The Tuesday of Holy Week - doing the middle bit

Our youth group in Harpenden many years ago had a prayer book into which we took turns to write a prayer in. I have one of those books and one of the entries is a poem by Steve Turner:  

Christmas is really 
for the children. 
Especially for children 
who like animals, stables, 
stars and babies wrapped 
in swaddling clothes. 
Then there are wise men, 
kings in fine robes, 
humble shepherds and a 
hint of rich perfume. 

Easter is not really 
for the children 
unless accompanied by 
a cream filled egg. 
It has whips, blood, nails, 
a spear and allegations 
of body snatching. 
It involves politics, God 
and the sins of the world. 
It is not good for people 
of a nervous disposition. 
They would do better to 
think on rabbits, chickens 
and the first snowdrop 
of spring. 

Or they'd do better to 
wait for a re-run of 
Christmas without asking 
too many questions about 
what Jesus did when he grew up 
or whether there's any connection.

I used a quote from a sermon I read the other day in a blog post. The preacher talked of the importance of entering into the whole of the passion story this week, not just the nice bits. Otherwise, he said, we will just have a filleted version without the guts and innards. 

We don’t like to partake of things which we don’t like or don’t want in our life. But maybe having faced them, we realise they are for our good. Healthy even! My wife has brought much into my life since we met five years ago. My diet was red meat, carbs and red wine. We’ve introduced vegetables! So I would say I’m not eating those. And now I’m throwing spinach and kale into my cooking very happily. They are good for me, nasty on their own but okay in the middle of a stew. 

What’s the middle of this story many leave out this week? Well, it’s a bit x rated. It’s a bit bloody. There’s no fluffy bunnies in it. It’s not nice. But it’s necessary to really understand the vastness of divine love for us.

The middle of this story is about Jesus entering the depths of human experience. The middle of this story is about confrontation, a kangaroo court, the innocent stitched up, friends running away, betrayal, darkness, abandonment and slow, painful death. 
The middle of this story is consistent with all that Jesus has shown us before. He entered our world in poverty, he was a child refugee, a befriender of outcasts, as Samuel Crossman puts in words written for his week “love to the loveless shown that they might lovely be.” We call Jesus God incarnate at Christmas, well he is still that in Holy Week. He is powerfully one of us. There is no experience in life he has not already gone through, some of which push human endurance to the limit. To not have the guts and innards or the kale in the stew is to miss the overwhelming transcendence of God who enters his world, as complicated today as it was over two thousand years ago and he redeems it by entering it and living it and conquering it. 

I want to offer you three quotes that speak to me of the authentic church that chooses to follow through the suffering of this week. 

The first is from Henri Nouwen. He looks at Psalm 30. 

If we are people of a incarnate, suffering, crucified Christ, then we need to be involved in every aspect of life, in people’s joy and sorrow, standing alongside them in mourning and in dancing. A church that knows nothing about contemporary life nor cares about it will soon die.

Then Rowan Williams in his little book of reflections on the pandemic suggests identifying with this sort of Jesus will invite us to see we are a community of shared fragility. We need to be honest and compassionate with each other, recognising our need of each other, he says in this year just past we may have seen our need for our neighbour to be safe and well, instead of falling back on our fearful attempts to be safe at our neighbour’s expense. If Jesus dies for everyone, doesn’t that call us to better inclusivity? 

For me, the whole point of the bit between Palm Sunday and Easter morning is that Jesus gets where I’m at. No matter how awful my day is or my current situation is, he stands by me in it. He suffers with me, leaving me an example that I should follow in his steps. So here’s a final quote. Barbara Brown Taylor is my favourite living theologian. She’s an American episcopal priest. She’s written many books which are just so down to earth and honest. I once flew for a day out from Gatwick to Edinburgh to hear her lecture! Here’s her take on the middle bit from her book

 “God in Pain: the mystery of suffering.”

“ Jesus is the face of God who is encountered in everyday life, wherever the brokenness of the world can no longer be ignored. He is the incomprehensible love of God come to live among the poor and despicable, the Lord who cannot show them the human side of his divinity without showing them also the divine side of their own humanity. He is the wounded healer who turns the expectations of the world upside down, making glory out of humiliation, making victory out of defeat, making life out of death.”

