A Chink of Light

 

Two weeks ago we sat up in ‘The Gods’ at Covent Garden’s Royal Opera House to watch the ballet Romeo and Juliet and it was a lovely occasion.

One little incident struck me just before the performance began.  As the houselights went down it became apparent that those famous enormous red curtains on the Opera House stage were not quite closed.  Through a gap that must have been no more than an inch, a chink of light shone through from the brightly lit set behind.  It felt a bit like an ‘Advent’ moment of the light piercing the darkness and giving us all hope.

I had a similar sense on Sunday after the COTHA united service at St John’s.  The clergy were waiting outside to greet folk but no one came because everyone wanted to stay indoor and listen to the beautiful music being played – it often happens!!  Well in the ‘lull’ we looked over and saw a large clump of snowdrops in full bloom standing proud in St John’s gardens.  It was a welcome sight, and one I seem to regularly see around the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity!

We are eager for signs of hope as we begin to emerge from winter and as we approach the second anniversary of the Pandemic.  And, I say this very quietly, such signs do seem to be coming, for which we are immensely grateful.

Wherever, and whenever the light shines, we give thanks to God.

Attention Spans

 

My children, apparently, belong to Generation Z.  That is, they were born between the mid 90’s and early 2010’s.  I, on the other hand, am a Baby Boomer!

The other evening my youngest son told us that the average attention span of his cohort, sometimes also known as the Tiktok Generation is 50 seconds.  So, when using their Smart Phones or other Social Media devices, the article or sales pitch has to grab their attention pretty fast before they inevitably move on.

I’m not sure where that leaves the twenty-minute, three-point sermon in church?!  It’s hard to see how complex issues, the sort that make up everyday life, can really be grasped in such a short time frame.

I was having coffee this week with a ministerial colleague who told me of plans for his upcoming Sabbatical.  He and his wife are hoping to do the Camino de Santiago, a walking pilgrimage through France and Spain called the Way of St James, ending up in the cathedral at Compostela.  This isn’t going to be quick!  Indeed, they have given themselves 40 days.  It’s an intentional pilgrimage and everyday will bring fresh surprises as they travel alongside fellow pilgrims sharing walking time, meals and hostel accommodation together.  Their prayer is that into this measured and ‘slow’ experience they will discover new things about God and themselves. 

We are almost through the season of Epiphany when, among other things we recall the biblical story of the visit of the Wise Men.  It’s surely significant to note their journey was also a long one, taking probably up to five months to travel 500 miles.  Yet they kept going and didn’t give up.

All generations, not just the Z one but also Baby Boomers like me, need to realise that life is a marathon and not a sprint in which some of the lessons that take the longest time to learn turn out to be the most important.

Sabbatical Sunday visit to Farm Street Roman Catholic Church, London

 This week's blog is found at the other website View From The Pew - chronicling the visits I'm making to other church during my 'Sabbatical'.

Last week we visited Farm Street Roman Catholic Church in London, red the blog here.

Epiphany

 

I always hate the Family Boxing Day Quiz when religious questions come around, because I’m expected to know the answers and frequently don’t!

This year my mother-in-law’s quiz asked the name of the second king.  Of course, I got it wrong!

Actually, I grew up in a church where we never sang We three kings, because we were constantly told it was more biblical to refer to them as Wise Men.  That said, there was always three of them and that is equally unbiblical as that number relates to their gifts alone.

It’s only been in later life I’ve discovered the tradition that calls them Melchior, Balthazar and Caspar.

Today is the Feast of the Epiphany when we remember their story.  This visit to the Christ child ‘internationalises’ Christmas.

These days I care very little about whether or not we reference them as either kings or magi.  For as with all biblical myth stories the historicity is never the important part but the theology behind the narrative.

Epiphany theology is about being open to truth, sincerely searching for it and being led to unexpected wisdom.

Giving the kings/wise men names is a way for us to bring the story to life and ‘inhabit’ it for ourselves.

Part of the Ignatian tradition for people going through Months or Weeks of Guided Prayer, is to be given a piece of scripture every day and spend time putting yourself in the story and listening out for what Jesus might have said to you as he feeds 5,000 or calmed the storm on Lake Galilee.

I remember when I was asked to do this at an Ignatian Retreat and it was presented as something new.  At that point I realised it had, actually, been part of my life since Sunday School days.  For every Sunday at 3.00pm, we would gather to listen to the ‘Stories of Jesus, to live in these and become part of them.  I’ll always be grateful to my Sunday School teachers who introduced me to these stories.

And now, in my seventh decade, just as it started in my first two, my story is grounded in THE Story, and I can think of no better foundation upon which to build in this New Year of 2022.

May yours be a Blessed Epiphany.

Do Not be Afraid

 

Earlier this week I attended a carol service at All Hallows by The Tower of London.  It was a lovely occasion, and I went at the kind invitation of a church member.  It was put on by three of the City Guilds, one of which she is a member.  I was thrilled because The Company of Watermen and Lightermen were present and in recent months we’ve discovered that my 8x grandfather was a waterman on the Thames, based at Southwark, and my 7x grandfather a lighterman.

During the service I listened to the traditional Christmas readings and was struck afresh by a phrase describing Herod as he heard from the Wise Men of the birth of Jesus that he was ‘sore afraid’!  Such a contrast to the message of the angels to the shepherds to ‘be not afraid’.

