Poppies ... and Other Flowers

It’s coming: a weekend of military nostalgia, when we watch the Festival of Remembrance from the Royal Albert Hall, see the members of the Royal British Legion parading their navy-and-gold banners, and wear our poppies with pride.  But, nowadays, fewer TV viewers tune in to the Festival, the medals merrily bouncing on the chests of the legion were probably earned in Belfast, Basra or Helmand rather than Ypres or Passchendaele, Tobruk or Anzio, and we are confused about what it is that we are proud of as we pin that poppy to our lapel.

The history of the poppy is well-known.  When it was chosen as the symbol of the British Legion in 1921, many survivors remembered it as the only sign on life to be seen amidst scenes of utter devastation on the Western Front.  It was a reminder that life goes on, and that the Legion’s aim was to help survivors and the families of the fallen to cope with it in the years following the war.

Today, things are very different.  Many other wars have come and gone and, with the medical and surgical advances of the last century, there are proportionally far more survivors to be cared for.  The romantic images of the early twentieth century have given way to a different, and more immediate, picture of the human need resulting from war.

The idea of Remembrance with which past generations grew up, thinking fondly of those who were lost in war – or, as in my case, of uncles and cousins whom we never knew – and praising their bravery, has been transformed.  We now think of war as a concept, a terrible last resort for irresolvable international differences; we remember it in the sense of ‘let’s not forget that it still hovers spectrally in the background.’  Perhaps the poppy, with its specific historic origins, should be replaced by another flower: myosotis, the forget-me-not, which is already a symbol of love, of remembering a absent loved one.

Remembering is important.  Let me put it another way: forgetting is frustrating, sometimes painful and potentially damaging to relationships.  I’m reminded (pardon the pun!) of Forgetful Heart by my friend Lucy Mills (Darton Longman and Todd, 2014), the essence of which is neatly summed up in these words from the introduction: “I don’t just forget ordinary, trivial things.  I forget about who I really am, and what has been done for me.  I forget the One who made and redeemed me.”  In her book, Lucy explores the human tendency to forget, especially to forget God.

Poppies and forget-me-nots don’t appear in the Bible; indeed very few flowers do.  One that does is the lily, often associated with funerals, and devotion to a loved one.  The passage in Matthew’s gospel which includes the familiar words ‘consider the lilies of the field’ talks about putting God’s kingdom above all practical desires, safe in the knowledge that He will provide for our needs (Matt. 6:25-34).  The following note comes from a Greek lexicon by Louw & Nida, and is quoted from the NET Bible (http://netbibleorg).  “Though traditionally κρίνον has been regarded as a type of lily, scholars have suggested several other possible types of flowers, including an anemone, a poppy, a gladiolus, and a rather inconspicuous type of daisy.”

It’s interesting that the other flowers suggested include not only the poppy, but also the tall gladiolus, sometimes called sword lily named from the Latin gladius, a sword, very much a weapon of war.

Isaiah begins his vision of beauty by suggesting that “the wilderness will rejoice and blossom like a crocus” (Is. 35:1, NIV); other translations offer a rose (KJV) or a lily (NET).  A similar dilemma faced the translators when they looked at the Song of Solomon, where rose and lily compete once more as they try to express the supreme beauty of the lover by comparing the flower to the dull ordinariness of the thorn bushes. (Songs 2:1-2).

Perhaps the Good News has the edge; there the specific identity is subsumed in the simple ‘flower’, leaving the emphasis to fall on the absolute perfection of God’s Kingdom.

As you wear your poppy this year, don’t be confused by its meaning, but think of it as one of a whole posy of flowers, strewn in our path to remind us – like the variety of support provided by the Royal British Legion to the service community - of the richness of God’s provision for us all, here and in the hereafter.

Structured

I recall that, in the days when I attended worship in the Methodist Church, the steward introducing the morning service would often use the words “There are no additional notices this morning.”  It puzzled me; I wondered, ‘if there’s nothing to say, why bother to mention it?  Thinking further, maybe there is a purpose after all.  I had no idea then, and certainly none now, about what went on behind the scenes, but it seems likely that there was a check-list.  Successive items on this list might be, ‘mount rostrum’; ‘are there any additional notices?’; ‘introduce preacher’.  Put in this context, those words – apparently meaningless of themselves - are a reminder to us that there is a definite structure to worship, a framework that allows flexibility while ensuring that all the important items are covered.

