When it Seems the Right Time

 The other day, someone in the office wanted to check the date.  "It is the 29th, isn't it?" she questioned.  "Yes," I replied, "St. Michael's day ... sometimes called Michaelmas."  Someone else asked, "How do they celebrate that?"  Facetiously, I said, "By getting ordained, I think.  It seems to be the season for it."  I also added that, in times past at least, it was the day when farms would change hands: the time when the harvest had been gathered in and so that new crops could be sown under new management.

Certainly, it is a time for new beginnings.  Two of my friends were ordained deacon at the weekend, one who has recently been appointed curate at my church and the other whose family is part of our congregation and who is now serving her curacy a few miles away.  And on Tuesday evening the young woman who had been ordained deacon last June, and is serving in the parish where I have been ringing bells, was made a priest.

For all three of them - and many others, too - this will mark a new stage in their lives.  The same applies, too, to farmers looking ahead to a new farming year, whether they remain in the same farm they have been running for many years, or are now taking on  a different holding.

Covid-19 has brought changes in many thousands of lives.  Some have lost loved ones; some have had to re-think the shape of their working lives; some, indeed, have had their works completely overturned, whether being furloughed as a result of not being able to carry on their work, or worse, now out of work altogether because their employer has gone out of business.

Some famous words are to be found in the third chapter of the book of Ecclesiastes, the Preacher.  The writer has drawn together several pairs of opposites and suggests that there is a proper time for each.  Many of these pairs can be interpreted as 'endings and beginnings'.  He says there is "a time to give birth and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to uproot; a time to kill and a time to heal; a time to tear down and a time to build; ... a time to throw stones and a time to gather stones; ... a time to tear and a time to sew; ... a time for war and a time for peace." (Eccl. 3: 2-3, 5, 7 & 8).

Over the last few months, I've found in the various sectors of my life, certain things coming to an end and others either beginning or taking on a new form, or a new life.  With a general decline in readership over the last year or so, I've decided that it's time for Gospel Around Us, to be drawn to an end ... at least in its present form.  

May I take this opportunity to thank those faithful readers some of whom have been following this blog since it first appeared nearly ten years ago.  If and when it re-appears, or something else takes its place, I'm sure I shall announce it in my companion blog, which will continue. 

Blurred Sight

In my daily prayer time, once I've read the day's appointed Bible passage and studied the notes that go with it, it's my habit to take off my glasses.  As I did so the other day, it occurred to me that the physical effect of doing this - i.e. not being able clearly to read the words in front of me - reflected the essence of what I had just read.

For many years, I've been following the excellent studies and commentaries provided by Scripture Union in their publication Daily Bread; at present we're working through the middle chapters of Mark's Gospel. Here, Mark follows Jesus' travels around Galilee and in the adjacent Gentile areas, with many stories of miraculous healing and feeding, amidst which Jesus was also trying to teach his disciples.

In the miracle of restoring sight to a blind man (Mark 8:22-26), Jesus led the man out of the village.  This meant that the disciples were the main (possibly the only) witnesses.  The healing took place in two stages, which one commentator takes to be an illustration to the disciples that they had only understood half of Jesus' message to them.

In answer to His question "Who do you say I am?" (Mark 8:29), Peter proclaimed - possibly as spokesman for the others - that Jesus was the Messiah.  When Jesus followed up by explaining that He would suffer, be rejected and killed, and rise from the dead (Mark 8:31 and 9:9), it was clear that they didn't understand this at all.  Peter tried to persuade Jesus that no one would kill Him if he, Peter, could do anything about it ... and received the painful rebuke, "Get behind me, Satan" (8:33).

In general, what these chapters reveal is that the disciples' idea of the Messiah and the reality of Jesus' life purpose on earth were two very different things.  The disciples expected Him to deliver the Israelites (God's chosen people) from the yoke of Roman occupation; Jesus had come to explain the true nature of being 'chosen people'.  The disciples were seeking answers - as many of us do today - to the wrong question.  They were asking, 'How?'; they needed to ask, 'Why?'

'How?' presupposes the objective; if that supposition is wrong, then the question is irrelevant.  'Why?' is seeking the motive.  The motive determines the objective and leads to a more productive conclusion.  We spend many hours in fervent prayer wondering how God is going to solve particular problems, sometimes the world's, sometimes our own.  If instead, we were to step back a stage to why it might be that He would do this, we might understand the all-embracing nature of His love.

In his poem The Charge of the Light Brigade, Tennyson wrote, "Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die".  It's usually misquoted in the first person: saying 'ours' instead of 'theirs', which helps our understanding of its relevance here.  Once we understand that God loves us and, in Paul's words to the Romans, "works for the good of those who love him" (Romans 8:28), we learn to trust Him to do so in whatever way He will.  We should have no need to ask God, or even to wonder to ourselves, 'How?'.

The belief of the blind young man's father in that story of healing was probably similar to that of many of us: it was partial.  We need to echo his prayer in Mark 9:24: "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!".  Belief or faith to the extent that can trust the way he did does not come without help.  Faith, as the commentary in my Bible explains, "... is a gift from God.  It isn't something that we can store away like money in the bank.  Growing in faith is a constant process of daily renewing our trust in Jesus."

Who'd have thought that taking my specs off would help me see that more clearly?

Back to Church Sunday?

Some years ago, I remember one Sunday in September being designated 'Back to Church Sunday'.  The idea was that each member of the congregation would invite a friend or family member to join them in going to church, as a 'taster', with a view to returning if they liked the experience.  Alternatively, there might be people who had simply not been to church for some while and who had now 'got out of the habit'; that day was an opportunity to return without embarrassment, knowing that there would be others present who would be finding church behaviour 'new' or 'strange'.

As churches now are in various stages of 'returning to normal' following the lock-down (ours will open for worship again next Sunday), this tag line takes on a renewed significance.  There will be many who will not wish to go; some will have good reason, perhaps still shielding, some with children who will not be catered for in the usual way and so would have to sit through an 'adult' service without disrupting - not at all easy for 3-to-7-year-olds - and still others who have simply got out of the habit of public worship ... especially since armchair worship through technology has been made possible by many churches in the last few months.

Over the years, I've heard many other reasons why people don't go to church;  I'd just like to comment on three of them. 

"I don't like the vicar/this week's preacher" ... It's quite natural that not everyone pleases us, but this shouldn't be allowed to deter us from drawing near to God and His people.  I know a woman who, on realising that she didn't like the new vicar, stopped attending church.  As soon as the next vicar arrived, she was again seen there every week.  She had missed a whole slice of parish life!  The writer to the Hebrews encouraged his readers in "not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another" (Heb. 10:25).  We should keep going to church despite the people we'll meet there!

"I'm not good enough to go to church" ... Some of us who were brought up on the Book of Common Prayer will remember the service beginning with the plea, 'O Lord, open Thou our lips'.  The words come from Psalm 51, and have been part of liturgy since before the Reformation.  Their source reminds us that, of ourselves, none of us is worthy to come before God.  Isaiah expressed this unworthiness very concisely: "I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips" (Isa. 6:5).  Fortunately we don't have to suffer the remedy that he reported (see verses 6-7), but can claim the redemption won for us by Jesus on the Cross.  During his earthly ministry, Jesus declared, "It's not the healthy who need a doctor, but those who are ill ... I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners." (Matt. 9:12-13).

