On St George's Day - one of 353,000 new arrivals hits the headlines!

So, our country has a new prince – who seems to have arrived remarkably promptly on Monday morning just after 11 o’clock.  It’s lovely news for the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and for the nation.

UNICEF estimate that every day the world welcomes 353,000 new citizens, that's 4 babies born every minute!  Interesting to put that into context with the figure of 155,000 daily deaths.

At the Manse we have a new puppy and a member of our family commented this week that whilst she looks a bit like a teddy bear its amazing to realise she’s actually ALIVE!  It seemed to have come as something of a revelation!

Well, every new life feels a bit like a wonderful miracle.  I think the Sunday TV serial ‘Call the Midwife’ knows a thing or two about touching the heart strings and making even the most desperate situation seem just that little bit more bearable with the news of a new arrival in the family.

The bible charts the whole of life with ‘Hatches, Matches and Dispatches’ featuring in both Testaments.  Significant births include the longed for, yet slightly unexpected arrival of Isaac and Samuel, to the highly chronicled stories of John and Jesus’ entry into the world.

Over recent days, as we have anticipated, and then experienced,the arrival of this new royal child there has been a sort of inference in some reporting that as he is only fifth in line to the throne his arrival isn’t as important as that of Prince George’s in July 2013.

Well, in an historical context I suppose we understand that.  Yet in a family and personal sense the birth of this (at the time of writing) unnamed youngster is of equal and precious worth alongside that of his siblings.

Whether children are born into our lives, adopted, fostered, or befriended – whether we are a parent, aunt or uncle or a friendly and encouraging presence – we give thanks for them and value our limited role in their development.

As an old hymn puts it;

Father, in your presence kneeling,

All our heart’s desire revealing,
to your love, in faith, appealing –

For our children, Lord, we pray.

The day I almost worked for Marks and Spencer!

This week I ventured over to Wycombe and popped into Marks and Spencer. 

I was having a ‘happy’ time just wandering around minding my own business when this man comes over to me with a shirt in hand complaining that it had a label indicating the chest size but not the neck measurements.  ‘Oh, is that right’, I said.  ‘Yes’, he replied, ‘So what do you think I should do?’ 

Well, as our acquaintance was less than a minute old I thought this rather odd being entrusted so soon in our unexpected friendship with his wardrobe requirements!

Eventually – well after another fifteen seconds – I had to put him out of his misery and tell him I too was a customer!  His remorse was instant as he apologised profusely telling me he thought I was staff.  I’m still trying to work out why!!

There are a couple of cases of mistaken identity to be found in the Easter story. 

On the Emmaus road the dejected followers of Jesus spent the entire journey thinking they were speaking to a stranger rather than their Lord.  And most strikingly, perhaps, is Mary at the Garden Tomb supposing that her early morning conversation was with the ‘gardener’.

Jesus turned up – but, for a time at least, wasn’t recognised.

Maybe it’s not too different today.  We look for God in cathedrals and chapels yet so often miss his incarnational presence in the so called ‘ordinary’ and ‘mundane’ aspects of our lives. 

So, if I see you in Marks and Spencer – I still don’t know the equivalent neck measurements to chest sizes – so its better if you ask someone else!

Ian

Continuing Resurrection

Over the last few weeks, to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of his assassination in Memphis, Tennessee, on April 4^th 1968, many churches have been remembering the life and ministry of Martin Luther King.

This spell bindingly eloquent Baptist minister from the Deep South of the United States played a seminal role in the story of the advancement of civil rights in that country and during this 50^th anniversary I’ve heard interviews with people who knew him and they have not only wanted to speak of the day he died but the life he lived.  They have wanted to help us understand his message and passion.  They have wanted to continue his work – of striving in a non-violent way – towards the goal of mutual respect and representation.

And that, it seems to me, is Luke’s agenda in the lectionary passage from Acts that is set for this coming Sunday – it’s the passage in which Peter and John healed a lame man at the temple and then went on to preach a sermon about Jesus and his death and resurrection.

This isn’t just plain reporting.  This is interpretation.

