Friends like these...

Given the pandemic, it now feels quite apt that I chose for daily reflection during Lent the book of Job. However, when I set myself and the churches I serve the challenge of reading our way through this book of the Bible, I did not realise how difficult the words would become to read as Job's pain and his friends explanation rub up against what we are experiencing.

For those of you who may never have ventured into the book of Job, it is a book of the Old Testament which is a fictional story of man who suffers greatly through no fault of his own. In the opening chapters we are told that what happens to Job comes from what might be best described as a bet between God and Satan. Satan reckons he can get Job to turn his back on God, God believes otherwise and tells Satan to do his worst! However, Job and his friends have no knowledge of what had passed between God and Satan, so the story is them trying to work out why all that happened to Job happened.

Although God is very much within the story and as a book of wisdom helps the reader wrestle with the character of God, we also find, upon the pages, a very human response to suffering. We find in the conversation that erupts between Job and his friends a search for reason and for blame. To slightly over simplify the response of Job's friends: Job must have done something wrong for all that he endures. Now, however unfounded Job's friends explanations are in trying to bring understanding to Job's plight, I have come to see what passed between them in a different light in recent days.

It would not make for a very good story, but if I could end the book of Job prematurely, then I would draw it to a close in chapter 2:

Now when Job's three friends heard of all these troubles that had come upon him, each of them set our from his home ... They met together to go and console and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they did not recognise him, and they raised their voices and threw dust in the air upon their heads. They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great. (Job 2.11-13, NRSV)

However, even though some of what passes between Job and his friends makes me feel uncomfortable and I would never dream of saying that to a good friend, I see in some ways Job's friends, in making Job proclaim his innocence and give voice to the injustice he clearly felt, actually helps Job and the reader make sense of it all. They help Job and us rise from the ashes.

This weekend, I heard for the first time the Script's single 'Run through Walls' and it instantly reminded me of Job and his friends. As you can hear, if you click the video link below, Job's friends might not seem immediately recognisable, but then there is the line: 'Friends won't let you do stupid things alone'. Job's friends did not let Job wrestle with his pain or God alone.

In these difficult times, we might not be able to go and physically be with our friends, but we do not have to let them face this alone. We can still all cry together, ask the stupid questions and carry each one through and rise from the ashes.

Prayer:

Almighty God, as we look around us
seeing the pain and suffering,
the fear and uncertainty,
we cry to you and question why.

Like Job we sit in the ashes,
knowing what is best to do.

Then our friends turn us
and we question together,
we search for reason
and look upon you awesomeness
without know how to respond.

Thank you for those friends,
those that call and carry the burden with us.
Protect us all in this hour of need
in Jesus Christ we pray, Amen

Dancing Sheep

I realise I have not posted for some time on my blog... ministry, a PhD and a dog have meant that blogging has become something I did rather than I do. However, I have just had to sit down and right the church magazine pastoral letter for next month and thought I would share it as stand on the eve of Pentecost...

Living in a county where farming and agriculture is still a big part of its economy, the fact there are annual events that promote these crucial industries is good. And going along to some of these things when the sun is shining is even better. However, as I stood watching, and enjoying, the Sheep Show at the Wool Fair at Ickworth House, I got to thinking about how what was happening here is maybe something we’ve lost the ability to do as the church—well that was until the sheep started dancing! 

The Sheep Show, like the other demonstrations at the fair, were there to educate the crowds about sheep, what they provide us with, and how important they are. They also showed how farmers/shepherds manage their flocks and care for them. It was all good stuff, engaging adults and children alike. Those who were speaking were passionate about what they did and clearly wanted to share the joy they had in their work, although at times it was hard. If only we could be like that about our faith, I thought to myself. But then came the gimmick, the crowd-pleaser to end the show—the sheep dancing! Or more accurately, the sheep vaguely moving to music.

 Why? What was the need? Why is the passion for what you do not enough to get across what you are trying to tell the crowds.

 It is all too easy, I suppose, to think that the only way a message might get across is by dressing it up some way, especially if it lightens a heavy topic. But is there not a risk in this? That we spend more time trying to get the sheep to dance than working out what the important facts are that need to be shared and remembered!

 The Church is now in the season of Pentecost. The Holy Spirit is again at the forefront of our thoughts, as is what the Holy Spirit has done and can do in the life of the Church. It should be the time, like that first day the disciples experienced the true power of the Holy Spirit, when the Church is again impassioned to speak, to tell it as it is! But are we? Or are we busy searching for the gimmick that will draw the crowd better than just us talking passionately about what we believe? The Holy Spirit is here to empower us to speak. So maybe it’s time to take the easy option and tell the world what is really on our hearts. And that doesn’t require dancing sheep!

A prophet: Who? Me?

