Thank God for Social Media

On Tuesday evening, Evensong had just finished at Salisbury Cathedral when I checked my Twitter feed.
OK I won't lie. I had been checking it during the service too.
The Synod hashtag feed was repeatedly refreshed, except during the singing by the choir of the Magnificat  - Mary's song. As I listened to the familiar words and beautiful music (Noble in B minor) I had the rising sense that, just as God called the woman Mary to do something that had never been done before, (or since, it has to be said) God was also calling the women of this generation to do something new in the life of his church. Some of them would be Bishops.

My Soul magnified the Lord and my Spirit rejoiced in God my saviour.

And then I read my Twitter feed.

I felt incredibly deflated. Shocked. Bereaved. I remain surprised by the strength of my own reaction and have spent today reading, praying and reflecting on it, leaving my place of retreat with a determination to serve, with as much commitment and compassion as before, the people among whom God has placed me.

But on the night, it was hard. As a Myers-Briggs E, I need people around. I prefer to process what's going on out loud with other people. Admittedly this can have embarrassing consequences, but let's not go there.
But on Tuesday night I was alone. Away on a retreat without my family and friends.

I did, however, have Twitter and Facebook. And there I found the same shock and disbelief I was feeling. I found anger, love and compassion. And an almost immediate determination that the result of this vote will not be to diminish the ministry of women in the Church of England. And even some humour. Especially around gin.

So, thank God once more for Twitter. This Extravert was not alone when she needed company the most.
At CNMAC this year we chatted about relationships made over social media. Of course there are dangers. And we must be aware of those. But they are real, not virtual relationships and I valued them enormously this week.

Painful Explanations

My ordination stole and gift of Chalice and paten

At lunch time I had to do some of that explaining which Archbishop Rowan was talking about this morning. To a (secular) youth-worker in the secondary school where I am occasional chaplain. She was outraged that the Church could discriminate against women when her job was all about building up young people's confidence and encouraging them to fulfil their potential. Wasn't the Church in that kind of business too? So why limit the potential of 50% of the population?

And then there was the dinner table conversation with my children this evening. Completely at a loss to understand why women can't be bishops.

In both cases, I explained that the Church of England had actually decided that it did want women to be bishops. It decided that several years ago. Yesterday was not about that. It was about the particular legislation which would enable women to become Bishops. General Synod, did not decide by a large enough majority that the proposed legislation offered the kind of protection that those opposed felt they needed, if their theological positions were to be properly respected in a way that allowed them to remain in the Church of England.
"Protection?!" exploded the youth worker. "Why does anyone feel they need protection from women in church?"

As I tried to outline the theological positions, or at least how I understand them, to her, I realised how hollow I sounded.
For you see, I have been sympathetic to those opposed to the ordination of women as priests (and therefore as bishops) I have read their statements and publications, many of them for an MA essay on the topic. I disagreed with them but felt with all my heart that one of the strengths of this church I have been called by God to serve in, is its very diversity. When we gain insights into God's character from other ways of worshipping and being, we are all enriched and gain a fuller picture of God.

On a personal level, I find, for reasons that I don't entirely understand, that I am deeply wounded that my calling is a source of hurt to others who also seek to love and follow Jesus. Jesus himself didn't say anything much about bishops (or if he did, the evangelists didn't record it for posterity) but he had quite a lot to say about unity. And loving one another for his sake. And about looking after those on the margins and whom society rejects. Those, perhaps with different views to the majority, those perhaps who feel that they do not have a voice.

So I really wanted to try to do that. I didn't add my name to the letter in the Independent because I wasn't sure that this was legislation that was the right legislation at the right time. I talked with my husband (who thinks I'm mad to worry about this) about my ambivalence towards the measure. I kept quiet and prayed.

At the recent church beetle drive someone (me) drew
 a female scarabeus episcopus

The strength of my own reaction to the news of the defeated legislation has taken me entirely by surprise. In a way I kind of expected it to fail. Those opposed to the measure had been very good at getting representatives elected in the House of Laity where the required two-thirds majority was not reached. Suddenly, those on the margins, whose views and beliefs I have tried so hard to respect and hear had achieved what they wanted to achieve, and in doing so have left the majority of Synod and Church members feeling they are the voiceless ones on the margins.

So, I've just read Bishop Alan's article and I think I may have been trying to be nice. And in trying to be nice I'm left explaining things I fundamentally disagree with to an incredulous youth-worker, who thinks that my ability to minister to young people, encouraging them to fulfil their God-given potential is fatally compromised; and also to my children who I otherwise encourage to know, love and serve God through his church.