"I haven't anything decent to wear." ... I blame the Victorians for the tradition of wearing one's best clothes for church-going.  Many working men would only have two sets of clothes, one that they wore every day for work and the other that was kept for church.  If only they had read more closely the story of Samuel's selection of David, the shepherd-boy-come-king!  Samuel was told, "Don't consider his appearance or his height, ... people look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7).  Many people are put off church by the thought of appearing inferior; I'm very glad that the churches I have attended over the last thirty or so years have welcomed all, whatever their appearance.

If you want to worship in God's house, feel free to do so.  Don't be put off by mere people and their misguided traditions!

Water, Water ...

How have you coped with the extremely high temperatures this last week or so?   It was nice to have sunshine during much of the lock-down period, but many of my friends have opined that the last few days have been a bit too hot, and for longer than they would have liked.  My mind went back to the songs of a former age and I thought, "The green, green grass of home" ... is turning white!  By the time the inevitable storms came, some no doubt were ready to run out into the torrents to celebrate, but I was happy to stand at the open window and inhale the wonderful fresh smell of the rain, glad that the day ahead would be more bearable.

Water is indispensable to life, of course.  If you've read the excellent historical novel, Cat and Mouse by Tim Vicary, you'll know that it contains vivid descriptions of a suffragette on hunger strike, who decided to stop drinking to add to her protest.  Aching limbs, headaches and spots before the eyes featured in the experience described and the woman was warned that, should she carry on this way, death would shortly follow.

John's gospel tells of an encounter between Jesus and a woman beside a well.  There's no question of this woman being in such a dire condition.  No doubt it was her daily habit to collect water at the well and she probably had good reasons for choosing to come in the heat of the day despite the exertion required to carry the water back home.  Her visit on that day, however, was far more productive than she had expected.  Jesus challenged the cultural differences between them by asking for a drink.  His next comment completely threw her as he offered her 'living water', in contrast to the water she gave him that she had just drawn.

He pointed out that, after drinking the water from the well, people would in time be thirsty again; what he offered was what Isaiah had spoken about centuries earlier: "I [i.e. God] will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground; I will pour out my Spirit on your offspring, and my blessing on your descendants." (Isa. 44:3).

What Jesus described as "a spring of water welling up to eternal life" (John 4:13) was nothing less than God's Holy Spirit, which Paul later described as a 'down payment' (the 'earnest' or 'guarantee') of the eternal life that is ours when we believe (Ephesians 1:14).

Next time you think, 'I could do with a drink,' ask yourself if you are also in need of Living Water.

Knowing Me, Knowing You ...

Many years ago, there was a TV game show called 'Mr & Mrs'.  Couples competed against each other to show how well husband knew wife and vice versa.  Each couple in their turn would be divided, one going to a sound-proof booth while the other faced questions about how their partner would react to specific comments or situations.  The 'silenced one' would then be released and asked the same questions, with the number of questions that got the same answer from each partner determining that couple's score.

A few days ago, I did something foolish and told myself off under my breath, using words that my father would have used had he caught me in that situation.  It wasn't a phrase that I would normally use and I started reminiscing about our respective vocabularies. (And that, incidentally, is a word he would never have used: he would probably have said 'the way we speak'.)  Each of us has our own vocabulary, assembled from what we hear or read day by day as we grow in age and experience.  I recognise words that my father would or would not have said because he was part of my life every day for more than twenty years.

These two examples illustrate the profound link between love and knowledge (that's knowing in the sense of intimate awareness).  A winning couple in the game would have shown the deep understanding of each other that could only come from true love; the fact that I still recall my father's words over thirty years after his death is an indication of how special he was to me in his life and still is today.

I invite you to look with me at Psalm 139.  It tells of a knowledge that is beyond our understanding (v.6) and a presence that is greater in its compass that is barely matched by the most modern of technologies (v.7 ff).  This is explained by a depth of intimacy far exceeding that of a human parent (v.13-16) and gives rise to the loyalty that matches the fiercest that we could expect within human families (v.19-22).  How do we react to such love?  Surely all we can do is to seek our own improvement (v.23-24), seek to know Him more and nestle into our heavenly Father's warm embrace.

These verses show the depth and intensity of God's love for us, the greatest expression of which was the gift of Jesus.  The significance of that gift is, for me, summed up by the words of Stuart Townend's hymn, How deep the Father's love for us, which you can hear here.  

It never cease to amazed me how the Psalms, though written thousands of years ago and couched in ways of life and cultures now long gone, reflect situations and relationships that are just as relevant to our lives in the twenty-first century.  

Which is your favourite Psalm?  

Hardcore!

What are you reading for pleasure?  Perhaps your taste is monochromatic, you only read one type of fiction, or perhaps no fiction at all.  Maybe your bookshelves boast a technicolor of literary delights.  In recent months, I've been working my way through the medieval mysteries of Ellis Peters' monk-cum-detective Cadfael.  I'm making that delight last longer by alternating these with anything else that takes my fancy among the many unread volumes I've collected down the years.

An interesting contrast has emerged.  Quite apart from the disciplines and ritual of the abbey, there is about Cadfael an unspoken and yet clearly understood spiritual dimension that is often - whether by accident or design - missing from the characters in other books, be they real or fictional.  I believe this is a reflection of life itself.  There are those people who have a true and deep-rooted faith that simply oozes out of everything they do or say, and there are others for whom any kind of religion is anathema.  Strung out between these two extremes is a whole spectrum of spiritual awareness along which most of us move this way and that as our life proceeds.

I cite as examples of these extremes, two characters from the Old Testament.  The first is Joshua who, knowing that he was coming to the end of his life, wanted to leave the Israelites the same encouragement that he had received from Moses, that they should follow God's commandments and would therefore enjoy all the good things that He had promised.  During their years of wandering in the desert, the people had picked up lots of bad habits from the tribes around them, and some of their beliefs and gods as well.  Joshua made it clear that they had a choice.  They could continue to live with the false promises and uncertainties of what they had become familiar with, or they could pack all these things up, leave them behind and turn back to Jehovah Jireh, the God who would provide for their every need (Genesis 22:14).  "But as for me and my household," Joshua concluded, "we will serve the Lord." (Joshua 24:15).

My second example is Saul.  This man was a weak leader; he was chosen as the people's king because he was head and shoulders above the rest.  This was a physical advantage only.  Apart from questions about his mental stability in the ways he behaved with David, his son-in-law, his leadership was dependent in large measure on the prophet Samuel.  In a spectacular failure, he had followed his own instincts and dealt with the Amalekites in ways that were directly opposite to what God had told him through Samuel, and shortly before his death, Samuel had reported God's displeasure with Saul.  Then came a day when Saul was faced with an important battle against the Philistines.  He was terrified.  He realised that he wasn't getting any help from God and so turned to a medium so he could talk to Samuel from beyond the grave.  The only help he got from Samuel was a repeat of God's anger.  When the battle came, he was defeated and met his end (1 Samuel, ch. 28 & 31).