It has been some time since I have posted anything on my blog, I realise, but now that I am nearly a year in to ministry I thought I should offer something of a reflection on that year. There is much I could say, much I could tell, and much I really cannot put down into words. There have been highs, points of great celebration, along with some lows and even moments of dispair. However, as my reflect on the year, I want to share with you a reflection I wrote in recent weeks for a weekly time of worship one of my churches has in the middle of the week. It is a reflection that is based on the opening of the book of Jeremiah - Jeremiah 1.4-10. It reflects some of what commentators say about this passage and the prophet Jeremiah, but also reflects very much on where my journey so far has taken me... 

I did try to make an excuse, to find a reason why not; I even tried to explain that I was far from ready. What I had been asked to do, what I was expected to do, was no small thing and at that point I did not know what sort of burden, what sort of unbearable strain the task would put me under.

The words “a prophet to the nations” seem so simple to say, even have a grandeur about them that maybe the speaker thought that that would make them hard to resist. But what did I have to say that was worth listening to? Even among family and friends my voice had often gone unheard, so how was I ever going to make myself heard among the nations? But of course the answer can never be ‘no’. There was a counter argument to all that I argued that I could not dispute. And even my reason for ‘no’ which was critical to what I had been asked to do had been swept away with a touch of a hand and the words: “I have put my words in your mouth.”

Since then I have watched my life, as was, stripped away. I’ve gone to places and depths I never thought I would ever reach. I have experienced things that would have broken me beyond repair if I had relied on my own resources.

God called me to be “a prophet to the nations”, but that did not just mean me speaking up and speaking out. It meant me listening. Listening to God’s voice, God’s words, with a level of attentiveness far greater than you might expect. It meant me examining God’s words with respect to my own very being before proclaiming their sometimes harshness but reality to others. God’s words were, are, not just for the nations—they were and are for me too.

And it is this truth that gives me the authority to speak and to declare and know that I do not speak in my own strength. I do not go from place to place under my own steam, for all I do, I do through and in the strength of the one who called me; who has known me from before I was born.

The Word of the Lord surrounding all being

After four years of theological study and church placements, my pre-ordination training draws to a close. Hopefully, in 10 days time I will receive my leaving certificate from Westminster College, Cambridge, which will state that I can go forward for ordination into ministry of Word and Sacraments in the United Reformed Church. A long, tiring, exciting, and sometimes scary journey is coming to a close, although in fact it is only the beginning!

So how do I feel about this?

Well, in my normal style, as I think my tutor has come to know so well over the years: I don't really know! Or do I...

Meet Henri, my third morph sculpture...

When I started to think back over my time on the living ministry programme, which is the final piece of my pre-ordination training, I came to the conclusion that the only way I might go some way to expressing where I have come to is through another sculpture. Here is a figure, who could be controversial; who speaks of insecurity; who is open to receive whilst quietly, even prayerfully, reflecting on all that they see and hear. The words of Scripture have come to cover them, some words and phrases standing out, whilst others have been interpreted to give meaning to what lay ahead in the future. What it means to live with and in the Word of God is a reality, yet causes the individual to bow their head in humility and honour of the awesomeness that knowledge holds.

The prophet Isaiah wrote: "All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flowers fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand for ever." (Isaiah 40.7-8, NRSV) The words of God are weighty and can cause one to crumb and wither. Yet, there is much strength, freedom and reassurance in the words of God.  The fact that it was there in the beginning and will be there at the end, should prevent one from fading, and really truly enliven them.

In the past four years, in just the past nine months, I have wrestled with Scripture. I have listen for God's word and struggled to hear. Yet, as I have found myself more and more drawn into Scripture, I have come to know although I may not always hear it, God's Word surrounds me and is within me. And for this I am truly thankful, because it is this that has truly prepared me for the next phase on my journey as a Minister of Word and Sacraments.

Wilderness...

I suppose the advantage of being in a pastorate situation at this time of year rather than in academia means I'm actually spending more of my time reflecting on the season. Don't get me wrong, I haven't ignored Lent for the past three years, but I don't think I've given it quite the due consideration that it requires. It has, unfortunately, taken second place to essay deadlines and looming exams. However, even before heading off to theological college, I can't honestly say that Lent has ever featured heavily within the liturgical years I've cycled through. Maybe it is the tradition that I've grown up in and the liturgical freedom it affords that has allowed me to sail through the 45 days with only a cursory glance. Or maybe I have just been too lazy to look!

This year things are different, Lent is at the forefront of my daily reflections and my weekly worship preparation.

But what angle do I come at Lent from? Do I do the whole self-denial thing? Maybe spend time sitting in sackcloth and ashes doing penitence? Or maybe I should go on a journey it to the wilderness?

Well pastorate life really doesn't allow you to head off at a drop of a hat on some sort Lenten pilgrimage. Nor does it really allow time to sit around in sackcloth and ashes, especially if you don't what people to think that pressure has finally got to you. But it doesn't stop you from wondering and reflecting on what it might mean to head off into the wilderness, just as Jesus did.

