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?

A Chaos scale

I've been thinking about defining a chaos scale. Kind of like the Richter scale for earthquakes or the Beaufort scale for wind.

Last week in particular was very busy. With my training incumbent away, the phone calls to the vicarage come through to me, and last week it was very busy on the phone. It seems that now spring is here, thoughts of many people around here are turning to Baptisms, and it was my smart idea to suggest that clergy visit soon after an initial Baptism enquiry is made (along the lines of the Weddings Project suggestion for weddings) Previously, the office took the booking but we may not visit the family for many months depending on how far in advance the Baptism was booked.
This week, I've done five visits.
That registers highly on the chaos scale as it eats into other time I may have available for preparation for other things. But it's all about building good relationships and I really enjoy it.

Some fruits of this approach were evident at yesterday's family service. We had over 60 people in church - around two dozen children, and there were three families there who have recently started coming regularly following the Baptism of their children.
The service itself registered quite high on the chaos scale - with all those children around, there's a certainly inevitablility to that. But they were mostly engaged and had plenty to do in the service which seemed to help. The giving of Communion was less ordered than usual but no-one seemed to mind, and I was really pleased that a Banns family came to the altar for a blessing as they prepare for their wedding in a few weeks. There was a lovely atmosphere and we are blessed with having the kind of old(er) ladies who really like having a lively service for families and not the kind I have met elsewhere who might otherwise complain.....

So if my scale of chaos is to reflect anything, it will probably reflect when I have time to blog. Infrequently just now, but I hope to redress that this week, which, at the moment has (deliberately) fewer appointments and (fortuitously) no sermon to preach on Sunday.

I'll keep thinking about how I'd like to express my chaos scale, but feel free to make suggestions!

Although it has been busy, I did want to share some moments where I felt the chaos was particularly hallowed. For God is there to be found anywhere anyone chooses to look.

A fantastic concert by my son's school...... a lovely Communion in a sheltered housing complex...... a very moving hospital visit with a man with dementia - as he struggled to remember his wife's death, and wept for her, he paused and uttered a prayer from his heart, "Lord, help me!".......... some laughs with the Cubs as they talked about objects in the church...... praying with a dying man..... the peace of the 8 o'clock Communion service on Sunday.

So, tired but blessed, I continue to embrace such hallowed chaos.


Image of Richter scale via http://mishunderstanding.wordpress.com/2011/01/23/what-is-the-richter-scale/

Noise from the shallow end

I came across a quote today that I rather like. Attributed to Canon Bill Vanstone,  the Church (of England) is likened to a swimming pool where all the noise comes from the shallow end.
Others may have heard this already but it's new to me, and I can't help thinking how apt it remains. There's lots of noise at the moment surrounding the church on issues of gay marriage, wearing of crosses, and our response to the economic situation. But is there any depth to our thinking on the subject?
This challenges me about the depth (or lack of depth) of my own spirituality - especially in Lent when I've been trying, through the chaos, to do some proper reading. I feel that often I merely paddle in the shallow end of the pool instead of plunging into the depths of God. And as a consequence, I can find myself feeling ill-equipped to comment or think about the issues that face the church and the world today.
No particular conclusions about this at the moment, except that I need to be doing more praying, thinking and meditating on God's Word so that I can take a few more steps towards the deep end of the pool.

Forgiven at the cross

A wordle of last Sunday's sermon which was very well received. At least half the congregation (of 20!) told me how powerful it was. For Lent we're focussing on aspects of the cross, rather than preaching from the readings, so this week I preached on the cross as forgiveness. That's a big thing for me as my MA dissertation was about forgiveness in the Criminal Justice system. This was as a result of a placement in a prison when the Chaplaincy was running a restorative justice course. Seeing prisoners face up to their offences, some for the first time in more than 10 years inside was incredibly moving, and convinced me of the power of asking for and receiving forgiveness. It is forgiveness that allows us to move on from past hurts. Ann Lewin, poet and liturgist talks about forgiveness - not as forgetting but as remembering differently. The sting is removed from the memory.
In Jesus' death our sins are forgiven, and we are made whole. It is part of our Christian discipleship to learn to forgive others - and I don;t want to under-state how hard that is -to the point of seeming impossibility. But forgiving another frees us from hurts which might otherwise dominate our present and shape our future. Someone described failing to forgive as being like allowing someone to live rent-free in your head. Forgiveness also offers a new opportunity for the forgiven offender to imagine a new life which is not dictated by the past. This is what Christians believe is offered to them in Jesus' death and resurrection. And this is the good news we're called to share.
I'm always interested in the work of The Forgiveness Project, the reconciliation ministry of Coventry Cathedral, and St Ethelberga's. Any more I should know about?

