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  • “Regular voicing of the most extravagant and outrageous promises of God.” (Walter Brueggemann)

    DSC09750What are the sources of hope in a world as broken as ours seems to be? We need no help to list the items quickly filling the huge in-tray of the world's crises that need attending to. We have 24/7 news, online and off, as the background music of life as it is these days. We know enough, and have seen more than enough.

    Someone said the other day they were sick of hearing about the world's problems. I know what they meant, and mean. There is a sickness brought on by exposure to more anxiety, fear, sadness and anger than the human mind and heart can comfortably process, manage, or cope with.  

    Despair is not a Christian disposition, but it certainly is a human experience, and can sometimes become a cultural mood that depresses and distresses whole communities. As a Christian I'm not immune to the same sickness, the sense of being overwhelmed by circumstances and events I can neither control nor cure. 

    But. As a Christian I believe in a God who has no intention of abandoning the world, or us humans, to our own devices. One night in Bethlehem, one afternoon on Calvary and one early morning in a garden, God lifted up this broken world, enfolded it in love, and promised creation's future.

    This is a world where cruelty and tragedy, hatred and corruption, greed and injustice, conspired to silence the voice of God and extinguish the light of God, and negate the love of God. But the Word became flesh and dwelt amongst us; the light shone in the darkness and the darkness could not extinguish it – death is dead, love has won, Christ has conquered.

    So, then. What are the sources of hope in a world as broken as ours seems to be? There is an element of defiance in Christian hope, a defiance of despair. Faith this side of the resurrection is faith in the God of hope. These words of Walter Brueggemann were written 30 years ago. My coy of the book is, in booksellers' terms, disbound. Cracked, multiple loose pages, a loose leaf folder of a book. Texts Under Negotiation. The Bible and Postmodern Imagination. (Augsburg Fortress, 1993)

    "Hope, the conviction that God will bring things to full, glorious completion, is not an explanation of anything. Indeed, biblical hope most often has little suggestion about how to get from here to there. It is rather an exultant, celebrative conviction that God will not quit until God has had God's way in the world. 

    Hope is an act that cedes our existence over to God, in the trusting assurance that God is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all that we can think or imagine' (Eph.3.20) 

    As with creation, so consummation as a faith affirmation is essentially an act of doxology, which takes its assurance not from anything observable, but from God's own character that issues in God's own promises. Thus I propose that an evangelical infrastructure requires the regular voicing of the most extravagant and outrageous promises of God." (pages 40-41) 

  • “All seems beautiful to me…”

    P1000186
    All seems beautiful to me,
    I can repeat over to men and women
    You have done such good to me,
    I would do the same to you,
    I will recruit for myself and you as I go,
    I will scatter myself among men and women as I go,
    I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them,
    Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me,
    Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me.
    (Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road.)
  • Yellow Weather Warning for Those Hanging Around in the Upper Room!

    WindsMy study window is whistling.

    The gales forecast for most of today have arrived sounding like a particularly belligerent orchestra tuning up in front of live microphones and the mixer at full volume.

    The yellow warning includes the advice to stay at home 'unless your journey is essential.'

    So I suppose washing the car isn't an option either, unless I stand upwind when throwing the odd bucket of water to rinse it.

    And there comes a stage in life when walking into the wind, with my jacket open and held above my head like a sail, is not OK for someone my age – which is a pity. 

    It isn't even Lent, but already the sound of the wind pushing at the windows, whistling through the window vents, is a foretaste of Pentecost.

    "Without warning there was a sound like a strong wind, gale force—no one could tell where it came from. It filled the whole building. Then, like a wildfire, the Holy Spirit spread through their ranks, and they started speaking in a number of different languages as the Spirit prompted them." Acts 2.

    No Yellow weather warnings in those days!

    Or like that night when an embarrassed Nicodemus came for a confidential counselling session with Jesus and was told what he should already have known: 

    "You know well enough how the wind blows this way and that. You hear it rustling through the trees, but you have no idea where it comes from or where it’s headed next. That’s the way it is with everyone ‘born from above’ by the wind of God, the Spirit of God.”