As I was driving home from my weekly visit to Cambridge the other day, America's 'A horse with no name' came up on my iPod playlist, and it got me thinking. So often we reflect on the wilderness being a place of loss; when we're not sure which way to go, we saying we're in wilderness times. We think of it as a place of hardship and a time when we wrestle with who we are and what maybe we are being called too. And on reading the story of Jesus' time in the wilderness, or even following the journey of the Israelites through the wilderness, I don't think it is wrong to see the wilderness that way. But what if it was a place of relief too? The chorus to the song 'A horse with no name' goes thus: "I've been through the desert on a horse with no name. It felt good to be out of the rain. In the desert you can remember your name, cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain."

Yes, the wilderness is a place where we struggle, but I also think that it is a place that allows us to remember who we actually are too. Its a place where we can reflect on the world we live, the world that surrounds us without either of those worlds encroaching on us.

If you have a spare 10 minutes, take a look at this video, see that Jesus did not just wrestle in the wilderness, he also to delight in the world around him and remembered who he was!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Xb8-mkSNSg

Waiting...

So one of today's task was to write another pastoral letter for my placement churches, and here it is. Some of the task that have to be done in ministry require a level of honest that puts you in a place of vulnerability - this letter is no exception. These words come from within current experience - and not just from standing waiting for a train! 

Rushing down the steps on to the platform just to see the train slowly pulling away is one of those really infuriating moments in life. Now on the Underground really there should be no need to get frustrated, but people do. I was with a friend the other day when this happened to us, and my friend exclaimed, “Well now we will have to wait 4 minutes for the next train!” In the grand scheme of things, 4 minutes is nothing especially when we apparently spend 653 hours in a lifetime waiting for trains and buses. Yet, when you are waiting, 4 minutes can seem an age. But all the same we must wait.

The Christian calendar seems to me to be made up of periods of waiting. Before Christmas we have Advent, when we wait for the birth of Christ. We are currently in the season of Lent, when we appear to be waiting for the death of Christ. Then from Good Friday to Easter Sunday, we wait for the resurrection of Christ. From then we wait for Pentecost and the coming of the Holy Spirit, and then we appear to wait for the cycle to start again. Christians are known as the people of the Way. Reflecting on how much time we spend waiting, maybe it would be more appropriate to call us the people of the wait! That aside, it is not an unknown wait that we experience though; we do know what lies at the end of each period of waiting. This you would think would make the waiting easier, just as the time ticking down on the platform sign telling you when the next train is due might do. But does it? Or does it make the wait feel even longer?

Psalm 13 starts with the cry, “How long, O Lord?”, and it is a cry that is uttered elsewhere in Scripture (e.g. Psalm 6.3, Psalm 35.17, Habakkuk 1.2 and Revelation 6.10). When we are waiting with the expectation of something, how easy it is to cry out ‘how long?’ And how frustrating it is when the only response we get back is “patience”! Yet, in some sense that is what we have in these periods of waiting in the Christian calendar. They are periods of time that give us the space to reflect and prepare; to be patient before God. If we were to rush from birth to death to resurrection to spirit without pausing and reflecting, would we actually see what each event was and is about?

One of the things I very quickly found after starting my placement was that whenever I cried “how long?” it wasn’t because things were taking too long, it is because things came around too soon. This meant that whenever I missed the train or the bus in the morning and had to wait, I found myself getting frustrated because I felt like I was losing valuable time sat at my computer or in conversation with someone. However, it was not lost time, it has actually been some of my most valuable time—the time when I have been made to stop and wait. That is why the periods of waiting in our yearly cycle, I think, are invaluable. They cause us to stop and think; to reflect on what has been and what is to come. They also cause us to be in the moment.

So take heart! Do not get frustrated by the periods of waiting that come your way, because the times when we have to wait are as valuable and meaningful as the times when we don’t. Remember the last verse of Psalm 27: "Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!"

Does losing our religion mean losing God?

Now seeing as my degree in theology is nearing completion, you may expect that for a little light reading I would now be picking up a theological journal, a book of sermons or Calvin's Institutes. But no, I have fallen back into old habits of wandering into the local newsagents and picking up a copy of the New Scientist.

This week there is an article by Graham Lawton on "Losing our religion" (New Scientist, 3 May 2014, pp.30-35), in which he asks why this is happening and what the world might look like without religion. It feels slightly out of place within this science weekly, although there is science: the cognitive scientists and their cognitive by-product theory, and meta-analysis of studies looking for links between religion and health. You might expect in such an article for religion to be damned, and an attempt made to disproved the existence of God; yet neither of which is really done. What it does do is state some interesting facts and observations. These include the intuitive nature of religious belief, religious decline accompanies society prosperity and stability, the low likelihood of a child being religious if their parents aren't. It points out how in the aftermath of disaster, there is evidence of resurgence of religion, even in the most secular societies.