So I will continue to pray and wait and listen. And I will try to respond and offer explanations with grace, respect and love. But perhaps I may have a re-think about how much I need to go on holding the pain of others who will never agree with me.
For right now, my own pain, and that of the vast majority of the Church of England is about all I can cope with.



For other, more intelligent views, and there are many more than these, but for a starteryou could do worse than  Bishop Nick Baines, Lucy Winkett, my very articulate friend, Revd Claire , the priest who waxes his knees, Laura the Lay Anglicana and this very interesting piece by Jemima Thackray

Adding to the chaos

OK. So this is an excuse really. And it's probably a bit self-indulgent. But I thought I'd share with you one of the reasons blogging has taken a bit of a back seat recently.

Meet Millie, our Golden Doodle. That's a cross between a Golden Retriever and a Poodle. This was her at about 3 months, not long after she arrived with us back in June.
She joined our decidedly geriatric Golden Retriever, Holly. Holly will be 14 this month and although she's a bit creaky and slow still enjoys life (apart from the indignity of being played with by a six month old Golden Doodle) and after a number of scares in the last year now looks like she' might outlive us all...

After a visit to the grooming parlour aged 5 months

Millie is a lot bigger now. She loves to go to Southampton Common or the Sports Centre near where we live and run around like the mad things she is. We never intended to have two dogs. But a combination of circumstances meant that it seemed like now was a good time to add to the family - although on the face of it, you might think that the last thing I needed was a puppy.
But there have been a number of benefits - the huge amount of fun we've had with her, especially when she was little (even now she is singing along to my daughter's cello practice) The children have spent less time watching TV as we've played with her, and taken her to training classes and I enjoy the opportunity for longer walks in the (now) Autumn air as they arise. Do feel free to remind me of that when it's pouring with rain and blowing a gale.

Somehow in adding to the chaos, Millie has nonetheless enriched our lives and although she has been hard work, what worthwhile things in life aren't?

After Mary's song...

A sermon for St Mary's Patronal festival. Preached on 9th September 2012.
I always get the best reactions from a narrative sermon. 
What did Mary say after singing her song? How did she explain it to others, to herself?

Luke 1:46-55

My soul magnifies the Lord! My Spirit leaps for joy in the God who is my Saviour!

Why did I sing that song?! How? It came from my heart in an uncontrollable stream, as if the words were given to me by God himself. My joy in the Lord felt like it would burst from my body – and I suppose it did - in song. As I approached the house, I saw Elizabeth – obviously with child as my visitor had told me she would be.She cried out as she saw me, feeling her baby leap within her. It seems to me that we have both been richly blessed by God.

But why?

Elizabeth is I suppose the wife of a Temple priest so must have some importance in God’s eyes. But me. I’m no-one. Just a young woman, and only just a woman. Unmarried, living in a small country that was once great through God’s blessing but is now ruled by a foreign army. I’m completely insignificant. A bit of a dreamer of dreams perhaps. But nothing special.

And yet I had that visitor who came and said such strange things  - he told me that I have found favour with God. In spite of my being the least important person I know, God has come to me, chosen me even, to be the mother of a baby who will be a king forever.  A king, forever! This baby, the visitor told me, will grow up to be called the Son of God himself! He’ll be the fulfilment of all that God has promised to us since Abraham. Doesn’t that all sound a bit crazy to you? It does to me too. But I have never been more certain of anything in my whole life. That’s what makes it even more crazy!

I know in my heart and trust in God’s promise that this king will do great things. 
My son will do great things. 
His kingdom will not be like the ones we know now – not even like the great kingdom of David.  This new kingdom will be a place where those who are powerful become as powerless as me. This kingdom - my son’s kingdom will be a place where the thrones humans build are torn down and people who have nothing, and who think of themselves as insignificant nobodies will receive an abundant blessing from God. I know this for sure because God has started already – with me.

He has chosen me, such as I am, to take part in something that seems impossible. No, not impossible, for I know that cousin Elizabeth says, like our ancestors Sarah and Hannah, that nothing is impossible with God. So, not impossible.

But astonishing. Miraculous. Amazing, wonderful - and rather awkward and difficult to explain. Especially to your fiancé.

I can still see the hurt and anger on Joseph’s face when I told him the visitor’s news about the baby that I’ll have. The baby that will come directly from God, and not because of him or any other man. And that it’s already inside me beginning to grow. As crazy as it sounds, I know that it’s true, and I think Joseph wants to try to believe it too. He’s a good man who fears the Lord. But his good reputation will be damaged when my news gets out. And it will. I’m not going to be able to hide this pregnancy forever. Joseph has said he has to think about what he’s going to do. So I’ve come to Elizabeth.

