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  • Lent with R. S. Thomas: The Cross on the Altar.

    IMG_0275-1"Is God worshipped only in cathedrals, where blood drips from regimental standards as from the crucified body of love? Is there a need for a revised liturgy, for bathetic renderings of the scriptures? The Cross always is avante-garde."1

    R S Thomas lamented the modernisation of liturgy, suspicious of the modern fear of any terminology that is not current, contemporary, accessible, or, God help us, relevant. Against Thomas's apparent liturgical conservationist tendencies it may be argued, and often is, that there is nothing to be gained by Christianity sounding like a mystery religion, or the Church adhering to a language no longer spoken, and now seldom understood outside the walls of a Christian sanctuary. 

    But at the same time, in Thomas's defence, he feared that there may be a great deal to be lost if we surrender the language of faith, the vocabulary of the Spirit, the rhythms and cadences of hymn and liturgy which carry the freight of the Divine promises and presences and which sustain through those times of Divine absence. Thomas was a theologian of God's absence, a pilgrim familiar with the quiet and desolate places, and with an eye and ear observant of emptiness as of fullness. Not for him the easily recited propositions of the over-certain; not for him the substitution of banality and overfamiliarity with the Almighty, often considered by their exponents as informality and demonstrated intimacy, but which are in reality evidence of an absconded reverence and a trivialisation of the Transcendent.

    Whatever arguments Thomas had with God, and there were many – fierce, persistent, unrelenting one to one combat, resulting in inner anguish and spiritual wrestling with the One whose name was withheld and whose touch wounded to the quick – whatever the arguments, Thomas knew his place in the presence, or absence of the Divine. Like the great preacher Qoheleth Thomas knew, he just knew, "God is in heaven, and you are on earth, so let your words be few." Quite.

    The quotation at the start of this post is from a prose poem which introduces his reflections on entering a church and looking at the altar, the cross and then beyond these to the God revealed in such transiently simple and eternally durable realities. The brilliance of the last line in the following poem, illumines the whole.

    The church is small.
    The walls inside
    White. On the altar
    a cross, with behind it
    its shadow and behind
    that the shadow of its shadow.

    The world outside
    knows nothing of this
    nor cares. The two shadows
    are because of the shining
    of two candles: as many
    the lights, so many
    the shadows. So we learn
    something of the nature
    of God, the endlessness
    of whose recessions
    are brought up short
    by the contemporaneity of the Cross.2

    (The photo is of the small central panel of my tapestry, "Eucharist and Pentecost." 

    1. The Echoes Return Slow, R.S.Thomas, (MacMillan,London, 1989, page 82.
    2.  Collected Later Poems, R.S.Thomas, (Bloodaxe Books, 2004, page 53.
  • Lent with R S Thomas: Facing the Failures of faith, Confronting Bad Faith, Recovering Good Faith in God.

    6a00d8341c6bd853ef01bb08b7f452970d-320wiOver the years I have written a number of posts on the poems of R S Thomas. I've decided to gather them together and post them here regularly, though not daily throughout Lent 2023. I have found writing my response to some of Thomas's poems helps me clarify, or at least dig deeper into, some of the most profound poetry on specifically Christian faith, in its most interrogative mood. 

    Poetry is a gift with words that take us to places beyond words. When poetry is written as letters from a far country, they can become life-saving  missives for those of us who must eventually travel there. When it comes to faith, God, sin, love, loss, suffering, hope, grief and much else that confirms our transience, poetry often brings clarification and consolation, providing description of what seemed to us indescribable.

    The relations of poetry to theology, and of both to philosophy and science, have seldom been better configured than in the poems of R S Thomas. In a note on his poetry on my Facebook page I wrote:

    "They are so sharp, combining theological precision with theological hesitation – for Thomas, faith is not certainty, and God is not to be encapsulated in our words nor reducible to our cleverly constructed concepts. But at the centre of these poems is the Cross, the question mark, worship offered through open lips and gritted teeth, and a man whose cantankerous complexity was the vehicle for some of the loveliest lines I know about love, and that great Love that "moves the sun and other stars."

    During Lent I am reading through this volume of his later poems. The poems were likened by Denis Healey to Beethoven's later Quartets in their "fearless exploration of the mysteries of life and death." For years now I have listened to Thomas give  voice to profound uncertainty, hesitant faith, pessimism which stops this side of despair, the elusive miracle of human love which transcends the best of the human intellect to define, delimit or explain away. His exploration of the outer landscape gives him clues to the changing inner climates, the varied landscapes of the mind and the heart and the spirit – I'm not sure Thomas would bother much about the anomalies and theological perplexities of such a tripartite view of the inner life of any one of us. He could be acid and ascerbic about theologians too quick with their answers.