So what does this article prove or disprove? It is published in a scientific (well, popular-science) journal after all. I'm not sure it does either. It raises questions, and ones that the church cannot ignore and needs to engage with. Irreligious in society is clearly rising, but society does not seem to have lost is sense of or need for spirituality. There is a still, as Lawton states, a yearning "for a sense of community and a common moral vision". Society might be classing itself as godless, with psychologists and sociologists convinced humanity does not require God for its morality. But is not society informed by its past? Is not morality based on notions and ideas which are religiously-rooted, if not God-rooted? I am not convinced that a society can ever be truly godless, or devoid of anything that does not have connotations of faith or religion. The rise of the 'Sunday Assembly' is possibly proof it this.

So how does the church respond to this? How do you show a society that it is "doing God", when professes that it doesn't "do God"? Maybe the answer lies in what it means to be church! Hmmm...

So that was 2013...

As we near the dawn of 2014, I've been inspired by a friend to take a look back on the past year. It does seem like only yesterday that my niece, a very close friend and myself found ourselves in the common room of Westminster College playing 'Fleeced', but that was a whole year ago now! So what has happened between then and now?

Well lots, there have been 365 days after all! But I guess if I'm really going to reflect on the past year, maybe I should be a little more specific.

I've finished my second year of my theology degree and started my third and final year.
I've rejoiced over some of my marks and cried over others.
I continue to stare at piles of books and scratched my head wondering how I turn what I've read into an essay that answers the question posed.
I'm beginning to accept that I now think more like a theologian than an engineer; although I still like a good diagram and look for a logical and systematic approach!
I've got on a plane and travelled to foreign parts on my own! (Huge moment and was very pleased to see a friendly face when I got off the plane at my destination.)

As in many years, there have been ups and downs:
Moments when I've wondered what I'm doing there and others when I've know exactly why I'm there.
There have been days when I've wished I could have had a second attempt at them.
There has been a new addition to the family, my third nephew, who is a joy and at nine months loves to give you a wave.
I have been to new places, seen new things, as well as continued to enjoy calling Cambridge "home".
I have managed another year of not managing to visit a number of good friends, but I do think of them often and miss them a great deal.
I've made new friends, whilst other friendships appear to have sadly come to an end.

So 2013 draws to an end and a new year dawn; a year in which I will finish my degree, start my year in pastorate with another minister and start the process that will hopefully lead to a call to a pastorate and ordination! So nothing to big happening!

Words...

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

I wonder if the person who came up with that rhyme was trying a bit of reverse psychology on themselves in the vain attempt to deal with one of those conversations where if the words were not meant to hurt then the other person involved really made a bad choice of words. We all know that words can hurt! They are our primary means of communication and even if we don't set out to hurt someone with what we say, sometimes the words we choose convey the wrong meaning. Sure we can all interpret words differently too, and we can turn innocent sentences in to something that they are not. But words do have power, which we all have the tendency to forget at times.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hzgzim5m7oU

Of course, words don't just have the power to knock a person down and hurt them, they also have the power to build someone up, give encouragement, and even change their life. The You Tube video I've shared here struck me as an amazing example of how some very simple, but well composed words can make a huge difference.

Well chosen words...change conversations that can be misunderstood to conversations that are thought provoking;

Well chosen words... give an incentive to change rather than desire to dig one's heels in.

Well chosen words... are the difference between hurt and love.

The Church has a lot of words, some used well and others used not so well. However, in the season of Advent, the Church's thoughts are very much drawn to words, particularly 'the Word'. For it was 'the Word' coming into the world that made things happened; changed it. And it is the returning of the Word in the world that there is a longing and looking forwards to. But 'the Word' isn't just something of the past and the future, it is also in the present. For as there are words in the world, so the Word is still in the world, for it is made know through our words.

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being." (John 1.1-3)

So remember your words and chose them with care, for today they may come to mean something more than just being a few words.

Music - something I listen to or something that accompanies me?

Those that have readily viewed my blog will possibly have spent a moment or two looking at Fred and George, who form part of my pastoral portfolio paper that I have to complete for my theology degree. They are part of my theological reflection on a placement at the local hospice, but only form a small percentage of my final submission. For alongside them I must also write a piece that is a theological reflection on an aspect of my church placement, which I undertook during the last academic year. So after a year at St Columba's what else could I reflect but music!

Now if you don't know St Columba's Church, Cambridge, then this might seem an odd conclusion, why chose music over some pastoral encounter had at the church door or over coffee? Well, music features heavily in the life of the church, which is at times a blessing whilst at other times a cause of many a headache, especially when trying to craft an act of worship. However, as I have started to read and think about how I might unpack the tensions I came across, I have started to think about my own relationship with music.

I guess I could kinda class myself as a musician, although not a proficient one, and music is a significant part of my life; the CD towers in my room are witness to this. But as I've read about composers such as Bach, Olivier Messiaen and James MacMillan today, along with the views of Schleiermacher, Barth and Bonhoeffer, I've begun to wonder what place music does have in my life. When do I actually sit and listen to music?

