at this man, whose quiet faith I had long admired.  He went on, “I know that we can’t earn our salvation, but I still marvel that all we have to do is believe ... and we have it!”

John had been thinking about Paul’s letter to the Romans, where he tells us, “a person is justified by faith, apart from the works of the law.” (Romans 3:28).  The fact that God saves us by faith alone eliminates any thought of pride in what we have achieved; it gives all the credit to Him and not to us and admits that, whatever our strengths and qualities, we are unable to live up to the law’s demands by our own means.

Twice in his earthly ministry, Jesus gave illustrations of this.  He visited the home of Jairus, a synagogue leader whose daughter was dying.  People came out saying that the girl had died, and Jesus told them, “Don’t be afraid: just believe.”  Minutes later, the girl stood up and walked about (Mark 5:36-42).  On the way, Jesus had been delayed by a woman who, seeing the crowds around Him, and perhaps with some embarrassment, touched his clothes instead of openly asking for help.  Immediately, she was healed of an intimate problem that had troubled her for years.  He had felt power go from Him, confronted her, and told her that her faith had healed her.

A heavy door can bar the way into the house and no matter how hard we throw our weight against it, it won’t budge.  But use just two fingers to turn a small key in the lock and ... bingo!  The door is open.  Call it faith, call it belief, it’s the key to eternal life.  All we have to do is to trust God and his promises.

As my friend John said, “it is that simple.”

"Bruced!"

Robert the Bruce didn’t have a monopoly on spider meditation.

In common with countless other people, I hate the things.  I’m not really sure why, though; maybe it’s because they’re small and scurry so quickly to and fro.  Mice I can just about accept.  Once, before I moved to my present home, I watched one dashing back and forth on the kitchen worktops, before removing him for hygiene’s sake.  I recall thinking he was quite an attractive little character.  By contrast, spiders – with apologies to any arachnophile readers – are just plain ugly.

One day whilst standing in the bath, I noticed a tiny spider making a steady track across the ceiling.  As I watched it, I pondered.  Allowing for my many excursions, I reckoned that the spider probably spent more time in the flat than I did.  Would that rank him superior in occupancy, give him some authority over me?  Then I thought, if it wasn’t for me paying the rent, setting the heating and so on, he wouldn’t have such a pleasant time of it.

I compared the spider’s situation vis-à-vis me to mine vis-à-vis God.  I thought of God’s provision for us in this world that we laughingly call ‘ours’.  How different, for example, would our lives be if the sun were only a few degrees warmer or cooler?  This is far easier to imagine these days, with all the publicity about global warming, which could soon become a real threat to our accepted way of life.  I decided that this was a good illustration of the dependence of the small on the beneficence of the large, both in my flat and in the wider cosmos.

Then the spider made his big mistake, dropping on an almost invisible strand of web (just as I imagine the Bruce’s friend must have done in that cave all those centuries ago).  This one didn’t struggle to climb back up, however.  He just hung there, menacingly, at the end of the line: only a few inches in front of my face.  Calmly, I passed a hand above him, caught the web, and deftly dropped him down the plughole.  Goodbye, spider; hello, peace of mind.

Only … now I hate spiders even more for, after a praiseworthy lesson in divine provision, in his demise this little creature had reminded me of the horrible cruelty of my humanity, and how far we fall short of God’s standards: how much we deserve the fullness of His wrath.  The sixth Commandment says, “Thou shalt not kill.” (Ex. 20:13, KJV).  It is a teaching about the very sanctity of life, over and above the usual interpretation of ‘murder’.

Isaiah tells us, “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smouldering wick he will not snuff out.” (Is. 42:3).  It’s a clear indication that God cares for the sick, the poor and the defenceless.  These verses refer to a ‘suffering servant’, and are generally accepted as a prophecy about Jesus.  They teach us characteristics of gentleness, encouragement, justice and truth.   Matthew quoted them immediately after Jesus had healed a man’s shrivelled hand in defiance of the Pharisees, whose view was that this shouldn’t have been done on the Sabbath (Mt. 12:18-21).

This is about far greater things than sparing the life of a spider.  Isaiah’s prophecy goes on to call all to serve God by many different sorts of kindness, to shine the light of His love on all around us (vv. 6-7).  But the death of that spider is a symbol of the way that we treat this obligation so lightly as we go about our lives of comparative luxury ... often ignoring it completely!  What chance of acquittal would we stand in the face of God’s judgment, if it were not for Jesus’ sacrifice to cancel out our sin?