What’s the middle bit? Essential! Not easy, tempting to avoid, but here is what it’s all about. As I said years ago to a group of ladies who bunked off my Good Friday service to go on a coach jolly to Blackpool, and I was rather miffed, “he has to rise from something!” And you can’t do part two without having done part 1. We worship because of this Holy Week a crucified and risen Saviour. We follow him into the city which will attempt to destroy him. We watch him being tried. We look on helplessly as others shout for his crucifixion. We weep with him as he is in agony in a garden. We hide our eyes as he carries his cross to the place of death and as he falls. We stand at the foot of the cross and hear him speak of forgiveness. We are there when he breathes his last. We are glad he has a friend who is prepared to have his body laid in his tomb. And then we wait...

This week remember there is no place God will not go to be with us.  Nothing separates us from the love of God in Jesus….not insults, not betrayal, not suffering, and as we will see at Easter – not even death itself.  

Almighty God,

whose most dear Son went not up to joy

but first he suffered pain,

and entered not into glory before he was crucified:

mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross,

may find it to be the way of life and peace;

through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

The Monday of Holy Week - Betrayal

“Who is it, Lord, that betrays you?

Who is it that lets you down?

Who is it that loses their way?

When push comes to shove, who turns aside, beguiled by the world?

Forgive me, Lord, when that person is me. 

Feed me still, by your own hand; speak to me in gentle tones, and always give me one more chance.”

Karen Campbell, from the URC Prayer Handbook for 2020.

I’m still, believe it or not, sorting my books. I don’t have enough shelves or space in my study for all the resources I’ve gathered over the years so I’m going through what I might be prepared to let go of! I came across the URC prayer book for last year and found the prayer above very helpful and somewhat challenging.

The Holy Week story is one of human forsaking of the divine path, leaving Jesus forsaken and alone. The Word made flesh, healer, befriender, one worth following in good times, giver of everything to his friends and those in need, worth sticking with — and this is what we do to him. We let him be condemned, abandoned, betrayed, denied, left to rot on a rubbish tip outside the city and then we pretend we didn’t know him or that we had anything to do with him.

I’m really enjoying Line of Duty. I watched all five of the previous series before the sixth series began last week. Some of the dodgy characters were extremely dodgy! Keeley Hawes playing Lindsay Denton was cold, but for me the worst so far has been Thandie Newton in series 4 who was bewitchingly calculating. Let’s see what this series brings. That Joanne Davidson isn’t to be trusted. Ted is on to her. He is only interested in finding bent coppers! 

What if there was an AC 12 investigation into bent disciples? Well, there’s Peter for a start. He says he’s never heard of Jesus. Then there’s the crowd. They shouted Hosanna yesterday, now offered a choice of Barabbas or Jesus they choose to release the criminal over the innocent. Anything to keep in with the authorities. And what of Judas Iscariot? The corrupt treasurer, colluding with the Jewish authorities desparate to have this rebel preacher done away with. Jesus knew Peter and Judas would deny and betray. Peter was later given a second chance but for Judas it was too late. When he realised what he’d done he took his own life. A tragic part of the story.

When you are abandoned or betrayed, it hurts. When you are left to suffer alone, the pain of isolation is overwhelming.

When stories are spread about you that aren’t true but people believe them so you are ostracised, it is horrific, because suddenly you find yourself outside of society, friendship and care. 

When it’s clear you need support but everyone is too busy or doesn’t seem to care, you begin to wonder if it’s you who is the problem.

The Holy Week drama leaves Jesus in all those scenarios. Never underestimate what we can do if we want to destroy someone or beat their soul to pulp until they think they are worthless and need, like Jesus, to be cast aside to die alone. 

Of course it’s easy to just read of this happening in Jesus’ last week on earth long ago. But I said at the beginning of this rambling, reading Karen Campbell’s prayer, what if the denier or the betrayer is me, right now, today? 