    PentecostWild. Unpredictable. Powerful. Unseen but visible in its effects. Invisible but most audible in words of wonder, love and praise. Wind whistling at the window, renewable energy looking for people to renew.

    The tapestry was done some years ago. Eucharist and Pentecost. Thanksgiving and Gift. Comfort and Comforter. Wind, fire and wine, the energisers of community.

    And maybe the boy in me that remembers using my jacket as a sail is one of those playful parables for those different stages of life when we have been impelled, shoved, given an impetus not our own. The Holy Spirit as boisterous companion, swirling around us with gusto and encouraging a kind of abandon that takes us out of ourselves.

    And the exhilaration of running down a hill, jacket up, with the wind in our sails, not sure when or even how we would stop.

    My study window is still whistling; the wind still blows; up to 60 mph says the yellow warning. Like the Spirit of God, "we have no idea where it comes from or where it's headed next."

    Veni Spiritus Sanctus.

     

  • An Over-Interpreted Photograph, and the Dart of Longing Love

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    A fenced path. Steps down to the beach. The sea with the tide on the turn. The horizon and a cloudy sky with enough blue for sunshine. A shadow falling on the path. And on the horizon an offshore wind farm, and boats standing off waiting for harbour, or work.   

    To stand just here, looking, is to see more than the sum of those obvious observations. I've stood here often, in all kinds of weather, knowing that I can't see what's immediately beneath the steps, let alone what's beyond that line where sea and sky meet. Always there is what is seen and unseen, known and unknown. 

    What makes this photo more than a nice picture is the presence of mystery, it doesn't show everything. It doesn't take much imagination to see in the long shadow hints of the cross, falling across the path. At the same time, the sun is absent from the photo, except as the light that casts the shadow, but also lights the path.

    Oh, I know. Theologians with cameras can over-interpret, even spoil a photo by pointing out what they see, rather than allowing each viewer to draw their own conclusions. Why not just let each person see what they see without the interpretive commentary of that someone who always spoils the play, the music, the novel, the photo, by telling you what to hear and see? 

    Fair enough. We all have our lives to interpret. Making sense of the world we inhabit, coming to terms with the experiences we live through, understanding ourselves and being present and attentive to who we are – quite literally, that's what life is about.

    The path we walk, the steps we take without knowing quite what will be there when we get there, new horizons where sand meets sea, and sea merges with sky, and yes, both shadow and sunshine; a metaphor for life?

    Z image (2)Perhaps. But if life is a box of chocolates according the Forest Gump, perhaps it can also be a photo, one with multiple horizons, shadows and sunlight, seen and unseen, and the presence of mystery that keeps us from ever thinking we have life, the world, ourselves, and even God, sussed out. 

    The clouds in the photo remind me of favourite words from The Cloud of Unknowing, perhaps as good a place as any to leave this:

    "Strike that thick cloud of unknowing with the sharp dart of longing love, and on no account whatever think of giving up…A naked intention directed to God, and himself, alone, is wholly sufficient…So lift up your love to that cloud. Or, more accurately, let God draw your love up to that cloud…"

  • “Addressing Ourselves to the needs of all humanity and all creation.”

    Shalom
    The lovely Hebrew word 'Shalom', and a poem by Denise Levertov. First the tapestry. Now and again I've chosen a significant biblical word and set it in a contextual landscape. This is a representation of the Hebrew word 'shalom' against the background of Isaiah 35 which is a magnificent vision of a transformed landscape. Despite all appearances to the contrary, the desert shall blossom, there will be streams in the desert, the parched land will become fertile and there's joy all over the place. Shalom is peace, but so much more. Welfare; harmony; fruitfulness; flourishing; justice; contentment; safety – all of which make for peace, shalom.
     
    Words form their meaning for us by the way we have seen and heard them used, and by the way we subsequently use them. I often use shalom as a blessing word to close an email. Two clear memories make this word a personal beatitude when I use it.
     
    For 10 years I was Chaplain in a school for children and young people with additional support needs. School assembly finished with us all singing to each other "Shalom, my friends, Shalom my friends, Shalom, Shalom." Some words give a sound description to their meaning. A full school assembly all looking at each other as they sing out peace words as blessing, is the sound of revolution and the place where seeds of hope germinate and are nurtured in the mind and heart. Shalom was happening as they sang, embodied as they blessed each other – they were peace-making. 
     