Managing the Abattoir

I’m not a vegetarian.  I don’t think I could ever be one.  Although I love the magical flavours that a good veggie dish can offer, I wouldn’t like to be completely without the meat-and-veg option.  We are told that we are made in God’s image; on that basis - though it might be opening myself to a charge of blasphemy - I question whether or not He is a vegetarian.  That said, ...

Our home group has been following a Lent study that traces the history of sacrifice, as its title says, ‘From the Ram to the Lamb’.  It begins in the world of animal sacrifice.  Perfect specimens – ‘a male without defect’ (Leviticus 1:3 etc.) – were killed in a bid to restore men who had sinned to their place of fellowship with God.  

The sacrifices were based on the simple concept that behaviour contrary to God’s wishes was to be punished by death.  Such behaviour is what we call ‘sin’, and a good general summary is to be found in the Ten Commandments (see Exodus 20:1-17 or Deuteronomy 5:6-21).  In his letter to the Romans, Paul goes into great detail about sin and punishment, leading to his famous conclusion “the wages of sin is death ...” (Rom. 6:23).  It was this death, the death of the sinner himself, that was avoided by the animal sacrifices.

God didn’t want sacrifices.  The prophet Ezekiel was told to tell the Israelites, “I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live.” (Ez. 33:11).  The psalmist recognised the same truth. “You do not delight in sacrifice or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.  My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.” (Ps. 51:16-17).  But the people grew no more virtuous.  In some ways, it’s no wonder that they were afraid of God.  The priests had no time to explain the loving side of His nature: they were too busy managing the abattoir!

From what Jesus said, people thought that he wanted to throw out the Law that they had tried to live by for centuries.  As Matthew tells us, this was not the case; He hadn’t come to abolish the Law but in fulfilment of it (Matt. 5:17).  Yes, sin still had to be punished; yes, the price was still death.  Now, however, there was a new alternative.  Instead of an animal, and another animal, and another animal ad nauseam ... Jesus died – just once – to pay for the sins of all of mankind. 

Our course ends with that once-for-all sacrifice of Jesus on the Cross.  In his letter, Paul continues with a wonderful contrast.  Having spelled out the ‘wages of sin’, i.e. what we deserve for our behaviour, he explains that, instead of death, we can enjoy a free gift, Eternal Life (Rom. 6:23).  As a friend put it this week, “as a result of our acceptance that Jesus died for our sins (John 3:16-18), we are ‘in Him’; so when God looks at our sins, all He sees is the perfection of His Son.”

Later this month, you might be eating Easter eggs.  Before then, you could either eat or reject a roast dinner.  As you consider meat, spare a thought for those perfect animals slaughtered long ago, and remember the freedom you can now enjoy from the consequences of your sins.

... in the Eye of the Beholder

The pretty girl who sat opposite me on the train must have been about twenty-one or so.  She was well-spoken and charming, but there was one thing about her appearance that I just couldn’t accept as a contribution to her beauty.  About half an inch below her bottom lip and a little off-centre, toward the corner of her mouth, protruded a silver ball, the end-piece of a stud which clearly penetrated to the inside of her mouth.  As she chatted to her friend, I became suspicious that there was a similar adornment through her tongue, and this was confirmed when she later gave a yawn.

At the risk of appearing somewhat impolite, I studied her more closely.  (In my defence I should point out that this took place on an underground train, so there was little else to look at.  Suffice to say that no alternative was half so interesting to me as I mused upon this young lady’s appearance).  There was no doubt that she had reached ‘years of discretion’.  She had chosen to use her discretion to make a comprehensive fashion statement in terms of body piercing.  In addition to studs through her lip and tongue, she also wore two pairs of earrings and bore in the side of her nose a small stud which sparkled as she turned her head.

Later, I researched that phrase ‘years of discretion’. I found it in the Book of Common Prayer, where it's part of the fuller title of the Order of Confirmation, which is described as the ‘Laying on of hands upon those that are baptized and come to years of discretion.’  The rubrics go on to define this expression in terms of children who ‘are come to a competent age and can say, in their mother tongue, the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Ten Commandments.’

My dictionary refers to ‘competent’ in terms of being capable or effective, and it links ‘discretion’ with the right or ability to manage one’s own affairs.  In other words, grown up and independent; and it occurs to me that the victims of this independence are often the parents of the young person newly-matured.  Jesus was talking with the Pharisees one day when someone told Him that His mother and brothers were outside and wanted to speak to Him.  His reply (Matthew 12:48-50) might well have been hurtful to Mary had she heard it; it certainly left no doubt as to His independence! 