How I act as a Christian matters. By not caring about pastoral need or injustice in the world, I deny Jesus and betray him as much as Peter and Judas did. How I live out my Christianity matters. I’m being watched and judged outside the church whether my Christianity is relevant and genuine. When I’m selfish or say I haven’t the time or want  to go a different way than what is required of me, then I don’t deserve to be called a Christian anymore and I should get, in Line of Duty speak, a regulation 15, calling me for a severe examination into my calling. 

The events of this week ahead are all about human folly. I used to go to a church called The Folly! We are all foolish. Yet we are forgiven. This week let’s be honest when we fail and let’s remember however bent a disciple we are, it need not be the end. No matter what we do unbelievably, he sticks with us. I think we call that grace.  

Palm Sunday - Come and See...

I thought it might be a good discipline to write something every day in Holy Week, whatever comes into my head really. This year perhaps because of where we find ourselves, I feel the week ahead of us identifies with every part of our human existence. My spiritual director has suggested I create a Holy Week programme for me, not to give out to others, though I find spiritual strength doing that, but for me as a disciple of Christ. 

So this week, I’ll be dipping into on line stuff at Ripon Cathedral, watching a drama on zoom from Harpenden, filming a Tenebrae service outside, and trying to do some reading. Barbara Brown Taylor’s “God in Pain” is my book for the week. I’ll keep saying this - we need to do the whole week! Ian Black in Peterborough said in his sermon this morning to go straight from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday will make Easter Sunday quite hollow and the story will be a strange, filleted version minus its guts and innards. 

It was really good to be led this morning in worship by my colleague Keith Phipps. He reminded us that on Palm Sunday the week begins with a clash of ideals. Jesus enters the boiling pot of Passover time in Jerusalem. A small group of his disciples and pilgrims follow him. A crowd gathers in curiosity. 

Remember that Passover was always a time of heightened emotions. There was memory of liberation from slavery in the Exodus and the saving power of God, re-enacted every year in the festival as a present reality. This year as Jesus arrives, and the crowd shouts “Hosanna” they want saving again. Their yoke now wasn’t Egypt but Rome and their faith story was that one day God would send a Messiah to boot the oppressor out and restore them as a people with peace and prosperity. 

Maybe this is the day, people said to each other. Maybe this strange rabbi from Galilee is the one who comes in the name of the Lord to make it all better. Maybe he is the king we need. Enough of Pilate and his regime. Maybe the reign of God is close, so maybe we need to go out and have a look... oh for our churches to do radical stuff that might arouse curiosity today! 

Elsewhere in the city another group watches. The Jewish authorities are watching. This Jesus has caught their attention and they are worried. Any troublemaker has to be dealt with so we shall see their intervention as this week unfolds. So they circle round him looking for ways to get rid of him. His every word and action is analysed. 

Keith picked a Graham Kendrick hymn this morning in our service: “Come and see” - I don’t think I’ve ever used it but since I heard the tune the other day I’ve been singing it in the shower (apparently!) We are invited to stop this week and look at what is passing in front of us. Do we really understand what is entering our city? Do we cheer a bit but run away when we don’t like where the donkey riding king is going?

 I use Bonhoeffer a lot in Holy Week. Bonhoeffer reminds us that when Christ bids us, he bids us come and die. I’m not sure we like that. We can easily wave a palm branch. We don’t easily stand by a cross. Perhaps that’s why many people don’t do Good Friday. Let’s include the guts and innards of this story however horrid they are. Let’s stay and sing all week. 

I guess this week begins with Jesus asking what really matters for us. He invites us to come and see how things can be different. But for a different way to come it may involve a bit of costly sacrifice on our part and that might not be attractive. But it is necessary. 

Come and see, come and see
Come and see the King of love
See the purple robe and crown of thorns he wears
Soldiers mock, rulers sneer
As he lifts the cruel cross
Lone and friendless now he climbs towards the hill.

We worship at your feet
Where wrath and mercy meet
And a guilty world is washed
By love's pure stream
For us he was made sin
Oh, help me take it in
Deep wounds of love cry out 'Father, forgive'
I worship, I worship
The Lamb who was slain.

Come and weep, come and mourn
For your sin that pierced him there
So much deeper than the wounds of thorn and nail
All our pride, all our greed
All our fallenness and shame
And the Lord has laid the punishment on him.

