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!

Harvest Home

Farmers and landowners had long marked the end of the grain harvest with a big meal to which the workers, along with the ‘extras’ who had helped in the harvest fields, would all be invited.  It wasn’t solely for reasons of space that this meal would not take place in the farmer’s dining room.  The majority of the guests were not of his social class, and would feel out of place there.  Instead tables would be erected in a barn and straw bales piled up to form the stage for the entertainment, or for the band to accompany dancing after the meal itself.  The presence of the master, though an essential part of the occasion, was not the inhibition it would certainly have been had the event taken place in his own home, and the conviviality itself was as much part of the celebration as was the meal.  You can almost sense Thomas Hardy sitting in the corner to record the atmosphere for his next Wessex novel! 

Although thanksgivings for harvest have been offered in this and many other ways for many centuries, the traditional Harvest Festival, as celebrated in virtually every church in the land, originated in early Victorian times, when an enterprising Cornish clergyman decided to add a spiritual dimension to what had gone on in the village for years, and invited parishioners into church to give thanks to God. 

I used to work for a man who could best be described as a ‘gourmet’.  To say he liked good food was only to tell part of it.  When there was cause for celebration, a new contract signed, or a new customer to greet, there seemed always to be a bottle of Champagne in the office fridge ready for the purpose.  At the slightest excuse, guests and selected staff would be invited to a nearby restaurant for a meal.  It wasn’t the local Burger King either, but a select ‘Cordon Bleu’ establishment that boasted a celebrity chef.  That was also where we gathered for the annual Christmas dinner, many of us feeling a little over-awed by the sense of place.  Then one year, this ‘tradition’ lapsed.  We were invited, with spouses, to a nearby village pub for the festive gathering, and a jolly time was had by all.

So, what, I hear you ask, has this to do with the foregoing words about Harvest?  Look closely and you will see a common character in each element: the master.  The celebration is not complete without him; in many ways he is key.  But neither is it complete if it takes place on his own turf, on his terms.  To achieve completion, the master comes down to the level of the common man, and isn’t that what we celebrate, not at harvest, but a few months later?  

If you’re attending a harvest supper shortly, remember to look over your friend’s shoulder, into the middle distance, and think of another Master, joining his people as a babe in human form, to share for a short while the full experience of their lives.

Getting to the Bottom of it

Some years ago, I read the story of a duchess who discovered that news of her adultery had appeared in the local newspaper.  She was aghast; she couldn’t face the prospect of her tenants, and other ‘common people’, knowing this unpalatable detail of her private life … let alone the possibility of sniggering behind her back!  She liked to think of herself above the level of scandal and tittle-tattle.  So she bought up all the copies of the paper that were in the village store, and had them destroyed.  However, one of her servants had a cousin who lived in the nearby town.  He did manage to see a copy of the paper, told his cousin, and the fine lady’s tale of shame quickly spread far and wide.

The duchess’s attempt at cover-up was futile.  The saying ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ comes to mind here; the newspaper in this case was the messenger, and the adultery the message.  That saying is usually quoted not so much with thought for the simple protection of the postman, or any other bearer of ill tidings.  Its real meaning is that to take action against that person or entity is completely ineffectual in contradicting the message he’s brought.  We might, for example, screw up a letter bearing bad news, or burn that unwelcome credit card statement … or deny God’s love.  None of these has the slightest bearing on the respective underlying truth: Aunt Bessie has passed away, the debt is at an unsustainable level … and ‘God so loved the world that he gave His only son’ (John 3:16).

If you have time, look at Jeremiah 26:11-15.  Jeremiah had been telling those worshipping at the temple to turn away from their evil lives and, not for the first time, he was in trouble for what he’d been saying.  He pointed out that killing him wouldn’t deter God’s wrath; that would only be achieved if the people were to change their ways.

In the story of Palm Sunday, the people threw leaves and branches on the ground as Jesus passed by sitting on the donkey; they cried out, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Luke, 19:38-40).  The Pharisees told Jesus to make his followers be quiet; in reply, Jesus quoted words from the prophet Habakkuk, “If they keep silent, the very stones will cry out!”  In the original, the previous verses read, “The one who builds his house by unjust gain is as good as dead.  He does this so he can build his nest way up high and escape the clutches of disaster. ​​​​​​​Your schemes will bring shame to your house.  Because you destroyed many nations, you will self-destruct” (Habakkuk 2:9-10).  The hidden meaning of Jesus’ response echoes that same, non-messenger-shooting point.  Whether his disciples were to cry out or not wouldn’t change the fundamental truth of the Pharisees’ failings, nor their eventual punishment.

St Paul told the Romans ‘nothing can separate us from God’s love’ (Rom 8:38), and it’s that great and incomprehensible truth that we remember to our comfort in times of despair, and that we deny at our peril.

In Your Dreams?

I'm generally concerned about dreams and their contents, and whether or not they are 'messages from Heaven'.  I believe that we have to be very careful before assigning divine significance to what we dream.  With that caveat, I’ll continue.  

A few weeks ago, I awoke with a particular sentence ringing clearly in my mind.  “It was Shadrach who, at the foot of the Cross, knelt and said, ‘Lord, I forgot ...’.”  It’s clearly biblical but not, so far as I can determine, from the Bible; I conclude that it was simply an almost coherent jumble of words that had passed through my mind in the previous few days.  However, on the assumption that it might be helpful to someone, I decided to examine each phrase of this sentence and see – wakefully, and with prayer – what conclusions I could draw from it.

Shadrach appears in chapter 1 of the book of Daniel, where we find him with two friends, Meshach and Abednego.  While Daniel is remembered under his original Hebrew name, his friends who, like him, were assigned Babylonian names by their conquerors, are more familiar as they were re-named.  Shadrach was originally called Hananiah, a name that means ‘Yahweh has been gracious’.  There seems to be no specific meaning to ‘Shadrach’, and it’s understood that these name-changes were likely to have been part of a simple expedient of replacing anything that gave expression to the former culture of the captives.

The idea of kneeling at the foot of the Cross is purely metaphorical.  It might have its origin in the thought that the Cross was on a hill (as in Mrs. Alexander’s hymn ‘There is a green hill’, although the Gospels refer simply to ‘a place called Golgotha’) in which case the eyes of an observer might well be at the (level of the) foot of the Cross.  Carrying further the metaphorical dimension, Jesus, as the King, is way above us in both moral and theological terms, and our rightful place might be said to be ‘at his feet’.

In the Gospels there is no mention of ‘the foot of the Cross’; the closest instance I could find is where Jesus commends his mother and the disciple whom He loved (whom we take to be John) to look after each other.  This passage begins, “Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother ...” (John 19:25 NIV, [my italics]).  However, I think the meaning of this expression is obvious, especially in those Christian traditions in whose jargon the believer is encouraged to ‘bring his sins to the foot of the Cross’, i.e. accept that Jesus’ sacrifice there has achieved forgiveness for their sins if these are confessed in repentance.

The general confession in the Book of Common Prayer includes the words, “We have left undone those things which we ought to have done”, which take precedence there over the doing of “things which we ought not to have done”.  I don’t know about you, but I find it easier to call to mind what I’ve done than what I might have done if I’d remembered.  On that basis, it seems likely that I shall end my life with far more sins of omission un-forgiven than the other sort!

Putting these three thoughts together we might conclude that, whatever we might be called, through God’s grace, expressed by Jesus’ death on the Cross, we can be assured that, if we confess them sincerely, there is forgiveness both for our wrong actions and for allowing those good deeds to slip our minds.

Thinking caps on, then.  What have you forgotten lately?