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Sitting at the end of the living room with the patio doors, I can hardly see the computer screen for the early morning sunshine. My face is warm, eyes are dazzled and my instinct is to move across the other side where I can write more easily and see without squinting.

Last night I read one of Miroslav Volf's essays where he tells of his fascination for the phrase "the Lord make his face to shine upon you". That is enough of a reminder of how the sunshine is one of the great metaphors for the delight and grace of God. "He makes his sun to shine one the righteous and the unrighteous…." "From the rising of the sun, to the going down of the same, the Lord's name is to be praised…"

So rather than seeing the dazzling sunlight as a nuisance to be avoided by migrating to the far end of the room, instead of putting on sunglasses indoors which would look ridiculous rather than cool, I stay and enjoy the sunlight, and let the brilliance of light and the radiance of warmth on my face, bathe me in awareness. So I sit here writing this, nearly blinded by morning sunlight and say the Aaronic blessing.

The Lord bless thee and keep thee

The Lord make his facce to shine upon thee

And be gracious unto thee

The Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon thee

And give thee peace.

It's Holy Week. When Christians can become morose and solemn, thinking more of shade, shadow and darkness than the searching, life-giving brightness of light. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not comprehended it; has not overcome it; has not, and will not extinguish it. Yes this week leads to the cross, when once again darkness was upon the face of the deep. But it ends in a new beginning, "Early in the morning, as the sun was rising, they came to the tomb….."

Christian theology is irreducibly Christological, and Christology is Christian only insofar as it is Trinitarian. At least, so it is in my own understanding of what Paul means when he says 'in Him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell…", and "He is the image of the invisible God…"

I'm well aware that Paul offers only hints and glimpses of the  developed Trinitarian theology of later theological credal formulations. At best he throws out trajectories towards a theology in which the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit were conjoined in the confessional worship of the earliest Christian communities.

The rich tapestry of ideas and images that make up the Colossian hymn provide some of the most far reaching New Testament claims about the divinity and Lordship of Jesus. Early on I started working with light blue, a particular shade which is somewhere between sky blue and marine blue. The three emerging shapes at the centre more than hint at the fullness of the Godhead as the eternal loving communion of Father, Son and Spirit, and while this wasn't pre-planned, my own theological presuppositions made some such emergent Trintarian image inevitable. The central circle took on a threefold merging of clolours, but merging and overlapping. The result is a "perichoresis" of colour. One of the intriguing joys of stranded cotton is separating them and reconfiguring them into an endless variety of permutations, allowing for a kaleidoscopic effect of intermingling colours.

Today is Palm Sunday. I've just preached this morning on the question of the crowd, "Who is this?". The King who comes gently to Jerusalem is the One in whom "all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell"; and the One who "though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped and possessively clung to, but emptied himself….", … and "came riding on a donkey".

No wonder the crowds cried "Hosanna", the Scribes demanded silence, and the mob later howled for blood, 'Crucify!'.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The picture is a close-up of the recently completed Christology tapestry. The idea began partly, and playfully, to answer the question, "What colour is Christology?" It wasn't meant to be a serious question, but it wasn't trivial either.

The whole work was to be based on Colossians 1.15-20, printed below. Each time I took it up I re-read this passage and allowed the images and ideas to soak into my way of thinking for the next 2 months. I read and translated it, worked through several commentaries and went chasing in lexicons and elsewhere. I kept notes on a text layered with profundity, and in which, to quote my theological hero James Denney, 'we hear the plunge of lead into fathomless waters'.

There was no pre-planning, no pattern to follow. I would start at the centre, work outwards, and try as best I could to allow the colours and images to grow out of prayer, reading, exegesis and contemplative stitching!

Over Holy Week I would like to offer a daily reflection on the Colossian hymn and link it to the tapestry. I'm not attempting to explain 'the meaning' of the tapestry, merely to reflect on what I see there, now that it's finished. Explanations are ways of reducing things, and there is something essentially irreducible in all atempts to 'explain' how 'all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell in Him' – whether in theological formulae or stranded cotton! 

Colossians 1.15-20

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; ¹⁶ for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have been created through him and for him. ¹⁷ He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. ¹⁸ He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. ¹⁹ For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, ²⁰ and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.

This from P T Forsyth, a wee book of reprinted articles, The Preaching of Jesus and the Gospel of Christ, page 55

When I speak here about the preaching of the Cross of Christ, I mean ultimately the Cross itself as a preaching, as God's 'preachment' which gave Christian preaching birth, made it inevitable, prolonged itself in it, and provided its perpetual note. As God's preaching of Himself in the Cross was an act, the act of giving Himself, so all true preaching of it is an act also, and more than speech only. It is a devoted act of the preacher's personality, conveying God in His grace and self donation. It is not merely exhibiting Him. It is sacramental.