One of my favourite hymns was written by two Irishmen, one from Dublin, the other from Cork and both graduates of Trinity College, Dublin.  Nahum Tate and Nicholas Brady wrote many metrical versions of the psalms and one that remains familiar today is that based on Psalm 34, "Through all the Changing Scenes of Life".  You can hear it here.   The words remind us that, whatever we have to face there is a source of help - if not to avoid a situation then to deal with it - simply by turning in prayer to our loving Father.  If we turn away from Him, we reject the eternal source of love, wisdom and hope who can guide us through all of life ... and beyond.

Where do you turn in a crisis?

In Every Part

Spiders.  They're like Marmite: you either love 'em or hate 'em.  I make no excuse, I fall into the latter camp.  My cousin is pretty much of the same opinion, and recently put me on to the idea of the ultrasonic pest repellent.  It's wonderful.  You plug it into an electric socket and it emits a constant sound - beyond our hearing range - that 'encourages' the little creatures to move out.  The device comes in multiple packs, not just to sell more of them (although obviously this is also true), but so that you can spread them around your home and avoid protecting one room at the expense of others.

My regular Bible reading led me the other week to Mark 4:3-8, the parable of the soils, sometimes known as the parable of the sower.  It's followed by Jesus' explanation to his disciples just what he was getting at, how the reaction to his Good News differed from one person to another, depending on their circumstances.  One commentary I read led me to an understanding of that parable that hadn't occurred to me before.  

We usually think of those four types of soil as referring to different people; it could apply to different phases through which our life passes, perhaps as our faith develops and we become stronger to overcome other demands on our lives and attentions.  It might also apply to different areas of our lives.  We might, for example, let God guide us as regards our future, or how we behave towards our parents or children, but at the same time be totally closed to ideas of caring for His planet by recycling our waste, or for the poor or disadvantaged people on the other side of the world - or of our own town - by giving to charities that are active in those fields.

One of my weekly habits is to listen to a radio programme, 'Beverley's World of Music'.  It's presenter, Beverley Humphreys, will sometimes follow a piece of music with the comment, "I love those words ..." and she then reads the words of the song we've just heard.  Often I find - and perhaps you do, too - that I've listened to the music and enjoyed it, but haven't registered just what the words say.  The spoken repetition certainly contributes greatly to the overall appreciation of the piece.

When I read that commentary about soils and people, I immediately recalled the first line of a hymn I'd sung long ago, Horatius Bonar's "Fill thou my life, O Lord my God" ... but couldn't remember what came next, so I looked it up.  It's worth applying the 'Humphreys technique' to that hymn, as I did that morning.  It is, in effect, a prayer for an all-pervasive faith: "I ask ... for a life made up of praise in every part", "Let all my being speak of thee and of thy love, O Lord" "So shall ... all my life ... be fellowship with Thee."

Have you, like me, got lots of spiritual spiders that need to be 'encouraged away'?

Trimming our Relationship

Have you noticed how even the most familiar people seen out of their usual context can seem total strangers?  I once met my hairdresser in the supermarket and just couldn't place where I'd seen her before.  I now patronise a different establishment and, when the lock-down is finally relaxed, I shall return there.  But one thing is common to all hairdressers, I believe.  The conversation is usually limited to 'Do you have a busy day lined up?' or something very similar.

One reason for my change was the fact that my previous hairdresser was leaving to have a baby; realising that that might be the last time I saw her, I wanted to express my appreciation for her services.  The conversation went something like this.  Me: 'You're so quick!'  HD: 'It's just practice; I've been doing this for nine years.'  Me: 'You know exactly what to grasp, where to cut.'  HD: 'Well, I know your hair ... I've cut it lots of times.'

Recalling this brief conversation now, I suspect that these four expressions: speed, practice, ability and familiarity, reflect our Creator's relationship with us.  I also remember a friend who spoke of her hairdresser as, 'the kind of best friend whom you can trust implicitly to tell you if you look rubbish'.  While not my experience, that seems to endorse this comparison.

Take practice for a start. God has had an eternity of practice dealing with other people just like us.  From creation, through Old Testament and New Testament times, through hundreds of generations, among millions of individuals down the centuries isn't it highly likely that there have been several like each one of us?  Even if our composite individuality has never been precisely replicated, God has seen - and heard the prayers of - many thousands of people who have experienced each separate circumstance we find ourselves in, every challenge we've faced, every difficulty met, every hill climbed.

As the psalmist reminds us, God is familiar with us.  He has "knit me together in my mother's womb ... my frame was not hidden from (Him) when I was made in the secret place ... (His) eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in (His) book before one of them came to be." (Psalm 139:13-16).  There is no aspect of us, no behavioural trait with origins lying deep in our growing-up, of which He is unaware and therefore no part of us that He can't deal with.  In the light of my opening analogy, Matthew 10:30 is even more amazing: "... even the very hairs of your head are all numbered."

I admired the way my hairdresser knew where to aim her scissors to achieve the desired effect; the multi-faceted nature of God's love simply embraces us to provide just what is needed in every part of our bodies and our lives.  Paul writes, "In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that ... (nothing) ... in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:37-39).  How fantastic to think that we are inseparable from the God who loves us.

And when the need is great, God is not slow to act.  After the temple in Jerusalem had been repaired and the service of God was restored, "Hezekiah and all the people rejoiced at what God had brought about for his people, because it was done so quickly." (2 Chron. 29:36).

About 250 years later, following the return from exile in Babylon, Nehemiah asked the Persian ruler for permission to return to Jerusalem in order to rebuild the walls of the city.  Nehemiah reports his conversation, "The king said to me, 'What is it you want?'  Then I prayed to the God of heaven, and I answered the king ..." (Neh.2:4).  Nehemiah thought nothing of praying in the split second before he opened his mouth to reply to the king's invitation, and many other instances of spontaneous prayer are recorded throughout this short book.

Living as we do in the midst of God's great love, we need to realise that nothing is too difficult, too embarrassing or too mundane for us to bring to Him in prayer.  If it's a matter of urgency, the answer can come surprisingly quickly.  Think for a moment of someone you love.  If they were in need or in danger, wouldn't you drop everything and run to their aid?  It's ironic that the speed of answered prayer should amaze us.

Sweet-smelling Lock-down?

As the bard put it, four-and-a-quarter centuries ago, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet." (Romeo & Juliet 2, ii).  I've heard many different terms used to describe these present circumstances: lock-down, quarantine, confinement ... even captivity.  And I suppose there are similarities between the lock-down and imprisonment.  It's a time of restriction, after all; we're restricted as to what we can do, where we can go, who we can see.  We're even allowed out for exercise, although the limits are more generous than simply saying 'hello' to the sun and walking endless circuits of a small courtyard.

