It always starts with words

Currently pondering conflict, and the place ego and pride seem to play. Whether it's the smaller circle of family and friends, or the more large-scale... how to break the spiral of violence? It takes someone prepared to take a step back, and potentially put their reputation at risk, to push pause. How many lives have to be destroyed first, before reaching that place? Over the last few years, the term DARVO has become familiar. Standing for Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim Offender, it's often used in discussions around narcissism - and, politically, in reference to people such as Donald Trump or Boris Johnson, both of whom seem expert practitioners. The other word for the practice can be traced back to the 1944 film Gaslight from which we have gaslighting.

Given my research on verbal dispute, and knowing the old saying:
Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me

is a pile of nonsense, to me, the cycle of violence always seems to begin with words, used both to diminish the other, and justify one's own actions. Here, I'm thinking of Vladimir Putin's speech justifying war on Ukraine as just one example but it's been a classic strategy - from Athens v Sparta through to Hitler, and so on.

Words.

It always starts with words:

insults or propaganda.

Dehumanise.

Make them less than you,

not even worth sharing the same air.

Justify.

If beyond the bounds of family feud,

cite ancient empires and ‘taking back the land.’

Worst case: losing face.

Deny.

It never happened or,

that’s not how it happened.

Attack.

Perhaps begin with verbal volleys,

soften up the target.

Reverse.

‘Hey, I’m actually the victim here!’

Claim you’re not the offender.

Reconciliation, or retaliation?

Stuck.

Circle of life, or circle of death?

Brokering peace, or bodies, broken?

Unbending.

Stubborn pride ignores the lighthouse

and steers straight towards the rocks.

Pyrrhic.

At the carnival of carnage

no winners, only wasteland.

        Nik Mac June 2023

Of bad beginnings and happy endings

The story of Ruth and Naomi too easily rushes to the 'all's well that ends well' stage. And yet, what to do with the beginning of the story because by the time we reach the end of the first five verses, we're left with the remnants of a family that has suffered catastrophic losses? Having escaped from famine in their homeland, the family move to, hopefully, greener pastures. Conditions have clearly been dire for several years, given that the names of Elimelech and Naomi's sons are Mahlon and Chillion - meaning 'sickness' and 'wasting'.
Within ten years of having settled in Moab, Elimelech and the sons have died, leaving behind three widows - Naomi, and her two daughters-in-law. Having heard the famine in her homeland has passed, Naomi decides to return.
All of that, in just five verses.

We know, from later in the text that Naomi's daughters-in-law are given the choice to make new lives for themselves without the ties of obligation - to return back to their own families and start again. One chooses home, the other, to travel with Naomi. And, on the matter of their treatment by scholars down the centuries, poor Orpah is given quite the harsh treatment by both Rabbinic and Christian scholars (see the following excellent essay 'The defamation of Orpah' by Dr.Barry Dov Walfish). Given the writer of the story passes no judgement on her, and, given Orpah doesn't immediately leave, and when she does, it is with tears - demonstrating a hard decision, to condemn Orpah is simply unfair. But I digress - perhaps Orpah is a reflection in waiting!

Back to the temptation to read Ruth through a 'quick, let's get to the happy ending' lens...
my attempt, below, to put in some balance to address the accentuate the positive view (yeah, just call me 'Debbie downer'!).

Would I?

Would I do it again, knowing all that I know now?

So long since hunger rumbled in my belly.

Was it worth it – the wrench of leaving home

as the cost of living took its toll?

We walked into the unknown,

my man and I,

the boys dawdling behind

with their cries of

‘are we nearly there yet?’

and ‘I need to pee!’

and their stumbling sleepwalking

towards a different promised land.

Would I do it again?

There seemed no other choice;

starve, or leave.

It was as stark as that.

And having walked, we settled,

strangers in a strange land.

And there was food

and my man found work

and the boys set about 

the business of growing into men –

when staying behind meant only

sickness and wasting. (1)

Would I do it?

Even now, that familiar stab of pain;

that hollow place where love once lived,

the sting of salt in eyes.

We managed, 

but a widow’s life is made bitter (2)

by the platitudes 

and hurried awkwardness of grief.

We, who had already moved,

moved on with our lives

and the boys found wives

and the promise of life once more.