I wish Joseph could share my joy in all this. But he is wise, and knows it’s not going to be easy for either of us. People won’t believe that the baby is from God, and if Joseph publicly says it’s not his, and sends me away, I don’t know what will happen. That scares me.

I do believe that this is all in God’s good plan – but I don’t know why his plan involves such pain, hurt and rejection. Must the fulfilment of God’s promise to Abraham and his family include such pain and disgrace for mine?

But then this new kingdom sounds like trouble. I don’t know much about anything, and nothing at all about powerful people - except it seems that those who have power want to hang on to it. And would not like having their thrones taken away from them – even by God.

I’ve never been rich – I can only imagine what it must be like, such comfort and luxury – no work, and servants to look after the household chores. That all sounds great. But God’s new kingdom will see rich people sent away with nothing. I do know what that’s like, and it’s not fun.

No. I’m guessing the rich and powerful might not like this new kingdom. This revolutionary kingdom can surely only come about at a price. And if the price of the birth of this new king is rejection, humiliation and pain so that God’s mercy will be shown to the poor and weak, then I will pay that price. And what’s more, I will teach my son to do the same.

For my joy in the Lord, my song, comes from knowing the stories of God’s love and mercy taught in the synagogues and in our families. I know that somehow I am a part of that story. That God’s mercy and salvation and the blessing promised to Abraham will be seen in a new way through the son I will have.

My job is to bring this new life, this precious, miraculous life into the world and nurture it so that God’s will can be done. My son is not just for me. In a way I can’t explain, I know he is for everyone. For God’s promise through Abraham is for all nations and generations.

Perhaps some people will think that they’re not important enough to be part of this kingdom. But that’s not true. God will use the least important person I know to do an important job for him. That’s me.

You know, He could be asking you to do something important too. You’re not too insignificant. Do you want to be a part of God’s new kingdom of mercy, love and justice? 
Yes, it’s possible for this kingdom to exist.

For nothing is impossible with God. And that’s why I sing!

The photograph is of a window in the Church at Taizé.

Questions, questions

Sometimes you plan something that you're a little wary of. Sometimes you wonder if it's really going to work. Sometimes you wonder at the last minute whether you really shouldn't change your mind and forget it altogether.

Today was a bit like that.
I was preaching in one of our churches - a small congregation, mostly elderly and mostly those who have worshipped in the church for many years. They are lovely people but concerned about the future of the church, and unsure where to begin to look for growth. Like many of us. they sometimes they don't like new things, and sometimes surprising them with something unusual doesn't work. So what I planned for my sermon today was a little risky and I nearly didn't do it. But I'm so glad I did.

Today's Gospel passage was Mark 9:30-37, and in these short verses there were many things I could have preached on. I even found my sermon from three years ago, preached in a very different setting and I enjoyed reading it - but it did not address the thing that was really standing out for me this week.
"They [Jesus' disciples] did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him." (Mark 9:32 NRSV)

I don't always use the internet for sermon preparation but when I do I often visit Working Preacher where the commentaries can be helpful (or, as is the case with most commentaries, unhelpful!) I was struck by one of the suggestions on there which was to get the congregation to be braver than Jesus' first disciples and ask him a question. So I handed out slips of paper and pens at the beginning of the service, and then preached on the importance of a questioning faith - a faith which seeks answers from God and trusts that He is big enough to take our questions in his stride. The I asked the congregation to write an anonymous question for Jesus on the slip of paper. The questions were collected
 in the offertory as a sign that as we bring our gifts in faith we also bring our questions to Jesus' table.

After the service I took the questions home and sat at my desk to read them.

I cried.

I hadn't realised until I read them what a gift I was asking them to give. I was unprepared for their honesty, puzzlement, pain and insight, and for my own reaction to that.  They range from the practical to the intellectual, and I felt humbled to be reading them. I wish I had easy answers, or indeed any answers for them. But I think that above all Jesus wants us to ask questions of him - about life as his followers - and that in asking the questions we are able to begin to live the answer.
I'd love to know, and offer a hug and reassurance to the person who asked how what they did was important. I'd love to talk further with the person what asked why they found it so difficult to ask Jesus a question. I rage with the people who are dismayed and angry about suffering in the world and current levels of violence over matters of faith.

