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?