How hard is it raining?

Pentecost 1c – Sunday 26th May 2013 – Trinity Sunday
John 16: 12-15

Oldham has a reputation for inclement weather. Completely justified, I must add. In our house, in preparing to start the day, the shout usually goes up: “How hard is it raining?” The most foolproof method to answer this question comes by looking out the window and looking over to Counthill School. If you can see the school it’s raining lightly, if you can’t see the school it’s tipping it down!

Counthill School grandly stands atop Moorside in Oldham, less than a mile from our house. Our children were educated there, in fact, Debby completed her secondary school education there in the days when they still had a sixth form college! It dominates the landscape with its majestic views over Oldham, Lancashire and Greater Manchester. It’s motto was Animo Atque Fid, which means courage and yet also faith.

One day last week the shout went up, “How hard is it raining?” One cursory glance from the dinning room window told me all I needed to know. “It’s torrential”, I replied. So imagine my surprise when I went out the front door to discover quite a pleasant spring morning! I rushed back to the dinning room, and sure enough there was no sign of Counthill School. So why wasn’t it raining? The answer was Counthill School had been demolished! The iconic clock tower no more. The grand frontage flattened. How are we ever going to know now whether to wear our light raincoats or our sowesters!

Counthill School actually closed last year. Merged with Breezehill School it became Waterhead Academy. It now sits on Huddersfield Road on the site of the old Orb Mill. We knew there would come a day when the old school was knocked down and the land readied for new housing. It was just a shock that it crept up on us like it did. And so, Counthill School is no more, mourned by meteorologists and old school pupils alike.

It’s part of life’s journey.

Jesus spent a tremendous amount of his time preparing his disciples for life’s journey. He knew that they would find the way ahead difficult without him by their side. That’s why the disciples were promised the Holy Spirit …

“…But when the Friend comes, the Spirit of the Truth, he will take you by the hand and guide you into all the truth there is.”

The gracious Spirit of God still takes us by the hand, still walks with us, still equips us, still journeys with us. Which is a good job, because we all have trouble navigating the path before us. When relationships break down, when jobs disappear, when finances become tight, when illness strikes, when a thousand and one other challenges come our way we need all the help we can get. And God provides it by sending his Spirit.

The impression is often given that the Holy Spirit is a gift for the Church. Exclusive. Completely. That couldn’t be further from the truth. God’s gift to you and to me is his Holy Spirit. He fills us with his strength, he equips us with his gifts, he leads us into his truth, he walks by our side, he holds our hand.

My prayer at the start of each and every day is always, Come, Holy Spirit, Come.

As approach Trinity Sunday we reflect that God is our Creator, our Redeemer and our Sustainer, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. And even though I tell people to believe wholeheartedly that we are an Easter people, we also need to live a Pentecostal life. Filled by the Holy Spirit to repair our brokenness, to joyously lift our hearts and to prepare us for life’s journey.

Anyway, got to go. Just looked out the window … it’s another sultry, scorching Oldham day. Where did I put my Bermuda shorts? Oh yes, next to my umbrella.

Happy days

A Triumphal Blog

Lent 6c – Sunday 24th March 2013 – Palm Sunday
Luke 19: 28-40

Two years ago I had the idea of beginning a weekly blog which would try and focus my mind on the forthcoming lectionary readings in readiness for the Sunday service later that week. A blog for members of my own congregation, for other Christians, and for ministers, pastors and worship leaders themselves preparing for weekly services.

My main inspiration is always from the gospel reading, but I try to put it into context with a topical news story or event that has happened to me.

This week I was overwhelmed with the number of influences I could call on:

• The election of Pope Francis I
• Ipswich Town footballer Tyrone Mings who bought a ticket for a ‘skint’ fan via a Twitter conversation
• Comic Relief and a very inappropriate (and indeed offensive) sketch by Rowan Atkinson as Archbishop of Canterbury
• The utter decimation of the England Rugby Team by a rampant Welsh XV

But no. Something more selfish. This is my 100th blog! 100 different takes on the gospel story and what it means to us. But how, I hear you ask, does this bear any relation to the Palm Sunday Reading knocking at our door this week?