Against all forced or habitual informality in worship

against all thumbing down and dumbing down of the preacher's role

against web sourced anecdotes, and power point aides memoires

against every attemtpted reduction of vast Gospel realities to the pragmatics and pressures of relevance

against the consumer demand for undemanding uncomplicated 'how to' teaching

against the habits of superficiality and the reduced appetite for sacrifice and cost and passionate love of the Crucified.

against anaemic concessions to surface skimming communication

P T Forsyth presents the soul and calling of the preacher,

and insists the Gospel of the Cross is worthy of our deepest pain,

requires the greatest reaches of imagination and emotion,

and consumes the devotion of the preacher's heart

in the context of a community where awe, surrender and passion

draw on the great Passion of Christ,

and inspires a discipleship of uncalculating, self-donating devotion.

Yesterday I was preaching on the most difficult petition in the Lord's Prayer.

"Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us…"

The gist of whatever wisdom I have on this hard saying of Jesus:

We either learn to forgive, or all the other worthwhile things we do in life lose their point.

Forgiveness feels like an option , but in reality it is a necessity if life is to flourish and grow.

Think of the friendships that would be impossible if every wrong word was held against us.

How could any family survive a grievance count?.

The story of the prodigal son is also the story of the prodigal father.

The son wasted the money, the father wasted his time waiting.

The son swallowed his pride and ran home, and said stuff what the neighbours think.

The father swallowed his pride, ran to embrace him and said stuff what the neighbours think

The son wasted his life chances, his father wasted the chance to tell him to get on his bike.

Forgiveness is about not taking advantage of our rights, not cashing in our entitlement to be angry.

Forgiveness means not holding someone's mistakes against them ikn perpetuity.

Forgiveness is the lifting of another's burden, bearing their cost to our own hurt.

Forgiveness is the gift of love, the self emptying of our resentment.

It is the overflow of divine love poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit

But forgiveness is never easy, always costs, is born and borne out of pain.

To err is human – we know the rest, and so we pray:

Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us…..

…………………………………..

The painting by Burne Jones is a powerful reversal of medieval piety, and the belief that love held Jesus on the cross – the Knight who lives by honour and sword, has taken off his helmet, laid his sword aside, and is embraced by the crucified Christ who for love's sake has broken free from the cross, and hands that refused to hold a sword reach out in forgiveness.

There's a funny serious cartoon here which makes its own point.

Now sin is sin, crime is crime and wrong is wrong, and theft is theft.

But there are degrees of theft, from the shoplifted Fairy Liquid to the steal to order car to the airport security heist – they've all been in the news.

There is serious theft, then there's the nuisance theft, and then there's the daft theft.

Which brings me to this

which you can read more about on the link below.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-north-east-orkney-shetland-26882776

Now I understand about the Gnomes of Zurich, but the Gnomes of Banff?

Seem funny? Well, actually no. I have a friend who lives alone who had a pot with winter flowering plants lifted from her door recently. She was upset for two reasons – it was a gift from a thoughtful friend as a reminder in winter of friendship and Spring. And she was seriously spooked that someone of ill intent had been so near her house door.

So I'm glad they caught the thieves, and hope some Magistrate somewhere takes into consideration the feelings of threat and even fear that is caused when someone tip-toes near your home to steal. It doesn't actually matter what was stolen – but that such close-up theft violates your space, your privacy and your safety.

Today I'm preaching on forgiveness and I'm wondering how I'd be feeling if I recognised one of nthose garden gnomes as mine. The question is hypothetical for two reasons – I can think of fewer fatuous objects than a technicolour Oor Wullie sticking his spiky head above the tulips; and it wasn't me that was scared. 

As part of a victim awareness programme it would be interesting for the gnome thiefs to be required to meet gnome owners, to hear what it feels like to have someone invade their space, privacy and safety. The impact of the crime is so much deeper than the cost of a gnome or two. And all the humourous thoughts of re-setting gnomes, checking out car boot sales for missing gnomes, police interceptors in pursuit of a van full of gnomes – the stuff of comedy, except for the fear and uncertainty the thieves leave behind.

n stealing .

 

Living in the North East of Scotland, and two miles from Loch Skene, migrating geese are a familiar sight, and sound. I've mentioned those far travelled chevrons before on this blog, but they are such a reminder of life's adventure that it's hard to resist another mention, and another excuse to post Mary Oliver's poem. I have so many reasons for returning to this poem, like a migrating heart finding again a voice that tells the truth of things, teaching us to care for ourselves, reminding of the call that takes us beyond safe horizons.

Alongside Oliver's poem there is the beautiful symbol of the wild goose in the Celtic tradition, the symbol of the Holy Spirit, wild, free, ubiquitous, on the move, gregarious, the surprising ad hoc-ness of the presence of God.

The photo isn't mine and I haven't been able to trace it to acknowledge it – but it is a beauty, and thank you to whoever took it!

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"The tide waxes. Inhale. Breathe in the love God.
The tide wanes. Exhale. Release the hurt. 
Wax. Breathe in the Presence.
Wane. Breathe out the regret.
Crash. Inhale his tenderness.
Flee. Exhale the heartbreak and grief.
Approach. Take in the fresh air of grace and new creation.
Depart. Surrender the black cloud of sin and guilt." 

Source: http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/?offset=1395865632573

 

“If you board the wrong train, it is no use running along the corridor in the other direction.”

“We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself.”

“We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God.”