    P1000634Then, as always with me, there are books. The word 'shalom' entered my vocabulary as a formative key word of my own spiritual intentionality forty years ago. I blame Walter Brueggemann, a writer whose influence on my thinking, praying and practical Christian living is now pervasive.  In 1978 I read one of his earliest books, Living Toward a Vision. Biblical Reflections on Shalom.
     
    I discovered in Brueggemann a voice that took with great seriousness two conflicting and contested powers. The power of the text to reconfigure the imagination and interrogate the status quo of human political, economic, social and moral life, life as it is; and the power of that same status quo to pursue its own self-interests using whatever power-plays and structural barriers were necessary to manipulate, dominate and disempower those who question that status quo. The people of God stand between those two realities, the Bible text and the current status quo. Of the two visions of text and world, the call is toward the vision of shalom.  
     
    "If we are going to do God's word as well as talk about it, we need a vision to guide our doing and acting. Shalom can hardly be defined or reduced to a formula. And that is its power…Our faith comes to fullness as we are teased to think new thoughts, as our imagination is lured beyond 'business as usual.' " [page 11]
     
    Near the end of the book Brueggemann provides A Shalom Lectionary. It is heavily indebted to Isaiah. Introducing texts from Isaiah and then from the wider biblical canon, Brueggemann sets those texts loose to fire imagination, convert minds and energise towards a new vision.
     
    "Shalom is a vision rooted in the memories of faith, open to Gods promises and demands upon us, aware in the present that we are not our own. Neither the world nor the church needs to stay the way it is, because God is at work who makes all things new. Shalom conveys a sense of personal wholeness in a community of justice and caring that addresses itself to the needs of all humanity and all creation." [page 185]  
     
    This is a book that moves from semantic definitions to spiritual renewal, community justice, and transformation through the woven liturgy of prayer, worship and social action. If you had seen the faces of a hundred children and young people singing "Shalom my friends", you would have no doubt that they meant the words. In my mind, it takes the singing of the children, and the careful passion of Brueggemann the scholar, to create a vision we live toward – Shalom. It takes something else. It take the poet to give us the words.
      
    6a00d8341c6bd853ef01b8d0bf7b73970c-320wiThe poem below needs little comment. It is a peace poem, written by a poet who longed for all those words packed into shalom to become true and real for every human being who shares this planet. When Denise Levertov wrote about human suffering, the injustice and cruelty of war, the moral imperatives of compassion and social and economic justice, she did so as one in whom the DNA of shalom had found an unmistakable match. So when she wrote of peace, she did so "informed by the impulse of personal necessity." Levertov was a poet committed to peace, and she wrote as a skilled expositor of shalom. I don't see the point in explicating a poem which is itself a careful explication of shalom, a poet's imagination of peace, and the impulse of personal necessity pushing the reader toward a vision of shalom.   
     
     
               MAKING PEACE.
    A voice from the dark called out,
    ‘The poets must give us
    imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
    imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
    the absence of war.’
    But peace, like a poem,
    is not there ahead of itself,
    can’t be imagined before it is made,
    can’t be known except
    in the words of its making,
    grammar of justice,
    syntax of mutual aid.
    A feeling towards it,
    dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
    until we begin to utter its metaphors,
    learning them as we speak.
    A line of peace might appear
    if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
    revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
    questioned our needs, allowed
    long pauses . . .
    A cadence of peace might balance its weight
    on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
    an energy field more intense than war,
    might pulse then,
    stanza by stanza into the world,
    each act of living
    one of its words, each word
    a vibration of light—facets
    of the forming crystal.
    [Denise Levertov, Making Peace, page 58] 
  • Tapestry Tales 2. “The Church is a thickly textured and variegated weaving together of multiple strands of difference.”

    After the Durham Cathedral visit, and the Daily Bread tapestry, from about 1988-1994 I did several others which were also based on photographs.

