Easter Meals

 

Meals figure a great deal in the Easter narratives.

The one in the upper room is full of companionship, although tense at times.  And the remembrance of that night has become the most important meal of The Church. 

The Emmaus meal, although almost finished before it began, holds a treasured place in the Easter sequence.  This enigmatic encounter, culminating in a single gesture of breaking the bread, an action that said a thousand words, warms our hearts today as much as it did Cleopas and his friend’s two thousand years ago.

And post Easter Sunday there was that breakfast meal by the lake as Jesus meets his disciples and reinstates a dejected, yet still faithful Peter. 

I’m thinking of meals because yesterday I felt I had one of those ‘God moments’ that touched my heart.  It was the Tuesday of Holy Week and at Tea at Three, in our church hall, I was in conversation with a church member over some delicious chocolate Brownies.  She may live in a care home and is faithfully brought to services and events by a wonderfully loving husband, yet she has great and often insightful theology!  For she said, unprompted: When we sit here at Tea at Three, we are in the presence of Jesus just as much as when we sit in church.

I loved hearing that!  Some may call it The Real Presence, but my friend just called it the presence of Jesus.  And I believe she’s spot on.  Just as our Lord was present in the upper room, at Emmaus and by a beach barbeque, his living and life sustaining presence is with us still, whether singing hymns of faith in church or eating chocolate brownies with good friends around a table in a church hall on a Tuesday afternoon.  And in a sense, that’s what resurrection is all about – those daily encounters with our living Lord. 

May God’s blessing be yours this Holy Week and, come Sunday, let’s join together wherever we are and proclaim Christ is Risen, He is Risen indeed, Alleluia!

Blog returns in two weeks.

Palm Sunday -from the donkey's point of view

 

We, that is mum and I, are usually tethered at a village just outside of Jerusalem called Bethphage.  We are beasts of burden, so Mum tells me; she’s the donkey and I’m her foal, the colt.  I’m getting used to it, all the carrying, sometimes people more often hessian bags of grain or paniers of olives from the groves just below our master’s house. 

I’d seen this Jesus before, he’d been a guest of my master a few times and I saw his coming and going and lots of laughter and then serious silence indoors as they had a meal.  I think it’s because he’d seen me and mum a few times that he sent word that day that he needed us to take him into the city.

It was a bit out of the blue.  The day before, a Sabbath, we’d stayed tethered up from sunrise to sunset enjoying the warm spring air.  Today, Sunday, was meant to be a working day, the first day of our working week and I know we were needed down at the olive grove because the pickers were already there and soon there would be baskets to carry up to the barn.  But then we heard the voices, something about Jesus needing us and without a moments hesitation my master gave the go ahead and mum and I were led away.

We met up with Jesus and he sat astride me with mum walking alongside. Without a second thought we were off.  I could see the twisty road leading from just outside Bethphage up to the city.  His disciple friends, one or two had been to my master’s house with Jesus, followed on.  I thought it would be a quiet, sedate journey up to Jerusalem.  Pilgrims had been passing our farm for days now, all going up for Passover.  So, I thought nothing of it – Jesus needed a lift and I had been chosen to take him.

And then we turned the first corner and people stood by the track smiling.  Some waved and one person put down their shawl and I walked over it.  This was strange and like no carrying I’d ever done before.

Jesus patted me on my neck and calmly said walk on.  Round the next bend we met a couple of family groups, and these had cut some palm branches and were waving them as we passed.  They shouted Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. And someone called out hosanna and then everyone joined in calling it out too.

Halfway to Jerusalem and the momentum had picked up. More and more people stood by the trackside, they threw their shawls on the pathway, waved branches and shouted words of greeting.  Mum had developed a slow and steady pace, so I followed her lead.  It was exciting and I felt important.  No one ever takes notice of donkeys, but today we led the procession, and the cheering made us feel proud.

All the time my passenger, Jesus, calmly patted me and spoke words of gentle reassurance, so I never once felt scared. And I saw our owner out of the corner of my eye, he’d joined the procession and was even waving a palm branch as he went.

Once at the city wall we stopped.  There was now quite a crowd behind us, for some hadn’t just cheered from the roadside but joined in with the procession.

Jesus took mum and I and handed us back to our master, shaking his hand before entering the city.  And so, we were taken home, but this time the journey was quiet and predictable, no cheering and waving, and once again we became invisible beasts of burden, just part of the scenery, always there but never noticed.

Later that week I heard my master talk to some of Jesus’ friends, they now looked so worried and I wondered if something bad had happened to the one who sat astride me that Sunday.

Mum told me yesterday that Donkey folk lore has it that some years ago one of us took a lady who was expecting a baby to Bethlehem, a town not too far from here. Apparently, that donkey said, the night of the birth there was a bright star, angels singing and the strangest visit of some shepherds.

Seems to me us donkeys sometimes play a part in events that are important.  There’s more to us than simply pinning a tail on!  Because twice in history we had a walk on part in what, I sense, has become the greatest story ever told.