    So if Lent is a time for deep thinking; for stripping away illusion to better see what is, or is not, real; for re-aligning the loves of our life so that they nourish rather than devour each other; for facing the failures of faith, confronting bad faith, recovering good faith in God, and in ourselves and our sisters and brothers; then I know few guides more qualified to lead the mind, the heart and the Spirit through Lent and towards Calvary and beyond to resurrection.

    Throughout Lent I'll post some meditations on these late poems, these late Quartets of the Welsh composer who, like Beethoven, understood the De Profundis, and the Alleluia of those for whom faith comes hard, and is all the more cherished for that truth.

  • Thought for Each Day of the Week: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock…”

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    Monday

    Revelation 3.20 “Behold I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door I will come in and eat with them, and they with me.”

    Jesus has never been a gate-crasher. God is not sheer force banging on the door of our lives. God is love. Not sentimental, hand-wringing love, but the strong, patient love that has existed eternally in the heart of God. The one who knocks on the door of our lives, comes in the humility of God, seeking our answering love. And the hand that knocks bears the scars that are the proof of that love.

    Tuesday

    Revelation 3.8 “I know your deeds. See, I place before you an open door that no-one can shut. I know you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name.”

    God is our strength, and there is an ever-open door into Gods presence. All around the world Christians face opposition, persecution, all kinds of closed doors. The door that no one can shut is the door into the presence of the God who is “an ever present help in time of trouble.” We don’t always have strength, but we do have God’s words of promise, and he knows our deeds, and our hearts.

    Wednesday

    John 20.26 “A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.”

    Read that again. Locked doors can’t keep Jesus out. Normally we lock doors to stay safe, to keep us in. The disciples were scared, demoralised and finding safety in numbers. Their real safety was the discovery that Jesus was loose in the world, their world. Faith in the resurrection isn’t just believing in the empty tomb; it’s believing that just as the rock solid door of the grave gave way to the Risen Christ, that same Lord comes to us no matter how strong the barriers of our fears.

    Thursday

    Acts 16.25-26 About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the other prisoners were listening to them. Suddenly a strong earthquake shook the foundations of the prison. At once all the doors flew open and everyone’s chains came loose.”

    “For freedom Christ has set us free.” (Gal. 5.1) I wonder if Paul was remembering that night in Philippi when he wrote those words. Charles Wesley likewise, “My chains fell off, my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.” When Jesus comes chains fall off, and doors fly open!

    Friday

    1 Corinthians 16.7-9 “I hope to spend some time with you, if the Lord permits. But I will stay on at Ephesus until Pentecost, because a great door for effective work has opened to me, and there are many who oppose me.”

    “If the Lord permits”. Christian life isn’t about always getting what we want. Sometimes the Lord opens doors and in saying yes, we have to say no to other things. Obedience to God’s call is the only way to serve God effectively. “Trust and obey, for there’s no other way, to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.”

    Saturday

    James 5.8-9 “Be patient and stand firm, because the Lord’s coming is near. Don’t grumble against each other brothers and sisters, or you will be judged. The Judge is standing at the door.”

    James is a no nonsense apostle. He knows that grumbling is an inner form of judging others. The judgmental spirit is like friction that wears away the woven fabric of a community. The Lord is near. God knows our hearts, inside out. The opposite of grumbling is gratitude. Grumbling, is when we pay too much attention to other people’s faults, and too little attention to our own inner critical spirit. The Judge is standing at the door – of our home, office, church, heart.

    Sunday

    Revelation 4.1 “After this I looked, and there before me was a door standing open in heaven. And the voice I had first heard speaking to me like a trumpet said, "Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this."

    The open door is a window. Revelation gives us a glimpse into the worship of heaven. We hear hymns, reverberating around the throne, giving glory to the Lamb of God. That door standing open, is like us standing at the door of a crowded auditorium, hearing the most glorious music vibrate through our souls. And we are invited to join in, our voices blending with theirs in the biggest ever scratch Messiah!

    ‘You are worthy, our Lord and God,
        to receive glory and honour and power,
    for you created all things,
        and by your will they existed and were created.’

  • “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

    DSC08673

    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.

    P1000222

    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!