    P1000622The first one, and the one I want to write about here, took my interest because you can sometimes tell a book by looking at its cover! One of the most helpful books I’ve ever read on prayer is by Richard Harries, Prayer and the Pursuit of Happiness. The front cover has a vibrant and heavily symbolic stained glass window. Well. I had just completed one and loved it, and loved doing it. So here we go again.

    This time I had a book cover and a photocopier that enlarged images. The enlarged image of the front cover was outlined in black felt tip, traced on to the canvas, and away we went again. I was now becoming quite well known in the local stranded cotton stockists. Choosing the colours is always a mixture of what you want, what is available, and that subjective decision making about whether this colour does or doesn’t work.

    Because of the subtlety of colour and curved shapes the canvas this time was 24 mesh, the smallest I have ever worked, but necessary to work so many circles and curves on a piece measuring 28×11 cm. Around then I was given an oak Victorian frame, plain and oozing its age, and just right for a piece that would be long and finely detailed.

    It took ages, I don’t remember how long but it was started in 1988 and finished by the end of 1989. It has hung in our home all that time, and has faded a bit, and the reflective glass doesn't help the photo! But working this particular tapestry is an important milestone in my journey, for reasons that take some time to tell. But they are too important in my own spiritual journey not to speak, and share.

    P1000623I am an evangelical ecumenist. By which I mean that those two words are essential in my understanding of what it means for me to live a faithful Christian life that is true to my experience of Christian faith seeking understanding.

    This window is the Chapel Window in Bar Hill (Shared) Church, Cambridge. The window itself depicts the ecumenical intersections of the original six congregations using the same building, their unity in diversity, and their growing together in mission as the one Church. The seeds of light at the top, are moving out through the cruciform openness of a flower enfolding a purple heaven which is open to the world.

    My own denomination, Scottish Baptist, has always been conflicted about ecumenical relations at the structural levels. In 1987, at the time I was working on this tapestry the churches in Scotland were embarked upon an Inter-Church process aimed at establishing a national ‘ecumenical instrument’ open to all Christian denominations. Scottish Baptists were fully involved in the process and I was one of four denominational representatives. When all the conferences and committees, negotiations and adjustments, prayers and proposals, arguments and agreements were completed, each denomination required the approval of their respective governing bodies, in our case our annual Baptist Assembly.

    As one fully involved in all the negotiations, and in the formulation of the final proposal to Assembly, and as the person responsible for seconding the motion on behalf of the Council of the Baptist Union of Scotland, I had much personally invested in the outcome. In the event the Assembly narrowly rejected the proposal and subsequent amendments. Ever since Scottish Baptists have not been involved in Action of Churches Together in Scotland (ACTS) at the national level of ecumenical life in Scotland.  

    That Assembly and its aftermath was for me personally, the lowest point in almost 50 years as a minister amongst our churches. I had, and have, friends in all the major denominations, people with whom I had prayed, laughed, worked and now and then wept. To make such a statement of principled separation was, and is, deeply inimical to my own spirituality, experience of God, and my understanding of the church within and beyond distinctive denominational principles.

    P1000625That is the context in which this tapestry came into being. That’s why this stained glass window, an image of ecumenism working, and of unity in diversity put into practice, is so important to me. That’s why the long process of translating it into stitched colour, was for me an intense spiritual as well as artistic challenge. I have remained an ecumenical evangelical, or evangelical ecumenist, through those 50 years of ministry. This tapestry was worked and completed through those difficult events, as hope in defiant mode, as love refusing to give up, as faith in the Christ who prayed that his followers would be one.

    As with the Durham tapestry, I had found artistic creativity to be both therapy and theology. Each minute stitch counted and contributed. Each thread has six strands; this was the tapestry when I started separating strands, mixing them, and varying the uses of colour and tone by using two or three different shades of the same base colours.

    The variations within one congregation are diverse enough. But add to that the differences between congregations of the same denomination; consider then, the mix of denominational traditions and yes, the Church is a thickly textured and variegated weaving together of multiple strands of difference. Yet when these same strands are woven together, stitched beside each other, this tapestry grows into an image that tells the larger truth – that the Church of Christ is made up of all who come, confess their faith and seek in all our variegated ways to be faithful to Jesus.