Next month we celebrate the ultimate expression of Jesus’s management of His own affairs.  In the gospel accounts of the events of Good Friday we are reminded that He was in control to the very end.  Rather than being killed, we are told that He gave up His spirit (Matthew 27:50).  This was not the tragedy it may seem on the surface, for our celebration takes place in the knowledge of the aftermath of these events: the wonder of the Resurrection. 

The prophet Isaiah spelled out the purpose and meaning of the events we celebrate.  Writing many hundreds of years before they took place, he explained, “He was despised and rejected by mankind ... like one from whom people hide their faces.  ... We considered him punished by God, ... but he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.” (Isa. 53:3-5).  Somewhere - I’m not sure where – I remember singing the words ‘piercèd through and through’, which I believe rhymed with ‘and all was for you’ ... words that sum up this passage most concisely.

Next time you see a young person displaying a stud in a prominent place, let him or her be God’s messenger to you, reminding you of the full significance of the piercing of Jesus’ body, and the sacrifice of a Life ‘given for you’.

Pillow Talk

How many times in a week do you come into contact with a cushion, or with its big brother, a pillow?  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if, even just for one week, all those moments were in fact contact with God?  That’s the challenge I lay before you today.

“What on earth is he talking about?” I hear you ask.  The answer is, of course, the oft-stated aim of this blog, to link everyday articles and situations to faith, so that encounter with them is a reminder of what we believe and of the God who made us and all creation around us.

So, what is it about cushions and pillows?  “A clear conscience is a soft pillow” is a well-known saying; truly anonymous, accredited variously with English, French, Italian, German or African origins, its meaning is clear, suggesting that it’s easy to sleep when one has no guilt to worry about.  It also highlights what is probably the most common and most obvious use for a pillow ... dormitory warfare excluded.

Mark tells of Jesus and His disciples crossing the Sea of Galilee at night; when a storm came up, threatening to upturn the boat, Jesus was found “sleeping on a cushion in the stern of the boat” (Mark 4:38).  It reminds us of His supreme confidence in His Father’s protection.  That cushion can serve as a reminder of God’s love and care for us and our well-being.

How many times have you struggled to sleep because of some worry or deep concern?  Maybe you have cried yourself to sleep over some serious threat but ... to cry enough to soak the pillow with tears?  Psalm 6 tells of just such a happening; it must have been some worry to do that!  Let’s never forget the power of God in such situations.  He hears our cries for mercy, He accepts our prayers; our enemies – or problem-makers or challenge-presenters – will be overwhelmed with shame and anguish ... and suddenly be put to shame (vv. 9-10).

And finally, there’s the example of Jacob.  He had deceived his brother, left home and was making his way to Harran.  At night he used a stone for a pillow and slept.  God appeared to him in a dream and promised him the land he was laying on, and lots of descendants to populate it.  When he awoke, Jacob was so moved that he took the stone he’d used as a pillow, stood it on end and consecrated it as a memorial to God’s promises (Genesis 28).

I’m not suggesting we use our pillows as a shrine, but they can act as a daily (or nightly?) reminder to us of God’s provision for all our needs.  In response, Jacob undertook to give to God a tenth of what He would give to him ... the origin of the concept of tithing our income. 

What promises is God making to you?  How are you responding to them?

The Off Switch

A comedian of my youth once quipped, “Radio [he probably said ‘the wireless’] is a wonderful thing – by turning a single knob you can have complete silence!”  The point of his joke was, of course, the fact that, even after the initial surge of enthusiasm for broadcasting had subsided, the wireless was still very popular: everyone stopped their conversation when it was turned on, in order to listen to the programme.

However, the opposite view of this old saw also holds a somewhat obvious truth.  In other words, silence can be obtained by switching the radio (or other music/noise machine) OFF.  Wherever we go nowadays, it seems, we are bombarded by sound.  Background music is found in many workplaces, shops, motorway service stations and so on.  It seems we can only be really quiet in the depth of the countryside – and that is becoming more and more scarce!

Quite apart from the potential for damage to our ears, constant sound around us has the further property of exclusion – it cuts us off from the distraction of our surroundings.  Students today find this useful when revising.  By the same token, unending music can mask important things, too.  We can the more easily shut out unwelcome thoughts, challenges we aren’t yet ready to face, and so on.  And it can separate us from God.

How often, I wonder, does the pressure of what St Paul describes as ‘worldly things’ deter us from seeking time with God?  We’re only just out of the Christmas season; I have found it useful in recent years to think of all the glitz and razzamatazz that goes on in the shops – and now, of course, on line as well – as ‘Xmas’, leaving the word ‘Christmas’ for the real thing, the celebration of God coming to earth in the form of a tiny and vulnerable baby and living the life of a human being.  Somehow, this helps to counteract the potential for the frills, however sacred the origins of some of them, to shut out the real message.

