Remember Bertrimoutier

(re-published, following a computer 'hiccup' in November 2014)

“Bertie who?” I hear you say.  Let my answer begin with a confession.  This post is far more personal than usual.  I visited this village nearly thirty years ago, on my first ever visit to France.  I was in Alsace, with almost a week to go before my pre-booked ferry would take my car and me back to England, and I decided on an unguided, ‘sniff-it-out-for-myself’ tour of the Western Front; Bertrimoutier, in the department of Vosges, was one of the first places I passed through.

Its position, so close to the 1914 border between France and Germany, almost guaranteed that there would be fierce fighting here, and a military cemetery nearby has graves of soldiers from both countries.  As I looked over the valley towards this, I exchanged just a few sentences with a local man who looked old enough to have witnessed these events in his youth.  The incident lingers in my mind because it’s the only time I can recall having a spontaneous and inessential conversation in French.

In recent weeks I have been planning a gradual transition into retirement and with it the possibility of obtaining a modest motor-caravan.  I’ve wondered whether such an investment is a wise use of a significant slice of my savings, comparing my situation to that of many thousands in our world who have no hope of such luxury.  After prayer, I realise that my privilege is not without responsibility, and in this instance it seems that my responsibility is to make positive use of such a resource.

I enjoy using words.  Talking – or in former days, preaching – from a script (or at least prepared notes) from a position of established authority isn’t a problem.  On the other hand, although I have no hesitation in replying to enquiries about my own affairs, I find initiating conversation difficult, and anything beyond the essential doesn’t come easily.  I believe this is largely due to having lived and worked alone for many years.  I have determined that, if I go ahead with my plans to go exploring in this large leisure vehicle, I must overcome this difficulty; I must get out, chat to people and engage in their lives rather than remain incarcerated, monk-like, in a mobile cloister.

I wondered where the word ‘talking’ appears in the New Testament.  The results were both encouraging and challenging.  Firstly, they spoke to me of togetherness, being alongside others, as Moses and Elijah were with Jesus at His transfiguration (Luke 9:30).  Then the Gospels revealed more togetherness, as the crowd in the courtyard confronted Peter (Luke 22:60) and later along the Emmaus road (Luke 24:14-15).

Peter rejected the adoration offered by Cornelius (Acts 10:26ff), and talked with him as one of equal rank as he shared the good news of Jesus.  And no study would be complete without Paul, as he almost ridicules himself in an aside, “I’m out of my mind, talking like this” (2 Cor. 11:23).  Paul also warns Timothy about young widows with nothing to do, and writes of their progress from idlers to busybodies “talking nonsense and saying things they ought not to” (1 Tim. 5:13).

So, how can I relate these verses to my present situation?  My conclusions are three-fold.  Talking to people brings great potential for both fellowship and challenge; I shouldn’t take myself too seriously; and I should steer clear of foolish chit-chat or unsubstantiated and unfair criticism of others.

... It should be a piece of cake!  See if I dare to publish the outcome here!

What's it all About?

From time to time I get asked what my slogan, "The Gospel Around Us" is all about.  Is it a new kind of belief system, something to be signed up to, or what?  Is it an obscure part of the beliefs of an established Christian denomination?  The Quakers talk about 'That of God in Everyone'; is it something to do with that?  The turning of the year seems as good a time as any to address some of these thoughts.

"The Gospel Around Us" is connected to all of these ideas, but it isn't any one of them.  It's certainly not something to be signed up to!

So far as I can determine, the idea behind "The Gospel Around Us" goes back many years, to when I was training as a Reader.  In one of the books I read, the author expressed the idea that, because he* was a layman living and working in the 'real' world, and not hiding behind a dog-collar, the Reader had a particular platform for ministry that was denied to the ordained clergy, because they had to overcome the visual 'separation' of this symbol and the invisible 'separation' of their office in order to engage with 'normal' people.  You'll note that I've used a lot of '..'s in that sentence; this is deliberate, because these are not true distinctions at all.  Yet they do form a certain barrier for people who haven't grown up in the habit of church, whether believers or not.  It's a barrier that some clergy try to overcome by wearing their dog-collar solely on official duties.

