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!

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?

A Life Laid Down

I listened recently to a Country & Western song telling the sad tale of the singer's lover being stolen by her best friend.  As I did so, I recollected some of the many things that life has taught me about love.  It seems to me that the theme of many love songs carries an error over one very basic point – the difference between attraction and love.

We can always make ourselves attractive by being clean and well-dressed, by our good manners and elegant behaviour, and many other ways at our disposal.  With luck, this will cause sufficient interest to prompt the response we desire. 

Whether or not that response is love, however, depends upon the other party.  Whatever our attraction, it cannot command love: this has to be given by the lover.  And if it be a gift, it cannot be thrown away, removed, stolen from or even killed by the one who is loved.  It has to be withdrawn by the lover.

What the ‘desirer’ may or may not be able to control is the degree of attraction that he or she displays.  Poverty, for example, may mean that a smart new suit or flashy designer dress isn’t a possibility; injury or illness might mean that appearances or abilities decline.  But how often local newspapers print pictures of couples celebrating their golden or diamond wedding anniversaries, where one of them is quoted saying of the other, “She/He’s just the same now as when I met him/her.”  Clearly, in a literal sense, this can’t be true.  What’s really being expressed is the love that holds them together.  This comment refers to an intangible quality, some inner personality which, even if it too has adapted through the years, is still appreciated, and found to be attractive.

Perhaps the supreme example of love being the gift of the lover is that of our Lord Jesus.  His life wasn’t taken from him, but given by him.  It was an expression of his love for us (John 10:17-18).  John’s Gospel has much to say about love, and perhaps the most poignant verse is 15:13, one that is particularly appropriate as we begin to mark the centenary of the First World War and which, in one form or another, has found its way onto many a war memorial.

The Eyes have it

Like many ground-floor flat-dwellers, I have net curtains at my windows for privacy.   However, the lady who has just moved in nearby has none, and I find I make a conscious effort when passing her window to look the other way lest I inadvertently invade her privacy.  This caused me to ponder the other day about meeting people in the street.

What happens when you meet a stranger as you walk along?  Do you offer a smile?  Do you even catch their eye?  More often than not, both sets of eyes stare steadfastly forward, or focus on the ground or the shop window . . . anything to avoid meeting the other's gaze.  Although many people these days are lonely, seeking fellowship or companionship, at the same time there is a real fear that any sign of friendship might be misconstrued as recognition; relationships can so easily get out of hand. 

It is said that the eye is the window of the soul; perhaps people don't want those particular windows open for others to look in.  While there are many legal, social, cultural or religious reasons why people adopt this distance between one another, I’d like to focus today on just one possibility: guilt.  If we aren’t sure that our friend is being totally honest with us about something, we might challenge him (or her), “Look me in the eye and say that!”

One of the most common causes of guilt in the modern world is sex, and one of the less pleasant aspects of this is pornography.  It’s said to be the biggest single use of the internet; it’s so easy, personal and confidential, isn’t it?  Just a few clicks and one exciting picture leads to another.  Jesus said that to look lustfully at a woman is to commit adultery with her (Matt. 5:28).  The same lustful passions are aroused by viewing pornography as by looking at a live woman, and are just as invasive of the limits of what rightfully belongs between husband and wife.  Whatever the cause, we may be aware of our guilt, and the way it can prevent us being truly open either with our friends or people generally.  But what can we do about it?  Visual temptation is part of daily life.

Jesus also said, “If your eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter into life with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into fiery hell.” (Matt. 18:9).  While some argue that this was exaggeration for effect, St Paul took a more practical approach, when he told the Corinthians to “Flee immorality. Every other sin that a man commits is outside the body, but the immoral man sins against his own body.” (1 Cor. 6:18).

So the best advice is to avoid looking at whatever we might recognise as an opening for sin, whether in real life or a picture.  If we happen to glimpse something of this nature, look away; don’t give it a second glance: certainly don’t stare goggle-eyed at it, inviting the seed of sin to grow in our hearts.

If we can master our own eyes, we might find it possible to look someone else in the eye . . . and who knows what good could result?