In our quest for silence are we simply yearning for the impossible, trying to turn back the clock to a past age?  I think not.  Only if we overcome all the distractions can we hear again in our hearts the message the angels sang over those hillsides long ago: “good news … of great joy … for all people”  It was true at Christmas and it’s true every day of the year. 

Remember the off switch: use it at least once every day, and allow God to enrich your life.

Holidays

Our vicar is enjoying a three-month sabbatical, and has just returned from a most rewarding pilgrimage to the Holy Land.  This fact, coupled with the time of year, has sent my mind off in the direction of holidays.

Many years ago, I worked for a Christian who had been invited by a friend to take over his holiday business.  The financial arrangements behind this were way above my head, but I took great interest in accepting the challenge to look after the general running of the firm.  It had two distinct activities: one was the publication and distribution of a holiday accommodation guide, where Christian individuals and organisations could advertise their facilities; the other was to arrange flights much in the manner of any high street travel agent.  To these, we tried to add a third operation, the planning of retreats and holidays with a distinctive Christian heritage theme (although, sadly, this met with virtually no success at all).

In its advertising, we found, this firm had been using what it claimed was ‘the Bible’s only reference to holidays’: “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mark 6:31).  I’m not sure how justified is any link between that verse and holidays, nor whether the scriptures offer any better alternatives, but there are certainly many Biblical themes that echo holiday scenarios.

Take the Exodus, for a start.  How would you like an extended trek around the Sinai desert, with the personal services of a pillar of cloud as a guide during the day or of a pillar of fire at night?

Maybe you prefer the seaside, or at least the water’s edge.  A number of Jesus’ miracles took place by Galilee, beginning with the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law in the seaside town of Capernaum (Mark 1:29-31).  Jesus was with His disciples on the lake when he calmed a storm (Luke 8:22-25) and no sooner had they put ashore than He healed a man who was possessed by demons and lived among the tombs (which had a disastrous outcome for some pigs!) (Luke8:26-39).  On another occasion, He walked across the surface of the lake to the disciples (Mark 6:45-52).  And, of course, Jesus’ whole ministry was heralded by the baptism of John by the River Jordan (John 1:19-42).

Perhaps your ideal holiday is sightseeing, finding those elusive places of antiquity.  One of the oldest has to be the oaks of Mamre.  They are constantly referred to in Genesis, as the place where Abraham built an altar (13:18), and nearby is the cave of Machpelah, which he bought as a burial place for his wife Sarah (23:17-19).  Jacob’s sons brought his body back and buried him there too (50:13).

If you want to visit friends or family, there is the precedent of Mary’s visit to Elizabeth (Luke 1:39:56).  Whatever you choose, it’s important to travel with a sense of purpose, maybe like Joseph and his family (Luke 2:21:24,41:52) or Hannah (I Samuel 1:1-20).  And don’t forget to make all the necessary preparations and take any gifts that might be appropriate, like those wise men from the east (Matt. 2:1-12).

Of course, in our own day, it’s important – whether as a book or as an app on your phone or tablet – to take the Bible with you.   Remember, God doesn’t take a break from His love for us, so we ought not to take a break in our daily prayers and devotions.

Happy holidays!

Humbug! ... ?

Just when you thought trimmings, tinsel and turkey had gone away for another year, this piece drags out that Dickens classic, A Christmas Carol.  Often at Christmas time I look again at this book, reflecting like Scrooge on my own past Christmases.   It’s also time – as I touched on in my last post here - to peruse some notes I’d collected a few years ago on the original significance of some of our seasonal traditions. 

It’s a chance to consider what Christmas is and what it is not; and also – least we cast out baby with bathwater – what it “isn’t not”.  In pre-Christian times most cultures had a mid-winter festival, to brighten up the darkest season of the year and to look forward to the return of light, warmth and growth.  Some of the familiar trappings of Christmas are rooted in these festivals.  We might prefer to cast aside these superstitions as examples of what the Advent collect calls the ‘works of darkness’, but we can’t deny the truth of God’s love for us from one year to the next, from time immemorial.  Whether we continue to grow food for ourselves in gardens or allotments, or rely on commerce and the supermarket shelves, it’s important to remember that provision for our practical needs is just as much part of God’s love for us as His provision for our redemption from the effects of sin through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

My original outline for this article included an allusion to the Roman god Janus, after whom January is named; he had two faces, one to look forward and one to look back.  Then I heard a talk in which came the idea of seeing the past as a foundation for the future.  So now I feel doubly justified in summarising all this reflection of things historical with a forward-looking exhortation.