Would I?

Even when everything good and pleasant (3)

had dried up like sweat in the summer sun?

Broken. 

A wife without her man, 

a mother without her chicks.

The voice of home called weary bones to go, 

walk back where they belonged.

Releasing the girls from their obligations,

one left; I wished her well.

The other stayed, compassionate friend. (4)

Together, we walked from famine to a fruitful harvest.
    Nik Mac c. June 2023

(1) Naomi’s sons were Mahlon and Chilion, their names meaning ‘sickness’ and ‘wasting’. Apt, perhaps, if they’d been born in a time of famine.

(2) When Naomi returned to Bethlehem, she told those greeting her to call her ‘Mara’, which means ‘bitter’.

(3) The name ‘Naomi’ means ‘good’, ‘pleasant’, ‘lovely’.

(4) Ruth’s name translates as ‘friend’ or ‘compassionate friend’.

Senga, dancing

George Elgar Hicks:
The Lament of Jephthah's Daughter, 1871

I was tasked with writing a wee something on the story in Judges 11:29-40, of Jepthah's unnamed daughter - and the vow her father made. Thinking about that vow, I did wonder why he seemed so surprised and then struck by grief when his daughter came running to meet him. The vow was, after all, exceedingly specific: 
‘Whoever comes out of the doors of my house to meet me…’ 

Exactly who did Jephthah expect would come out of the house to meet him?
Not Nip the dog or Fluff the cat.
'Whoever', not 'whatever' - telling choice of word, that.
The text informs us that Jephthah's household is not exactly large: he has only one child. Presumably there's a mother... possibly some servants. Perhaps he had in mind a servant coming to meet his Master, to tend to him and the horse, then meet his Maker? Or, heaven forfend, Jephthah's wife - after all, only the one child, and a daughter at that...? He gets to fulfil his vow, and then replace the first wife with another more fertile companion? Brutal, but convenient.
But no, it's his daughter who meets him:
'Yay! Daddy's home!... You did what?!'

The unnamed daughter is sacrificed - after all, vows must be fulfilled and honour kept intact. She is the price to be paid to broker victory in battle, with no real agency of her own. And yet, for all that the outcome will still be the loss of her life, she speaks up:
she lays out her terms. If she's going to go, she'll go off and do what she needs to do - prepare in whatever way she needs to, hang out with her pals, perhaps have some big conversations where, whenever her Dad is mentioned, there's some serious side-eye happening.

I wanted this young woman to have a name... wondered about her response... thought about it in a more Scottish context. And the line wondered through my head:
'Wee Senga's off to the disco with her pals.'
So, below, a work in process. I'd quite like the finished product to be properly in Scots - we shall see!

Senga, dancing/
Wee Senga’s off to the disco with her pals.
They’ll dance around their handbags,
have a few swallies –
but not get too puggled, mind:
every moment, every minute,
meant to last a lifetime. 

Wee Senga’s off away soon.
They’ll dance like they’ve never danced before,
celebrate in style –
a cheeky Vimto and a stolen kiss,
and laugh to cover up the inner scream
at her body, brokered for him.

Wee Senga’s living like every day’s her last;
They’ll keep on dancing ‘til the party ends –
two months will go too fast –
an’ if anyone should tut and say:
‘but yer Da’ll kill you!’
She’ll just say: ‘Aye, so he will.’
     Nik Mac c.2023

Lottie, looking back

Lot's Wife Pillar, Mt Sodom, Dead Sea, Israel

A wee reflection sparked by Genesis 19:12-26 on Lot's wife, who looks back

Lottie, looking back

Lottie lifts the album

from its dustless shelf,

hugs it close,

places it on the coffee table – 

all in quiet tenderness.

It’s not a proper visit 

without the family on display.

And ach, how she loved them.

She was happy then,

fresh-cheeked, eyes twinkling –

eyes now with a soft light

as her finger moves slowly

to the children.

‘Ah, wee Callum - cheeky laddie; always the joker.

And Shona, forever making sandcastles – 

och, the sand got everywhere.

They loved the beach, eh.’

Seaside holiday snaps,

Christmases, birthdays,

a few anniversary celebrations 

in for good measure.