Well, every version of the Bible, and every portrayal of this reading in the four gospels, has it down as The Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem. So this is A Triumphal Blog! Nothing more. Nothing less. God is good. How could I expand on that? Fantastic. Amazing grace.

And if anything could sum up my faith, my belief in God’s love and providence for my life, if I have anything to say that’s worth listening to, I would shout this from the rooftops:

Blessed is he who comes, the king in God’s name!
All’s well in heaven! Glory in the high places!

And you know, if I didn’t say it, “…the stones would do it, shouting praise.” Amen.

Happy days

Honouring God’s presence

Lent 5c – Sunday 17th March 2013 – Passion Sunday
John 12: 1-8

Jesus said, “Let her alone. She’s anticipating and honouring the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you. You don’t always have me.”

Do you think Jesus was ever wrong? Ok, how about a little bit right and a little bit wrong at the same time? Yeah, me too. I don’t think Jesus got much wrong – in my humble opinion. But on this occasion perhaps he got things slightly askew.

First off, the little bit right. Passion Sunday precedes Palm Sunday. Palm Sunday precedes Easter Sunday. So we’re well on the way. We anticipating the climax to the ministry of Jesus. He’s preparing his disciples for his departure, the supreme revelation of God’s love for the world. Jesus is telling the disciples they will have to appreciate him now to understand him later. Ok, I get that. He got it right.

But the bit he got wrong was the “You don’t always have me” bit. In a purely physical presence he was right. He was off soon. The disciples better get ready. But in a long term strategy, missional outreach perspective he was way off the mark. You see, to quote Bryan Adams, everything I do, I do it for God. If I’m standing up for the poor, I’m serving God. If I’m reaching out to the lost, I’m serving God. If I’m supporting those who are vulnerable, I’m serving God. If I’m visiting the sick, I’m serving God. If I’m watching Comic Relief, I’m serving God. [PLEASE INSERT YOUR OWN EXAMPLES!]

And when I look into the eyes of those I’m serving, I see the eyes of Jesus. He’s still here. He’s very much alive. He’s walking and talking and breathing and everywhere I look. And so I’m honouring – not the day of his burial – but the very essence of his being. I’m honouring his presence. It’s what gets me up in the morning, it’s what gives me hope. Of course there are some days which are totally ME, ME, Me. I feel so like Judas. That’s just being human. But the example of those around me, and the poor – who are always here – soon pull me back into honouring God’s presence.

Jesus said, “Let her alone. She’s anticipating and honouring the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you. You don’t always have me.”

Ok. Perhaps Jesus wasn’t wrong. But you get the point I’m making……

Happy days

A doubtful reputation

Lent 4c – Sunday 10th March 2013
Luke 15: 1-3, 11-32

The credibility and moral authority of the Catholic Church in Scotland has been damaged, according to the man who has replaced Cardinal Keith O’Brien.
Archbishop Philip Tartaglia took over temporarily as administrator of the Archdiocese of Edinburgh and St Andrews after the cardinal’s resignation.
The cardinal has since apologised for his sexual conduct.
Archbishop Tartaglia told an evening mass that: “This is a sad moment for the church in our country.”
Cardinal O’Brien was Britain’s most senior Roman Catholic cleric until he stood down last Monday after three priests and a former priest had made allegations of “improper behaviour” against him dating back to the 80s.
Initially, he said he would contest the allegations but on Sunday issued an apology, saying that his behaviour had “fallen beneath the standards expected of me”. [Taken from BBC News Scotland]

There’s no show like the spectacular-fall-from-grace show. We love tuning in to watch it. It has the ability to cheer us up, make us feel better, stops the rain from falling on our parade for a short while. We love the sneering contempt, the snorting I’m-better-than-them attitude. Oh yes, it’s made my day.

That is until I remember what I intoned last week:

Then I read my Bible and it says:
Do you think those murdered Galileans were worse sinners than all other Galileans? Not at all. Unless you turn to God, you, too, will die.

