Well dressed

ELEVENTH DAY OF LENT: 
SATURDAY MARCH 11th 2017 

FEAST FOR LENT

It has been a day off. Simple pleasures; a good breakfast, a little walk, an afternoon watching England beat Scotland handsomely, time hunkered down.

It is in the ordinary things that we often find greatest thankfulness. George Herbert, poet and priest, wrote of prayer in a whole series of word pictures in his wonderful poem Prayer. In one such run of phrases he describes prayer as 'heaven in ordinary' and 'man well dressed'. 

In Paul's letter to the church in Colossae, he suggested something ordinary and radical in one and the same sentence. He suggested that we 'put on' or 'clothe ourselves' in the character of Christ.

As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. (Colossians 3.12)

As we dress for ordinary days or extraordinary days, may we find this kind of well-dressed character becomes habit, not just an act.

Here is Herbert's poem to reflect upon. It is a feast for Lent.

Prayer

Prayer, the Church's banquet, Angels' age,

God's breath in man returning to his birth,

The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,

The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth;

Engine against th' Almighty, sinner's tower,

Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,

The six-days'-world transposing in an hour,

A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear;

Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliss,

Exalted manna, gladness of the best,

Heaven in ordinary, man well dressed,

The milky way, the bird of Paradise,

Church bells beyond the stars heard, the soul's blood,

The land of spices, something understood.

In sure and certain hope

TENTH DAY OF LENT: 
FRIDAY MARCH 10th 2017 

FACING FEARS

Most times when God calls you to do stuff, we can come up with all kinds of reasons to say no. And so God, patiently, keeps calling. And eventually, we discover, that we have to face your fears.

My biggest fear about being a priest was having to take funerals. It was a fear of the unknown. And probably, let's be honest, a fear of my own sense of mortality. It meant facing mystery and trusting God. It also meant having to accept my own grief from personal and deep losses. And then, there was the huge sense of responsibility for others and their grief, of finding the words to bring truth and comfort as well as fearing I would make a terrible horlicks of taking a service.

So God said to me, face your fears and go and learn from others who do what you fear most.

During my training at Queen's, I spent many rainy Tuesday afternoons sitting at the back of various crematoria chapels watching and learning.

I discovered there were some extraordinary officiants and some dreadful ones. 

I witnessed comfort and I saw discomfort.

I found that some ministers seemed to be going through the motions and others had taken huge care to listen to the story of the family and friends of the person whose funeral they had taken.

I heard inspiring and profound connections made between the life lived and the love of God at work in their lives. 

I listened to men and women eulogize and praise and speak honestly about their loved ones - warts and all. 

And I never ceased to be amazed at the uniqueness of each life - and how ironic it is that only at the end of a life do we begin to understand and love even more that person.

So, I realized, as I listened and watched and learned, that, in fact, God had given me the skills needed - because up until then I had spent all my working life listening to the stories of people's lives, only for them to end up as column inches in the paper I worked for as a journalist.

Today, as I stood at a graveside of a much-loved family matriarch, and watched her son and grandson and nephews and other male relatives infill her grave with love and purpose - with the women of the family  singing hymns, and others laying flowers and bouquets oh-so carefully on the fresh soil; today as the stories were told, and poems recited, and music played, and prayers said; today, I remembered that long walk of discovery begun 15 years ago. And as I again, with trembling, reached to find the words and encourage others to utter the words, that made sense of the love and life and death of a beloved and precious person, I am so grateful that God gave me strength and perseverance to face my fears.

For out of my deepest fear has come a vocation which fills me with a huge sense of privilege and purpose. Fear makes you think about yourself. And so God gently, and sometimes forcefully, reminds us to think beyond ourselves to others.

What might God be calling you to do which fills you with fear yet may indeed bring liberty and hope to others?

Light as a feather

NINTH DAY OF LENT: 
THURSDAY MARCH 9th 2017 

LIGHTNESS ON THE EDGE

When you walk, as opposed to drive, you have greater freedom to meander.

I have been struck by how living on foot rather than behind a wheel, there are more paths open to me to follow. When I drive, I can't responsibly meander all over the road. I have to stay in lane. But on foot I travel light. I can weave along a pavement or cross the road and stride a different path. And away from the concrete world, I can wander off the path altogether. I can walk to the edge of a precipice and lean into powerful winds. I can live on the edge. 

A poet I know has written about 'Edge Folk'. People who know things and travel strange paths under strange skies, with what he calls 'bent bones and bent minds, and souls open to the stars'; people who lean into the wind and live on the edge of falling.

In our ordered lives of getting from A to B in the most efficient and quickest way, we do not leave much space for wandering, getting lost or living on the edge of falling.

We have a more rigid heaviness, less space for wild wanderings, perhaps not terribly open to the Holy Spirit's murmerings.