    Thus it was that during my second major project I discovered that art, in my case tapestry, can be an exegesis of the heart, a medium through which we can express disappointment but also hope, doubt but also faith, sadness but also joy, loss but also, and finally, gift.

  • Thought for the Day.  February 13-19; Jesus said “I AM..

    Snowdrop

    Monday

    John 6.35 “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry.”

    Jesus has just fed 5000 plus hungry people. In Matthew and Luke he teaches his followers to pray “Give us this day our daily bread.” There are different kinds of hungers, and God responds to them all. Jesus is bread and nourishment to the soul. The Creator has made a world of plenty, to be shared. Those whose souls are fed and nourished by Jesus will see in every pair of hungry human eyes, one in whom Jesus comes to us, as “the least of these my brothers and sisters.”

    Tuesday

    John 8.12 “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

    Light and life are cause and effect in John’s gospel. “In him was life and the life was the light of all humanity.”  If we stay close to the light, then we stay out of darkness; and if the light shines in and through us, then there’s no room for darkness. “Shine, Jesus, shine” is a prayer for every day – “Shine on, in, around and through me.” Jesus is the light that enables us to see where we’re going, and with whom.

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    Wednesday

    John 10.7 “I am the door for the sheep.”

    Think gate, and a border collie guiding sheep through the gate and the shepherd closing it. The sheep are enclosed, and kept safe. As the Psalmist wrote, “We are his, and the sheep of his pasture.” John goes further and says Jesus is the one who keeps the sheep safe, who guards them from harm. Not only that; Jesus is the door and the door-keeper so we are doubly safe. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me…”

    Thursday

    John 10.11,14 “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep….I know my sheep and my sheep know me.”

    “The Lord’s my shepherd I’ll not want…green pastures…still waters…paths of righteousness…deep dark valleys…Thou art with me.” Psalm 23 is the best commentary on these verses. The value of each sheep, the shepherd’s knowledge of, and relationship to each sheep – these were obvious and common everyday realities. And Jesus used them as self-description. This is who I am! The best of shepherds who stands between the sheep and danger, and who will die to make them safe.

    Friday

    John 11.25 “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies, and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.”

    Every Christian funeral is formed and informed by these words, and by their reality in the Risen Lord. The disciples had no idea what Jesus meant when he said these words, but they would. The women would discover the empty tomb, Mary would hear her name spoken, Peter and John would risk a heart attack racing back to tell the others, and Thomas would say, “My Lord, and my God!” Jesus is risen and we now live in a world where resurrections happened and the life that is the light of all people shines, and the darkness will not put it out!

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    Saturday

    John 14. 6 “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

    He is a path, if any be misled;
    He is a robe, if any naked be;
    If any chance to hunger, He is Bread;
    If any be a bondman, He is free;
    If any be but weak, how strong is He?
    To dead men life He is, to sick men health;
    To blind men sight, and to the needy wealth;
    A pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth.

    Sunday

    John 15. 1 “I am the true vine, and my father is the gardener…I am the vine and you are the branches.

    We are joined to God through Christ. The life we live is Christ in us. The fruit we bear in Christian character, behaviour, witness and love are nurtured and nourished from our being joined to Jesus Christ. Without him we bear no fruit, life is cut off at source, and we are no longer walking in the light or in the Way that is the way of Christ. It’s hard to avoid the thought that the gifts of bread and wine of communion are to keep us true to the living bread and the true vine. To mix metaphors, the good shepherd is like a door that keeps us close to the true vine and the living bread – there’s a lot of truth in that – but then Jesus said I am the way, the truth and the life!

  • A Tapestry of Tales 1. An Owl, a Harbour and a Stained Glass Window.

    My first tapestry was completed when I was 7 years old. It was a small picture of an owl sitting on a branch at night and behind it a full moon. When it was finished I gave it to my Gran. It was 25 years before I did another one. This time several small sailing boats in a harbour, following a pattern in the Women’s Weekly, a once ubiquitous magazine in homes of people like my mother who enjoyed stories, recipes, knitting patterns and the occasional craft suggestion. It used different stitches, gobelin, half cross stitch, satin stitch, tent stitch. Two tapestries in quarter of a century. At this rate I might manage two more.