‘Would you look at Billy –

wearing that silly hat one Christmas:

he was always ‘silly Billy’ after that,

but there was no harm in it.’

Lottie strokes the close up face.

‘A good man,

a kind husband,

and a doting dad, that one.’

Always the photographs;

fading, dog-eared memories 

of days long gone;

smiles, frozen in time –

a past now only remembered by her.

And so she tells their stories,

while she still remembers:

when she goes

then they’ll all be gone.

‘What’s your name?’

‘It’s Shona.’

A page turns;

me, 40 years younger.

16 year old -

all excitement and puffy sleeves,

dressed up for my very first dance.

‘This is my girl, Shona – such a pretty one.

You’d like her, I think.’

Tears threaten, but I shake them off. 

‘Yes, Mum.’

My hand covers hers,

it’s warm, and wrinkled,

and still on the photo album

full of memories,

where her heart and soul,

and mind, now live.
                c. Nik 2023

She knows her place

The other day, writing a piece for a project on which I'm a team member, I had cause to ponder that much abused (and I use that word intentionally) verse from Ephesians 5:22-23 on wifely submission. For too long, it's been used as a pillar to support toxic masculinity, and a tool to keep women down - that they 'know their place' in the apparent ordained pecking order of life. It's seen, within some (and I hasten to say, not all!)

circles of Christianity as a way of control: guilting a woman to stay within a relationship that is physically, mentally, emotionally abusive. In those particular circles, the onus is on the woman to behave appropriately: if she just does as she's told, there won't be a problem - if behaviours occur that harm, then, it's her fault. Clearly, her attitude and actions are to blame, are provocative in some way. There's a whole theology around the submission of women that serves as a template for some to excuse unacceptable behaviour - more than that: to almost sanctify violence. A pious doublespeak of 'it's because I love you that I'm doing this; it's the godly thing to do.' Outwith those particular circles of Christianity, it's played its part in wider society through conversations and attitudes around the role, or place, of women... helping to create an unholy foundation for their diminishing whether by words, or mind games, or violence, or indeed, a combination of all.

As I said, I'm pondering... but within Scotland, the statistics around violence against women are horrific. Between one in three, to five, women will be subject to domestic violence at some point in their lives; around every 10 seconds, a report of domestic violence is logged with Police Scotland; in 2021-2022, nearly 65 000 domestic abuse incidents were reported. Legally, unlike England or Wales, in Scotland it's deemed reasonable to cite suspected infidelity as a justification for lethal violence as part of a plea of provocation. There's mention further below of 'a Diane, an Emma, a Nicole'. This is reference to women who died due to domestic violence: Diane Nichol, Emma Coupland and her daughter, Nicole Anderson. The day before he killed her, Nichol’s partner was overheard by witnesses ‘You’re useless, you don’t clean, you don’t make my lunch. You better make it tomorrow.' Nichol’s injuries were so severe, the attack so violent, that they were likened, by first responders at the scene, to those sustained in a road traffic accident.

Currently, we're in Eastertide - having walked through Holy Week, the violence and death of Jesus, and through to resurrection. Within the context of that week and, in particular, Friday and the cross, there are those who champion the penal substitution theory of atonement - 'every lash of the whip, every hammer blow, etc. was because of, and for you.' Taken to its logical extreme, there's an argument to be had here for the heavenly household being an divine example of domestic violence - in this case, cosmic child abuse. It provides a blueprint that ties in far too easily with the matter of wifely submission/ male headship: as God the Father punished the Son (on our behalf... it's your fault, etc.) so, the man, who is 'head' of the house has authority to punish the subordinates in his household... There's a bizarre cognitive dissonance with a theory that, at its core, affirms 'God loves you so much that he arranged for his child to be beaten, tortured, and killed' - that same classic dissonance of the abuser of a partner or child using the old, twisted line: 'I'm only doing this because I love you.' To me, that's at odds with what we see of the rest of Jesus' life and teaching - and, to only focus upon 3 hours of his life misses the wider context of seeing him as a model for demonstrating a life fully lived - and, what life in full relationship with God as parent looks like. Summing up this viewpoint perhaps as: this is how to live - in love: with God and neighbour. It can be costly, but it will overturn the mighty, and overcome injustice, and bring in God's kin-dom.