Of course, our whole lives are structured in some way or other from cradle to grave.  Soon after we are born we have inoculations according to a health service record; legislation demands that we attend school between five and sixteen; the government aims that half of us or more will then go on to university; peer pressure and social convention directed us in our early years to join scouts, cubs, brigades, or some other youth organisation.  Then there are the laws of the land which govern our behaviour, discouraging us from theft, violence and breaking the speed limit.  We can’t escape structure in one form or another.

Our spiritual lives, too, conform to a pattern.  We are baptised when we come to faith ... or else as infants, later taking upon ourselves at confirmation the promises made on our behalf.  We meet weekly for worship: the writer to the Hebrews exhorted that the believers should “consider how we may spur one another on towards love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another ...” (Heb. 10:25).  We try to maintain a personal discipline of daily prayer and Bible reading and, if our lifestyle allows, we might also attend a mid-week social or study group. We each play as full a part in the life of the Church as we are able.  If we are called to some specific ministry, or even to ordination, then a prescribed path leads us through the appropriate training to that end.

There is even a structure which we can - and should - apply to our prayer life.  Our Lord gave us a template for our prayers: “This is how you should pray ...”, He said (Matt. 6:9ff).  How often do we chant this template as if it were, of itself, the ultimate prayer and consider our prayers ‘done’?  Instead, we should ponder its various clauses, and expand our prayers according to this recommended spread.

And a final thought, with the great feast of Christmas not far off.  Our Church year is structured, too.  As the seasons unfold, so one celebration logically follows another, each reminding us of some significant aspect of our faith, and together providing a variety of emphases for appropriate worship at each time of year.

So, next time you hear something apparently meaningless - like the announcement of no additional notices - question why this should be; perhaps you will be led to give thanks for God’s gift of a framework for life.

Freedom

It was Franklin D Roosevelt who first spoke about ‘four freedoms’ in his State of the Union address in 1941.  These were freedom of speech, freedom of worship, freedom from want and freedom from fear.  These values ultimately became enshrined in the establishment of the United Nations.  In other words, we can say what we like, worship who or what we like, however we like, and eat what we like without a care in the world.  Is freedom really as simple as that?  I don’t think so; the EU, for example, has four other freedoms that it holds dear: the free movement of goods, capital, services and people.

So what is freedom all about?  In 1989, just days after the fall of the Berlin Wall, at a performance of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony in that city, the chorus changed the words of the Ode to Joy from Freude (joy) to Freiheit (freedom) in celebration of the freedom that East Berliners suddenly had from an oppressive Communist regime.  The people of Aleppo would welcome freedom right now from the constant bombing and destruction all around them.  Meanwhile, after months of dangerous travel, lots of refugees have found freedom of a kind in Europe, a freedom to begin a new life away from the dangers of their homelands.

Jesus said, “...the truth will set you free.” (John 8:31).  Those who heard Him protested that they were already free, inasmuch as they were no one’s slaves.  The freedom He referred to was a far greater one than they could imagine, a freedom offered by the truth He taught, one that we can know through His death and Resurrection, a freedom from all the trappings of this world.  St Paul also compared the trials and tribulations of life in this world to the glorious freedom of the world to come (Rom. 8:18-25). 

Paul taught the Corinthians about freedom’s responsibilities in the context of what other people see and think about its use (I Cor. 10:23-33), and both Peter and Paul cautioned against wrong ways to use freedom: as a cover-up for evil (I Peter 2:16) and in order to indulge the flesh (Gal. 5:13).

FDR’s list falls into two pairs.  In the same vein as the above examples, he lists two freedoms from things.  It is our right to be free from want and fear, but our exercise of these rights depends on other people recognising them too, and allowing them to us.  The other two are freedoms to do things.  While the ‘freedoms from something’ are dependent on other people,  the ‘freedoms to do’ carry with them responsibilities to other people.  Our freedom to do things – speak and worship are only two examples – should only be exercised in a way that doesn’t deny some freedom to other people.