A Loaf of Bread

 

My wife got a bit cross with me the other day for buying a bread more expensive than our usual.  Apparently, there are now 200 different sorts of bread available in the UK.  Well, I purchased one that didn’t cost the usual £1.20, but £2.20.  Trouble is my wife is a maths teacher so she can quickly shame me by working out the cost of each slice!  Rather takes away the fun.

Well, it got me interested to do a bit of research into bread and I learnt that 99.8% of us eat it, that’s no less than 11 million loaves baked every day in Britain.  Typically, every individual eats 60 loaves a year, and of that 50% will be consumed in sandwiches.

In Jesus’ time most bread was wholegrain – not the refined white bread we often have today, and the Jewish law allowed for 10% of a loaf to be gritty!  Archaeologists often discover that people’s teeth from this period have been ground down because of the bread they ate!

The poor had the cheapest form of bread which is Barley bread – as featured in the story of the Feeding of the 5000.

I have a small rock at home that I often bring out in Lent which I think looks remarkably like a bread roll – it wouldn’t do your teeth any good at all as it’s 100% grit!

 It’s a rock that reminds me of Jesus time in the desert, during his temptations which we remember during these days of Lent, when our Lord refused to turn the stones into bread just to satisfy his own hunger.

 Interesting that, because later on at the Feeding of the 5000 that’s exactly what he did with the 5 loaves of barley – so what’s the difference?

 Well, in the wilderness Jesus would have been using his powers just to serve himself and at the Feeding of the 5000 he was using them to serve others.

I think he was teaching us a great lesson there, that serving God is essentially about serving others, being generous with our time and helpful to others with our talents.

During these days of Lent, we recall that Jesus once said he did not come to be served but to serve.  And we give thanks for all those who serve us with their generosity, love and kindness everyday.

A warm welcome from Harlesden

 

On Sunday we travelled into north London for the annual Harlesden exchange between AFC and St Margaret’s and St George’s URC and Moravian Church.  Whilst I went there, The Revd Edwin Quildan came over to Amersham and led the service with The Revd Heather McIntyre.

As on all the other occasions I’ve been to Harlesden we were welcomed with great warmth.

The congregation is predominantly of Jamaican origin, and it was so interesting sitting with folk afterwards in the church hall as the conversation turned to Windrush.  Some of them were comparing notes on whether they came to Britain on board the ship or, because of school scholarships, flew over.  ‘History’ is so different when it is personal.

Alas the organist was ill on Sunday, so we had an acapella service.  It was never a problem, for someone from any part of the congregation gave us a lead, and the singing was strong.

Harlesden is such a blend of traditions.  The building itself has a Presbyterian past and, in its own way, is quite magnificent.  The service mixed together URC and Moravian tradition (the later was particularly felt in the set liturgy used for Communion) alongside just a touch of Pentecostalism with ‘testimony’ time and much extemporary prayer.

We might have started off with twenty worshippers at 11am but within fifteen minutes the congregation had doubled to forty.

After the service we decamped to the coffee hall for bananas, cinnamon biscuits and doughnuts and lots and lots of laughter.  We lingered so long that I even had the opportunity to meet up with Edwin who called in on his way back from Amersham – all made possibly by clear roads and the fact that AFC’s service is 30 mins earlier than Harlesden’s.

We came away so pleased to have shared worship with our sisters and brothers there, we were blessed by their smiles and sincerity and our prayers stay with them as they continue to serve God with great faithfulness in that part of north London.

Happy St David's Day!

 

We don’t know too much about St Dewi, yet he is alleged to have encouraged his students to do the little things for God.  Not bad advice, especially when so much in today’s world seems so very overwhelming. 

Today is also the World Day of Prayer and this year the service has been prepared by the women of Palestine. A part of the world that has been much in our thoughts and prayers these last five months.

It’s hard for any of us to see a way forward and for that reason I was especially glad to hear from a neighbouring priest a few years ago of the three months he spent with the World Council of Churches ecumenical accompaniment programme in Israel and Palestine.

This brilliant scheme has, over the years, given some 1800 people a real experience of living and working alongside both Israelis and Palestinians in the West Bank. At any one time there are about 25 people engaged in these three-month placements, many will be based in Jerusalem and supported by the international church centre there, making regular, even daily visits, to the West Bank.  As they sit alongside both traditions their understanding grows, so when they return home, they can share what they have learnt and experienced with others. 

 

Prejudice is about us making the biggest decisions about people with the smallest amount of knowledge.  Accompaniment programmes, like this one run by the World Council of Churches, helps to correct that.

All the geo-political conflicts of our time need a deep understanding of local and cultural issues.  It may seem such a little thing to be part of an accompaniment programme, yet this scheme exemplifies the concept that dialogue and engagement is the only long-term solution.

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus – Happy St David’s Day – and keep on doing the little things.