So, I lay my own theological cards on the atonement theory table: clearly, I'm more on the 'Jesus as an example for us on how to live' model, rather than following the road that leads to the problematic violence of penal substitution. We follow One who understood power not as dominance, but as vulnerability - of offering love and service to one another. This was to be the radical blueprint pointing to a life-giving way to dismantle toxic behaviours and build a life-affirming kingdom - a kin-dom - where all are valued, respected, deemed worthy, and where there will be no more tears, violence, or death; a kin-dom and culture that celebrates abundant life, in word and in deed. Until we challenge more readily some of our more toxic theology, and dare walk down that radical road of non-violence and love, we continue to be complicit in a culture of death, not life.

Certainly, historically, some sections of the church have been complicit, either overtly, or through silence. There is, however, some movement institutionally towards not only recognising violence against women, but setting up task groups and providing resources. It's a start, but the work is ongoing. How do we address the hermeneutics of power and violence within scripture, and embedded in culture? There's a whole lot of patriarchal dismantling to do. 

See article ‘As killings of women increase in Scotland, if femicide the real ‘F’ word?’ by Kirsteen Paterson in Holyrood 15 March, 2023. 
https://www.holyrood.com/inside-politics/view,as-killings-of-women-increase-in-scotland-is-femicide-the-real-f-word

For a starting place for further resources, see: https://www.churchofscotland.org.uk/about-us/our-views/violence-against-women

‘She knows her place’

She knows her place:

she needs to, for safety’s-sake.

And even then

as she diminishes herself,

becomes small,

invisible,

there’s no guarantee.

With provocation as a plea –

‘she made me do it!’

‘She deserved it!’ –

it will always be

her fault.

She knows her place

and so does he:

everywhere she goes

and who she meets;

how much she spends.

Every moment, every conversation,

accounted for

and, if not,

accusation and interrogation.

It’s because he loves her:

it’s for her own good,

the beating’s done.

She knows her place:

told by her pastor, father, man

to submit, be good,

obey.

She never measures up –

is useless, doesn’t clean, make lunch…

she’d better do, tomorrow.

She’s a Diane, an Emma, a Nicole:

she’s the 1-in-5, the every 10.*

But it’s a private matter, 

a women’s issue;

not a priority.

...She knows her place.

           Nik 2023

'Ark'

Reflection based on the women in the story... 
Exodus 1:8-2:10 

'Ark'
They placed the tiny cargo 

into the makeshift ark, 

pushed it out 

past the reeds 

hoping for salvation. 

No saccharine story 

filled with  

happily paired animals, 

no cheerful snatches of 

‘Arky, arky’. 

But perhaps, 

in its own distinctive way 

this, too, was a story 

of new beginnings: 

a reset. 

Mercy 

moved the midwives, 
not ambition; 

It was never about 

making a name for themselves 

in the larger story 

of a people 

and their god… 

Even so,  

the story lifts them above 

the nameless Pharoah: 

Shiphrah and Puah 

live on, 

named and righteous. 

  

Odd, how the ‘cull’ order 

seemed only to see 

an increase 

in the Hebrew birth-rate. 
If it was subversive, 

an act of resistance  

against state-sanctioned slaughter  

of innocents, 

so be it… 

‘The women give birth quickly, Sire,’ 

they lie 

to the old man on the throne, 

even as his daughter 

draws out 

the river-child 

from the basket that will bear his name, 

and takes him home.  
               c. Nik 2023

*'Ark' - from the Heb. תֵּבָה, tevah; 'box, or 'basket' - used only twice, the other reference: in the story of Noah. Both arks, in different ways, vessels built with the purpose of saving life.
n.b. the name 'Moses' sounds like the Hebrew for 'draw out'.

Lectionary leanings - Pentecost 18C: 'Boundaries'

Boundaries
a meditation on Luke 17:11-19

Crossing boundaries:
Galilee and Samaria,
Jew and Gentile,
clean and unclean.

Blurry boundaries
when those who were ‘in’
became those thrown out.
Expendable through disease,
they formed a bond
beyond culture,
out of need.
A community on the edge,
survival focused unity.
It was...
mutually beneficial.