Lent will all too soon be upon us; it’s the Church’s second – and most prominent – penitential season.  If you can bear it, I suggest that, before Lent begins, we consider one little detail of A Christmas Carol.  Before he met any of the ghosts, Scrooge was approached by a gentleman raising money ‘to make some slight provision for the poor and destitute’.  Scrooge’s response was to argue for the work of prisons, workhouses and the treadmill.  He was confronted by the challenge that many would rather die than go there.  In response he suggested, ‘then they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.’  It was a tidy and most practical response, but totally uncompassionate, which was the very point of Dickens’ story.

Before too much of our new year has elapsed, let’s consider whether any of Scrooge’s blatantly outrageous philosophies may still be lurking below the surface of our own consciences.  If we examine what we are now in the light of what we recall from our past lives of God’s practical provision for our needs, we might find a new focus that enables us to see whether there is some way in the future that we can respond to His love by caring for others.

I’m reminded of some words from the service of Holy Communion in the Book of Common Prayer.  When I first heard them, I thought them just another prayer; only later did I come to recognise them as straight from the Bible:  “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” (Matt. 5:16 - KJV).  If you haven’t made one already, they make an excellent New Year’s Resolution.

Aftermath

With the festive celebrations over, it’s time to clear Christmas away and look ahead to 2017.  One of the decisions to make as you do so is what to do with all those cards.  Not that many years ago, I used to analyse mine, sorting them into three piles.

In the first section were the ‘true’ Christmas cards, with picture of angels, babe-in-the-manger, shepherds and wise men, however characterised and simplified.  Next were those with traditional, mostly Dickensian, themes: the carriage and horses, candles, Christmas trees and bells, people in top hats and crinolines going to the church across the snow ... you know the sort.  Last of all were the ‘nothing to do with it’ cards, bearing robins, children dancing, cartoon figures carrying parcels, partridges in pear trees, etc.

In those days, I would mark down those so-called ‘Christian’ friends who had sent anything but ‘true’ cards.  But was I right to do so?

Many of the symbols in the ‘nothing to do with it’ pile, the holly and ivy, the mistletoe and the burning Yule log and the rest, - yes even Father Christmas - have been part of 'Christmas' since before Christmas began.  For millennia, there has been a celebration in the middle of winter for many reasons that have been recorded and explored in far worthier places than this blog. 

It is widely accepted that early Christians in Rome adopted December 25 as Christmas only to supersede a pagan Roman festival, Saturnalia, scheduled at that time.  One commentary suggests that those shepherds to whom the angels told this wonderful news (Luke 2:8-20) wouldn’t have been on the hillside with their sheep in the middle of winter.  In winter, sheep would graze more in the daytime than during the cold middle eastern nights.  Pasturing of flocks at night indicates that this was a warmer season so it’s quite likely that Jesus was actually born at another time of year, making the whole concept of snow and winter as the background to the story completely false.

And is it right to condemn the Victorian theme?  We shouldn’t forget that Victoria's own parents were German; her mother, like Albert’s parents, was from Saxe Coburg and her father only the third generation of the Hanoverians to be born in England.  Much for which her consort Prince Albert is generally blamed was no more than their looking back to how their family had celebrated in the past.  We do the same when we take up our rose-tinted glasses and reminisce about the Christmases of our own childhood.

In my last blog, I mentioned Peter’s visit to Cornelius.  Just before he was taken to him, Peter had received a vision from God in which he was offered many things to eat that were considered ‘unclean’.  A voice told him, “Don’t call anything impure that God has made clean.” (Acts 10:9-16).  The same concept applies here, whether we are considering the robins and holly or the fir trees and Father Christmas.  God made them all – perfectly – and, whether they represent Christmas or not, we are not to condemn them.

But if we strip all these familiar trappings away from what we understand as Christmas, what are we left with?  Many years ago, I discovered words that I think sum it up beautifully:

“And is it true ...

A baby in an ox’s stall?

The maker of the stars and sea

Become a child on earth for me? ...

No love that in a family dwells,

No carolling in frosty air,

Nor all the steeple-shaking bells

Can with this single Truth compare

That God was Man in Palestine

And lives today in Bread and Wine.”

from “Christmas” by John Betjeman (published in 1954)

When you clear away your Christmas cards this year, look once more at those illustrations, and the variety of their presentation and content and remember that all these things were made by God for us to enjoy.  Think fondly of the thoughts expressed by the senders of them ... and then recycle them gladly.