The Reader (in common with all rank-and-file Christians) has a responsibility to communicate the faith to others in his speech, his behaviour, and in every other aspect of his daily life.  The things we usually associate with Reader ministry - leading or taking part in public worship - are, in fact, only the secondary part of his duties.  He is charged first to "Visit the sick, to read and pray with them, to teach in Sunday School and elsewhere, and generally to undertake such pastoral and educational work and to give such assistance to any Minister as the Bishop may direct."  Ministry at a personal level therefore takes precedence over anything public and formal, and this is something that I'm trying to continue through these articles, while no longer exercising the latter.

So much for its origins; just what is "The Gospel Around Us"?  Let me first dismiss the idea that it's a new belief system; it's not part of the beliefs of any church, but it is an expression of some aspects of Christian teaching.  In a way, it's a parallel to that axiom, often labeled (incorrectly) as the 'Quakers' creed', "That of God in Everyone".  I think of it as signifying that there is something of God in everything around us, both the natural world and what is man-made within it; both in the things themselves and in the way we relate to them, or think of them. What I seek to establish in the minds, and hopefully the memories, of my readers is something that will link what is going on around them in the everyday to that which is eternal, and cause them to be prompted by the one to consider the other.

Let me offer three different situations that provide some idea of what I mean, although each one of them is perhaps inadequate .  This morning's post brought me two Christmas cards.  The first that I opened bore the picture of a steam train, and I wondered which of my friends might have sent this.  My guess - quite correct - was a friend from teenage, whom I haven't seen for over thirty years, although we faithfully exchange seasonal greetings every year.  His father worked with my uncle on the railway in those days, and we enjoyed a memorable fortnight in one long summer break from school, travelling along as many of the lines in our area as we could, using a 'runabout' ticket that entitled us to unlimited journeys within specified boundaries.  So the picture of the train links the card, and the person who sent it, to those experiences many years ago.

The second card was from a distant cousin whom I have met only once.  The sight of her name on the card brought a smile to my face, as I recalled our meeting.  It happened during a hot summer ten or more years ago.  I'd made a delivery in the area, and decided to call at their home 'on the offchance' that they might be in.  What I couldn't know was that my cousin had just decided that, since it was so hot in their house, she would strip to her underwear before attacking the washing up!  With her hands just plunged into the hot soapy water, she heard the doorbell ring.  There was some delay before the door was opened to me by her red-faced husband, who had little alternative but to plead his wife's dilemma as the reason for the delay.  Once more, the arrival of a particular card is the link to a specific personal experience.

My third example concerns a friend - let's call her Susan, it's not her name - who had to make a business visit to Poland during the winter months.  One day she found it so cold that, as she reported to me after her return, "the only way I could warm up was to go to my hotel room and stand in the hot shower for several minutes."  A few weeks ago I was deceived by the winter sunshine, and went to watch a football match wearing a thick winter coat over my polo shirt, but with no sweater.  By the time the match was over I was so cold that I declared it to be a 'Susan-in-Poland' moment, and once home immediately ran a hot bath.  Feeling really cold was the link to this friend, through the story of her chilling experience.

In summary, then, my mission is to identify everyday moments in such terms that, when they happen in the lives of my readers, they might call to mind a particular facet of God's love for them, or of His teaching about some aspect of their lives.

* It is acknowledged that, in this context, words expressing the male gender should be interpreted as including both male and female.

The Right Way

Last night, I enjoyed listening to a radio programme devoted to “Oh, What a Lovely War!”  There’s a right way, and a wrong way, to write the title of this 1963 musical, and it shouldn’t be confused with “Oh! What a Lovely War”, the 1969 Richard Attenborough film that was based upon it.  One of the songs I recall from the show was a parody of ‘God Rest ye Merry, Gentlemen’.  Apart from the integral innuendo, it drew my attention to the basic contrast between the ‘right words’ and the ‘wrong words’.