Yes, I’m no better. And if he turns out to be a dyed in the wool sinner I guess I am too. And as if to further reinforce this point the first few words of this weeks lectionary reading say:

By this time a lot of men and women of doubtful reputation were hanging around Jesus, listening intently.

The cynical might say that they were hanging around Jesus waiting for a get-out clause for their doubtful reputation. But the truth of the matter is that they discovered that Jesus offered hope, love, forgiveness, healing and grace for people like themselves – sinners. Luke 15 is a wonderful passage for people like Archbishop Tartaglia, Cardinal O’Brien and me. In fact, it’s a wonderful passage for everybody. Because it shares the loving heart of God, the waiting Parent, the caring and compassionate Father, the graceful Friend, the rejoicing God.

And what makes this passage even more amazing is that the Prodigal Son isn’t thrown on the scrapheap, isn’t cast aside. He deserves nothing. He blew his inheritance on wild living. He should get his just deserts. He should get nothing.

We love to kick someone when they’re down, don’t we? Precisely because of this there are now so many media commentators and social experts pouring scorn and sneering contempt on Cardinal O’Brien and his actions. We shouldn’t be surprised by this because for so many years the church has poured scorn and sneering contempt on the world and its sinners. There’s been so little humility, so little grace, no wonderful examples and role models. How many Mother Theresa’s have there been? How many Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s? Not enough.

I know I could stand alongside Cardinal O’Brien – and those disreputable characters from Luke 15 – and say with all sincerity and true humility, “I have all fallen beneath the standards expected of me.” Could you?

And for some reason there’s a very excitable person on the horizon. They’re jumping up and down, doing a little jig, whooping and hollering something. What was it? Did I catch that right? Did they say, “My son is here — given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!” Wonderful. Amazing.

Happy days

God’s little blue eyed boy

Lent 3c – Sunday 3rd March 2013
Luke 13: 1-9

Hey guys, you’ve not been watching out for me. All I ask is you pay me a bit of attention. Help stop me making a fool out of myself every now and again (I know that’s a bigger task than I realise, but hey, give it a go). For the past eight weeks I’ve labelled every one of my blogs in the wrong year! And you’ve not noticed! How do you know this wasn’t a test I was setting you? How do you know there wasn’t a big prize awaiting the first person to point it out? (There wasn’t, but I was just saying.)

Now please don’t go getting a complex about this little telling off I’ve given you. You’re no worse a blog reader than anyone else. You’re no worse a blogosphere citizen than anyone else who finds their way here. I’m willing to forgive, to give you another chance, let bygones be bygones. We’ll speak of it no more.

Do you think I’m getting ideas above my station? Am I taking this Christ-like thing too far? After all, that’s exactly what our reading says today. And for me, whenever I’m getting a little too big for my boots, this reading brings me back down to earth. Do you ever feel a little smug? A little too satisfied with how life is going? Do you ever cast a roving eye over that person sat next to you on the tram and think yourself just a little better than them? A bit more stylish. A bit more trendy. A bit more good. A bit more holy. A bit more authentic. A bit more, well, Christian.

Wait a minute that’s not right. That didn’t come out like I meant it to. Let me rephrase that paragraph. I don’t think of myself as a good person. But do you ever sit opposite someone on the bus and think they’re a worse person than you? They’d never give up their seat for anyone else. They never smile. They never acknowledge you. They look, frankly, shifty. Not 100 per cent trustworthy. The things they do are bound to be way worse than anything you’ve ever contemplated.

Then I read my Bible and it says:
Do you think those murdered Galileans were worse sinners than all other Galileans? Not at all. Unless you turn to God, you, too, will die.

I reread my words and I do indeed die. I’m no blue eyed boy. I’m no better than anyone else. We all stand accused, we are all found guilty. We are sinners. And sin is sin is sin. There’s no better kind of sin. There’s no grades or levels of sinfulness. There’s just sin. We need to turn to God (I love that phrase). We need to turn around. To shift ourselves. To take action. To do something. To recognise our failing. To turn to God.