Change and Decay

It seems that concern has increased in recent years about care for the environment, the erosion of the ozone layer, global warming, the search for alternatives to fossil fuel, and so on.  We have a Green Party MP; there will soon be legislation to charge for plastic carrier bags; our local councils are competing for the best recycling ratios for domestic waste – the list is endless. Gradually we have come to see that these matters are important, and we feel part of a worldwide anxiety, a fear that our God-given earth may be wearing out.

But let me throw an element of attrition into the debate – some grit into the oyster, if you will.  Consider for a moment the ageing process as it relates to human life.  A seventy-five- or eighty-year-old cannot fulfil the same physical ambitions of a youth just out of high school; it would be unreasonable for him to expect to do so.  By that time of life, many people are considering the implications of downsizing, and perhaps even moving to sheltered accommodation.  Compared to the comfortable 3- or 4-bedroomed house, the family home of his middle age, a small flat will naturally accommodate fewer personal possessions.  Something will have to go: usually quite a lot gets pruned!  However reluctantly, we regard this as an inevitable progression of lifestyles.

Lets return to the thorny question of global decay.   What has prompted the concern that is being expressed today?  Some, certainly, is founded in a worthy desire to preserve threatened species, and specific constructions or ways of life that face extinction or obliteration.  But isn’t the primary cause simply fear of such a phenomenal degree of change?  The effects that might be brought about by even a small rise in global sea levels represent change of such a magnitude that is virtually incomprehensible.  How can mankind survive in the face of it? 

Almost a century ago, in the midst of war, the outlook of many embroiled in the fighting must have seemed very bleak.  Yet, enormous though the casualties were, far more survived than were killed. 

Faced with the statistics presented to us in the media, we fear the sheer uncertainty of life itself under such different circumstances.  But, doesn’t our pensioner feel something of the same foreboding about that small flat?  And yet, for the majority at least, a reasonable quality of life continues after the removal has taken place; their basic needs are met, albeit in a different way from before.  Cannot we trust God to provide for our absolute necessities, whatever the nature of our surroundings?  

In 1847 Henry Francis Lyte wrote a hymn that is possibly one of the best-known; a hymn that is still sung annually at the FA Cup Final.  Perhaps he expressed a deeper truth than we normally realise when, in his final illness, he penned the words, “Change and decay in all around I see: O thou who changest not, abide with me.”

Holidays too!

The recession has possibly hit holidays more than other aspects of life.  Destinations have to be curtailed, with Thailand becoming the Algarve, anywhere abroad giving way to a week on the Cornish Riviera, or perhaps you have to be content with a weekend in Skegness.  Wherever you go, one thing that is common to all holidays is luggage.

What’s a holiday for, anyway?  For some it’s a chance for adventure, attempting a hitherto unattained achievement; maybe it simply provides a change, and a rest from the routines that fill the remainder of the year.  Only the saddest suitcase fetish would see a holiday as an opportunity to take his rucksack for a ride . . . but even for him, a holiday will require luggage.

For many people a holiday will provide release from a tight timeframe.  There will be more time, so that things can be ‘done properly’, which reminds me . . . are you one of those people who get a few miles down the road and worry about what has been left out of their packing?  One thing I always try to remember is a good book, and then I can indulge myself, using some of that extra time to do some serious reading.

I recently acquired a copy of a new book, ‘Forgetful Heart’ by Lucy Mills.  I found that at the end of each chapter comes a selection of ideas or questions for meditation, and the invitation to employ a notebook or journal to record these, enabling the reader to link such thoughts to one another.  It’s a feature that is common to many publications, and I wondered how often such ideas or suggestions are ignored, for example when we come across them in our Bible notes.  It’s easy to think that they are there ‘for other people’, or ‘for people who have time for that sort of thing’.  I confess that, in defiance of James’s exhortation “be doers of the word and not hearers [or readers] only” (James 1:22), this is often my reaction.  However, I repeat, a holiday offers more time . . . so we can do things properly!