As I am writing this, there is music playing, but am I really listening to it or is just accompanying what I am doing? Am I really hearing what the composer and the performers are trying to say through the notation they are causing to resonant out of my speakers? If I'm honest, most of the time the music that resounds around me is a companion. For me to sit and listen without any distraction is rare, especially when it comes to purely instrumental music. And maybe that is why, when my full attention is given to some piece of music, I sometimes find myself slightly disturbed by what I hear, particularly when we get to the eclectic tones of 20th century music. When there are only musical notes and no words, I have to look within the music for something that I wouldn't have to look for if it were a song. I don't have this problem when I'm actually playing the music, maybe because I'm too busy trying to remember the key signature or count so that the rhythm is kinda right; but in playing music I find it easier for the music to become a part of me, because the music is as much about me as the notes on the page. Where when I'm listening, I have to let the music in, I have to let the music take hold of me, as I do when I playing a piece I know well. But just maybe that's what needs to happen; the eclectic tones may then not be so eclectic, and the mystery that they are trying to protray no longer such a mystery. Maybe if I do spend some time actually listening, I'll hear something life changing!

Although it will never stop be a companion!

Praying?

When I started at Westminster I was struck by how often we prayed. We prayed in the morning, we prayed at a lunchtime, we prayed at the start of every class and occasionally we prayed as the day drew to an end. But in the last couple of days I've had two questions asked of me:

1. Have you got anyone praying for you?
2. When do you talk about/get taught about spirituality in college?

And then I looked around me... now we sort of pray in the morning, we still occasionally pray as the day draws to a close, but we are not currently praying at a lunchtime and none of my classes have started with pray so far this term.

Now, prayer and spirituality are not things I find easy or am at times particularly comfortable with. Part of that is my tradition, part of it is where I have been on my journey with God.  However, I see what people are saying: where is the prayer and through what do we come to understanding of our spirituality? Maybe what some would call spirituality, I don't recognise as spirituality. Maybe in what I do on a daily basis is where I learn about spirituality. Maybe spirituality is another one of those fuzzy theological terms that is so hard to define that it is even harder to sit and talk about it specifically. And prayer... well that can be in everything we do, so it doesn't especially mean we have to get down on our knees. But sometimes maybe we do need to get down on our knees!

Now as I have discovered, I fall into the Generation Y group, where spirituality is not a term I may ever truly get my head around. But on the other hand, prayer is something I do get. And if the events of the past week have taught me anything, they've taught me that it is time to get back to the praying.

So my challenge is to pray more, however hard or easy I find it on a daily basis. It is also time to ask others to pray: to pray for the joys and struggles that I face as an ordinand on a daily basis and to pray for a theological college and community, which many hold dearly in their hearts, which faces changing and challenging times.

Another 'new' home

I am once again packing my life into boxes, to then unpack them in a new room. Luckily, this time I'm only moving from one wing of Westminster College to another wing, but it is still a task which is far from fun. However, as I sit in my new room I am struck how 'at home' I already feel.

The importance of feeling ‘at home’ has been an issue that has again raised its head for me over the last few weeks. In conversations I have had with new students, I have been reminded of the struggles I had during my first term at Westminster. The struggles of where was home and how do I, if I have to, make this place home. The importance of ‘home’ is one of the reason why I chose to remain in the college grounds with the builders, rather than move out to rented accommodation else where in Cambridge. Westminster has become ‘home’, and ‘home’ is a stability that I find I need when the rest of my world is in chaos. If I know where home is and know I can get back there easily, then I know I can get through everything else. Maybe this seems a bit strange coming from a person who has led a fairly nomadic life and who will continue to live such a life. In my 32½ years, I have lived in six cities on a permanent basis and have had prolonged stays in at least two others. I have already moved house more times than the national average for the lifetime of a Briton! Therefore, home you would not think is something I would find important. But it is, and maybe even more so than for a person has lived in the same place their whole lives. I don’t really have a hometown—I have a town I was born in, because for the time I live somewhere, however long that might be, that place becomes my hometown. It becomes the place where when I get of the train I say, "I’m home". And when I move on, the transition is never an easy one—but what makes it slightly easier is God. In faith I have moved, particularly in most recently years when I have controlled where I live, and through faith I have a spiritual home—a home that goes with me wherever I am and gives me sanctuary from the tumultuous storms of life.

So from my ‘new’ home to you in your home
may God continue to bless the places we call home.

Community around the table

As it was my last Sunday on placement, and after some wise words from my Supervisor on its structure, I thought it was worth publishing my final sermon of the summer after reflecting on Proverbs 25.6-7, Luke 14.7-14 and Hebrews 13.1-8, 15-16.