Beyond boundaries
of time and space,
both divine and human,
he walked into the margins
of their lives.
Mercy transforming them,
nine hurried away
to move from 'out'
to ‘in’ again.

Boundaries broken
by love,
the one who would never be ‘in’
with those former comrades in crisis
returned,
thankful to be taken in
by the greater company
of God.
            c.Nik Mac 2022

Lectionary leanings - Pentecost 17C: 'Faith is...'

 Faith is...
a meditation on Luke 17:5-10

Faith is not believing six impossible things before breakfast.
Faith is not competing for a gold medal in the spiritual Olympics.
Faith is not about quantity, but quality:
less vast sea, and more, small seed.

Faith is a leap, or sometimes a foot planted hesitantly on the floor.
Faith is relational, a life-long process of learning how to be.
Faith is a growing knowing
into the heart of God.

Faith feels its way forward, tho’ sometimes falls flat on its face.
Faith feels wild, and free – moves mulberry trees; tho’ sometimes it’s shy and timid too.
Faith feels organic, authentic, real...
which, in the end, is all that we’re truly called to be.
                                               c.Nik Mac 2022

Lectionary leanings - Pentecost 16C: Purple

Purple
A meditation on the rich man and Lazarus - Luke 16:19-31 

Purple,
the colour of power, prestige.
Fine linen;
lush and lovely –
luxurious.
The daily feasting –
food piled high;
dainty and delicate,
exotic, enticing:
spices and sherbets;
tidbits to tempt the trickiest palate.
A good life, this,
wanting for nothing,
eyes dazzled by the glory
and colour and sumptuousness of it all:
so accustomed to privilege
that he cannot see anything
or anyone other than his own.
Nothing exists beyond his bubble.

Pale:
poverty’s power stunts all.
Rags and sores,
barely cover
his flesh.
Cold saps his energy –   
little strength
to keep the dogs at bay,
nipping, yapping:
ready to devour;  
while his own while hunger gnaws within.
A living death, this,
having nothing, always wanting –
eyes made sharp by serious lack.
So accustomed to invisibility
that he does not have the luxury
of choosing not to see.
Beyond the bubble, he is nothing.
                c.Nik Mac 2022

Easter 2 reflection: Thomas

Thomas based on Jn 20:19-31
Not for you 

the hiding behind locked doors:

Thomas, the doer;

practical, shrewd.

Even in grief –

especially in grief –

people have to eat

and food doesn’t just

appear as if by magic, 

does it?

Do you smile at the thought,

remembering a hill,

some loaves and fishes,

an unexpected, very large picnic?

Not for you

hemming yourself in from fear:

Thomas, the daring;

pragmatic, brave.

Even when risk –

especially when risk –

is looming,

you square your shoulders

and walk with him to Jerusalem

to die.

Do you wince at the thought,

remembering a hill,

a cross of wood and nails,

an unexpected, yet expected ending?

Not for you

closing yourself away:

Thomas, the anything but doubting;

prophetic, wise.

Even when faced –

especially when faced –

with the unthinkable.

Unlike the others, you worship,

for you see him as he is:

divine.

Do you laugh at the thought,

remembering the upper room,

his side, his hands,

an unexpected, yet predicted beginning?
     c.Nik Mac 2022

Easter Sunday - Mary - from John 20:1-18

Mary...

Entirely possessed –

bedevilled.

Your steps much lighter

since he met you

where you were.

You turned your face

toward the Son

and flourished.

Possessed now by grief –

a withering.

Your steps, are heavy

as you go to

where he is.

He turned his face

toward Jerusalem

and perished.

Self-possessed –

blossoming.

He blooms with life

in all its fullness

as he meets you

where you are.

You turn again

toward the Son...

astonished.
            c.Nik Mac 2022

Holy Week reflections - Thursday: 'The usual, unusual story'

It is the usual story, 

accompanied by the usual food.

It is the usual rabbi, 

accompanied by the usual group of disciples.

It is the usual conversation, 

accompanied by the usual jests 

and theological point-scoring.

That is, it is the usual, until the unusual happens.

Mid-meal, the usual rabbi suddenly rises 

from the table and starts disrobing.

This unusual action has got their full attention.

