Last weekend a section of our morning congregation ‘re-created’
the procession of our forebears, 60 years ago, who walked from the site of AFC’s
former building in Sycamore Road to the opening service at the new church here
on Woodside Road. It was a particular
joy that three or four of our walkers last Sunday were part of the original
group six decades ago.
So much has changed in that time.
Autumn, like all the seasons, is a time of change. Keats called it a time of mists and mellow
fruitfulness. Yet, less romantically, we might also point out it’s the time
of year for plummeting temperatures, shorter daylight and falling leaves. Animals are starting to grow thicker coats in
readiness for winter, alongside squirreling away hidden food supplies for the days
when nature’s cupboard will appear temporarily bare.
All of this begs a few questions in my mind about both the nature of God and
faith.
We often say, and I suspect we find it a comfort, that God doesn’t change. We say that, I think, believing it to be a
good thing. Indeed, there is even a
biblical text describing Jesus as the same, yesterday, today and forever.
Well, even though there are other texts that hint of a God who does respond
to situations in a more fluid way, such as the Old Testament story of withdrawing
judgement on an infamous city because just a few people of faith were found
within its walls, there is no doubt that the Bible presents us with a image of
God which is utterly dependable and encouragingly reliable. A God who always loves, always hears and
always offers us grace, hope and peace.
The challenge is greater when we come to ourselves, because for most of us,
faith is rarely consistent. We go
through dry times and seasons of doubt.
Yet, ironically, these moments often make us who we are and give us a
deeper understanding of life and the part faith plays in it.
Change is all around us, and within.
Today we live at a time of immense transition at both the palace and in parliament. We are entering a season when the colours,
smells and temperature of each new day takes us just that little bit closer
towards the ending of the year.
So, what were we about last Sunday, walking from the old to the new,
replicating the procession of AFC church members six decades ago? I believe we were both holding on to tradition
– after all just like them we were walking to church, a place where, together,
we gather to sing God’s praise and listen out for his word. In that sense nothing has changed in 60 years. Yet, within the tradition, within the
lectionary and liturgy of our services, there is change every week. We come, Sunday by Sunday, with different
needs, different joys and at different stages of our lives. And into all this continuous change we seek
to discover afresh eternal truths and constant ideals that will help us make
sense of the world.
Being a person of faith isn’t
about having a fossilised set of rigid values, it’s about constantly exploring
how the wisdom of the ages can touch our life and the life of our world
TODAY. It’s about being part of a living
tradition.
Here’s how the American Presbyterian minister, The Revd Dr Mark Sandlin so
helpfully puts it: A healthy spiritual life is about constantly striving to grow into a more compassionate, more caring person who offers their unique gifts in the service of a larger whole. That is impossible without change. Change offers us the possibility of growing beyond our current limitations into the fulness of our divine potential.
So, for once I think we can, and indeed should, have it both ways. We can be people of faith who, at one and the same time, love tradition and embrace change.