Many years ago I lived in a terraced house with a ‘flying freehold’.  There was a passage between my house and the one next door, which gave access to our back doors.  I owned the rear half of the passage, over which was part of my bedroom, and my neighbour owned the front half, over which was part of his house.  According to the deeds, each of us had rights to use the passage under the other’s house.  In the original Victorian ‘legalese’, we had the right to ‘pass and re-pass with bicycles and handcarts’.  Though we had the right, if either of us were to spend the whole night passing and re-passing with a noisy handcart, especially one with metal tyres or a wobbly wheel, I think the other would have had strong words to say about it in the morning!  Our freedom of movement had to be exercised with consideration for the other’s right of freedom from aggression.

Let me end with a final thought about truth.  Suppose you are asked to give an explanation for something and, to gain a supposed advantage, you make up an impressive but fictitious story.  Next time, you will have to remember what it was you said; if you are asked further questions, you have to add another layer to what you concocted before.  Soon, there is so much to remember you won’t manage it and you’ll give yourself away, having been imprisoned by your own fabrication.  How much better to have told the truth from the very beginning.  It may not have been the way Jesus meant those words, but the truth can set you free from a self-made prison!

Steps of Judgement

Over the years I’ve been accused of coming up with many a strange link in these pieces; perhaps this is one of the strangest.  My feet recently led me <groan> to think of Judas Iscariot.  Read on before you condemn the idea as total nonsense.

When I say that I love walking, what I really mean is that I like the idea of being in the open, with the sun streaming down around me, and a gentle breeze tickling my face.  In my imagination, I’m looking over a broad stretch of rolling meadowland to an historic village nestling in the woodland below.  The only trouble is that, to arrive at such an idyll, one has to walk.  My feet aren’t best friends with thick socks and walking boots.  They get sore and, through the lack of years of practice, my legs and ankles ache after just a short walk so, far from being the delight it should be, this is something of a challenge to be undertaken only rarely.

During Jesus’s earthly lifetime, there were no cars or cycles. He and his disciples walked everywhere: possibly barefoot.  We simply cannot comprehend a lifestyle like that.  For us walking is a leisure activity; for them it was a way of life that is beyond our modern understanding.

Now, like my feet and walking boots, the disciples were not best friends with understanding.  They had their problems; the gospels are strewn with phrases like, ‘Do you still not understand?’(Mat. 16:9), and ‘Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time?’ (John 14:9).  Words like this show just how far they were from thinking like their Master.  Judas was most spectacularly not on Jesus’ wavelength.  One line of thought says that Judas believed he was hastening the fulfilment of Christ’s mission by turning Him in to the temple guard.  In a sense he was, of course, but not in the way he expected.  So much so that he took his own life in remorse that he had so misjudged the Saviour of mankind.

The expression “Don’t judge a man until you have walked a day in his shoes” was quoted in the film ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’.  It is credited to the first century rabbi Hillel, but whoever originally said it, the words represent a caution that I find myself in almost daily need to remember.  Who am I to say that walkers are eccentric fanatics?  And who are they to say I’m a wimp for not following their healthy example?  After all, Jesus taught us, ‘Do not judge, or you too will be judged’ (Mat. 7:1).

By the way ... how did I do with that link?

"... their Heirs and Assigns"

As one whose hobby is genealogy, I was pleased the other day to discover that the TV programme Heir Hunters had returned for a new series.  Compared to most people, I watch very little television, but that is one programme that does command my rapt attention.  After many series now, very little of the actual heir-tracing techniques illustrated is novel, but each story is unique despite the common plot.

‘Common’ is a very appropriate word here because, while the plot (i.e. someone dying with no known family) is common to every programme, I fear that this has become a more common occurrence in our modern world than was the case perhaps as little as fifty years ago. 

It is an acknowledged myth that people only began to move far away from their birthplace in recent years; despite the distances involved, I believe there was far more regular contact within dispersed families a few generations ago than today.  Many and varied are the causes for this change in our behaviour.  While their analysis doesn’t properly belong here, high among these factors are surely the greater number of broken and dysfunctional families, the decreasing popularity of marriage as a spiritual bond, and simply the speed of modern life in general.