Dressed in just his tunic, a towel around his waist,

the usual rabbi looks unusually fragile.

Chatter stopped, they listen as the water falls into the bowl,

watch in silence as he kneels before them: as servant.

The usual meal has become unusually awkward

as the natural order of things is overturned

and feet are washed by the Master.

It is the usual way of things that Peter misunderstands

and then jumps in with both feet first.

The unusual usual rabbi teaches as he washes,

showing them the way of loving service.

All is upturned:

it is the unusual that is to become the usual.

Bread becomes body, wine becomes blood,

power is stripped of ego.

It is an unusual story, 

accompanied by unusual food.

It is an unusual rabbi, 

accompanied by an unusual group named ‘friends’, 

gathered through the ages.

It is an unusual conversation, 

accompanied by unusual love shown in word and action.

That is, it is the unusual, until it becomes the usual...

for, usually, love is a work in progress.

      I give you a new commandment, 
      that you love one another. 

      Just as I have loved you, 

      you also should love one another.

      By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, 

      if you have love for one another

  c.Nik Mac 2022

Holy Week reflections - Tuesday: 'We would see Jesus'

We would see Jesus
based on John 12:20-36

The cheers of Sunday, faded now,
replaced by whispered plotting.
Shadows stretch and linger –
darkness strives to overtake the light.
Time moves towards the hour,
inexorable, unrelenting.
Though even now,
there those who would see Jesus.
No more space for telling stories:
urgency brings forth
stark, unvarnished truths.
To see him
will be to witness
pain and death and grief;
a raising up
and cutting down.
In this defeat
he talks of ‘glory’;
the grain of wheat
upon the ground
bears fruit.
In sacrifice and service –
love is shown
in flesh and blood and bone.
                  c.Nik Mac 2022

Holy Week reflections: Monday - Martha and Mary, revisited

Martha and Mary, revisited.

Martha,
forever the ‘practical one’:
remembers the smell of death,
remembers her brother’s grave,
the Lord’s call to take away the stone
separating the lifeless from the living.
She remembers the sounds –
rock rolling away,
the voice crying
‘Lazarus, come out’,
the stumbled shuffling
of cloth-bound feet
moving from darkness
into light.
Mary,
forever the ‘spiritual one’
feels again the hot tears
on her cheeks,
her brother’s warmth
as she holds him,
not quite daring to let go.

Martha,
forever the ‘practical one’:
prepares the meal they will share,
prepares a celebration of life
for Lazarus, brought back, from tomb to home
with rejoicing and thanksgiving.
She prepares the places –
serves the meal
to hungry guests,
the Lord among them.
Smell of food
replaced by scent of nard;
its fragrance fills
the room.
Mary,
forever the ‘spiritual one’,
now, as priest, anoints then
wipes his feet
with hair unbound
as Judas scolds her
not quite daring to believe.
        c.Nik Mac 2022

Lectionary leanings - Epiphany 3C: 'Good' news?

'Good' news?

So, he’s back,
Mary’s golden child;
carpenter’s son—
at least, he may be,
the birth details were,
shall we say,
a little... sketchy.

The local boy, done well.
He’s made a name for himself
and so, when he stands to read,
then sits to teach,
we listen;
after all, we’re not close-minded folk.

Words of comfort spill forth
from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah.
A good passage, with its promises
of a happy, heavenly hereafter—
where even the ones clearly cursed by God
find welcome relief and restoration.

“The year of the Lord’s favour”
is a nice touch:
time for Jubilee
and resetting the clock,
settling old scores peaceably,
redistributing resources.

Yep, for those who didn’t lift a finger,
those who sat about and didn’t work,
it’s all going to be good news,
in the great by and by.

Of course, of course,
we all want justice,
but this side of heaven,
we do what we need
to get by,
make our mark,
give our children
a good head start,
a wee step up the ladder—
after all, God helps those who help themselves
and I’ve made very sure to help myself.

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

What, now??
I don’t think so, son,
some of us have way too much to lose.
How is this ‘good’ news?
Watch yourself:
that sort of talk will get you killed.
                        c.Nik Mac 2022

Lectionary leanings: Epiphany 2C - 'You were ever about joy'

'You were ever about joy'

The first miracle

was turning water into wine –

you were ever hospitable.