Is that thing that you’ve forgotten not something missing from the suitcase, but an arrangement for a friend to water your pot-plants?  If so, you could come home to find them flagging and drooping, or worse: dead!  I hope you remember to take your Bible and those regular Bible-reading notes with you on holiday.  Our faith is in need of constant nourishment, just like those pot-plants that we water regularly when we’re at home; but unless we make provision for this spiritual nourishment to continue when we’re away, our faith can meet the same fate as the plants.

Finally, while we’re thinking of both plants and the rich soil of our hearts, just look at the parable of the soil (often called the parable of the sower), where the final verse carries a real gem.  “... He produces a crop, yielding a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown.”  (Matt. 13:23b).  If our faith is going to produce a crop, it’s no use letting it flag and wither . . . holiday or not!

When it All Gets Too Much

George was telling me about gardening with his grandson.  At seven years old, Toby had brought his own small wheelbarrow, and had been charged with carrying some of the rubbish round to the compost heap.  “It was a bit of a nightmare,” said George, “He would take the corners too tight, and half of the stuff got shot all over the roses.  To tell you the truth, I was glad when his mother collected him and I could get the place cleared up again.”

The enthusiasm of youth wasn’t quite the answer to George’s needs, it seems.  But let’s just focus for a few minutes on the lost cargo: instead of reaching the compost heap, it didn’t make it round the bend, and landed on the rose-bed.  Isn’t life a bit like that for us sometimes?  Do you feel, like me, that the world has made a tight turn and is off in a different direction, shooting you off at the corner, unable to keep up.  Maybe the task of learning about the latest gadget is more than we can cope with, or perhaps we simply hanker for what seems to have been a slower and perhaps more straightforward lifestyle - as little as twenty or thirty years ago.

I think the psalmist sometimes felt that the world had gone off on its own path, leaving the Lord’s ways behind.  “Why do you stand far off?” he asks the Lord (Ps 10:1), “Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?”  After a tirade against the wickedness he sees all around him, he listens to the Lord, and realises that He does see what is going on, hears the prayers of His faithful ones, and will act so that they are no longer troubled by the world.

A number of characters in the Bible felt they weren’t up to what God asked them to do in the world.  Look at Moses (Exodus 4:1,13), Isaiah (Isa.6:5) and Daniel (Dan.10:16-17) as examples, and see how God dealt with their uncertainties.  It wouldn’t be surprising if, after Jesus’ death, the disciples were fearful that they wouldn’t be able to cope with life without Him.  But he had told them that he would send a Counsellor (Jn.14:16-26), and it is that same Holy Spirit that lives within each one of us today.  

So the next time life lurches, and you feel that you’ve been ‘thrown off the barrow’, remember the promises of Jesus, and his often-quoted words at the end of St Matthew’s gospel, “I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Mt 28:20).

The Threat of the By-pass

A lane near the town where I grew up is called ‘Dark Lane’.  For a while about twenty years ago, I used to drive up it on my way to work each morning; in the bright summer sunshine it was far from dark!  However, the field-edge on the sunny side still contains the stumps of tall oak and horse-chestnut trees that were removed in the ‘seventies.  While I can just remember those trees, the hedgerow on the opposite side of the road that completed the ‘darkness’ was even then long gone.

When I moved to Hertfordshire, and began driving around at weekends to explore my new surroundings, people would suggest places I should see, and might speak of ‘going down the by-pass’ to get to them.  I didn’t understand what they meant; to me it was all one main road; the fact that one particular stretch took the traffic around a village instead of through it was lost in the history of years before my arrival, but to those who had lived here all their lives that part of the road was still – and would forever be – ‘the by-pass’.

Roads change; life changes.  There are benefits: cultivation might be easier, villages safer, journeys quicker; but there are disadvantages, too: the passing trade for the village shop is decimated; driving from A to B is further, and the journey less interesting; road names are no longer meaningful and a way of life that for centuries lived out its own co-ordinated and successful existence vanishes.

God gave the Israelites Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:2-17; Deuteronomy 5:6-21).  However, by Jesus’ time, the Pharisees had expanded these into over 600 rules of life, which together made life a minefield, and in many ways missed the point of the original ten.  People were striving to keep these rules, in the hope that they could please God by doing so. 