As you probably know, Handel took most of the words for his famous oratorio Messiah straight from the Bible.  Perhaps one of the best known arias from that work is “O prepare ye the way of the Lord” the words for which are to be found in Isaiah 40:3.  But preparing the way is only part of the story.  We must then tread that way.

In the favourite carol Good King Wenceslaus the page was encouraged to follow his master in a quest to do good deeds for the people.  He was instructed to place his feet into the footsteps of his lord.  The king didn’t simply tell his servant, “There is a needy family in such-and-such a place, go and take some of my stores and give them what they need.”  Instead he set a practical example and led the way there.

If you’re going somewhere for the first time you can usually find the way using a map, but it’s so much easier if you talk to someone who has been there before and can tell you the landmarks to watch out for.  It’s even better if that person can go with you, and show you the way.  The other day a young man crossed the road just in front of me with a toddler in tow.  He walked straight across the pavement and between the bushes that were planted in the little garden on its far side.  This was clearly a way that others had gone before, and it led most effectively into the forecourt of a car showroom.  The two-year-old had no choice but to follow, and in so doing, no doubt he took heed that the best way to get to the destination was the way through the bushes ... in effect, the wrong way!

Jesus told us, “I am the way” (John 14:6), and at Christmas time we mark the fact that He came to earth to live an earthly life, and thereby show us the way to our heavenly Father and His kingdom.  As we celebrate, let us give thanks for the right way; let us pledge ourselves anew to follow it; and let us try not to give anyone the impression that any other way is at all to be recommended.

Have a blessed Christmas, following the Way of the Babe of Bethlehem.

Darkness and Light

The clocks went back this weekend.  For a few days there is a little more light in the mornings, but inevitably this means greater darkness in the evenings: winter’s cold tentacles tightening.  How does this idea grab you?  For my part, there are always memories of childhood, with the open coal fire in our quite large living room.  If I got too close it was uncomfortably warm; if I moved to the opposite side of the room, it felt cold and almost frightening, as if I were outside.

It’s strange how darkness is associated with fear in our minds.  We’re just passing Halloween, when fear is the ‘emotion of the season’, and some allow the world of darkness to draw near to our own.  Even in normal times, an idea or experience that is quite commonplace during the day, when we are confident and self-assured can take on a totally different dimension at three in the morning, when we can’t sleep and feel alone.   Doubts creep in – no, swarm forth – threatening complete annihilation: sheer panic can take over.

It’s good on these occasions to remember that, in His earthly life, Jesus experienced all aspects of our humanity.  On that dark night in Gethsemane, for instance, we probably see him at his lowest, in human terms.  He knew what he must do; perhaps he sought encouragement from his closest disciples, but they were tired and, perhaps on this occasion more noticeably than any other, were no use to Him.  So he turned to His Father.  Just as we might, he prayed that there might be another way (Matt. 26:38-40). 

Remember that it wasn't long before these dramatic events – with which we are all so familiar – that he was closely confronted with death at the home of Martha and Mary (John ch. 11).  He was deeply moved by the effect of Lazarus’s death on others, and we’re told that he was greatly distressed (11:33). 

The thought of his own death, even though he knew he would ‘come out the other side’, must have been just as distressing.  Certainly, no other moment, in human terms, could have been darker.  However dire our circumstances, however dark we may find our nights, however lonely, however desperate we may be, we can be sure that Jesus knows what it’s like, because He’s been there, and can uphold us through it all.  All we have to do is turn to Him.

Paul, too, spoke of dark times.  Writing when the early church was undergoing great persecution, he refers to them “experiencing trouble on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” (2 Cor. 4:8-9).  By way of encouragement, he says, “God, who said ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ is the one who shined in our hearts to give us the light of the glorious knowledge of God in the face of Christ.” (v.6).