The table, an inanimate object, which easily becomes cluttered with the everyday, but it is the object which stands at the focal point of our sanctuary. Here we have the table. But why a table? Well what is it that we use a table for, apart from, as in my case, a dumping ground? Predominantly we gather round the table to eat, and we strive to do this as often as we can. When I started at Westminster one of the only expectations that was made of me was that I would aim to eat lunch in college everyday. For lunchtime is an important time in the daily life of the college because it is the time when the fellowship of the community can be built up, because it is the point in the day when most of us are around whether we are student, staff, sabbatical or visitor. It is around the table we are most at ease to welcome those strangers into our midst, as well as leave behind the distinctions that exist outside the dinning hall. It is where people get to know people rather than it being a place where one tries to out wit another with some piece of knowledge or prove they have learnt something in the past week; although that’s not to say that sometimes conversations won’t enter in to the realms of theology. And so it should really not come as any surprise that we find Jesus sitting around a table eating a lot in the gospels, particularly in the gospel of Luke. The table, as we have heard, was a place that not only provided Jesus with the opportunity to teach, but, probably more importantly, was a place where Jesus found that fellowship could be established and maintained. For Jesus, as it should be for us, the table was a place where a community could come together and bond, simply because they were all involved in the same activity—we all have to eat. It is around the table that we learn what Jesus was getting at in his parable to the guests and his subsequent comment to the host; for the table is a communal place where all can come together and where ultimately all can be welcomed, because it is a place where no distinctions should be made.

So we have reached another point in the gospel of Luke when it is time for Jesus to once again sit down to a meal. However, this time it is not with his usual crowd of social outcasts and undesirables, but with, well, people you just wouldn’t associate Jesus with. He was in the house of the leader of the Pharisees just about to have dinner with society’s most desirable! Did he get the wrong address? Or did he randomly pick a house on a street and decide that was where he was going to eat on the Sabbath? No, Luke implies Jesus was invited. Invited? Not what you would expect from a Pharisee, but Luke does tell us that there was an ulterior motive—the Pharisees wanted to keep an eye on Jesus (14.1). And how could Jesus refuse the opportunity for a bit of ‘table-teaching’ with such an esteemed host and guest list. If only he hadn’t been so obscure with his choice of words; for he told a parable which wasn’t exactly like Jesus’ other parables, but its construct was, according to the definition of the word ‘parable’, a parable! It was a statement being used to convey meaning. Jesus, as in many of his parables, set about to illustrated a point that needed to be made if the kingdom of God was to be realised. But what was Jesus’ point, for personally on my first reading of the parable, it made very little sense, but then I am not versed in first century Palestine etiquette. Jesus had been sat doing a bit of social anthropology—observing the social behaviour of this group of people he was dinning with. And this led him to come out with a story about which seat to choose when invited to a wedding banquet. Now, Jesus’ words could quite easily just have been heard as words of wisdom and the indirect point Jesus had been attempting to make missed, because the story echoes the wisdom of Solomon, particularly the two verses from Proverbs 25 about it being better to be invited into the presence of the king than to put yourself forward. Jesus’ words could quite easily have been interpreted to mean that he was encouraging the social etiquette that was being practiced, but was that really what Jesus was doing or was there something more subtle he was observing? Was Jesus just pointing out that if a person chose a seat in the lowest place at the table, then the host would recognise this and give them a place of honour, or was he trying to address the attitude in which one chose that lowest position at the table? If one sits down in the worst chair expecting to be invited to sit in a better chair, then that is no better than sitting in the best chair to start with. But if one sits down in the worst chair not expecting to move, then one has acted humbly and is worthy of being offered a better chair. Jesus’ parable was questioning the guests understanding of what it means to act with humility and was once again challenging human nature. He was challenging that underlying need that we have and will all feel at one time or another, that need for recognition, for approval; that ‘well done’ we all continually seek. Humility is not just about our actions, but about our attitude in those actions—we can put on the persona of humility, but are we really acting with humility if we are actually seeking recognition for our actions? That was Jesus’ challenge to the guests at the table and is one of the challenges Jesus posses to us at the table through this passage in Luke. But that was not the only challenge Jesus’ table-talk raised.