Social embarrassment 

ironically saved

by transforming water 

for washing shame away

into heaven’s finest vintage.

No holding back,

no half-measures,

jars full to overflowing

meant for celebration.

The first miracle

was a celebration of abundance –

you were ever about joy.

In a feast

lately flowing with wine

the glory of the kingdom

danced in,

singing merrily of 

life in all its fulness.
               c.Nik Mac 2022

I would praise you

I would praise you
but in times like these, 
praise is hard.
I would praise you
but all around, politicians lie, cronyism is rife,
and those in power care little for the least of these.
I would praise you
but worldwide, oil spills kill,
ice caps melt, temperatures rise,
and apathy and greed are killing our planet.
I would praise you
but everywhere, COVID creates fear,
the poor are still poor,
and refugees flee their homes,
looking for safe harbours to take them in.

I would praise you
for in times so hard,
 praise is all I have.
I would praise you for all around, leaders fail and fall
and only you are faithful, and reign forever.
I would praise you
for worldwide, even marred,
 creation bears your imprint
and your sheer will holds and heals it still.
I would praise you
for everywhere you watch over widows,
 strangers, orphans
and feed the hungry,
and lift the ones bowed down. 

I would praise you
because in times so hard,
times like these,
praise is both call to faith and call to action.
I would praise you
because all around mortal plans crumble into dust
and your promise lasts for all generations.
I would praise you
because worldwide, you sustain all that is
and lives, and moves, and has its being.
I would praise you
because everywhere, you champion the oppressed
and bring the light of hope into the darkest places.
I would praise you
even when, at times, the offering of praise is made
through gritted teeth.
I would praise you. 
       Nik Macdonald 2021

Worship words for 12 Sept - P16

Ugh, life has been a little too busy!!
Must get my act together a wee bit more on this poor neglected blog.
in the meantime, some worship words for this Sunday, focusing upon the reading from James 3:1-13 and the power of words...

Sticks and stones/
The wee ditty rings out:
‘sticks and stones
may break my bones,
but names will never hurt me.’
Bravado that rings hollow.

Words matter,
words batter
and bruise the heart,
the soul.   

Words shatter –
words scatter
glassy shards
of self-image, 
diminish
those created
in God’s likeness,
‘til all that once was whole
lies broken.

Be mindful
of the certain poisoned sweetness
of the tongue.
  c.Nik Mac 2021

Blessing/
May the Word of Life
breathe love into all you say.
Speak well and speak wisely,
console and speak kindly.
Speak truth to power.
Leave space for others to speak.

In all you say—
bless and encourage,
comfort and inspire.
May your words be loving,
life-giving,
honouring the God
in whose image
all are made,
the One who spoke creation into being,
and who speaks words of blessing to us
this day and every day. 
  c.Nik Mac 2021

Trinity Sunday - a short reflection

Beyond/                                                                              
We try,

and fail,

to describe you,

God 

beyond words,

and imagination.

We try,

and fail,

to contain you,

God

beyond space

and time.

Wholly other,

and holy other.

Immense;

God 

who cannot be 

hemmed in.

Majestic.

Mysterious.

Supremely glorious;

God 

to be worshipped

and adored.

Finite
creatures,
in your presence
we

fall down,

fall apart,

fall.

Infinite

Creator,

you 

catch us

cleanse us

call...

As seraphs

listen

in timeless eternity,

‘Yes,’

we utter,

all hushed awe.

     c.Nik Mac 2021

Lectionary leanings for Easter 5B

 A wee reflection I wrote for a project that I'm a part of.

This, picking up the 'vine and branches' theme for Sunday's RCL 
reading of John 15:1-8...

‘I am’, you said,
‘the true vine.’
And I...
am connected:
a branch.

At times,
firm and strong,
flourishing and fruiting
with kindness and care;
peaceful, patient.
Rooted in love,
watered with grace,
tended with tenderness.

But Lord, at times,
I’m barely clinging on,
faltering and flailing,
wondering if you’re there;
rattled and restless.
Wretched, alone –
withered, joy gone,
heavy with helplessness.

In the green times
and the dry,
still, you remain
and so, connected,
help me abide.
  c.Nik Mac 11/2020