Today’s news stories can be frightening; some can have a personal impact on our lives.  When we wake up in the night, alarmed by what we might face in the morning, it can be hard to feel any kind of reassurance.  But there is a light that shines in and through the lives of all who believe: the light that comes from God, who has power over death itself, is constantly present in our hearts.

It’s a light that needs only the simplest prayer to its Source to turn it on.

The Attraction of Silence

If you’re fortunate enough to live in the right place, it’s still not too late in the year to enjoy an early morning stroll in the woods.  You might wake up early, realise that you’ve beaten the alarm, and take advantage of the opportunity to fit something extra into your day.  The silence of the early morning, broken only by the birdsong and the occasional sound of some distant wildlife can be delightfully relaxing.

As I thought wistfully of silence the other day, the phrase ‘domes of silence’ came into my mind, and it was some while before I could recall where I’d heard it.  I rejected the domes of cathedrals and glass-covered hallways in stately homes, and at last my memory struggled back to schooldays, to hard wooden chairs, and to the little rubber studs fitted to the leg-ends.  It was these that were called ‘domes of silence’.  Sadly, but typical of schoolboys, we soon found that only one of the four had to go missing to render a chair far from silent!

The Bible has something to say about silence – or rather the lack of it.  In his letter James tells us to “listen much, speak little” and advises that we should “control a sharp tongue” (James 1:19,26, Living Bible.)  St Paul offers sound advice for the erudite: if we speak for the sake of it, with little thought or feeling for our hearers, he says, we’re wasting our time (I Cor. 13:1.)  Jesus, in His ministry, encouraged simplicity of speech, telling us, “Simply let your ‘yes’ be ‘yes’, and your ‘no’ ‘no’” (Matthew 5:7). 

The season of political conferences is now over, but did you notice how many speakers (of whatever party affiliation) offered stock phrases and ‘filler’ clichés to please their eager hearers, without offering any grain of sound and innovative wisdom?  Another thing I find very frustrating in modern times is the incessant music that accompanies shopping.  It’s very difficult to find true silence anywhere.

In the church context, too, silence can be a rare commodity.  I used to know a minister, now ‘promoted to Glory’, who would introduce ‘a couple of minutes’ silent prayer’ by at least twice as much loud exhortation, during which he would indicate many good causes and lines of thought which we might explore.  You may know someone similar.

But let’s not go overboard about silence, to the extent that we are desperate to live in our own personal ‘dome of silence’, saying nothing at all.  If we are to be of use in building up the Kingdom of God, we must accept the responsibility to be Witnesses.  Being a witness means “not only in our lives but with our lips” (to twist the words of a once-popular prayer).  Is this call to speak out an unwelcome challenge?  If so, we should take heart.  The disciples were warned that they would be called to give an account of themselves.  They were also told that they would be given the words to say (Mark 13:9-11).

So, next time you wake early from the night’s slumbers, if you don’t feel like a woodland stroll, why not accompany your thanks for rest and a new day with a prayer to be used to bring a word of encouragement or enlightenment to someone you meet?

Getting the Cross Over

If you listen to music with more than a superficial interest, you’ll know that some singers’ careers can take a turn, whether temporary or permanent, that is referred to as ‘cross-over’, for example, when a folk singer records something in a classical genre.

There’s a similar cross-over from my work to my faith, and vice versa.  During the course of my work as a courier, there have been times when the opportunity arises for me to speak as a Christian.  I should explain that, for many years now, I have consistently worn a small wooden cross around my neck.  It is usually overlooked, perhaps thought of as a mere eccentricity, or unmentioned because of familiarity or for lack of something appropriate to say.  Occasionally, however, it attracts a passing comment like ‘that's a nice cross’, or a direct question, ‘are you a Christian, then?’  Sometimes it can introduce confusion, when someone assumes that I wear it because I'm a priest … which I’m not.  Explanations can vary from complex, to embarrassing, to dismissive, according to the personalities involved. 