And I’m glad that God’s a considerate gardener. Me? I’m a useless gardener. I pull up the things that need to stay and leave the things that should be in the compost heap. I’m glad God is prepared to give me another chance, to let me mature, to do what I should have done a long time ago.

But the sting is in the tale here:
“The gardener said, ‘Let’s give it another year. I’ll dig around it and fertilise, and maybe it will produce next year; if it doesn’t, then chop it down.’”

We are not just ornaments in the kingdom of God. Our lives should bear fruit.

Lent is often seen as a very spiritual and personal journey we undertake. This passage reminds us that our lives should be blossoming. This week do something practical, something that overflows from the richness of your life. Go and visit someone who’s having it rough lately. Volunteer to listen to the children read in your local primary school. Litter pick your street. You can make a difference. God lives in you.

Me? I’m just going to proof read this blog one more time looking for typo’s!

Happy days

Size of a hen

Lent 2c – Sunday 24th February 2012
Luke 13: 31-35

There was horror in the news 10 days ago, when a story was reported about how a fox stole into a house in South London and attacked a 4 week old baby. The fox pulled the baby out of its cot and in the ensuing struggle inflicted very serious injuries. Authorities were quick to reassure people that fox attacks on humans were very rare, nevertheless the family and local community were left deeply shocked.

When Jesus labelled Herod “that fox”, he obviously wasn’t just referring to the cunning qualities of the animal. No doubt he was referring to the ruthless or even the vicious acts that foxes are capable of. So, when Jesus comes up against the fox, how does he see God’s affirmative action? What does he become?

I remember as a child watching a programme in which one of the cartoon heroes had the ability to turn himself into any given animal. I think it was The Arabian Nights. At one moment he would be a mouse so he could escape from confined quarters, at another a mighty elephant to crush the opposition. All he needed to do was say, “Size of an ostrich”, clap his hands and the deed was done. Many a happy childhood hour was spent watching this programme.

So it amazes me that Jesus didn’t do something similar. Why, of all the animals in the animal kingdom, did Jesus choose to put a hen up against a fox? Barbara Brown Taylor explores this question in her article As a Hen Gathers Her Brood.

She says:
Given the number of animals available, it is curious that Jesus chooses a hen. Where is the biblical precedent for that? What about the mighty eagle of Exodus, or Hosea’s stealthy leopard? What about the proud lion of Judah, mowing down his enemies with a roar? Compared to any of those, a mother hen does not inspire much confidence. No wonder some of the chicks decided to go with the fox.

Barbara Brown Taylor begins her article by describing the small chapel situated on the slopes of the Mount of Olives called Domunis Flevit. This is supposed to be the place where Jesus wept over Jerusalem. The current chapel was constructed in the 1950’s, built in the shape of a teardrop, it has a magnificent view over the Temple Mount of Jerusalem. On the altar is a mosaic that is said to date from the 7th century, a mosaic of a hen and her chicks, with the words from Luke 13 around its edge. In the mosaic the hen has its wings spread wide to protect its chicks. Naturally, spreading wings wide puffs the chest out making the hen appear so vulnerable.

And that is the way of Jesus. Turning every single one of our ideas and conceptions about him upside down. Which will he choose? Lion or hen? First or last? Vulnerable or victorious? Throne or cross? He surprises me every day of my life.

As Barbara Brown Taylor says in conclusion:
Jesus won’t be king of the jungle in this or any other story. What he will be is a mother hen, who stands between the chicks and those who mean to do them harm. She has no fangs, no claws, no rippling muscles. All she has is her willingness to shield her babies with her own body. If the fox wants them, he will have to kill her first.

And that’s the amazing God who has claimed me. The amazing God who laid down his life for me. The amazing God who told Herod: “Tell that fox that I’ve no time for him right now. Today and tomorrow I’m busy clearing out the demons and healing the sick; the third day I’m wrapping things up.” Not distracted from his tasks, diverted from his aims, but serving, serving, serving. Giving, giving, giving.