And I will. Perhaps not directly but this has given me such an insight into God's precious people in that church and their concerns that I hope we will address at least some of them in preaching to come, and as we discuss a possible year of mission for our 80th birthday.

I am hugely grateful for the promptings of the Spirit who I'm sure gave me the courage to see my slightly mad idea through, and to the congregation who have trusted me enough to share what's on their minds and hearts before God.
So, what question would you ask?

New beginnings and writer's block

So, it's been a while. I am sorry about that. Part of me has missed blogging but a larger part has had something of a crisis of confidence. And so I have used the general chaotic nature of my life as an excuse - I don't have time to blog.

But of course what we have time for depends on our priorities and I guess that blogging became less of a priority for me. And so I stopped. And after a while, it became harder to re-start. I wasn't convinced that I had anything to say.
But September arrives with all its shiny newness amidst the fading summer. New shoes and pencil cases and in our house a complete new uniform, and routine as my daughter started secondary school. All of that went well - at least so far, and so I began to wonder if I shouldn't  do something about this blog. Its bookmark has been staring at me rather balefully from the toolbar of my browser, feeling a little unloved.
And of course as soon as I started to think that I might give this another go (with the encouragement of family and friends) something inside of me was released and I find that I have several blog posts in me just needing to be posted.
So as the chaos of my life takes a new shape this Autumn, with changes in schooling and my husband's work pattern, we'll see if this moves up my priority list. I want it to, and so that's probably the key.

Were you there? A Good Friday reflection

(Sung) Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

            Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

            Oh sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble,

            Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there?

Not many were at the end. Some women, one of his friends. Perhaps the rest all finally understood where all this Kingdom of God stuff was going. And how it could be their turn to be arrested next. They were frightened. Disappointed. Wracked with guilt by their betrayal, cowardice or denial. They finally got it – following Jesus was not going to make them popular. It was even going to be dangerous. So they left.

But didn’t he tell them that whoever followed him was going to face insult, persecution, opposition from their own families, never mind the religious authorities? Didn’t he say that if you wanted to follow him you had to take up your own cross? If you were there, you could now see exactly how that might work out. I’m not surprised that so many left the scene.

Following Jesus, living in the Kingdom of God means standing up for the weakest and the voiceless. The poor, and sick, certainly, but how about the asylum seekers. The prisoners. The drug addicts, the trafficked sex-workers. You can just see how much trouble that lot could get you into. Do we still run away from it all?

Were you there?

Were you there?

Was it you who stood at the foot of the cross? Your true self, I mean. Not the one we put on for others. But the self we don’t need to put on before God. Or, even at the foot of the cross where all is laid bare, the depths of human fear, hatred and cruelty are exposed, are you hiding behind a mask of respectability? Perhaps frightened to drop the mask – if I reveal my true self, if people knew what I was really like, they would hate me.

And yet, at the cross we find acceptance of our true self. The you that you hide is there accepted by Jesus as he opens wide those everlasting arms of love. The you that you yourself don’t much like is forgiven, redeemed and transformed. But you need to know that God loves you imperfect as you are in order for the transformative love to take effect. If we are forever hiding behind our mask of respectability, even at the foot of the cross, then we will never fully grasp the possibility of abundant life that Jesus offers. Last night we heard that unless we are washed by Jesus we have no part in him. And how can he wash that which we do not show?

Were you there?

Were you there?

Really there, I mean. Did you see that ruined body, a man in his prime bloody and beaten from wounds that might kill him anyway staggering through the streets carrying a huge piece of wood? Were you there as he was first laid down, then nailed down, then hoisted up? Were you there as the nails were driven through flesh to find wood? Did you hear, see and smell the agony of slow suffocation? Did you hear the mocking voices? See the utter humiliation, degradation, not to mention the agonising pain? The physical pain of the cruellest of deaths, and the emotional pain of abandonment and desolation.

Yet, were you there to hear his words? Words creating a new family. Words expressing a human need. Words of accomplishment. Were you there to hear those words– the smallest hint of hope for the future, of life beyond this dark day. But perhaps for you lost in the unspeakable horror of it all until afterwards.

Were you there?

Were you there?

We were all there. Whether we like it or not, we were all there. Every wrong thing we’ve done, every kind thing left undone, every cruel or mocking word we’ve ever said, every time we held back praise, affirmation or kindness. They were all there.

And so were we.

The worst parts of our humanity. Made clean by this terrible death. The inexplicable wonder of God nailed to a cross, taking all the world’s hurts and pain on himself.

We were all there.

(Sung) Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

            Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Oh sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble,

            Were you there when they crucified my Lord?