So far as I was concerned, one of the earliest differences between lock-down and imprisonment was the need to find my own food.  It was a challenge that commanded an unfair slice of my attention during the first couple of weeks, until an arrangement had been made for a friend to do a weekly shop for me.  It was the first of many examples of carrying out as much as possible of normal life, but in a different way.  Instead of a leisurely stroll, or a tightly-programmed family car-ride to church on a Sunday morning, we can now lounge in our pyjamas in front of the computer screen and perhaps exercise some last-minute choice whose service to 'join in' with today.  If we're late, we can catch up with the whole thing on replay whenever it suits.

Many of us will have had the privilege (?!) of being able to work from home.  This will have taken on many guises, of course.  For some people it could simply mean spending five days a week doing something that had already been the norm on some days anyway.  Others would have found it a new and perhaps challenging experience, with the need to become instantly proficient with hitherto unseen software.  While money, in the sense of financial transaction, has played its usual all-embracing part in our lives, the means of using it will have changed, to the almost complete exclusion of cash as a means of payment.  I'm sure I'm not alone in saying that I still have the same physical coins in my purse, and notes in my wallet, that were there on March 23rd.

In these many ways, and more, we are growing used to a new way of living.  And when, one by one, the restrictions are lifted, a further adjustment will have to be made as we return to the former ways.  More likely, we'll find that life in the future will not be precisely as it was pre-Covid but will have taken on yet another 'new normal' form that will, it its own turn, need getting used to.

I've been wondering how the Israelites felt at the beginning and end of those forty years of wandering in the desert.  Exodus records how, at the beginning, there were many voices of protest that, in essence, 'we never suffered like this in Egypt'.  But, when Joshua finally led the people over the Jordan, the new freedoms brought their own problems.  What had become a familiar way of living in the desert had to give way to another new life pattern in the Promised Land.  It was all very strange for them, with other tribes to conquer, rival religions to extinguish ... or in many cases embrace, to the anger of God!  

Whatever coming out of lock-down might mean for us as individuals, it will all be very strange after so long a time of restriction.  As the conditions that imprison us are removed, one thing is important.  We can depend on the continuing presence of the Lord as we return to the wider world.  He has promised to be with us, as the psalmist reminds us, "When hard pressed, I cried to the Lord; he brought me into a spacious place. The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?" (Psalm 118:5-6).

How Forgiven is Forgiven?

In this present crisis and our lock-down situation, I'm sure I'm not the only one who has turned to history to occupy my time.  Like many, I'm addicted to the past and have many books on my shelves that wouldn't look out of place in the history section of a school library.  That said, my particular brand of history isn't taught in school ... at least, it wasn't when I was there, although I've a suspicion that things may have changed a little now.

I'm talking about family history.  It began long ago when I made a list of all my father's brothers and sisters and asked questions about them.  I've now built up a database of over 5,000 names, and it's still increasing.  Of course, it's not just my direct ancestors; there are their descendants, all of whom are various degrees of cousin, but also their spouses, parents, and all sorts, many of whom are not strictly my relatives at all, but lines I've followed up because they look interesting.

For what distinguishes family history from simple genealogy (a list of fathers' names, like in Matthew chapter 1) is the background stories.  One source of this additional detail is the wills they left and, with a little guidance, it's quite possible - and extremely interesting - to read these strange documents.  What was hidden, as if in a foreign language, can be revealed and understood.

To find such documents, one must search an archive; until recently, the only way was by personal visit but, with more and more being available on line, that is so much easier now and at less cost.  So long as the archive fulfils its purpose, history is not lost.  But if there's a tragic fire - during a war, for example - then not only the documents, but the historic detail they contain, is lost forever.

I recall some while ago suffering just such a loss at home.  I wanted to trace the name of a shop in Bristol that I'd been to a few years earlier.  I knew I should find it in my financial archives on the computer.  Panic!  Somehow  I must have checked a wrong box in the archiving process, and the file for that year just wasn't readable: the filename was there, but it had no volume, no contents.  That block of data was completely erased!  But then common sense began to assert itself.  I asked myself, what actually was the extent of that loss?  The transactions in that archive were no longer live; the cost has long since been borne, the debts paid; the records, if there, would be no more than history.

Now, I can hear you asking, what has all this to do with my usual Christian message?  Have the isolation and my twin obsessions with family history and money finally nudged my mind out of kilter?  Not at all.  Just take a look at Isaiah 44:21-22 ... aren't these the words of a devoted father, pining over his child sulking in the corner because he can't bring himself to face up to some dreadful misdeed?  Isn't this the way he looks at us through the lens of Jesus' death and resurrection?

But This is How We've Always Done it!

If they were to examine my life day by day, week by week, some people might think I'm on the verge of suffering from OCD ... Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  If it's true, then I suggest 'enjoying' rather than 'suffering from' would be more appropriate.  I prefer the description 'a creature of habit': habits that bring me a degree of mental or emotional comfort.  One such habit is a preference - OK, obsession if you wish - for consistency in such things as document layout, which helps make me a good proof-reader.  I realised the other day that it stretches to filing, too.  I couldn't remember how I file a particular set of documents and, rather than reason it out logically, I looked back to see how I'd done it before and followed the existing pattern, right or wrong.

Looking back to former things might be all right for filing, but it's not always a good idea to preserve past ways.  The policy of 'Grand-daddy did it' is not a good one in the changing climates of the 21st century and we can find Biblical precedents, too, where it has been condemned.

When they escaped from the oppression of living under Pharoah's rule in Egypt, the Israelites hadn't gone far before they discovered that this adventure of going to a Promised Land was not going to be an easy one.  They had barely crossed the Red Sea when the grumbles began.  They looked up and saw the Egyptian hordes close behind them.  Exodus 14:10-12 describes their reaction.  They would rather have stayed where they were than be slaughtered as they feared at that moment.

Once out in the desert, they needed food; God provided manna for them to collect every morning.  They were told not to keep it overnight: there would be more tomorrow.   But the habit of storing food was clearly a strong part of their psyche and one not easily given up.  Some of them did keep the manna, only to find that it was smelly and full of maggots the next day (Exodus 16:20).  The need for a daily collection quickly became the norm, however, ... until the day before the Sabbath.  Moses explained that, on this day, they should collect for two days and save what was left at the end of the first (16:23).  Some decided to follow the newly acquired 'daily' habit instead of listening to fresh instructions ... and had a wasted journey the next morning (16:27), to the exasperation of the Lord (16:28-29).

Then there was a need for water; the 'Grumble Council' was in action again (17:2-3).  Seeking a divine response, Moses was told to strike a particular rock with his staff and they were provided with water (17:6).  The book of Numbers relates a similar incident later on their travels.  In that case, there were grumblings, not only about the lack of water, but also about the lovely food they'd had in Egypt that they couldn't get there in the desert (Numbers 20:3-5).  This time, however, it was Moses himself who followed past habits instead of listening to instructions.

The Lord had told him to take his staff with him and speak to the rock (Numbers 20:8).  Moses was exasperated with the people and gave them a good telling off, before acting.  Then he resorted to past tactics (Exodus 17:6, also 7:20, when he had struck the water of the Nile with his staff and turned it to blood).  Having spoken to the people, he struck the rock - twice - and the people got the water they needed.  The Lord, however, was not pleased by this disobedience and punished Moses (Numbers 20:12).