Our minds and bodies become occupied by getting to the next thing, ticking off the next task, filling the day with achievements which somehow make us feel better about ourselves in our earnestness (well this is my experience anyway).

But walking between appointments and tasks is teaching me to create space for alternative possibilities. It is giving me a sense of lightness.

There is is an interesting play on words here for us that exists with the use of the word 'light' (in English at least). 

As Christians we are taught to understand that we are carriers of Christ's light. 

Jesus also teaches us in Matthew that his 'burden is light'. 

I wonder whether there was such a similar coming together of contrasting meanings from the same word uttered in Aramaic, Jesus' language two thousand years ago?

Walking in Lent is teaching me not to take myself too seriously. And this brings lightness. So does the daily conversation with a blackbird I hear (and see) each morning. It makes me almost light as a feather.

Our lives in their hands

EIGHTH DAY OF LENT: 
WEDNESDAY MARCH 8th 2017 

Do these stats surprise you?

About one million women work in the NHS.

On International Women's Day, it is important to see how the health of the nation depends upon women.

I know one of them very well!

Today, as we remember many amazing women who have inspired us: let us give thanks for the women in whose hands our lives are made safe.

Picture that!

SEVENTH DAY OF LENT: 
TUESDAY MARCH 7th 2017

HOPE PICTURED

Friends of ours were up on the Malvern Hills the other day. And from their sharing on Facebook (yes, I do look at Facebook from time to time!) came this beautiful photograph. I have their permission to share it with you, dear reader. It is Hope, pictured. Last night, I was watching an inspiring TV program about the history of British photography. In it, celebrated newspaper photographer and picture editor Eamonn McCabe took us back to the beginning of this wonderful art form... all the way back to the 1830s when the first photograph was taken. He reminded us that the word photography means, quite specifically, 'drawing with light' - from the Greek for light (photos) and drawing (graphe). In the days before digital (only so recent really), the art and science of photography was all about using chemicals and plates which turned a negative into a positive.

Light-drawing is a wonderful way of thinking about photography. 

Might it be for us, this Lent, a way of describing our vocations as Christians. We are called to be image bearers who draw or animate our lives with the light of Christ.


Where might we see such image bearers animating the light of Christ? Here is one story. This evening, at the Warley Deanery Synod we heard of an inspirational charity - Safe Families for Children - where volunteers from 563 churches nationwide are supporting 766 families (1,874 children) who are struggling. The charity has spread to Sandwell. And Kay, its co-ordinator in the Black Country, told us stories of the kind of vital befriending and support opportunities there are to help families back on their feet. 

Social workers in children's services are so hard-pressed these days that they only have time to prioritise children where intervention (such as taking children into care to protect them from harm) is needed in an emergency. Safe Families is working with the council to provide a safety net for families to prevent that kind of intervention from happening further down the line. 

Safe Families for Children supports families going through difficult times, reducing the flow of children into foster care. Single parents dealing with unemployment or illness can be lifted simply through one kind act of helping to clean the house or taking the children out to play in the park. Light-bringers can help a hard-pressed mother who simply needs a cup of tea and a chat. Such volunteers are having life-changing effects on many families.

Hope: picture that! (And all at a Deanery Synod - who says such meetings are dry, boring and irrelevant?)

Seeing Salvation

SIXTH DAY OF LENT: 
MONDAY MARCH 6th 2017

STEP BY STEP

Today's tally is 12,321 steps, or a little over six miles on foot around the parish. Quite pleased with that. 

Around 6,000 of those steps was spent in company of two others on a prayer walk around the north part of the parish - a route that took us down Hurst a few yards, then into Pheasant, across Norman and Thimblemill Brook, up Valentine, then right along Edmonds, a little way up Salop, left onto Eva and right into Beeches, left up Bristnall Hall, then up George and Sandfields, along Hill Top and finally down Pottery to Abbey and St Hilda's. 

There were a couple of diversions. One was up some steep steps to look at the underground reservoir just above Bristnall Hall Road, where you could hear the sound of rushing water underneath giant manhole covers. 

The second was a far more fruitful discovery. We were encouraged through a reading of Psalm 98 to look for signs of salvation as we walked... but especially to ask God to help us to see things we could not yet see. And so it was, behind a Tesco Extra store on the corner of Beeches and Bristnall Hall roads we saw a low slung municipal building we'd never before noticed. 

It is the home of the borough-wide service offered by the Black Country Partnership NHS Foundation Trust Carers Team. In short, the eight staff offer support to 600 families who care for people aged 18 to 65 with mental health issues. We turned up out of the blue, the three of us from St Hilda's, and were given a warm welcome by one of the support workers who then went on to give us a guided tour of the site and explained some of the amazing work they do to help sustain and empower people carrying the burden of loving and caring for a relative.

We were 'seeing salvation'.

