of dust, and ashes, and rending hearts: Ash Wednesday

Some Lenten reflecting...perhaps on a daily basis, perhaps not.  We shall see!

ASH WEDNESDAY...

'Yet even now, says the Lord, 

return to me with all your heart, 

with fasting, with weeping, with mourning;

rend your hearts and not your clothing.

Return to the Lord, your God,

for he is gracious and merciful,

slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, 

and relents from punishing.'  Joel 2:12-13

It was written, in mid-Scots, on the frontispiece of 'The Order of the General Fast and of Public Repentance'.  The classic text for those moved to, or encouraged towards, making acts of penance.
In his 'Order', Knox urged the community of the faithful to corporate penitence, an octave [8 days] of fasting, prayer, and meditating upon scripture.  To do so was to demonstrate to a watching God a conscious re-turning towards holiness, to faithful living; simply, of putting God first.  To do so was to also demonstrate to a watching world a conscious turning away from words and actions and attitudes that were unkind, unloving, that broke down relationships
both sacred and divine.
For penance is always about relationship -
tied in utterly with what it is to love God, and to love neighbour, and even to love oneself.
John Knox got that; he got the relational and the communal nature of penance.
Penance has never just been about 'me and my God': it is about us and our God.
One God, in perfect Triune community, demonstrating in very being, the intricate and beautiful weaving of relationship based on love; of connection and inter-connectedness;
of unity, diversity, and of harmony combined

With its dust and ashes and marking of cross on skin, Ash Wednesday is that first Lenten call to God's people to re-align, to re-turn: to turn again to the Lord, to express sorrow for looking elsewhere, getting caught up in other things, and in the process doing harm to others and to self.
The mix of ash and oil marking us as God's own,
called to move from out of the darkness and into his marvellous light.
The mark reminding us of our mortality - for we are not gods, we are God's.
The mark reminding us that, even in the act of falling in the dust upon our knees in humble sorrow, there is hope:
God does not leave us dust-bound, and death is not the final word.
As God's faithless, faithful, wholly human people, we are marked as God's own
restored, forgiven, free.
Called, as community, to be relational:
to turn to God
to turn to each other
to turn to our neighbour and the watching world.
To reach out, having first reached inwards and examined ourselves and discovered
God's wide, wide mercy.
To share the good news of God's steadfast love.
To rejoice, and give thanks that there is hope.
To remember that sorrow and weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
Time to wait,
to watch,
to pray.
To sorrow, yes, but in this Lenten season of preparation, to know that we prepare in order to rejoice:
to celebrate the resurrection joy of Easter Sunday.
In a hat-tip to a friend:
now, where did I put those ashes...?

Foxy Knoxy's word to the wise #6: begone, foul lenten horror

Beloved elect, predestined - albeit woefully tainted,
regarding this matter of 'Lent':
it behooves us to remember that we are surrounded on all sides by the adversaries of Satan.
Subtle, subtle are the machinations of his minions.
Flawed and unworthy creatures that we are, we listen to the honeyed words of temptation and fall, alas.
Swimming in a cesspit of sin with Satan, only God's grace can rescue us from uttermost darkness.

Fall on your knees and fall upon God's mercy: repent.
Fast and pray.
Think not of so-called special times and seasons of the year: begone foul lenten horror!  Instead, live your lives in perpetual penitence; don the black of sorrow and avoid riotous cheer, or indeed, purple.
Being a Protestant is a serious business.
We neither do purple nor shades of grey; black and white are sufficient unto the day. But given our inadequacies and sinfulness, mostly black will do.

Star word #1: 'renewal' and 'reformation'

I have just been grinning at a friend's comment regarding her particular star word [waves to Mary Beth] and how she has been 'overthinking the hell out of' it.  Struck a major chord here as well: I have been quietly pondering and processing what to do with 'renewal' - but, then again, so has the Church for c.2 000 years so I'm not the only one to get into a fankle on this particular matter.