Paul, too, had 'Grand-daddy did it' problems.  He was constantly fighting to keep the infant churches he'd established properly on track in their new-found faith in Jesus.  We can read one of the angriest passages in his letters in that sent to the Galatians: "You foolish Galatians!" he exclaimed, "Who has bewitched you?"  We can almost hear him shout as he dictated (Gal. 3:1).  The circumstances that led to this outburst aren't neatly encapsulated in a couple of verses but if you read the previous chapters you'll get the idea.  Basically it's a question of relinquishing a slavish - and failing - adherence to the Law as the path to salvation, and accepting that Jesus' death was all that was necessary to meet the Law's demands.

The challenge that faced the Galatians is the same one that faces us today.  Do we want to go back to the old ways, struggling to keep a set of rules?  Put another way, are we seeking to fit Jesus into our old lives when we should be moulding our lives into Jesus' way, the Way of the Cross?

How did I get Here ... from There?

Harold Wilson, who was the UK's Prime Minister in the 60s and 70s, is reported as saying, "A week is a long time in politics."  Whether Wilson or not, and whatever the original context, it's an aphorism that underlines just how much can happen or a situation develop during a relatively short time.  In all our lives there are times when things are moving really fast; at such times we may snatch a breath and ask, 'How did I get here ... from there?'. 

I recently found myself in just such a situation while reading a book whose plot moved so swiftly that I had to go back and read a couple of chapters again to see just how that happened.  In real life, it might well be in the development of a new relationship, for example, but real life doesn't offer a replay, and we can only engage memory ... which could bring its own complications!

Right now, when we are in lock-down because of the spread of the coronavirus, time can be very heavy and the opportunity for reflection can cause us to look back.  We might, for example review decades of happy family life, looking over the shoulder, as it were, of a loving spouse to the barren time before you met, and wonder, 'How did I get here ... from there?'.  If you're retired, you might look back at your career and reflect how one job led to the next, or perhaps why you found yourself jumping from one situation to another so different.  Maybe a great privilege you enjoyed contrasts to a very humble beginning and you think with some amazement, 'How did I get there ... from there?'

In Biblical times, one of the lowest ranking jobs in society was that of a shepherd.  Their life tended to be nomadic, there for a few weeks and then gone without trace.  To many, that made them unreliable.  Then there was the job itself: out in all weathers, dealing with animals, the smell, the grime, deprived even of the meagre facilities that those primitive societies could offer.  A shepherd was far from the town-dweller's first choice of social acquaintance!

And yet, many shepherds would perhaps be surprised to find themselves, thousands of years later, immortalised in the reading material of religious communities.  'How did they get here ... from there?'  The prophet Amos, for example, was 'one of the shepherds of Tekoa' (Amos 1:1).  He wasn't the son of a priest or prophet, hadn't had a scholastic upbringing; he was just a common shepherd.  He lived in the time after Israel had split into two kingdoms and was sent by God to the 'other' kingdom (as if a schoolgirl were to be plucked from her Swedish home to address the United Nations!) with a message of condemnation and judgement that is still relevant today.

About three centuries earlier, David was sought out by the prophet Samuel who had been sent to anoint him.  He wasn't even considered by his father important enough to be with the rest of the family to greet the prophet (1 Sam. 16:11).  He was out looking after the sheep.  And yet he is regarded as the greatest King of Israel.  I wonder if he ever looked back to those boyhood days and asked 'How did I get here ... from there?'

And don't let's forget those shepherds 'looking after their flocks by night' who were the first to be told of the birth of the greatest Shepherd of all!

Last week would normally have been one of the busiest of the year in church circles but this year it has come, for many of us, in the midst of a time of extreme inactivity.  If you're tempted - as I have been on many occasions - to look back over your life and wonder 'How did I get there?', spare a moment to consider what the human Jesus might have been thinking in the garden before his arrest (Luke 22:39-45).  Then think of the Jesus who greeted Mary through her tears on that first Easter morning (John 20:15-16).

Somehow, however great the achievements or transitions of our lives, they pale into insignificance against the story our Saviour could tell!

Mothers' Day and Beyond

How did you mark Mothers' Day this year?  Almost certainly, your celebrations would have been different from normal.  The corona-virus has meant that many people will have had to revise their plans, whether they were whatever had been the accepted norm for many years or arrangements made for something special this year.  Much had to be changed or totally abandoned almost at the last minute.

My intentions differed little from any other Sunday, and have remained that way since my mother died sixteen years ago.  But they, too, changed this year because there was no church service to attend.  Instead, thanks to technology - and in common with many other congregations across the country - we were able to participate in a service that was live-streamed on the internet.  I remember an occasion a few years before she died, when I collected my mother from her home and took her to church with me for the morning service.

That's a memory that leads me to remark about what the day is called.  'Mothers' Day' is a modern term that has undermined its original name, 'Mothering Sunday'.  It seems to have had its origins in early-modern times when services would be held on the fourth Sunday of Lent (sometimes known as 'Refreshment' Sunday) for which people would return to the church where they were baptised, or perhaps attend a special service in the cathedral or 'mother church' of a diocese.  This idea of the church caring like a mother for her members is wonderfully prefigured by Jesus in the days leading up to his arrest (Luke 13:34).

More recently, e.g. in the Victorian age, Mothering Sunday became an occasion when young adults who were 'in service' (i.e. household servants) were given a day off to visit their mother church.  This custom was thus perhaps the only time of the year when whole families could gather together, unimpeded by the conflicting demands of work.  As these elder children - some scarcely into teenage - walked through country lanes to their home villages (there was no other means of transport!), they would pick wild flowers to present to their mothers on arrival.  So the practice grew up of giving flowers or other gifts on that day.  What had started as a spiritual celebration of the mothering role of the church became re-focused on the earthly mother of the human family.

I have found it difficult in this last week or two to accept that the combination of my age and a long-standing medical condition requires me to relinquish my lifelong role of doing things, whether for myself or for other people. In its place comes a role of inactivity, bringing with it, as it does, the prospect of having to rely on others to do things for me.

As I see it, motherhood is a gradual transition of a similar kind, one that some mothers find difficult, others less so.  It is interesting to notice from the gospels how the roles and relationship between Mary and Jesus changed over his lifetime: Luke 2:7 (baby); Luke 2:43-51 (teenager); Luke 8:20 (teacher) and John 19:26-27 (provider).  It's good to be reminded in this topical way that Jesus has experienced all stages of our lives and therefore can understand all of our needs as we bring them to Him in our prayers.

It's Spreading!

Just think how many times in an average week you spread something.  Most likely it's butter on bread or toast before applying jam or marmalade, or some other tasty sandwich filling.  A farmer in ages past would spread his seed 'broad-cast' from a basket strapped on his chest; nowadays there are great machines to do this for him.

Another spreading, less conscious, but more significant, is the spreading of disease.  Our awareness of that has been heightened recently with the advent of the corona virus, and a short while ago, ebola.  One of the ways adopted to stop the spread of either is to discourage people from touching each other.  In most societies touch is so important ... to touch someone, offering a hand of friendship or support, or the shaking of hands in greeting, is to many second nature and so instinctive that to stop it is very difficult.