Jesus didn’t just address the guests at the table, he also addressed the host. Obviously, at the dinner party which seat the host should sit in was not in question, but his reasoning for his guest list was. Did he invite the old priest, Shaphan, to dinner because it was the Sabbath and he knew Shaphan had no one else to eat with? Or did he invite him because he knew that this would mean an invite to the old priest’s house and his housekeeper makes exceedingly good cakes? Acting with humility is still at question here, but the challenge has been widened. What does it mean to act with humility in the context of hospitality? Hospitality is something the Jewish people pride themselves in; it is bound up with the Law and in living in the footsteps of their ancestors. Their scripture places great importance on providing for the stranger within their midst, especially as the stranger may not just be a stranger, but as in the story of Abraham, an angel. But there is hospitality and there is hospitality. One can fulfil the law by doing the bear minimum or one can act with humility, ignore all social boundaries and share all that is available to share without any expectations. This is the hospitality Jesus is getting at in his words to the Pharisee, the type of hospitality Jesus wasn’t seeing, for Jesus was really the only guest who wasn’t within the bounds of the Pharisee’s social group. The hospitality Jesus is calling for in the words he speaks to his host at this Sabbath meal is radical hospitality and what God requires, even from within in the bounds of the Torah, because this is what God’s kingdom is about. When the gospel writers talk of Jesus eating with the social outcasts and undesirables they are showing us Jesus putting this radical hospitality in to practice. That is why the early church continued to live with radical hospitality being an important part of their ministry, even when it was most dangerous, and why in some of the Epistles the church is reminded of it, as in the letter to the Hebrews. Because the Church is acting for the good of God’s kingdom, it should be a place of radical hospitality and therefore reaching out to the margins of society, to the poor and the needy, and welcoming them to come and eat at the table.

Fred Kaan, a URC minister and hymn writer, wrote these words:

The church is like a table,
a table that is round.
It has no sides or corners,
no first or last, no honours;
here people are in oneness
and love together bound.

The church is like a table
set in an open house;
no protocol for seating,
a symbol of inviting,
of sharing, drinking, eating;
and end to ‘them’ and ‘us’.[1]

Here we have a table—a table which we gather around because it is a place where we can join together in community and build up our community. However, here we also have a table which symbolically stands for what the church should be—a place where it does not matter where you sit, although you are always welcome at the front; a place where it does not matter about nationality, ethnicity, sexuality or social standing; a place that welcomes friend and stranger with the same mutual love; a place which witnesses to the fellowship between God and humanity and where fellowship with God and humanity can be found.

The church is like a table,
a table for a feast
to celebrate for healing
of all excluded feeling,
(while Christ is serving, kneeling,
a towel round his waist).[2]

Amen

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[1] Rejoice and Sing 480, verses 1 and 2

[2] Rejoice and Sing 480, verse 3

 

Reflection on a year

Whilst I have been attempting to write my sermon for tomorrow, my mind is wondering to the other things I have to do this week as my placement at St Columba’s Church and Fulbourn URC draws to an end. One task is to write my reflection for my final placement supervision, and so I thought I might as well post this on my blog as well as submit to my Supervisor.

Over a year ago I went to see my College Principal, who was acting as my Tutor at the time, and said I needed experience and guidance in how to tackle pastoral encounters. I am an introvert, so putting me in a room of strangers with whom I am suppose to talk to kind of doesn’t work (it doesn’t always work when I’m in a room of people I know). Even if I dare to step out of the corner I have placed myself in, I struggle to make contact because I really have no idea what to say. Maybe it is something in my subconscious: a deranged idea that I have nothing worth saying, or that if I say something no one will hear me anyway. Who knows, all I know is that I’d rather not be there, as well as, very oddly, at the same sort of wanting to be there. If I had the power of invisibility I think I would have it sussed. However, ministry is primarily about pastoral encounters, so if this is what God has called me to do, then there is no hiding in the corner anymore or wishing I was invisible. I needed help to work this through and that is just what I was given.

From day one of my placement, I learnt that this was something that I was not going to overcome, but like my dyslexia, something that with time and perseverance I would learn to manage. A year down the line, walking in to the hall after the morning service isn’t quite as daunting as it once was. I do still find myself wondering what I do once I have my cup of coffee in my hand, but have moved towards making my way around the room and talking to people. Going to visit someone at home or in hospital is another task I have found very difficult to do. However, with the experiences I have had and the visits I have made accompanied and unaccompanied over the year, have given me confidence that this is not something I will never be able to do. This past week particularly has shown me this, as I have managed to do my first home visited when I hadn’t even arranged to go and see people. This required me to be strict with myself and not let the other things that had to be done push it of the bottom of the ‘to do’ list, I had to fix the time I was going in my diary, but once done, felt like a massive step forward. I still have a long way to go, and need to build my confidence in not being scared of silences or knowing what to ask or how to respond, but I am being to learn this is doable.

Pastoral encounters are not confined to just visiting, coffee, or shaking hands at the door. They are also occurring in an act of worship. What is heard may or may not speak to a situation a member of the congregation finds themselves in. What is offered as worship may or may not provide the space for an individual to connect with God. Any act of worship must be constructed in the context of the pastoral concern for the congregation whilst clearing being focused on what we are about—worshipping God individually and as a community. This has not been an easy task, especially when preparing for Sunday morning is not the only thing that has to be achieved in that week. I know that at times I have lack confidence in what I have prepared and struggled to pick the right tunes for the right hymns. My lack of confidence at times has not been without cause, particularly if there has been one area of my sermon where I grappled with what I’m saying, where the words have not come together quite right. Having someone else look over what I have written to either reassure me or point me towards what I’m missing or not quite grasped has been really beneficial. For a relative novice at sermon writing, having someone who will critically look at my sermons has not only help my confidence but has caused me to wrestle more with the theology as well as the exegesis of texts, and I hope has caused my sermons to improve. However, it is very easy to get dependent on this and there is not always going to be someone there to do that for me. This summer, when I have had the time on my own in pastorate I have had to do the process on my own, which has not been easy with some the passages the lectionary has offered. It is something, however, I feel I have successfully achieved, although when you have spent a long time staring at your own work it is much harder to be objectively critical.