I felt somewhat unusual that, by the age of thirty – maybe earlier – I could recite the names of my four grandparents and of all fourteen of my parents’ siblings (even if not in the correct order!).  In biblical times, not only would this be a commonplace ability, but it would rank very low on the scale of such achievements.  I don’t imagine that the gospel writers were accomplished family historians, but Matthew and Luke could recite for us dozens of generations of the forbears of Joseph, a mere carpenter, and Mary his wife.

It wasn’t simply that the fame of Jesus had inspired research into his genealogy.  To all Israelites, the concept of heritage was important.  At the partition of the promised land by Joshua according to the instructions of Moses (Joshua chs. 13-19), it was important to know which family and clan was descended from which of Jacob’s sons, to determine who had the right to settle where.  After the return from exile in the time of Ezra, it became important to distinguish Jews from other nations and stress was laid on establishing descent from returning exiles (Ezra ch. 9).  Genealogy was important, too, to determine the right of certain families to act as priests (Ezra 2, esp. v. 62).

One of the fundamental characteristics of family life that has, to a great extent, disappeared in our modern age is care for our extended families.  For example, many of the deceased ‘stars’ of Heir Hunters are maiden aunts.  When traced, many an heir expresses sadness that they never knew of the deceased’s existence, and how much better it would have been to have known her while alive, rather than share in her wealth now she was dead.

From the earliest days, the Israelites were told to respect their parents.  The fifth Commandment given by God through Moses was that they should honour their fathers and mothers (Ex. 20:12); the instruction that a brother should marry his dead brother’s wife (Deut. 25:5-6) had more to do with the preservation of the family line but was also, nevertheless, an indication of the responsibility to care for other family members.  This duty had been carried down the centuries, for it was referred to by the Sadducees when they questioned Jesus in the Temple (Matt. 22:25).

We all like a good family story, whether it is on TV, like Heir Hunters today, or The Waltons in times past, or in one of a myriad of popular novels.  But is there someone not too distantly related to you, for whom you have an unexercised duty of care?  Although not the best of motives for care, it could result in you being named in a Will; far more importantly, it could bring untold light and richness to a lonely person’s days, and – who knows? – it might help to reverse a sad trend in modern life!

Tempest-tossed?

Sunday lunch was over, and the washing-up done.  James and Moira were sitting quietly in the lounge.  Moira was knitting; James … just sat.  Moira was used to this regular weekly scene.  It was a pattern that had developed gradually over thirty years of happy married life.  She asked James what he was thinking as he relaxed in the late spring sunshine streaming through the window.  Although not at all dissatisfied, she wondered whether there were something else they might do with their afternoon.

“Thinking?” he replied, drawing thoughtfully at his pipe.  “Yes, I suppose I was.  Do you know, that hadn’t occurred to me.”  He paused, as if the idea of actually doing something – even so simple as thinking – were quite alien to his frame of mind at that moment.  “I was just taking in the wonder of life: the garden planted, the children settled at last, we’ve no money worries ... there’s just the two of us, happy here together.” 

*  *  *

God was in His heaven, and all seemed right with the world.  That word picture might have been penned forty or fifty years ago; somehow it seems less likely that it’s a 21st-century situation.  Look with me at the ‘prologue’ to the story of Job in the Old Testament (Job 1:1-5).  Here is a word picture from another, distant, age but one that bears comparison to James and Moira. Like theirs, it couldn’t happen in Britain today.  A family of ten is rare in the first place, and what rich man today would count his wealth in terms of the number of animals he owned?  However, in his own time and culture, clearly Job had ‘made it’.  Little did he know what was to come.

Sitting in his lounge on a Sunday afternoon, James, too, was clearly mesmerised by the very successful tranquillity of their life.  But we know only too well what dreadful illnesses, what financial catastrophes, what human disasters can lie just around the corner from a peaceful life today.

In the hurly burly of modern life, we rarely have time to step back from life like James and Moira, and just take in its magnificence.  Like them, you might feel that some past trouble is now overcome and you can look forward to a time of ‘plain sailing’.  Or are you like Job, well aware of God’s part in your life.  He was fearful that his sons might have been sinful in their celebrations, and was anxious to make reparation to God on their behalf (v.5).