When Marci cast that star word loose across the 'interweb heavens, I confess that I sighed initially; my word didn't feel nearly so cool as 'imagination', or as inspiring as 'vision'...
My word felt like...hard work.
It felt like being bogged down.
It made me twitch and want to walk swiftly in another direction - any direction but starwards/words.
And so, I wondered 'why?'...and Mr Knox came, unbidden, to my mind.
'Perhaps this is thesis-associated,' he kindly offered.
'I suspect you're right, Johnny,' I replied.
'You know it makes sense, and also, you know I'm right - I always am.'
Although he's been dead for 442 years, over the years we've become comfortable - for the most part - in each other's company...

'Renewal' and 'reformation' are somewhat synonymous, and I've been wrestling with, and writing on, historical reformation[s] for the last 5 years.  Perhaps, then, this star word I have been gifted with is rather apt.  'Renewal' brings with it a sense of freshening up something, shaking out the dust, brushing off the cobwebs, and making a thing all shiny and new again - or as much as one can without it being a completely different entity.  'Reformation' suggests how a thing is shaped, or rather, re-shaped.  This raises the question: does the reshaping turn the thing at hand into a completely different object, or is it, although changed in the way it is formed, still the same in essence?

What I have learned about attempts at both renewal and reformation is that both require looking back in order to move forward.  The multitudinous reformations of the church over the ages - because there was more than just one that occurred in the 16th century - have always sought to recapture a sense of the energy and urgency, and perhaps the lack of institutional complexity, that seem to permeate the church in the age of the Apostles.  Here was a time in which things were shiny and new, where there was not as yet a particular, fixed shape.  On the other hand, this did not mean that new and unshaped meant without any sense of order, as the Epistles testify: even then, trying to make sense of how this new thing might work was important.

Over 2 000 years later, how do we as Christians make sense of this thing called 'church'?  And, if we are to renew and reform it [ecclesia reformata, semper reformanda - the church reformed and always being reformed], we need to know just what 'church' is.
It's not buildings.
It's people.
As the old song asserts, 'I am the church, you are the church, we are the church together.'
The church is organic: flesh and blood and bone.
It is also communal; not just 'me and my God, but we and our God'.
How do we pare away the accretions that slow us down, or distract us from living as Christ's body here on earth?  What are these accretions?
They are different for each of us... 
Looking back, to look forward, what have we in common with those in the church of the Apostolic era?
It's not buildings.
It's Jesus.
The One who calls us 'friends'.
The One who calls us 'brother' or 'sister'.
The One who calls us into a new relationship with him and who widens our understanding of 'family' to include all both now and throughout the preceding centuries - that great cloud of witnesses.

Perhaps each generation has to do a little spring cleaning, some freshening up of its own understanding of what 'church' is, to find anew that energy and buzz of the church in the Apostolic era.  Perhaps too, each generation has the task of making shapes - re-forming and restructuring and re-contextualising what it is to be church.  Although the shape may look and feel different, it is still the same in essence because, being organic, the church carries the spiritual DNA of Jesus, who is flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone.        

The work of renewal and reformation is hard work very possibly because it is borne out of a relational context - with God, and with one another - and the question that resounds through the ages is: how can we be church without actually killing each other?
In the end, does renewal and reformation - whether individually or communally - simply boil down to learning and relearning, and relearning once more how to love God, and to love your neighbour as yourself?

Retribution, reconciliation, restoration?

 It seems somewhat apposite that the gospel reading for this Sunday, 11th September, comes from Matthew 18: 21-35 - the parable of the unforgiving servant.
The story features a king and two slaves.
In the opening sequence, the king calls his servants to account for outstanding debts.  The first of the slaves is brought before the king: his debt is vast - ridiculously vast.  The king decides that the best option available is to not only sell off the slave, but to sell off the slave's family and all their possessions.  The slave falls on his knees, begging for time to pay the debt.
Mercy.
The king, moved by pity, releases him and forgives the debt.
...
But the story doesn't quite end with that.
Having been shown mercy, and now released, this slave decides that he will do his own reckoning as he bumps into another slave who owes him a pittance.  He asks for his money and the same scene plays out:
2nd slave falls on his knees and utters virtually word for word what the first slave had said to the king.
However, this time, no mercy.  A pound of flesh is sought and the chap thrown into prison.
The other servants, distressed by this, go to the king who has the initial slave hauled in before him.
This time, no mercy, quite substantial wrath.
The message: to forgive one another from the heart.
Reconciliation - debts paid/ offences forgiven.
Restoration of ... relationship, status, dignity.
Retribution on those who don't forgive.
[which is a strange kind of irony - ultimately no forgiveness for unforgiveness?]