Man of heaven, born to earth
To restore us to your heaven
Here we bow in awe beneath
Your searching eyes
From your tears comes our joy
From your death our life shall spring
By your resurrection power we shall rise. 

All shall be well?

Passage for reflection: Psalm 23 

All shall be well. All shall be well. Every manner of thing shall be well.

I was taking part the other week in a quiet day on Mother Julian of Norwich. She wrote those words from her cell in St Julian’s Church in Norwich. They might if we take them out of context seem trite. If you’ve got a problem and someone says “it will all be alright” without any help assuring you how it will be, that’s not a lot of help really.

I’d never really thought about Mother Julian’s context. We are thinking this week of one year since the first lockdown. It’s been tough. But Julian lived through part of  the 100 years war, the Black Death, a terrible famine in 1369, the worst for fifty years, so a time of extreme poverty leading to the peasants revolt in 1379, and amid all of that a church that liked to persecute any dissenters. The Lollards, who criticised the Roman Catholic Church and were led by a man called John Wycliffe, were sought out by the Bishop of Norwich and thrown into a pit. And it is in this context she declares all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.

I shared some prayers for the national day of reflection around the 12pm silence for folk at the Moors. The Church of England produced some prayer resources to use which included reading Psalm 23.

I wonder how many times you’ve said or heard the words of Psalm 23. Of all the psalms it’s probably the best known and many people’s favourite. Its words are familiar and beloved. I suspect most of you know the words, and some of you have even memorised them. 

Those words comfort us in times of uncertainty and sustain us through sorrows and losses. They give us courage when we are afraid. They assure us there is nothing to fear in the dark valley of death. They offer hope and strength to take our next step. They remind us there is a way forward when we feel powerless and fearful. They promise us that we never walk alone. 

It is exactly what we need to hear today a year on in the midst of COVID-19. A year on, reflecting on over 126,000 deaths in this country, people still struggling with catching it or recovering from it, many cases of long Covid, an economy decimated with people losing their jobs, people separated from loved ones or stuck indoors for ages, mental health a real issue, can we really say all shall be well? 

When I look at all that has changed about our life and world; when I acknowledge the uncertainties of our future as we slowly emerge; when I still read the statistics of cases and deaths; when I think about those who are losing jobs or income; when I wonder how long it will before we again greet each other with no social distance?

 At the moment, I want to hear words of hope. I want to be reminded that “the Lord is my shepherd” and “I shall not be in want.” I want to be reassured that all shall be well. I want to soak myself in the words of Psalm 23 and let them soak into me. And I am betting you want the same things I do.

So I want you to do something. Let this be a way to pray. Pray Psalm 23 when you get up in the morning. Pray it again at noon. And pray it again before your fall asleep. Pray it for yourselves, for each other, for our country, and for the world.

Pray it slowly and deeply. Allow some silence – a soaking space – between each verse. And insert Mother Julian’s sentence faith after each verse. Like this:

The LORD is my shepherd;
I shall not be in want.

All shall be well.

He makes me lie down in green pastures
and leads me beside still waters.

All shall be well.

He revives my soul
and guides me along right pathways for his Name’s sake.

All shall be well.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I shall fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

All shall be well.

You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me; 
you have anointed my head with oil,
and my cup is running over.

All shall be well.

Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, 
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

Every manner of thing shall be well. 

So rest in the love of God at this time. It will soon be Easter. Resurrection reminds us of how things end, but they end because Jesus has come through the most amazing darkness and tough stuff first. All wasn’t well for a time. We’ve maybe lived through and are still living through a very long passion, but it will end, even if we still have some very bumpy days. There’s another Mother Julian reading I find helpful which I’ll share to end these ramblings. Remember these words if today you are only just holding on: 

When we fall, He holds us lovingly, and graciously and swiftly raises us up. In all this work, He takes the part of a kind nurse who has no other care but the welfare of her child. It is His responsibility to save us. It is His glory to do it, and it is His will we should know it. Utterly at home, He lives in us forever.

He did not say: ‘You shall not be tempest-tossed, you shall not be work weary, you shall not be discomforted’. But He said: ‘You shall not be overcome’. God wants us to heed those words so that we shall always be strong in trust, both in sorrow and in joy.