Jesus brought a new (and better) way.  Zacchaeus was a tax superintendent who’d made his fortune by overcharging people.  But when he heard of this new way, his whole life changed (Luke 19:1-10).   There were others, too, who were persuaded to follow Jesus’ teaching.  Paul wrote to some of them in Ephesus, encouraging them to lay aside their old lives and take up the new (Eph. 4:22-24).  Sadly, there were people who, having undergone that transformation, were inclined to backtrack and follow another ‘new idea’ that was, in effect, the very slavery to the Law that they had so recently rejected (Galatians 5:1-10).  Paul’s letter to them is in a much different vein!

In a world of constant change, we must see new ideas for what they are.  We need to recognise ways that are ‘new’, even if we never knew the ones they have replaced.  We should evaluate new patterns of behaviour before following them, and also be prepared to reject them, if they try to overturn tried and tested habits that were clearly God’s way of living.  Paul wrote about this to the Corinthians (I Cor. 3:11-15).   Bandwagons abound, and it’s all too easy to hop onto one that is going the wrong way!

One in the Crowd

The pattern of my 'quiet time' each morning is to read the scriptures aloud, even though I'm alone, just as I would if I were at the lectern in church.  I read the notes that I follow day by day - presently I'm using Scripture Union's 'Daily Bread' - and then move into prayer, prompted by the Word I've just read, by one or more of a sequence of topics from mission organisations, and by what is going on in the world, in my friends' lives and in my own.

Now, when I read in church, I try to vary my voice according to what I'm reading, adding pauses where I feel they are appropriate, so as to make the listening experience of others as effective as possible in conveying God's word into their hearts.  I'm no actor, but sometimes I find myself injecting emotion into the record of spoken words, as if I were saying them in the event, as it were.  I remember being so involved on one occasion that I completely forgot the liturgical doxology that I was supposed to say at the end of the reading, and simply returned to my seat with my eyes full of tears.

This week I've been reading from Matthew, chapter 26, in the run-up to Holy Week and Easter.  As I've said, I read the same at home as I do in church.  So this morning, as Jesus finally broke his silence before Caiaphas (v. 64), I spoke His words in a matter-of-fact tone, gradually increasing in intensity.  But when it came to the high priest's response and the ensuing assault and ridicule (vv. 65-68), these were delivered with a contempt and venom that quite scared me.

How is it, I wondered, that the emotion for these insults, that condemnation, comes forth so readily?  I concluded, in prayer, that it's simply human nature coming to the surface.  It's able to do so in the safe and controlled environment of my lounge, in a way that normally would be suppressed by our culture and surroundings.  Surely it is this that is the basis of what we term 'crowd mentality'.

I found myself thinking about my own behaviour in a crowd.  Suppose, for example, I had been in the streets of Aleppo, or Kiev, amongst a crowd of people of like mind to myself.  Would I have dared to speak out against those who sought violence?  Would I have said, "Come on, now, there's a better way of dealing with these demands."?  Or would I have joined in the shouting and the fighting, hitting out and throwing stones and Molotov cocktails along with everyone else?  I think I know the answer and, along with the emotions expressed in that reading this morning, . . . it scares me!

Father God, this week we commemorate Jesus' act of sacrifice that paid the price for the sins of each one of us.  Help me to bring my hatred and violence to the foot of the cross, and leave them there along with the rest of my sins. Give me strength, I pray, to stand up for the oppressed, and the hungry in our world, without resorting to force to express my feelings and get my point across.  Amen.

Where will it All End?

It happened that I was driving quite slowly in the outside lane, with nothing in the nearside lane.  I pulled over to see what was holding things up and discovered that, a short way ahead, was a small car trying to overtake something only marginally slower than itself.  At the time, I was listening to a sermon podcast in which the preacher  questioned how Joseph might have felt when the angel told him to get up in the night, pack up and flee to Egypt (Matt. 2:13).  As we know, he obediently did as he was bid, but did he wonder whether he’d bitten off more than he could chew?  He’d taken Mary as his wife, become the step-father of God’s Son and known the adulation of these rich foreigners ... but now the Child was under a death threat: a danger against which he was powerless!