Luke gives Peter’s sermon an edge and fills in the dots. And that was an accepted way of writing history in those days.  You didn’t only tell the story of your hero, you gave them a speech that explained their passion and reasoning; that made them come alive.

I think there is no doubt that Peter isn’t just giving the crowd a history lesson about Jesus – he is proclaiming and then living out the message that the work of Jesus, his spirit and presence is still around.  Indeed, he says of himself and John: We are witnesses to all that has happened.

The supporters of Martin Luther King passionately want his work to carry on; the disciples of Jesus Christ want nothing less for their Lord and Master.

Easter Day: Running towards Resurrection

The Swiss painter, Eugene Burnand shows the disciples Peter and John running to the Sepulchre on the Morning of Resurrection.

If you want to see the real thing you’ll need to take a trip to Paris and visit the wonderful Musee d’Orsay on the bank of the Seine.

Peter is graphically portrayed by Burnand.  He’s the older disciple with furrowed brow and gnarled hands.  He has the eyes of a man who thinks with emotion and who has spent a lifetime acting on impulse.

I suspect that Peter is a much-loved disciple amongst us.  He’s all too human and we see ourselves in him.

Where does Peter find resurrection that first Easter?

Well, I’d like to think he encounters it in his mind and the way he thinks.

His journey thus far with Jesus hasn’t been the smoothest.

On the Mount of Transfiguration he misreads the sacredness of it all and wants to build tabernacles there to preserve the moment in aspic.

He once told Jesus he would not be a suffering Messiah and received the rebuke of his Lord in the severest tone with Jesus declaring: Get thee behind me Satan!

And, of course, in the early hours of Good Friday, around the fire in Pilate’s courtyard Peter denies Jesus three times before the cock crowed.

Yet this wizened and world weary character we see in our painting this morning got so much right.

He was the first to recognised Jesus as the Christ and he was the disciple who actually got out of the boat and joined Jesus on the water.

He, like so many of the male disciples, wasn’t at the cross.  Yet here he is running towards resurrection.  And if we could read his mind and hear his thoughts as he strains to arrive at the garden tomb, maybe we would hear a dialogue going on in his mind as he ponders that perhaps Good Friday wasn’t the end after all, and just maybe there is another chapter in the story of Jesus.

As the gospel unfolds Peter’s narrative develops too.  For him the resurrection brings a new beginning as he is re-instated.  He can begin afresh, he isn’t to be remembered solely as the disciple who denied his master, he will go down in history as a faithful servant of Christ, indeed one upon whom the church has been built.

Peter will still make mistakes.  Indeed, quite soon he’ll retreat into a certain exclusivity, a sort of mindset that over-emphasises a particular religious tradition.  Paul will come along and challenge him and once more he’ll change his mind and become more inclusive in his outlook.

But that, I suggest is the very essence of resurrection for Peter.  The living presence of Jesus constantly challenges his thinking and taking him to new places. 

This continuous revelation, these exciting ongoing discoveries about the breath of God’s love are Peter’s way of exploring faith and encountering the divine.

Perhaps they can be ours.

For it seems to me that one of the greatest experiences of resurrection for us today is the way that God is continually renewing our minds as we think through our questions, apply our faith to new situations, become eager to tease out more and more our understanding of the way spirituality touches the everyday – and in all this something of the life of God blossoms in us and in the church.

We too can meet resurrection in our thinking – just like Peter.

ps. Blog holiday this week!

Holy Saturday: Is this how it ends?

Resolution is so attractive.

As we come to the end of a piece of music we long to hear a cadence that will bring it to a comfortable close – without that we are left in limbo, no que for applause, no sense of satisfaction that we can turn off the radio and get on with the next task.

Yet ‘Resolution’ is not what Holy Saturday is about.

Jesus’ body has been lovingly taken down and he is buried with quiet dignity in the tomb of Joseph of Aramathea.

And then – nothing.  The tomb is closed, sealed and guarded.

Is this how it all ends?  It looks like it. 

The narrative is in suspension.  We know of another ending, yet on Holy Saturday this seemed, to those who lived it, to be the ending.