I wonder why we so often live in fear?

It often comes our way when sense we are losing control, influence, or power.  Our very identity seems to float away from us when, say: our children start making their own decisions, we retire, our bodies grow older, or we find ourselves in a pandemic. 

I suspect we are all prone, sometimes with good reason, not only to be afraid of the ‘worst case scenario’, but actually to live it, even though it hasn’t arrived.

Maybe an antidote to fear is a greater trust in the God of Surprises. 

Perhaps the worst case will come our way, yet even in extremis we can find ourselves wonderfully, and comfortingly, surprised by the help, strength and new possibilities that come our way at the bleakest of moments.

The God of Surprises comes to us in many a guise and often through people.  I especially love that hymn line, ‘I will hold the Christ-light for you, in the night-time of your fear’, hinting that friends, family and neighbours might be God's gift to us in our darkest moments. 

So, as this is the last blog of 2021, may I wish you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year as we remember, with faith in our hearts, that ancient message of the Bethlehem angels, ‘Do not be afraid’.

Differentness into Oneness

 

There seems to be two, polarised, reactions when encountering ‘otherness’.  For the eager traveller, or the cook who is constantly searching for new flavours, ‘otherness’ is a joy.  Yet for those who feel confused or undermined by differences in race, colour, language, and culture, ‘otherness’ becomes a threat.  After all, it’s the easiest thing in the world to view mine as the ‘standard’ context or the ‘normal’ way of being.

Last Saturday, whilst on a family history detective walk, we came across this school mural in Paddington.  We both, it seems, have past relatives who lived near there, next to Little Venice with its wonderful canals and waterways.  We had lunch outside the church at which my relatives got married one day in 1904, and Rachel’s the next.  There they are, one after the other, in the marriage register.  But…I digress!

Whilst exploring we stumbled upon this picture which greets primary school children in Paddington every day.  A picture displaying a diverse, multi-ethnic group of youngsters and one that probably reflects the school’s demographic.  This is a picture, and I suspect this is also a school, that celebrates ‘different-ness’ even as it values ‘common-ness’.  Because, surely, one can grow into the other.

I remember one evening at home, during my teenage years, having dinner around the family table.  I mentioned that I’d run into a friend of my parents whilst at the dentist.  When asked if we’d had a conversation I replied, with more than a tad of youthful arrogance, that we hadn’t talked much because it was clear we had different interests.  Well, my father, quite rightly, couldn’t let that pass and said that, maybe if I’d been more willing to have a chat, I might have discovered we had more in common that I realised.  It was a good and important lesson.  I wasn’t grateful for it at the time, but my father’s words mysteriously seem to have got wiser, as I have grown older!!

‘Different-ness’ may be the starting place and is regularly worth celebrating, yet scratch below the surface, listen, talk, explore stories together, and what we end up valuing is the ‘commonality’ that truly binds us together.

In the Christmas story which beckons us forward during these December days, both the shepherds and the Wise Men represent ‘different-ness’.  Yet, at the manger, kneeling before the Love that holds the universe together, we see a common humanity which, thankfully, draws us all in.

‘Different-ness’ leading to ‘Common-ness’.  A precious and necessary process in life and found in the story of that first Christmas.

Radio Christmas Talk

Radio Christmas studio this morning

For me, one of the joys of currently living with fewer restrictions is the almost weekly opportunity, on my day off, of going into London and attending Great Sacred Music at St Martin in the Fields.  It’s a thirty-five minute sequence of hymns and anthems, sung by St Martins Voices, with introductions and reflections offered in between each one from The Revd Dr Sam Wells, Vicar of this world famous church on the edge of Trafalgar Square.  It’s a precious well-spring and I’m immensely grateful for it.

Last week I had a little time to spare before Great Sacred Music began so I spent it in the National Gallery, turning left at the top of the stairs and heading to the Medieval section, full of church art.  These particular galleries contain numerous paintings, often from Italian churches, which have remained as inspiringly vibrant and colourful as when painted centuries ago.

Apart from the beauty of these images the thing that struck me most was their date.  Many came from the 14^th century.  This wasn’t an idyllic age, but one dominated by bubonic plaque, the Black Death.   I’m amazed that in a day and age when fear and anxiety hung heavy in the air, that artists could lift their horizons and paint with such hope.  It’s as if, in the face of death, they choose deliberately and purposefully to believe in hope.  I came away from the gallery thankful not simply for these stunning paintings but also for those who painted them with such insight.

A year ago yesterday the first vaccine was approved here in the UK.  In the midst of our despair came a great moment of hope and a different day began to dawn. 

Indeed, throughout recent months we have been surrounded by hope, expressed through the wonders of science, the provision of government, the companionship of people and the deep security which faith in God can bring.

In these early days of Advent, even with a dusting of snow over Amersham yesterday, we are invited once more, whatever the backdrop of our lives, to place our trust anew in the One who came as light and hope for our world.  For generations people of faith have learnt that no matter what our challenges, be it war or plague, God walks alongside us even on the bleakest of days and holds us.  We stand on the shoulders of giants, those who have gone before and kept trusting, kept believing and kept hoping.  Let’s not drop the baton now but once again place our hope in the One who once said: I am with you till the end of the age.

May God’s hope fill our lives, today and always.