It was moving to hear of the passion of the staff and their commitment to educate, befriend and make a difference to the hard-pressed lives of hundreds of people. 

And it was also so utterly depressing to hear that this vital service may yet face cutbacks. 

Later on we prayed a version of the Lord's Prayer inspired by the Polynesian and Maori Christians who make up the Anglican church in New Zealand.

It talks of God as earth-maker, pain-bearer and life-giver. 

As we walked the earth of Warley Woods, we met people who are both pain-bearers and life-givers: people who bring life to others while helping to bear their pain. This is the image of God seen in people following their vocation.

Here is the Lord's Prayer.

May it help you see salvation in your prayers.

Eternal Spirit,

Earth-maker, Pain bearer, Life-giver,
Source of all that is and that shall be,
Father and Mother of us all,
Loving God, in whom is heaven:

The hallowing of your name echo through the universe;
The way of your justice be followed by the peoples of the world;
Your heavenly will be done by all created beings;
Your commonwealth of peace and freedom
sustain our hope and come on earth.

With the bread we need for today, feed us.
In the hurts we absorb from one another, forgive us.
In times of temptation and test, strengthen us.
From trial too great to endure, spare us.
From the grip of all that is evil, free us.
For you reign in the glory of the power that is love,
now and forever. Amen.

We will stand upon the promise of God's word

FIFTH DAY OF LENT: 
SUNDAY MARCH 5th 2017

POWER AND PROMISE

Up on Walton Hill, looking south towards the Malvern Hills this afternoon, the skies were majestic. Rain swept across in great curtains, as if tugged along by unseen cavalry regiments on the gallop over the fields of Worcestershire. It was magnificent, wild and humbling.

Today, the First Sunday of Lent, we were reminded again of the power of the Spirit of God. Mark's gospel (1.12) tells us it was the Spirit who drove Jesus out into the desert for his 40 days of testing. Matthew (4.1) and Luke (4.1) use a more gentle word: they tell us Jesus was led by the Spirit. However, Luke tells us something else about Jesus, not only was he led by the Spirit, but he was also full of the Holy Spirit.

As Fran told us today, as Jesus went out into the wilderness (driven or led) he was meditating upon his scriptures, and in particular the book of Deuteronomy. This extended sermon by Moses came at the end of forty years of wandering in the wilderness. Wise words for forty days of testing in the wilderness. 

We are told Jesus ate not one thing. And after forty days he was famished. But what did he do in those forty days and nights? What weather did he have - cold by night, sufferingly hot by day? (Sunbeams scorching all the day; Chilly dew-drops nightly shed;
Prowling beasts about Thy way; Stones Thy pillow; earth Thy bed.) Alone. Not a conversation to be had. Solitary. 

I wonder what storms he endured (perhaps only an Englishman asks this kind of weather-based question!)? Nonetheless, what is it like to sleep rough, with only the earth as your bed and the night sky your shelter? What did Jesus learn about the care or cruelty of nature in those forty days? What was the truth for Jesus of being nourished by God's word, standing on the promise of God's word, through the hunger pains of that early lent? Did he come close to losing touch with reality? 


In one of the most dramatic scenes of all Shakespeare's plays, all is laid bare in a storm. King Lear is distraught at the loss of his daughters' love and respect. He seems to lose his identity and his dignity. And, with his faithful fool beside him, he strides out into the most humongous storm on a wild heath. As his desolation overwhelms him, so does the wild weather. And at the beginning of Act Three, Scene Two, he utters this speech full of rage and desperation:

Lear.  Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!	5
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!
Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once	10
That make ingrateful man!

It is as if Lear says - 'Go on, do your worst.'

Is this what the God the Spirit drove Jesus out in to the desert for? To throw down the gauntlet to the Devil, saying: 'Here is my son. Go on. Do your worst - and see how magnificently he will respond!'  

I don't believe in that kind of God or Heavenly Father. Do you?

Fran reminded us that Jesus had the choice of keeping his identity as God' Son through following the path of healing and service and obedience, or falling for the easy temptation to misuse his power. 

At each stage of the test he found his true self animated by words of Moses, the ancient survivor of wilderness life. Through those rugged forty years Moses learnt to depend entirely upon God at all stages of life. And so it was with Jesus, the new Law Giver. 
And after the storm came the rainbow - and the angels ministered to him. And out of the experience of his test came Jesus' powerful and humble teaching of the Sermon on the Mount.

Later on our walk up Walton Hill, we found the promise of a rainbow shining out of the veil of rain falling out towards Rubery. The promise  of God's word was enough for Jesus. The promise of God's word, worked into our hearts and minds and souls, is there for each of us too. There was no egotistical Lear-like bluster as Jesus entered the eye of the storm with the temptations. There was clear-headed remembrance of God's word to save. And what defeated the power of the temptations - the promise of God's word.