I related what I was hearing to what I could see on the road in front of me.  Had the driver of the small car the same misgivings of Joseph?  Did he now wonder whether he’d bitten off more than he could chew?  Had he made a mistake when he estimated the speed of the vehicle he was trying to overtake?  Would he make it, or would he have to pull back in an admission of failure?

The preacher seemed to be leading towards Jesus’ own possible thoughts years later, as He faced the opposition of the Pharisees to His ministry, and suffered the declining experiences of betrayal and arrest, desertion by His friends and not one but three trials, before torture and a painful execution.  However, the sermon actually focussed on an apparent contradiction, when Jesus said to His disciples, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.”  (John 16:33).  The speaker refrained from singing, as he quoted the Fred Astaire song, “There may be troubles ahead ...”

I recalled some wise words that had been given to me by my Rector many years ago, when I was going through one of life’s many distressing phases.  Basically his advice amounted to this.  “It may be tough for you at the moment, but one day you will look back on this time and, as a result of what you’re going through now, you will be able to help others as they suffer in the same way.”  Only weeks ago, I found myself in just such a situation.  I was able to share my experiences with a friend in need, and pray with him as he now trod the same path that I once had.  Those wise words had proved true for me.

A popular hymn begins, “I do not know what lies ahead, the way I cannot see; yet One stands near to be my guide, He’ll show the way to me.”  We do well to remember these thoughts when we pass through times of uncertainty; that our Lord guaranteed that, through His Holy Spirit, He would be with us always.

Where do you Belong?

Have you noticed how our American cousins tend to ‘complete the address’ when they refer to a place?  I confess I find it irritating to hear ‘Pittsburg, Pennsylvania’, or ‘Dallas, Texas’.  I mean, who doesn’t know where these places are?

Sometimes, of course, this suffix is often useful.  I questioned the need for ‘Paris, France’, until I learned that the USA has its own Parises in Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee and Texas; and even ‘London, England’ has a purpose, for it distinguishes our own capital from the Canadian city in Ontario.

Many years ago, when I started researching my family history, I wasn’t surprised to discover that in each register index there were pages and pages of Evanses, a large proportion of whom were Welsh.  I was reminded of apocryphal stories about Welsh communities where the majority of the population were either Jones or Evans.  Distinction was provided by the addition of their trade, such as ‘Jones the Milk’ or ‘Evans the Post’.

And this brings us to the question of what distinction is necessary - or appropriate - for us, whether in our own country, or even in our own town.  There is an obvious distinction to be drawn if we have cousins with the same name; we might refer to ‘Peter in Tunbridge’, for example, to avoid confusion with ‘Peter in Harrogate’.  Are you ever referred to as ‘Eileen the Christian’, or ‘William from St Paul’s’?  How would you feel if you were?

We are taught that we should be in the world but not of the world.  This is important, because our faith shouldn’t be something we keep to ourselves, like the light hidden under a bowl (Matthew 5:15).  Instead, we should put our faith to some form of practical use, for ‘faith without works is dead’ (James. 2:17).  Not that good works are necessary to create faith, but they ought to be a natural product of an effervescent faith that cannot rest without outward expression.

Consider the last week.  Can you think of something you did to help others or to bring comfort to someone, a public-spirited gesture or contribution to the life of your church?  Is your faith bubbling over to be expressed?  Does your ‘trade’ as a Christian merit the identifying tag?  Next time you hear someone from ‘across the pond’ speaking, just wait for the ‘full address’ construction, and remember its significance in your own life.

Mucking In and Out

My father was a farm worker all of his life, and I dare to say he was proud of the fact. Were he here now, he would say that a lifetime’s hard work was nothing to be ashamed of.  Part of that time was spent with horses, a time when muck was a daily part of his life, but for a few weeks every spring, horses or not, our home became perfumed by the all-pervasive smell of muck-spreading, for muck is (as the Oxford English Dictionary confirms by according it to the word as its first definition) ‘farmyard manure’.  