In the light of the New Testament, we know that we don’t have to pacify God.  That debt has been paid – once, for all – by Jesus’ death and resurrection.  But it is good to give God the credit for all that He has done in our lives.  Try, if you can, to sit quietly for a few moments, turn aside from those worries and pressing matters, and think instead of the many ways – ways we often taken for granted – in which God has blessed your life.

The name Johnson Oatman Jr. may not be known to you.  Born in New Jersey, USA in 1856, he was a Methodist minister and, like the famous Charles Wesley before him, he was a great hymn writer.  Before he died in 1922, he had given some 5,000 hymns and songs to the church.  Perhaps one of his best known is “When upon life’s billows”.  You can find it on the internet at www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/c/o/countyou.htm).  Look it up now, and ‘count your blessings’ this summertime.

Licensed

I grew up suffering from low self-esteem, a lack of confidence that could easily turn to frustration.  Uncertainty about self-expression could lead me to say something incomplete or offensive and not at all what I sought to convey.  

When I became a Reader, these frustrations were relieved ... almost overnight.  Suddenly, I was able to stand in front of a congregation, many of whom were much older than me, to lead and teach them.  I had been given ‘permission’; I felt I had authority to do and say these things ... I had the Bishop’s licence.  As I look back, I’m still amazed at the way that single sheet of grey paper had changed my behaviour.

In his letter to the early Christians, the apostle James wrote about the power of little things.  He used the example of a small piece of metal placed in a horse’s mouth to control it.  He referred to the rudder steering a great ship and a tiny spark setting a forest on fire (James 3:3-5).  As the song says, “Little things mean a lot!”  James went on to talk about the tongue, another very powerful little thing!  He described it as a restless evil, full of deadly poison (v.8).  I certainly couldn’t tame mine in those younger days!

Later, when I was no longer in ministry as a Reader, confidence left me to some extent.  I could stand, apparently chatting in a group, but spend the whole time listening, contributing nothing at all for ages.  I was hesitant and found it difficult to put the right words together; by the time I did, the conversation had moved on.  

And when it came to action, ... !  I remember with shame sitting in my parked car in the street after seeing an old man fall down on the pavement.  I waited and watched as someone else came and helped him to his feet.  It was as if I was paralysed by the thought of doing something caring and practical.

I’ve recently noticed a change in my behaviour.  Not suddenly, as if the result of therapy or the side-effect of new medication, but gradually over a period of some months.  For the second time in my life, I’ve become more open, more willing to engage with other people.  Take, for example, an incident  when I was shopping the other week.  I noticed a woman trying to balance her basket of groceries on the handles of a pushchair.  The basket fell, spilling the contents on the ground.  Without thinking, I sprang forward to help her gather them up.  Only a few months ago, I would have retreated into an adjacent aisle in ‘mind-your-own-business’ mode.

In the church hall, while chatting over coffee earlier this year, my eye caught some young children playing on the edge of the stage (somewhere that children shouldn’t go).  I went over to encourage them to stay off the stage, and engaged a nearby teenager to keep an eye on them.  A year ago, such a quasi-parental move wouldn’t have crossed my mind.

What’s caused this change in me?  A word comes from the past in a new guise:  licence. 

Last autumn, I was invited to take on the role of the church's Health & Safety Officer.  I realised that, with retirement already partially upon me, it would be a worthwhile use of some of my ‘spare’ time.  Although having no past experience, I accepted and began to ‘learn on the job’.

When the annual ‘gifts and skills’ form came round, I repeated my usual commitments to lesson-reading, leading prayers and so on, but then wondered what else I could help with.  I noticed the rota for giving lifts to church to those in need.  I could tick that one.  There was also a box for helping with special events; I could move chairs, set up tables ... another tick.

It’s as though a simple ‘Yes’ and a couple of ticked boxes have moved a mountain.   Through the ‘authority’ they have given me, new doors have opened up and  I’ve engaged with many people who had previously been beyond the limit of my conversational ambit, bringing fulfilment to their needs, and a new level of involvement and fellowship for me.

A little further in James’s letter comes the statement, “the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective” (James 5:16).  Maybe someone noticed my dormant state and prayed for me.

Is there some little thing in your life that needs a tweak to release your potential?