All shall be well? Yes, all manner of the things shall be well.

Everyone’s story matters

Passage for reflection: Acts 1: 15 - 26

 

It’s amazing what you find yourselves watching on the telly isn’t it? We use the i player a lot and flick through to see what might be watching. I’ve picked three films recently which seemed to be okay from their description, but were anything but! One about a millionaire going broke and opening a chip shop, one about some Scottish lads nicking sinks and a desperately miserable thing about life in the highlands of Scotland after WW1 which was a two hour thing that felt like six! This week we found Interior Design Masters. I sat there thinking I’m not going to watch this rubbish but then end up watching one after another after another. Why? Because as you invest time in it you end up caring about those taking part. You become an expert in interior design and shout at the rather snooty woman judge who is critical of them and makes them cry. You want to know now who is going to win. Because you’ve invested time to hear their story. My late mother used to drive me mad when I went all the way from Hastings to Harpenden on my day off to visit her. She had little conversation in her but at 4.15 she became animated. That was Deal or no Deal time. She cared about who was opening those boxes and how much they lost or won. I wasn’t allowed to talk through it! 

 

I want us to think about this investment in people as the divine nature. Over and over God reminds us he does not forget us. He holds our story in the palm of his hand. In a world which easily forgets or won’t take time to listen to us or struggle with us, we need to hear this again. I always shudder at one of the phrases in the ordination service. It is this: “let no one suffer at your neglect.” I’m very conscious I haven’t yet met everyone here in my pastoral care, I’ve tried to be there at times of need from my desk but I imagine some people might feel I’m not that bothered really because I haven’t got to them yet. Everyone’s story matters. 

 

The Church of England Lent material had a story the other day about someone who was visiting a central London church for their evening service, which turned out to be a service of adult baptism. 

 

When the time came for the Bible reading, someone stood and read the genealogies from the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel. Not the most lively reading.

 

Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, and Perez the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Aram, and Aram the father of Aminadab, and Aminadab the father of Nahshon, and Nahshon the father of Salmon, and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of King David — and so on. 

 

And it ends: Jacob the father of Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah.

So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; and from David to the deportation to Babylon, fourteen generations; and from the deportation to Babylon to the Messiah, fourteen generations.

 

At verse 17, the reader stopped and sat down, and the person wondered what on earth the preacher was going to make of this passage. 

The preacher talked us through some of the names in the list, highlighting some of the lesser known characters or those who made terrible mistakes as well as some of the heroes of the faith. After several minutes of this, he turned to those who were to be baptised and said, “Today, your name gets added to this list. Today, your story becomes part of this story of those who have passed through this world in relationship to God. Today, you connect your story with God’s story.”

 

All of us matter. All of our stories matter. Rowan Williams in his book of reflections on the pandemic has an interesting take on this. He writes about Matthias – the replacement in the twelve for Judas Iscariot. We know nothing about him except his name and he was chosen to fill the vacant spot by the equivalent of tossing a coin. And then he disappears! And Rowan Williams says maybe we need to thank God for those who aren’t spectacularly loud or famous but those who quietly are just there.

 

“There is a heroism in the daily rhythm, making the small differences you can make, at home, on line,wherever, in small courtesies and kindnesses, in assuring others they are not alone. Maybe that’s all Matthias did – an undramatic routine of kindness, attentiveness and willingness to put one foot in front of the other. 

You could say the one thing that made him memorable among the apostles was that he was the one who wasn’t Judas. But there are worse epitaphs than being remembered as one who didn’t betray or flee.” 

 

There’s a lovely verse in the book of Ecclesiasticus in the Apocrypha about those whose story has largely been forgotten, but for us being part of us these glory will never be blotted out. Their bodies are buried in peace and their name lives on generation after generation. The assembly declares their wisdom and the congregation proclaims their praise.  

 

So think about people around you at the moment or even on the TV screen. Take time to invest in their story. They matter to you. Celebrate them. 

 

Think about our churches. Does everyone’s story matter even if they seem unremarkable or just a name on a pastoral list?