Women's World Day of Prayer

Well, I was going to blog about this but my friend Revd Claire got there first and has said much of what  I wanted to say. So, check it out!
Today's service was prepared by the women of Malaysia and had as it's theme "Let Justice Prevail."

I remember this service from when I was a child, and little seems to have changed. As an act of worship, I'm afraid I still find it wordy, and bitty, with too many elements.
But I think it's more the fact that it only appeals to a small section of our congregation, that concerns me. It is actively avoided by men (at least where I am - I was ridiculed for suggesting in a magazine article that the service should be attended by men as well as women) Why should something as important as praying for justice to prevail not be a concern to all of humanity, not just half of us? It still feels slightly (and I could be wrong) as if the women are being allowed to go and have their little service while the men do other, more important stuff.
That's not to say that I don't see the value of a group of women getting together to achieve something. I was a Guider for many years so firmly believe that there is a place for women-only spaces. I'm just not sure that this is one that I particularly feel comfortable in.

Having said all that, there were some really positive moments today- and here's a picture of some of the props that were made - these lovely butterflies to remind us of the colours of Malaysia.
I also love the thought that as our service finished, another one somewhere in the world was just beginning, and that we took up where someone else left off.
And I had a great conversation with a Roman Catholic lady who is in favour of the ordination of women and who was a bit upset by the arrival in the RC church of former Anglicans in the Ordinariate.

So, perhaps as an act of female solidarity, it's worth retaining, but perhaps also the ultimate goal should be that eventually the whole of God's people would recognise that issues that affect women require all of God's people to pray and act - not just the female half.
Claire feels ambivalent about this - and so do I. You?

Ashes

I know. I'm nearly a week late. Such has been the chaos of life over the past week that I haven't had time to post anything. I keep saying it will be better next week but life always proves me wrong.



I felt very reminded of the mess and mortality of human life on Ash Wednesday and this has stayed with me through the first week of Lent. After Morning Prayer, Eucharist and a meeting with my Spiritual Director, I was summonsed back to the church where a lady had appeared in some distress. She was passing on  her way back from a mediation meeting in divorce proceedings, and wanted to call in where she had been married. I sat with her for more than an hour as the sorry tale of an unravelling relationship was told. I was transported back to my tiny office on the outskirts of Glasgow where I used to hear similar stories from clients in my then professional capacity as a solicitor, specialising in divorce work.
There is so much that can be wonderful in a marriage at its best, But at its worst, it must be one of the most miserable ways of living. I don't like divorce. I didn't especially rejoice when my clients' cases were over and the decrees issued, and they were single once again. Where there was abuse - and in that part of Glasgow, it was not uncommon - it must surely have been better for the abused spouse and for any children of the marriage for that relationship to be over if it cannot be healed.
And yet, the lady who I spoke to last week reminded me of the pain of a failed marriage - even where the relationship cannot truly be called a marriage as is it so dysfunctional . In the church where they had made their marriage promises to each other before God, it hurt that those promises had been broken repeatedly over a period of 21 years, and that the relationship was finally to end. It hurt a lot.

Human sinfulness is hideous, and on Ash Wednesday my visitor reminded me of the damage and pain that we can inflict on each other. I have certainly hurt people I professed to care about. That's what we as humans do. We find ourselves doing thing that really we don't want to do and that we know will hurt others and consequently ourselves. I think St Paul knew about that when he wrote to the Romans 2000 years ago and not much has changed.

After the lady left the church, I had (yet another) reminder of mortality in a funeral visit.

Sin and mortality. The ashes felt surprisingly heavy as I made the sign of the cross on foreheads that evening

Nostalgia

This week during half-term, I went to the cinema with the family. My daughter's choice of treat was to go to see  the Muppets at the cinema. She had never seen the original Muppet Show. I, on the other hand was taken straight back to my childhood Saturday evenings.
I thought about other things we used to watch as a family. We had seen some of them on DVD in HMV the previous day. The A Team, Knight Rider, Airwolf (Airwolf!!!) It made me wonder why we there seems to be such a trend for 80s TV, music and even fashion. (Thankfully no shoulder pads, but there was quite a lot of neon in Claire's Accessories)
Those of us who were children and teenagers in the 80s now have families of our own - but was the TV really that great? The music certainly wasn't.
So what is going on? Are we so scared of the future that we retreat to the past? If the past is the 1980s, which, as I recall, included a war with Argentina, miners' strikes and millions of unemployed, perhaps we are retreating there because it's familiar. With the news from the Falkland Islands this week, perhaps it's a little too familiar.