In the course of my research, wading through various 16th century kirk session records that note the offences and required/ performed repentance of everyday people [and some high heid'yins as well] I've been doing some work on the place of the church and community reconciliation.  This ranges from flyting to blood feud.

Flyting was your basic neighbourly slanging match and defamation of character [and by heck, these 16th c folks really knew how to insult each other rather amazingly] with the parties coming before the session, talking through what had been said, and working through to the requisite ritual of repentance: usually a speech formula in which the offender somehow physically held their own tongue, and then commenced their apology/ contrition with the words 'tongue you lied', and that they knew 'nothing but good and honest of [insert name here].'  This, usually done on one's knees in front of the offended party.  The response to this ritual was then the offendee noting their satisfaction with the offender's apology and the ritual of shaking hands in front of the session.  Sometimes, if it were a rather big stooshie, the shaking of the hands would also be seen in a public place, generally done at the market cross.  It was a visible ritual which signalled to the community as well as those reconciling, that this was the end of the dispute.

In the case of the blood feud, 4 representatives from each family were required to work through to an agreement, deciding what 'compensation' would restore the peace between the affected families.  This did not always involve monetary compensation - the offender might go to live with the family of the person who had been killed and, in a sense, replace the labour lost to that family.  When families had reached agreement, and the conditions of that agreement had been met, the family of the deceased would issue a letter of slains - a document stating that all compensation had been made and that the offender was now released from their obligations.
Satisfaction had been made; while life might never be the same again, restoration of relationship/s and community harmony had been achieved for a while.
Time for all to move on.

Of course, it was not always hunky dory afterwards: in the session records there are cases in which the same names keep coming up, with the same arguments.  People are only human after all!  But this reconciliation process fascinates me, particularly in light of the preamble to the telling of the parable mentioned at the start of this post.  Peter comes to Jesus wanting to know the exact number of times one should forgive a fellow member in the church.
"Seven times," suggests Peter rather magnanimously given the Rabbinical rule of thumb was three times.
And then from Jesus the astonishing answer 70x7.
That's 490 times... and the question floats about in my head 'how would you keep track of that?'  And the point is, the number is so large, it's almost impossible to keep score.
So don't keep score, let it go. 
A crazy number which demonstrates that forgiveness should be the default position: letting go, working through to wholeness - personal, communal, spiritual.

Retribution, however, seems to be a natural default position:
you insult me, I insult you;
you hit me, I hit you right back;
you bomb me, I drop a bomb on you;
you kill me, my family/ friends/ fellow citizens/ God smites you;
and so the cycle of violence goes until all that's left is the dust and ashes.

Reconciliation and the restoration of relationship is harder.
It's an action in which the process of dehumanisation is reversed:
after all, t's easier to follow the path of retribution if you reduce the offender into a non-human first.
The act of reconciliation requires more effort: it is easier to destroy and much harder to build.
Reconciliation brings us face to face with a fellow human being - not a monster, not a scumbag, not an animal.
It is somehow a harder, more terrifying thing to treat as human someone who has done something that society, that you, think is utterly reprehensible.
I wonder why, and partly think it is perhaps because in the act of confronting a fellow human, as opposed to 'an animal', it brings us uncomfortably close to confronting our own dark side.
In the long reaches of the night, perhaps it terrifies us to think what we, too, might be capable of - or how our own behaviour may have caused such a reaction.

The practice of forgiveness / or non-forgiveness eventually comes down to control and power.
The act of forgiveness could even be said to have an element of self-preservation/ self-interest about it - I vaguely recall Desmond Tutu saying something along those lines, but am a bit woolly and the time is late and my eyelids drooping.
So the question:
Do we keep score - hold onto the wounds - nurse the anger until it makes us bitter and dehumanises us?  Because to do so is to enable the one who has offended to continue to hold the power over the situation.
Everything done will be done working within reference to the one who has caused, and continues to cause harm...because we keep holding on.
We want to equate retribution with justice, and they are utterly different.
Retribution, while  satisfying initially, is ultimately hollow, for the need for vengeance is, in the end, never really satisfied.  It's a little like pick-pick-picking at a scab and never allowing it to heal.
Do we learn to forgive - let go of all that threatens to dehumanise us?
And how do we learn to be people of forgiveness - to do justice with mercy?