My time at St Columba’s and Fulbourn has been invaluable, and something that not many of my fellow students at Westminster College have had the opportunity to do so early in their training. Maybe it is something that not all of us need to do, but it is something that although it has been hard work and at times exhausting, I am pleased I have done. It means that now I am looking forward to my final year and my nine months of supervision in pastorate, rather than dreading it.

Peace of Iona

Since visiting the Isle of Iona the other day I have been thinking about why people feel that it is a place they should make a pilgrimage to. I have to admit it wasn't quite what I expected, though I'm not entirely sure what I was expecting. It is clearly a tourist trap for the islands of the Highlands, with people flocking on to the ferry, many of whom end up at the Abbey, but the Abbey is no more than a stone church. The windows are no more than clear glass. There is no vaulted ceiling to gaze at in wonder at the craftmanship. It looks a church that in place has seen better days as the bracken grows through stone work. As I stood by the altar (yes altar... it was definitely not a table even it declares itself as a table) and looked out at the body of the Abbey, I struggled to see what it was that made this sacred ground worth make a pilgrimage too.
So it was St Columba's stomping ground, fair enough.  But is that only reason to be a pilgrim to such a place. What about that peace, that absorbing holiness, which I have experienced in other such places?
Maybe it was this particular day, maybe it was me, maybe I was expecting something that was unrealistic. But then I walked outside, I walked down to the beach and looked out across to Mull. Maybe what I was looking for was not within four stone walls, but what was outside surrounding it. Maybe that's why St Columba sat on a small hill outside to Abbey to work, rather than sit enclosed within it.
Who knows, but all I know that I will come back again to sit and stare out across to Mull.

Two weeks later...

Wow... two weeks (well almost) of being on my own in a pastorate and I survived and more importantly they survived. Two weeks ago I was loosing sleep over whether I could actually do this, and two weeks on, I'm just about back to only loosing sleep over my sermon. It has been a couple of weeks which have I guess shown me more of the reality of ministry. There has not been any one checking up on me; however people have been emailing me or coming to find me to tell me what they are doing. I realised the other day that could have spent the last two weeks watching TV and nobody would have know. Me not being in the office wouldn't phase anyone. Of course you have to deliver the service on Sunday and turn up to anything that you're expected at during the week, but other than that, the only person you appear to be accountable to is yourself.

This is something that I'm just not use to. When I was working for the NHS, my boss was pretty flexible, but we were expected to be in the office each day, unless otherwise agreed, and we did have weekly progress meetings and he'd appear every so often during the week to check up on something or other.  Then, of course, there were annual reviews. Now, annual reviews do exist within the church, as well as in college life, but weekly progress meetings or someone popping in to see how the sermon's going? I suppose you could say as ministers we are accountable to our congregations every Sunday - however, some of us could get away with spouting rubbish from the pulpit, as long as we have picked the congregation's favourite hymns.

Sometimes the only critic you have is yourself. But there is being critical of yourself and being critical of yourself. I know I am very good at putting myself and what I do down, but I also know when I could have done better or haven't put as much effort in as I could. And in ministry, this we then have to reconcile with God, for its for the good of God's kingdom we are working. It's not always going to go exactly to plan or be exactly right, and there will be weeks when however hard I try, my sermon will be far from perfect. But if I can honestly say on Sunday morning that I have at least attempt to wrest with what God's say in a text, its ok to pick the congregation's favourite hymns to cover up the interpretive mess that seems to be the resultant sermon.

Two weeks...

So another new week, week 4 of this part of my placement and now I'm on my own. I have just left my supervisor waiting for a bus, so that he can jet off to Ghana to attend a conference and visit some projects that St Columba's United Reformed Church, Cambridge, support. All will be well, and if it's not, it will soon be over!

Sat here this morning, thinking that I have pastoral charge of two congregations for two weeks, is really very daunting. Having just spent the weekend attending inductions and ordinations thinking I'm no near ready for that, whilst knowing it will be here sooner than I think, coupled with this morning's reality makes me want to hid under the desk for the next two weeks with my fingers in my ears. Alas, that is not an option, how ever much I wish it was, and at least it is only two weeks. What can go wrong in two weeks? Ok, a lot can go wrong in two weeks, but its not and if it does the opening verses of Psalm 121 come to mind:

I lift up my eyes to the hills—
   from where will my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
   who made heaven and earth.

Then I'll go banging on some doors in the hope that not everyone has gone on holiday this week.