In church this is something we do quite often as part of our liturgy ... and maybe take for granted.  It's known as 'sharing the peace'.  For non-church-goers I should explain that this is a semi-formal occasion when we get up and greet one another with a handshake, or a hug, or whatever seems appropriate, in the name of God.  It's also an opportunity for a quick apology, an enquiry about aches and pains or something more serious, or for a few words of catch-up with someone we haven't seen for a few weeks.

Someone pointed out in a recent conversation that, out of all the people she had greeted that morning, she knew the names of all but one, and could greet them personally.  It niggled her that there was one person with whom she had so far had neither a conversation nor the opportunity to discover his name, and she resolved to correct this at the earliest opportunity.  Our discussion moved on to the recognition that this 'semi-formal process' is - or can be, if looked at in the right way - an expression of our calling as people of God to spread His love to those around us.

One of the elements - indeed, the key element - of our Faith is Jesus' death and resurrection; on the night before He died He celebrated the Passover with his disciples and, after the meal, He prayed for them (a prayer that is summarised in chapter 17 of John's Gospel). "As You sent Me into the world," Jesus prayed, "I have sent them into the world. ... My prayer is not for them alone.  I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message." (John 17:18,20). Notice particularly those last few words.

Jesus sent His disciples into the world to spread far and wide the message of what he had taught them and of what He was about to do for the whole of mankind.  The same love that sent Him to the Cross is ours to share with those around us.  Earlier in His conversation with the disciples, Jesus had spoken of them being like the branches of a vine.  He told them, "I am the vine; you are the branches.  If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit." (John 15:5).

In our turn, we share that mission, too.  It doesn't mean we all have to stand on street corners proclaiming to passers-by ... though some are called to do just that.  Often it's the small things done to or for someone close that sow the seeds of that fruit in their hearts.  In our prayers in church each week, and individually in our homes, we pray for many classes of people in need: victims of war; people burdened by guilt, filled with anxiety, sorrow or despair; those who are lonely or alone, whose homes have become a prison;  people living with difficult or broken relationships, who don't know where to turn or what to do.  All are victims, one way or another, of a lack of love.  If we keep our eyes and ears open, keeping aware of the names and needs around us, we can spread God's love to them.

Matthew concluded his Gospel with words often referred to as 'the Great Commission': "Go and make disciples of all nations" (Matt:28:19).  The most successful way to do this is by spreading God's love. 

I Told You So!

Confession, they say, is good for the soul.  This post is therefore by way of being a dose of soul-medicine.  It's far more personal than my usual offering, and I hope my readers will forgive that and bear with me as I begin with a fairly long explanatory narrative.

Every year about this time our church carries out a formal review of members' stewardship of their time and talents.  It goes under a variety of names and formats, but essentially gives people the opportunity to confirm that they will continue doing what they are already doing within the church community, to say that they would prefer to step down, or to say that they would like to take on a new role.

Three years ago, I ticked a box indicating that I was willing to be part of an initiative to produce - or at least consider the introduction of - a parish magazine.  I had no idea how demanding this would be of my time, nor who else - if anyone - would be interested.  I found myself one of a committee of three, and over the next six months we drew up a proposal and a budget, sought and obtained the approval of the church council, compiled and produced our first copy.  It thereafter appeared regularly, three times a year, until the end of last year.

Each of us had particular abilities and talents that we were able to contribute; we each live very busy lives with a number of other commitments and responsibilities and, occasionally, an issue had to be delayed, but never by more than a week.  The lady who compiled the actual copy on her computer and pressed the button to send the final layout to the printer gave due warning that she would like to step down after the January edition and efforts were made to secure a replacement.  When her personal circumstances suddenly became more demanding, and with a successor in the frame, she relinquished her duties more abruptly than had been foreseen ... before this latest edition had gone to press.

To cut a long story short, suffice it to say that the incomer soon found himself caught in a 'cross-fire' situation.  Unfortunately, instead of telling all concerned of the difficulties he faced and inviting an alternative solution, he struggled on and only partially revealed the problems, with the result that I, and others, had been 'kept in the dark' and I consequently decided that my time as one of the editorial team should come to an end.  When that 'commitment' form came round the other week, I ticked a different box!

The publication that has emerged was finally distributed last weekend and is completely different from those that preceded it.  While, objectively, I have to say that there is nothing wrong with it per se, I felt quite bitter to see certain pieces, which I had prepared, worked on or discussed for one purpose, presented in a totally different context and appearance ... and, in one instance, significantly changed from how it was originally planned and envisaged.

Invited the other morning to comment about this new magazine, I sounded off in the vein of the preceding paragraphs.  Instead of sympathy, my friend's response came in somewhat sharp tones, "We have to bear with one another in love, Brian"  I recognised words from Paul's letter to the Ephesians (Eph.4:2), and the exchange set me thinking.  It's only a few weeks since I read the book of Jonah and I now realise that I was heading into the same bind as he did.  The climax of the story is at Jonah 3:10-4:1.

Jonah didn't want the people of Nineveh to be forgiven; he wanted them destroyed.  He tried to avoid going there to preach God's message, fearful that they would turn from their ways and be forgiven ... which is exactly what happened.  He had forgotten how God forgave him, and rescued him from the great fish, but he was angry when God forgave the Ninevites.  Jonah just didn't understand the universality of God.

I was not only annoyed at seeing an end result that wasn't what I had aimed for but also angry that I had not been given the chance to help rescue the original publication: I felt shut out.   But who am I to blame someone for doing his best and failing?  And, after all, is my definition of failure the only one?  Another verse from Paul's writings comes to mind.  It's one that has stuck in my memory after seeing it in a TV western many years ago.  Romans 12:19 reminds us just whose is the responsibility of blame and punishment:  "'Vengeance is mine; I will repay,' says the Lord".

It's an object lesson for me - and others, too, perhaps - in anger management!

Wash and Brush-up!

Last time I wrote about going through a door and shutting it behind you.  Now I want to take my reader through just one particular door: one which is, by convention, almost always shut behind the entrant.  This week I'm in the bathroom, a place where - with the possible exception of mothers of toddlers - one is usually alone.

I want to draw your attention to two common household items often found there.  The first one is a mirror, the prime function of which is to reflect a near-perfect image of the one looking into it.  The prime function of the second item, a sponge, is to soak something up, usually water or soap, hopefully in order later to discharge its contents in the course of washing a body.  Unfortunately the second stage of this operation is not essential, as can sometimes be discovered on cleaning the bathroom, when a sponge might be found somewhere inconvenient in a cold and saturated condition!

I think it will be readily agreed that these two are opposites, in that one is hard while the other soft; the function of one is both instant and constant while that of the other is delayed and finite.  They have one thing in common, however, in that they can teach us something about human relationships.

If, in your childhood, you read Revd. Charles Kingsley's book The Water Babies - or had it read to you - while you may have, like me, forgotten the plot completely, the names of two characters will surely come to mind: Mrs Do-as-you-would-be-done-by and Mrs Be-done-by-as-you-did.  Considering the vocation of the author, it won't surprise you that these have a biblical foundation, to be found in Jesus' teaching on active goodness and mercy in Matthew 7:9-12.