    Durham-Cathedral-Daily-Bread-Window-Greeting-CardBut then I visited Durham Cathedral in the late 1980s and was transfixed by bold shafts of rainbow light coming from the far end. Like the glory of the Lord in Isaiah’s vision, coloured light filled the worship space. Still pristine clear, it filtered bright sunlight into a spectrum in which all the colours of the rainbow had been rearranged as if scattered and regathered into a giant kaleidoscope. The new stained glass window functioned like the stage lights of a rock concert, announcing the presence of the main act, in this case, God who is the energy source of light.

    The window in question is ‘Daily Bread’, designed by Mark Angus, and dedicated in 1984. It was a gift from the staff of Marks & Spencer to celebrate the centenary of the company. I spent a long time staring at it.

    ‘Daily Bread’ is an abstract representation of the Last Supper, viewed from above. Words like stunning, breath-taking, cool, brilliant, and all the other over-used superlatives wow social media images – to use another evaluative cliché, they didn’t come close.

    Transfixed. Amazed. Silenced. Eucharist. These are better. I fell in love with the sacrament of colour. Texts I knew by heart from 20 years of celebrating the Lord’s Supper moved from monochrome print to dynamic image, creating in me a different kind of spiritual receptiveness. Stained glass as exegesis of the deepest truths in our faith; oh I knew about medieval windows narrating Bible stories to those who could not read.

    This, however, was different, for me at least. This window opened windows in my mind, compelled attention to the very feelings it was creating. I felt addressed by a Presence I recognised, but in a medium that was new, strange, and beautiful in a way that expanded my inner awareness of what external beauty can do to a soul.

    I bought a slide, remember them? I had an idea. If I could take home some of the richness, texture, luminosity, sheer There-ness of that window, and what that first look conferred on a tourist knocked off his spiritual stride – if only! Somewhere and sometime between leaving the cathedral and arriving home, I had decided to do a tapestry of that blessed window.

    Durham 1Those were still days of slide projectors; digital technology, image transfer, and photo reproduction were still 20 years away. With my slide, and the guide book with its colour photo of the window “he wondered, he stood in his shoes and wondered…”

    Forgive the random line from a poem I once recited in early primary school and won second prize! But I did have to wonder. How to capture enough of the image, and the memory of the experience, to make it worth the effort, and more importantly, worthy of the memory.

    On a sheet of drawing paper, pinned to the wall, I traced the bare outline of the window from the projected slide. It had to be a reasonable size to allow for variations in colour, and recognisable shapes. Tapestry canvas is made up of tiny squares, how to recreate images that are flowing, curved, circular is a perpetual challenge. One essential is sufficient scale to allow sharp angles to be softened.

    Then the colours – wools didn’t come near the vivid contrasts and bold luminosity of the sun shining through the Daily Bread window into the dulled dustiness of Durham Cathedral unlit on a summer’s day. That’s when I decided on stranded cotton. It comes in bright colours, bold as brass, or any other loud colour. But stranded cotton is made in numerous shades of the same colour, and its strands are separable making it possible to mix and match on a different kind of palette.

    I traced a bold but quite accurate outline on to the canvas, and with the colour photo as guide, set to work. The canvas was 20 mesh, (20 holes to the inch) the finished size 18×40 cm approx. It took a while. Well over 30 years on, it has faded a little, it has been reframed and remounted, but it still carries the excitement and the memory of that minor epiphany in Durham. And it set me on the way to a form of art which has increasingly become expressive of spiritual experience, and in the doing of it enriches my own spirituality. That’s a post for another time.

  • For the Love of God Make the Most of the Benediction.

    P1000584What do we think we are doing when we stand before a congregation at the end of a worship service and pronounce a benediction?

    What do we think is being done to us when someone stands at the front at the end of a worship service and pronounces a benediction?

    I ask because I've done it thousands of times.

    Is it a pious habit? A signal for people to leave? A formal spiritual cheerio? A liturgical redundancy? Or an essential act of pastoral care?

    Here's what I think I'm doing, or having done to me.

    A benediction is a saying of good, quite literally. Good words said to make good things happen. Bene dictum.