What a wonderful example and inspiration to us all. Next time I’m out in the park recreating an episode from The Arabian Nights, I’m going to shout out at the top of my voice: “Size of a hen!” There’s no greater superhero.

Happy days

A Quiet Walk along Via Devana

Lent 1c – Sunday 17th February 2012
Luke 4: 1-13

Leicester is a wonderful city. Sitting at the heart of the East Midlands it truly is an English gem of a city and a county. I feel very proud to have my roots in this city and I will always have a fond place in my heart for it.

Leicester is also a very historic city. It seemed that every which way you turned when I was a child it had a historical connection!

I remember when I was a young lad I used to go on cycle rides that would take me out on the old Roman road that today is named Gartree Road. This road traced the old Colchester to Chester route of Via Devana … and I used to walk along Devana Road to go to school every morning.

At the same time I used to go to concerts put on by the Leicester Philharmonic Choir, of which my dad was a member. More often than not, they used to take place in the quite wonderful De Montfort Hall, a venue whose name was inspired with a historical connection that Leicester had with the De Montfort family that originated in 12th Century France.

In fact, my dad used to work at Montfort Knitting Mills, which was situated on Tudor Road. The Hosiery industry was a very large presence in Leicester, and one of the most famous brands was Wolsey Socks. Of course, this was named after Leicester’s association with Cardinal Wolsey … Henry VIII’s right hand fixer … who died at Leicester Abbey in 1530.

To get to where my dad worked you had to drive down King Richards Road, which was not far from the bridge over the river Soar where, my dad confidently assured me, it was said that King Richard’s body had been slung following the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485. Dad’s! Never believe a word they say!

My reason for wandering down this particular avenue of history is because of the announcement last week that King Richard III wasn’t actually unceremoniously dumped over the side of a bridge but in actual fact was buried in the Greyfriars Church. In modern day Leicester, he was found underneath a Council owned car park and with the historical connection ratified it became one of the feature news stories of last week.

One of most popular misconceptions about King Richard III arises from Shakespeare’s portrayal of him as a despotic hunchback tyrant. The temptation to follow in the Bards footsteps is an easy one to make … and approaching the season of Lent and the question of temptation it’s a good link to follow.

What do we make of Lent? Is it just about fasting, temptation and what we can give up? For me, Lent should be a thoughtful and provocative journey, an examination of our faith and where we’re headed. It should allow us to see how we’re equipped to deal with the demands of kingdom life, how we’re being shaped and moulded. And at the heart of this quest is the Bible, God’s word. How should we use it? What should we take from it?

David Lose over at WorkingPreacher.org, in an article entitled Trust and Temptation, makes a very interesting point with regard to this:

In each case Jesus replies with Scripture. Over the years people have made a great deal about that, inviting us to respond to life’s challenges by remembering or quoting Bible verses. And while there may be something to that, I wonder if it’s not so much that Jesus quotes Scripture to deflect temptation as it is that Jesus finds in Scripture the words to give voice to his trust. Because at the heart of each reply is Jesus’ absolute trust in – and dependence on – God for his identity and future.

There is a crucial link between trust and temptation. To the degree that we trust God for our daily needs, for a sense of purpose, for our identity as a child of God, the temptations of the world have, frankly, little appeal. But to the degree that we allow our natural insecurity to lead us to mistrust God, we are open to the possibility, appeal, and temptation of the proposition that it is all up to us, that God is not able to provide and so we’d better take matters into our own hands.

But of course it’s not enough just to say that. Indeed, just saying that can make people feel worse, precisely we know we do not trust God as we should. So after talking about this, I’d invite us also to practice it. Because trust, like anything else, is strengthened through practice.

Perhaps that would be a good exercise for all of us this Lent. Trust. What do we trust to God? What do we trust to our own strength? In fact, should there be anything that we don’t trust to God? And do we see trust as an active or passive act? Quite often I feel the temptation just to sit back and trust God. But on many occasions trusting God comes with a task attached, an action required. There’s a great depth of wisdom and understanding that goes hand in hand with trust, and I feel it’s a mighty lesson I need to learn.

Happy days