My bathroom-based reminder focuses on just one tiny aspect of this very broad topic.  Suppose you meet someone whom you know quite well, but not intimately.  You might well greet them with, "Hello, how are you?" or, "How do you do?"  To either of these an acceptable social response is to repeat the question, which achieves nothing for either party.  Sometimes a brief answer is offered, such as "Fine, thanks" or "Not too bad.", which again convey very little, and often terminate the exchange.  If you know the person a little better, you might enquire, "This is a pleasant surprise, what brings you here?"  Here, now, is a direct question that demands an answer.  The nature of that answer will depend on all manner of things, most of which will be determined by the circumstances, feelings, demeanour or other inclination of the one giving it.  There might be a dismissive, "nothing special." or at the other extreme the enquiry might prompt a lengthy explanation that could, in turn, lead to expressions of sympathy or practical advice.  You will probably notice how the shorter sentences are colder and crisp like a mirror, while the final lengthy example more closely resembles the sponge's absorbing and discharging properties. 

The descriptions above are very much given from the point of view of the confident initiator of the exchange.  Suppose though, you are - whether by nature, or as a result of particular circumstance - going into this encounter in a more timid or fragile condition.  You might not want to enter into any conversation at that time, or with that particular person.  You might not wish to appear impolite, so prepare one of the short crisp rebuffs and respond, breaking your journey as little as possible <acting like a mirror>.   At the extreme, you might ignore the enquiry completely, not stop and say nothing at all <acting like a broken mirror!>.  At the opposite end of the spectrum, you might be pleased with the encounter, feel that this is just the person to whom you could unburden your situation or problem and you're delighted that they have greeted you in a way that invites your, perhaps lengthy, explanation. <acting like a sponge>  If you continue your unburdening beyond the point where the enquirer would dearly love to move on, then perhaps your attitude could be likened to the cold, saturated sponge on the bathroom floor!

Somewhere in the midst of these examples is another scenario.  You're the more vulnerable of the two, but you draw up from the depths the courage and confidence to speak first.  "Hello, how are you?", you ask, hoping - perhaps, based on your knowledge of the other person, expecting - that the answer will be, "Fine, thanks ... and you?", which gives you the 'in' to an unburdening.

In a short piece like this, I'm not seeking to assign 'right' or 'wrong' labels to any of these behaviours.  I'm simply suggesting that there are many different ways of meeting friends and acquaintances, and that they may vary between the same two people from one time to another ... and that we all ponder, regarding both ourselves and those we meet, "am I a mirror or a sponge today?"

Behind Closed Doors

The aim of Gospel Around Us has always been to link faith to the common things of life and, in this post, I'm exploring links with something most of us do many times in a day ... never mind in the whole of life.  How often do you go through a door and close it behind you?  It may be when you pass from one room to another in your home, or at work; the door may have a self-closer, so it shuts automatically behind you.  It might be to join others, or to be alone away from them; it could be that, at the end of a hard day, you pass through your front door, lean back on its strength and say, "Thank goodness that's over!"

'An Englishman's home is his castle', so it is said.  It was established in common law in the seventeenth century and William Pitt (the elder) said in 1763, "The poorest man may, in his cottage, bid defiance to all the forces of the crown.  It may be frail, its roof may shake, the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter, the rain may enter, but the King of England may not enter!"  It's every young couple's dream, as they prepare for marriage, to have a home of their own, a front door that they can enter and lock behind them, secure from the rest of the world.

My attention was drawn recently to King David, and the Lord's promises related to him by Nathan the prophet, of which we can read in 2 Samuel ch. 7.  Verse 10 has particular significance just now: "I will provide a place for my people Israel and will plant them so that they can have a home of their own and no longer be disturbed."  In discussion at the time, we appreciated that this verse is held to support Israeli claims on the West Bank and justify their settlements there, in contravention of a UN Resolution.

There is another political, and even more topical relevance, as Brexit takes effect and potentially hardens the borders of our own country against the rest of the world.  We also related the verse more generally to the security offered by 'a home of our own'.

Paul, writing to the Corinthians, spoke of 'less honourable or unpresentable parts', that were 'treated with special honour or modesty' (1 Cor. 12:22-23).  Was he talking about anatomy or elements of our behaviour?  Either way, there are certainly things we would only do in the secure privacy of our own home.  I won't embarrass my reader by offering a list.  In centuries past, monarchs would invite nobles to attend their 'levée', or dressing.  This started in France and Louis XIV raised it to a ceremonial level.  It spread to England under Charles II, and thence to America, but had all but died out by the end of the eighteenth century.

You'll be glad to learn I'm not advocating the revival of the levée, but I wonder whether we might guard too carefully the secure nature of our homes.  I recall a time in my accounting career when I had been accorded the privilege of an office of my own on the first floor.  Not only did my position bring responsibility for a room full of people on the ground floor of the same building, but also for similar offices in two other towns.  I found the isolation of my own office very counter-productive and it was easier to control the two outlying offices by driving there and working on the side of someone else's desk than it was the people at my 'home base'.

Perhaps there are times when we should think 'outside the box', as it were, both as individuals and as a nation.  By valuing too highly the privacy of home, are we overlooking the potential benefits of having visitors?  Instead of holding meetings in a public hall or across the table at the pub, should we consider inviting the participants to our lounge?  I realise that for some of us, by virtue of our domestic situation, this would be impossible, but for others, it might prove beneficial.  At a national level, have we forgotten the humanitarian kudos we earned in 1939 with Kindertransport?  Should we be opening our borders to more refugees, rather than 'battening down the hatches'?

Are security and isolation two opposing sides of the same coin?  Can we be paying too high a social price for our security?

A Hymn for All, and for All Occasions!

A few weeks ago I attended the funeral of a member of our church who, with her husband, had moved to our town from Cardiff a few years ago; the funeral was thus a meeting of cultures as well as a celebration of her life.  The final piece of music was a recording of Cerys Matthews singing Calon Lân.  Inevitably, it seemed, some in the congregation joined in with the chorus and I have since tried to discover why it’s such an emotive song.

So deeply is it embedded within the Welsh culture that it could easily be believed that it’s far older than is actually the case.  The words were written in 1891, allegedly on a cigarette packet, by a poet known for excessive drinking, who would sit in the King’s Head pub in his home town of Treboeth and exchange verses for ale (‘poems for pints’).

Daniel James was born on 23 January 1848, one of five children; he became known as the ‘bad boy’ of Mynyddbach Chapel in Swansea.  He worked at Morriston Dyffryn steelworks, and later at a tinplate works.  When that closed, he moved to the Cynon Valley.  Here he was employed at a succession of three coal mines until, through ill health, he left the mines at the age of 68 and returned to live with his daughter in Morriston and died on 16 March 1920.  In later life he used the bardic name ‘Gwyrosydd’ (Man of the Moors), which appears on his tombstone in the Mynyddbach Chapel graveyard.