    A benediction is a blessing, an invocation to the God of grace to go with us wherever we go, to grace us with His presence. 

    A benediction is meant to make us feel good (blessed), and do good (be a blessing).

    A benediction is indeed an ending of worship, but it is also a beginning, a new commissioning to service – every time, each week.

    A benediction is therefore a call to love one another, love our neighbour, and love God, just as we promised we would in the worship service we are leaving.

    A benediction is a reiteration of Jesus' promise to be with us, wherever and whenever, and therefore a reminder that we never walk alone. 

    A benediction is like the best ways of ending a letter or email, 'kind regards', 'with warm good wishes', 'or my occasional personal sign off, 'shalom the noo.' 

    All of these help explain what is being done by us and for us when a benediction is said. Who wouldn't be helped to face whatever the week brings by words like these said over our heads:

    P1000515

     

     

    Go forth into the world in peace;
    be of good courage;
    hold fast that which is good;
    render to no one evil for evil;
    strengthen the fainthearted;
    support the weak;
    help the afflicted;
    honour everyone;
    love and serve the Lord,                                                  rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit;
    and the blessing of God Almighty,
    the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,
    be amongst us and remain with us always.

    Amen.

  • R S Thomas, A Good Friday Service, and a Memory of a Friend.

    MusicianIt was a Good Friday service, nearly 40 years ago. The service was shaped around the use of the hands at the Passion. The hands that received the 30 silver coins and embraced Jesus; the hand of Peter grasping for a sword in Gethsemane; those same hands warming themselves at the charcoal fire in a Roman courtyard; the hands of Pilate washed for all to see, hoping to remove all guilt for the execution of the Galilean; the hands of Simon of Cyrene accosted and made to carry the cross for Jesus; and the hands of Jesus himself, nailed down, supporting his own weight when the cross was raised.

    And those hands of Jesus that had broken bread on the mountain to feed the crowd, and had lifted and blessed children, had touched lepers and blind people, had overturned tables and sat at a table and broke bread yet again. Human hands, so expressive of human purpose and personality, so communicative of welcome or refusal, clenched in anger or opened in generous giving. And as the Easter story moves relentlessly towards Calvary, there are no clean hands, except those rendered immobile by nails. 

    It was in that service, I think 1985, I first heard, read with quiet firmness by my friend Kate, the R S Thomas poem 'The Musician.' In all the years since, I've never forgotten the impact of carefully written words read with no attempt to win the attention of the audience – read with practiced care the poem did that itself. We had just sung,

    See from his head, his hands his feet,

    Sorrow and love flow mingled down;

    did e'er such love and sorrow meet,

    or thorns compose so rich a crown.

    Kate quietly walked to the front, and without introduction, read 'The Musician.' And so R S Thomas became a voice I listened to, a poet to be reckoned with, a doctor of the soul, especially the troubled soul, the doubting, uncertain and frankly God-questioning soul. Over the years I've read him, agreed with him, disagreed with him, been annoyed with him, but come to love and respect him as one for whom faith was never anything other than fighting the good fight, with perseverance, without self-pity and with a spirituality impatient of a too easy won assurance. 

    All of this by way of explaining I'm about to embark on a more extensive study of the poetry of R S Thomas, some of it shared here, much of it accumulating towards, who knows, a possible future publication.

    P1000617We all have folk in our lives who have the gift of fertilising thought and energising imagination. Kate was like that. Over the near 40 years of our friendship we exchanged books, freely expressing like and dislike, each of us free to be critical in that constructive way that's fun as well as education. On all my subsequent reading of poetry from that Good Friday, Kate's judgment and guidance introduced me to so many other voices, books, poems and much else. But my abiding literary memory is of her reading a magnificent poem, in the context of the Passion, and Christian worship on Good Friday.

    The three books are to my knowledge, the best treatments of the theological and religious context out of which Thomas wrote. None of them are an easy read; but neither is the poetry that wrestles like Jacob with the God who is elusive, and whose name we desperately seek to learn, and know.

    The poem in calligraphy is 'The Musician', found in Collected Poems 1945-1990, J. M. Dent, 1993. page 104. The story of the calligraphy is for another time.