For years now I've written a Saturday Sermon for the Aberdeen Press and Journal. It's one of the few papers left that preserves some column inches (400 words to be precise) for comments and perspectives that express Christian values and derive from Christian teaching. Not a good idea to overcook the occasion by proselytising or pushing party lines. No problem about overt Christian comment, just an assumption of courtesy and respect for a readership that is multifaith, multicultural, and may or may not be interested in a Saturday Sermon, whatever that is! Here's the script for the one published in Aberdeen today.
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I once managed to so offend at least four people in one
sermon, that I had to apologise for speaking of that which I did not fully
understand. The sermon is now long forgotten, at least by me. But for some
reason I took a good natured swipe at jigsaw puzzles and those who spend hours
completing them. Why would you spend hours trying to piece together a picture
someone else deliberately cut up into small pieces and jumbled up in a box?
With more courtesy than perhaps I’d shown, it was explained
to me that ministers could learn as much from putting a jig-saw together as
putting a sermon together. One of the jigsaw enthusiasts explained that time
without number, through building a jigsaw with them, he had helped young people
whose lives had fallen to pieces, whose hopes were reduced by circumstances or
choices to fragments that needed fitting together again. Corners, square edges,
a picture of what might be, and a supportive collaborative friend, created a
place and a process where rebuilding could begin. That image has since entered
my key moments of insight about how to live wisely and well.
Sir Kenneth Calman, Chancellor of the University of Glasgow, and a former Chief Medical
Officer of Health at the Scottish office and then Westminster
is currently studying for an M.Litt on medicine and literature. Calman began as
a GP, and has always been interested in patients as people, recognising the
importance of the story that was each individual life. Telling of his lifelong
passion for human wellbeing he mentioned an observation that reminded me of
that less than proud moment many a year ago when I scoffed at those parables of
pastoral care, the jigsaw builders. Someone had said: “my story’s broken, will
you help me fix it?”
And there it is again. The recognition that sometimes our
own story is broken, and often enough there are those we meet day in and day
out whose own story is also broken. I’ve thought for a while that compassion
requires imagination, an ability to wonder what it’s like for that other person
to live out their story. Or having the patience to sit alongside someone whose
life is in pieces and help them look for the straight edges, the corners, the
picture that can still be made. Or as Jesus said, “Do for others whatever you
would that others do for you.”
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