The tune was written on James’s invitation by a younger man, John Hughes.  He was born in 1872 at Pen y Bryn, Pembrokeshire and had already written ‘Cwm Rhondda’ for William Williams’ great hymn ‘Guide me O thou great Redeemer’.  The Irish-American writer Sean Curnyn claims that the combination of James’s syllables and Hughes’s notes results in something very profound and able to affect the emotions with absolutely no idea of what the words mean.  Little wonder, then, that it is sung in churches and chapels, at eisteddfodau, rugby and football matches and in stadiums and pubs across the country wherever Welshmen – and women – gather.

So much for the tune.  What about the words?  What is it about the words of one of the most diversely sung songs in the world - although rarely, if ever, sung in English - that strikes directly to the hearts of Welshmen everywhere?  It's not the land itself; that has its own song, 'Land of My Fathers'.  And it's not the brave feats of Welsh heroes of the past like Owain Glyndŵr.  Here’s a link to Katherine Jenkins’ recording, useful because it shows an English translation as the Welsh words are being sung.  What, then, do those words have to say to us today?

In December my regular Bible readings featured Peter’s second letter and I found a number of thoughts there that echoed the singular and fundamental message of Calon Lân (A Pure Heart).  The letter was written when Peter realised that he was close to death (1:13-15), and it has thus been described as his ‘last will & testament’.  Peter exhorted the church to accept the teaching of the Prophets (among which he probably included the early Christian writers such as St Paul (3:15-16)) and to reject attempts by false teachers to undermine the belief that Jesus would return.

Modern Christians tend to understand and interpret the Bible in ways that are determined by  their own traditions and persuasions but we can find common ground in understanding that, through it, God speaks to each of us in the context of our own experience and location.  Whatever that context might be, it will include a variety of ‘false teachings’ that we must discern and resist.

The essential need, Peter says, is for spiritual maturity, recognising that, through our knowledge of Him, God has given us everything we need for a godly life (1:3).  Peter gives us a list of key qualities that we should add to a basic faith: goodness, knowledge, self-control, perseverence, godliness, mutual affection and love.  John Wesley referred to 'means of grace', and expounded (simplified?) the list as ‘engagement with the Bible, prayer, fellowship, spending time in silence and doing acts of mercy and kindness'.

As he teaches about the danger to Christians of false teachings, Peter expresses his concern for the purity of the church.  Pure is the word most translators have chosen for the Welsh (g)lân.  It’s a word for which it’s difficult to find an exact English equivalent; other words offered by Google’s translator inlcude ‘clean, complete, utter, holy, spotless, dear and fair’.

The message purveyed by these false teachers comes in modern ways to modern Christians, but is essentially the same as ever.  It is a message of permissiveness, the offer of present pleasure, material possessions and the complete denial of the existence of sin.  Peter describes the futility of this permissive freedom as a spring that is found to be dry (2:17).  In his first two lines, Daniel James writes, ’Nid wy’n gofyn bywyd moethus, Awr y byd na’i berlau mân’ (‘I don’t ask for a luxurious life, the world’s gold or its fine pearls’) and in the second verse he acknowledges that, ‘Pe dymunwn olud bydol, Chwim adenydd iddo sydd’ (‘If I wished for worldly treasures, on swift wings they fly away.’)

It has been suggested that Calon Lân is neither a hymn nor a spiritual song; why then should it have such a strong emotional appeal?  The third verse is a complete and constant prayer for the spiritual maturity that Peter encourages in his letter, ‘Hwyr a bore fy nymuniad Gwyd i’r nef ar adain cân Ar i Dduw, er mwyn fy Ngheidwad, Roddi i mi galon lân.’ (‘Evening and morning, my wish, rising to heaven on the wing of song, is for God, for the sake of my Saviour, to give me a pure heart.’) for, as the chorus repeats, 'Dim ond calon lân all ganu, Canu'r dydd a chanu'r nos.' ('None but a pure heart can sing, sing in the day, sing in the night.')

What songs bring you that ‘back-of-the-neck’ tingle of emotion?

Sources:

            Curnyn, Sean: The Cinch Review, 23.5.2013

            Felinfach.com

            Higgs, Gareth: comments on 2 Peter (Scripture Union: Word Live, December 2019)

            Sotejeff-Wilson, Kate: Found in Translation, 6.7.2016

            Walesonline.co.uk, 11.4.2019

Singing a New Song

I have the privilege of singing in a small choral group in my church.  From time to time we're confronted by a fresh piece of music that looks - to be frank - quite baffling.  There are notes everywhere; parts splitting, changes of key, it's as if a spider has crawled all over the page.  How do we turn this confused 'mess' into beautiful music?

Fortunately, we have a skilled and patient leader, under whose guidance we're slowly led to see our own part separately from the whole.  Gradually, we become more familiar with it and then learn to blend our notes with the others until, just at the crucial point, it all comes together and a wonderful offering of praise is presented, to the welcome admiration of those listening, as well as to the glory of our Living Lord.  It's a far cry from the puzzled apprehension with which we first greeted the sheet music.

Life itself is like that sometimes.  Indeed, it has been thus since the beginning of time.  Look at the ancient Israelites whom Moses led out of Egypt to the Promised Land.  When they crossed the Red Sea, they hadn't a clue where they were going; they simply knew that living under the Egyptian yoke couldn't carry on.  Once they were out in the desert, it was a different story; they began to experience difficulties, and grumbled often to Moses, comparing the food they now had to the comparative luxuries they had had in Egypt.

When they finally arrived and sent spies to explore the land, they still couldn't accept the story that Joshua and Caleb brought back of a land flowing with milk and honey (Numbers 13:27).  All they saw was the potential difficulty of overcoming the present occupants, who were rumoured to be giants.  They threatened to choose an alternative leader and make their way back to Egypt (Numbers 14:4).

Even in Jesus' day, attitudes had changed but little.  One day, he asked his disciples who they thought he was.  Peter - always the bold and outspoken one - said, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God" (Matt. 16:16).  Jesus then began to explain to them what this would mean, how he would suffer, be killed, and be raised to life on the third day.  Peter took Him aside and told Him He'd got it all wrong, that this couldn't happen to Him, only to  receive the severest of all rebukes, to be told that he was the Devil incarnate (Matt. 16:23).

Peter couldn't see the bigger picture.  He hadn't grasped what the Messiah had actually come to earth to do: to save all of mankind from its sinfulness.  He saw the Messiah only as one who would deliver the Jews from the grip of their Roman oppressors.

What about us: what's the bigger picture around our lives?  Where do we fit into it?  These are questions to which we rarely see the answers completely.  The results of last month's General Election brought shocks to many.  Some will undoubtedly question, 'how did this happen, what went wrong, how can we do better?'  Some will be fearful for their future in one of a dozen different ways.

However, if we are constant in prayer and persistent in seeking God's will for us, it's possible to view differently what may seem to those people to be a bad situation.  There may be a glimmer of light in the darkness.  The blessing is when we recognise that glimpse for what it is, and have the courage and imagination to seek God's strength to take it further.  We can only sing that new song when we follow the right notes.