 

And what of your story? On days when you think you are doing nothing exciting really except basic Christian kindness, never underestimate how what you might be doing today could well be remembered for ever because you were there just at the right time.So I want to know who wins a design competition. It matters! But more than that I want to know my story matters and that joining my story to all of yours we can create something amazing!

Our time in God’s hands

Passage for reflection: Psalm 31 

I’m doing a series of Lent reflections on Tuesday evenings on zoom but for the next few weekwill also be here in paper fbeen reading Rowan Williams’ book “Candles in the Dark” about hope in a pandemic and for the next four weeks I’ll share some of his thougsome of my own as we East

Passage for reflection: Psalm 31

How have you found the last year?

 

I never imagined as I led worship at Terrington St John in Norfolk a year ago to a congregation of four that it would be the last service I’d take in a church building that included singing, a long sermon, lasted an hour and had chat together afterwards. That morning, although we had hand sanitiser in use and were careful how we shared communion and we wiped down door handles and hymn books, none of us really got that eight days later we would be in lockdown and church buildings would be closed. 

 

The doctor advised us back in March to shield as we are both asthmatic. Shielding has not been easy. Everything we usually take for granted has suddenly not been possible. In lockdown one we saw few people in four months apart from a supermarket delivery person once a week, and Nicci, the circuit lay worker who kindly fetched our medication from the surgery.

I remember having to go for a blood test at Wisbech hospital in July and being overwhelmed by the number of people around me.

 

Shielding all three times has brought us good days and bad days. I’ve had days when I couldn’t focus, have stayed in bed too long, have eaten too much chocolate and crisps and have watched too much news or rubbish television. But I’ve also had days when I’ve found myself being creative with time to be rather than rush around. Walking by the River Nene in the spring and summer towards The Wash became my precious prayer and reflective time; joining in various acts of worship on line through the week of different styles has been a help; getting into a discipline of writing a weekly sermon posted on line, doing films of my ramblings about faith, again posted on line which people who go nowhere near a church watched, became fun to do. Spiritually, at a time of fear and uncertainty, I have found the 150 Psalms a huge comfort. This current lockdown time has been the hardest. Moving to a new appointment in a pandemic isn’t to be recommended! This third one has had me just wanting to get out and get on, to just go round the Spar for some bits and most desperate get chips from Kirkby Fisheries the only chippy round here who don’t cook in dripping! I’ve been zoomed out and exhausted a lot when I’ve been staring at a screen for too long.

 

It’s important sometimes to just sit and think where God has been through all of this. In his book of reflections, Rowan Williams has a reflection called “all times belong to him.” 

“In every moment, every encounter, in times of boredom, anger and anxiety, Jesus is with us, offering himself to us.” All of us have had times this past year where I guess we have had spiritual crises. But also maybe without doing church as we’ve always done it, we’ve discovered new things, time to reflect, holding on to the things that matter. 

 

There’s a verse in Psalm 31:  our times are in his hand. No matter what we’ve been through this past year God has been there. Rowan Williams has these lovely words describing how Jesus is present always: this moment matters it is a moment in which you can grow a bit or shrink a bit as a human being. It is a moment in which my love is there for you, and my invitation to life is set before you. Don’t panic because you are not in control. Your precious humanity is in my hands, and I am ready to give you what is needed to assure you of your dignity and beauty and worth.

 

If you are like me, then sometimes on those days when lockdown has been too much and now we just want it to end – but end safely, it’s been a struggle some days to see Jesus. But here’s another Rowan Williams quote: “even if all we can do is through gritted teeth acknowledge God in Christ has promised to be with us until the end of time, we have recognised that the time we live through is lived through with us by our Creator and lover, whose welcome, invite and giving is unceasing.”

 

So think about the last year, where have the real struggles and deep joys been? Where has God appeared in your day? How do you remember all times are in his hand? Isn’t it often in struggle we see him? 

 

Here’s a prayer which is used on Holy Saturday in Anglican churches who do the Easter vigil. A lovely service I encourage you one year to go and find: 

 

Jesus Christ, yesterday and today, the beginning and the ending, Alpha and Omega; all time belongs to him, and all ages; to him be glory and dominion forever and ever.