Part of the gift to us every Easter weekend is that realisation of Saturday, in between Friday and Sunday.

Before the message of the angels dressed in dazzling attire, before the joy of running disciples or those who saw a different future as a stranger warmed their hearts and broke bread with them at sunset – before all that spoke and hinted of resolution – there is waiting, and wondering, and questioning, and silence, and waiting.

As there often is on a journey of faith. 

Good Friday: A Sacrament of Divine Love

I think we probably underestimate Pilate.

What happens with the crowd seems to absolve him.  His conversations with his wife make him into a puppet.  All in all he is not a lesson in decisive leadership.

Yet, maybe he knew exactly what he was doing and just maybe he had caught on to the essense of Jesus’ message.

Crucifixion was a mandatory Roman sentence for three classes of criminal: Pirate, rebellious slaves or enemies of the state.

Look at Jesus from Pilate’s point of view.  On his desk would be reports from those who spied on Jesus whilst he taught in the temple.  Rendering unto Caser that which is Ceaser’s was hardly a ringing endorsement of the Emperor’s authority and actually it was a dismissal of the idea that Cesar merited any concept of divinity. 

This was the Jesus who breaks social taboos and values those at the margins instead of discriminating against them.

This was the Jesus who preached not only about the love of God but also his justice.  That God expects the strong to look after the weak.

None of this was welcome to Pilate. It conflicted with his world view that power and might were the best weapons in calming the indigenous population and securing public order.

Pilate was right – Jesus was a subversive, he was an enemy of the state – he was deserving of crucifixion.

So Pilate sentences Jesus – but gives the impression such a judgement was forced on him by the crowd.

Jesus dies because his message of love and justice threatened the authorities and was rejected and misunderstood by the populous.

By not compromising that message of love and practical compassion Jesus suffered the brutality of crucifixion.


The cross is not there in order that God might change his mind about us, but that we might come to understand God. The God, who in Christ, never gives up on us, stands alongside us in love and justice.

In a hymn by Brian Wren it goes like this:

the love that freely entered
the pit of life’s despair
can name our hidden darkness
and suffer with us there.

The suffering of Jesus, on this day we call Good Friday, is a sacrament of divine love.

Maundy Thursday: Not so much an answer but a presence

After celebrating Passover and speaking of his death in bread and wine Jesus and the disciples move out of the city to the foot of the Mount of Olives to the fragrant, peaceful Garden of Gethsemane.

Sometimes our deepest thinking is done when we break away from routine or busyness.

With just a few disciples for company Jesus now moves away from the bigger group to pray.

Although the gospels are written in Greek some writers have him addressing God in Aramaic, as Abba – an unusual, but not totally uncommon, name meaning Father or Papa.  A respectful yet deeply intimate term.

Paul Gerhardt, in his hymn, O Sacred head, reflects this sense of intimacy with God in the verse that ends:
O make me thine for ever,
and, should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love for thee.

Jesus has a crisis in Gethsemane.

He would have known what crucifixion meant and he knew it was coming his way.

The crisis boiled down to a question: Was this the only way?  Could there be another way?

In our painting Jesus is seen almost clinging to the rock in utter despair.

This isn’t quiet, gentle prayer.  This is raging, questioning, desperate prayer.

We are never honest if we only ever talk of prayer in serene and bright tones.

Of course it can bring comfort but there are times when its outcome is challenge – challenge to take the hard road.

Surely this account of Jesus is one of the most precious we have in scripture.  At his deepest point of need, when hardly anything seemed to make sense, when questions filled his mind and he felt so alone – Jesus does not walk away from God, but instead, turns to God and prays. 

The mystery of suffering, in all its forms, sometimes comes close to overwhelming us.

One way to see it and go through it is to believe God’s response to suffering isn’t so much an answer but a presence.  His presence, to stand alongside us, to hold us, and share the suffering with us.

There is just a hint at Gethsemane that Jesus found a certain equilibrium as he prayed – enough of one, at least, to end those angst filled intercessions with the words: Not my will, but yours be done.

Perhaps the battle of Good Friday was won on Maundy Thursday by Jesus in a garden called Gethsemane.