As well as its spreading, ‘muck’ provides other compounds too.  Every horse-owner knows the importance of mucking out: removing the ordure and refreshing the stable with new straw.  This was also a term that I heard in childhood, to refer to spring cleaning. From time to time – and not just in the spring – it’s a good idea to get into the farthest corners and remove the stubborn dirt and any accumulated rubbish.  This is a laudable task for, as George Herbert wrote in the seventeenth century, ‘Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws makes that [i.e. drudgery] and the action fine’ (from the hymn Teach me, my God and King, based on Herbert’s poem Elixir).

An expression not heard so much these days is ‘mucking in’, an expression of working, or facing adversity, together; helping one another meet a common need.  It’s a gesture we’ve seen on our TV newsreels in recent weeks as Somerset farmers have mucked in and helped each other save their animals from the floods.  The Israelites who rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem, faced by the taunts and conspiracies of Tobiah, Sanballat and their friends, worked together, some at the walls doing the actual rebuilding, some equipped with bows, spears and body-armour to defend them, and others carrying materials, weapons in hand (Nehemiah ch. 4).  They were mucking in so that their combined efforts would succeed.  St Paul also emphasised this ‘all-for-one-and-one-for-all’ attitude to community life in his letter to the Corinthians, where he compares the inter-dependence of the parts of the body to that of each member of the church (I Cor. ch. 12).  

Even in these mechanised days, to those either living or spending their leisure hours in the countryside, muck is still an inevitable aroma of spring.  As the year and its Lenten, or growing, season open up before us, let’s think of this word and its many meanings, as they remind us to remove the rubbish of the past from our lives; to join in with communal activities, and to spread God's love among all whom we meet in our daily lives.

Tuesdays

On a Sunday morning a while ago, I met two ladies who I guess were in their early seventies.  They were neatly dressed and I imagined that they might have been walking to church.  The snippet of their conversation that I caught as they passed me by has lingered in my mind.  “Now listen,” said one to the other, “ – while I think of it – you know on Tuesdays you go to …”  Intrude with me, if you will, into this private conversation, and consider my thoughts about it, phrase by phrase.

‘Now listen’ – the speaker had to say this to gain her friend’s heightened attention.  For each of them this was an opportunity to unload the week’s events.  But what the speaker was about to impart was important.  She wanted to make sure it would be remembered, over and above their usual weekly chatter.

‘While I think of it’ – Clearly there was much to share when these two met; maybe they only saw each other on that occasion each week, and each had much to share with the other.  Having remembered the need to make this particular announcement, she wanted to ensure it didn’t get overlooked: crowded out by other matters.

‘On Tuesdays’ – Both the need to specify the day in the first place, and the emphasis which the speaker placed on the word, gave me the impression that on other days, other events would also be regularly attended; their average week was quite full.

‘You go to’ – For all her age, the listener was known to be an active individual, not content to sit in and wait for the world to come to her, she was able, and even more important, willing, to go out and find the companionship of others, and join in activities with them.  

And what of the bit I missed – whatever was going to follow, some detail about the forthcoming Tuesday’s activity?  Maybe it had been cancelled.  The build up to it suggested that there would have been, at the very least, particular inconvenience or disappointment for the speaker’s friend if she were to discover this on Tuesday; better that she was forewarned.  

Those fourteen words had much to say.  Whether an accurate summary or not, the incidence prompts a parallel question in my mind.  What does God want to say to me today?  Amongst all my rambling thoughts, and all I read or listen to, is there something special that He wants me to know?  One way to find out is to examine His word in the Bible, and to study it in depth.  This analytical technique is one that we can apply to any verse of scripture.  Treat it like a chocolate orange: ‘tap it, unwrap it’, and indulge in the full richness of God’s word.

Growing Stronger on the Vine

It’s a widely-held belief in the advertising industry that the long Christmas and New Year break offers people a great opportunity to make plans for their summer holidays.  In my case this year, it was more productive than many.  Instead of leaving things until the last moment, I’m all fixed up for a – hopefully sunny – week in July.  My mission is to lay one more ghost of the past, by re-visiting somewhere I went to many years ago with my now ex-wife.  It was, in fact, quite an enjoyable time, marred only by the fact that I was there on business, and it was actually she who did all the sightseeing!