A few weeks ago I made a collection from a building site and, as the foreman searched for the paperwork, he apologised for the delay, explaining that he’d forgotten his glasses that morning.  With scarcely a thought, I replied that I’d done the same thing in church the other day when I was due to read the lesson.  It was just an exchange of everyday experiences, but I wondered whether later he might have thought once more of ‘a delivery driver who read lessons in church.’

I recently heard in a sermon the report of a comment from the New Wine gathering that, when such a chance happens, we have on average only three seconds in which to get our word across.  It’s imperative, then, that we have our ‘script’ ready.  It needn’t be anything profound ... indeed, it needs not to be deep and complex, or the chance will have gone!  We should pray to spot opportunities like this when they arise.  Apart from the plan to have something pithy that’s ‘ever-ready’, it’s also important to remember Jesus’ words not to worry about what to say ... but to say what we are given in that moment, “for it is not you speaking but the Holy Spirit” (Mark 13:11). 

As I write about this, I’m reminded of an old priest who once told me about a builder who was doing some work in his cottage.  It seems that almost every sentence the man spoke involved the breaking of the third Commandment.  “I prayed about this, and was shown a way to address the matter,” the priest told me.  “I spotted the wedding ring on his finger, and I asked his wife’s name, and whether he loved her.  When he said she was Susan, and added that of course he loved her, I suggested that, should something go wrong with my work, I might regularly exclaim, ‘Oh Susan!’ and I asked how he would feel about this.  He thought a moment, and then said that it was daft, and if it went on he’d probably get very annoyed.  I then explained that I loved my Saviour, and that I found it offensive to hear His Name abused in this way.  I received an apology,” said the priest, “and his language moderated from that moment on!”

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." – Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Crumbs!

Smell, they say, is the most powerful of the senses.  Take the smell of newly-baked bread, for example; one whiff and I can be transported to childhood, recalling with fondness my cycle ride to school, a route that passed the baker’s shop.  Alternatively, I recall holidays in France, where it seems every tiny village awakes to the aroma coming from the boulangerie.

At harvest time (if we’re quick enough before the fields are ploughed for a new season’s crop), the rough spiky landscape of the stubble provides a stark reminder of the valuable corn that has been carefully gathered for processing into flour.  Harvest is thus a good time to meditate on bread, so let’s look a little closer at this simple blend of flour, water and yeast.  Its great variety comes from the type of flour, the proportions and mixture of the ingredients, and the addition of salt and other minor items according to taste.  Therein lies the skill of the master baker – though let’s not forget the importance of taking it out of the oven at the right time!

Bread is a reflection of our very selves.  The flour, the basic ingredient, can be compared to our bodies, which come in a wide range of sizes, shapes and colours.  To the flour is added some liquid: again, quite a variety is available just as people in different cultures enjoy many different foods.  Without yeast, however, such a mixture would be little better than a stodgy paste, and we might compare the working of the yeast to the vibrant entry of God’s Holy Spirit into our lives.

Finally comes the kneading and baking.  Both are critical, for the loaves may finish up crusty or only lightly browned, heavy and barely digestible or light and fluffy, according to the time, skill and effort of the baker.  And isn’t this just the effect our passage through this world can have on us?  Too much care and protection as we grow up might make us unable to cope with life later on; too little and we may perish in our ignorance of any number of life’s perils.

From the blessing of Abram by Melchizedek (Gen. 14:18) to Paul’s instruction to the idle busybodies of Thessalonika to settle down and earn the bread they eat (2Thess. 3:8-12), bread is a constant point of reference in the Bible.  Whether in terms of loaves or as a metaphor for the stuff of life itself, we simply can’t get away from it.  So, next time you tuck into a roll or a sandwich – and I’m sure it won’t be long – remember that Jesus told the crowds, ‘I am the bread of life’ (John 6:35) ... and enjoy it all the more for that!