Whilst musing on this aspect, I recalled a week I’d spent a few years ago with a Quaker family in Lincolnshire.  This was a more significant ghost-busting expedition, since it was somewhere else that the two of us had visited, this time during a rather tense episode of our life together, and I benefited greatly from the relaxation of being there years later on my own.  I recall sitting at my breakfast one sunny morning, looking through the open door to a great vine growing in the conservatory. 

Had it stood erect, the plant must have been a good eight feet from the pot to the tip of the topmost shoot, though this was hard to judge since it was tied across the metal rods that supported the roof.  If it were not suspended like that, the vine wouldn’t have been nearly so luxuriant; it would have got no taller than a foot or so above the pot, and then toppled, before perhaps being trodden underfoot.  

I wonder whether our lives are sometimes paralleled by the growth of such vines, straggling unadventurously, scarcely moving from the security of a humdrum routine, so long as we rely on our own efforts for development.  How much greater we can be if we are supported, if we are lashed to something firm, like that vine was to those roof stays.

Jesus used a vine as an illustration of his teaching (see chapter 15 of St. John’s Gospel).  Sadly there is an unwritten rule within our culture that says we should be able to stand on our own two feet, do everything for ourselves, and live independent lives.  We feel it’s a sign of weakness to admit that we can’t cope, that we need help, support or guidance.  

It’s a most selfish attitude, of course.  By kidding ourselves that we can be independent, we are not only reducing our own efficiency, but we’re denying someone the privilege of helping, of being the hands or feet of God in a situation for which they are particularly suited, and maybe called.  

To finish I’ll pass on a wise saying that (I now admit) always bears repetition.  Next time you have even the slightest doubt about your ability to manage something – be it family or business, major or trivial – remember to “Let go, and let God!”

C is for ... Beautiful?

From time to time over the years, I have taken great pleasure in listening to a particular song on the radio.  Sung by a group called Beautiful South, I believe it is called ‘Don’t marry her’.  The song is a sad tale of unrequited love.  The singer sees the object of her affections well on the path to marrying someone with whom, she is sure, he will quickly find happiness turning into boredom and frustration.

As I listened to it again recently, I realised, in three alliterative words, why I like this song.  It’s charming. A well-defined melody is matched by clear diction and smooth tonal qualities.  It’s catchy.  It took me ages to learn the words of the chorus, and I still have to concentrate really hard if I want to sing along with the record.  And it’s that chorus which provides my third ‘C-word’: “The Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay / And you realise you can’t make it anyway. / You have to clean the car, take the kiddies to the park. / Don’t marry her – have me!” 

The words provide a clear-cut message, spelling out the ‘plot’ of the ballad.  This other woman will quickly force the young man into a strict routine, affording him no freedom to enjoy life as we presume he does at present.  But this clear-cut message has a sting in the tail, as the singer contrasts ‘marry’ – presumably a permanent state, and possibly a blessed one – with ‘have’ – a régime of taking the pleasures of the present with no thought for the long-term.

On that occasion, two pieces of Scripture came to mind as I meditated on those words, and I invite you to look them up at your leisure and see if you agree about their relevance.  The first is Proverbs 5:3-12.  There is a definite tendency in twenty-first century, ‘post-modern’ life, whether in the specific matter of marriage or in other ways too, to look after the present, without a care for tomorrow.  It seems appropriate at harvest time to comment about sowing and reaping, and the obvious relation between them with regard to our lifestyles.  If we pay no attention to the longer term, to preparing ourselves for the future by following disciplines that we learn are not only wise but God-given, then we have only ourselves to blame when things turn sour.

And, finally, least we should think that there is any possibility of half-measures: of offering a nod of partial adherence to the lessons we find in the Old Testament, while still going our own way most of the time, I offer the simple statement that came to me at the same time, and is to be found at Matthew 12:30.

Suffice to say that, being now older and hopefully wiser through realising the potential lesson of the words, next time I hear this song, I shall content myself with the enjoyment of the music!