Which brings me full circle to this particular day, September 11, and thoughts on retribution, reconciliation, and restoration.  A decade on, and there is a sense that the constant picking at the scab of retribution has resulted in bodily mutilation.  A process of maiming resulting in ongoing loss of life through armed conflict, and for some the inability to move on with their lives through nursing their hurt.
What lessons can we learn and how do we actively work towards breaking down the chains of unforgiveness that hold and shackle, and prevent lives from being lived in all their fullness?
Perhaps now, a decade on from Sept 11, those who have kept the hurt and who marked this 10 year anniversary around the world in some way today, may now let go and begin to heal.

Foxy Knoxy's word to the wise #5: the tragic tale of Mr H. Dumpty, Esq.

[well it has been a wee while since the last installment of Brother Knox's wise words.  What better way to kick off a new year?]

Brethren and sistren, as we dip our toes into the promise and potential of this New Year, some words of caution. 
Today let us reflect upon that most abhominable of sins, pride.
Harken now to the tale of one Mr H. Dumpty.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the king's horses

and all the king's men,

Couldn't put Humpty together again.

As we reflect on this sorry story, we see the seeds of the eventual demise of Mr D. sown in the very first line:
Humpty D. sat on a wall...
Humpty, you see, chose to place himself above others; to put himself above his station.  He did not take the moderate middling course by merely leaning against the wall.  Nor did he follow the pathway to humilty by sitting in a lowly position at the foot of the wall.
No, my friends: he chose vainglory and pride. 
He placed himself upon the wall.
He wanted to see and to be seen.
Curiousity and pride: a combination which could only result in consequences too dire to mention.  Yet mention the consequences I shall, as a lesson and a warning.

Not only did he place himself above others,
when Mr D. raised himself to the heights of self-glory did he make himself useful, my friends?
Did he walk along the wall checking for defects and faults in order to alert the owner of needed repairs?
Did he stand tall on the wall as a watchman, looking for incoming foes, signs of fire, or friendly traders?
No. He did not.
He sat.

And the fruits of this endeavour?
As we know, beloved ones, pride goeth before a fall.
Humpty Dumpty, in his arrogance having forsaken any safety harness, and having vainly forsworn any advice from Health and Safety officers... fell.
Yes, brothers and sisters he fell from that lofty place where pride, in its treacherous way, had taken him.
He fell.
But let us be mindful:
this was no ordinary fall.
Oh no!
As great as the manner of his sinning was
so great was the manner of his falling.
At any given time, he could have chosen to repent of his decision.
To humble himself.
To leave the lofty perch of pride and walk once more amongst the faithful in more humble aspect - and altitude.
But no.
His was a dire and dreadful destiny.
Destruction.
Death.
And possibly a serendipitous dinner for the King's horses and King's men.

And so, as we begin this New Year, brethren and sistren, what can we learn from this sad and sorry tale?
That it is wise to avoid places that have walls.
That if one cannot avoid places with walls, that one ensures that the place one is in is devoid of horses and King's men.
But, if one cannot avoid places with walls which have both horses and King's men in the vicinity - to keep away from the wall.
Or, if one, due to a combination of unusual circumstances,
such as plagues, or wars, or flood of custard,
is forced to mount the wall for safety... do not merely sit. 
Rather, make yourself useful.
Repair the wall should it need mending.
Grow fruit and vegetables to share with the community.
And wear a safety harness - a visible sign of one's acceptance of needing support.
Let the harness of humilty be your key to survival.
And remember: to walk the way of humilty is to avoid cracking up.
May the Lord have mercy on your souls.

the more it snows...

The more it snows
(Tiddly Pom)
The more it goes
(Tiddly Pom)
The more it goes
(Tiddly Pom)
On snowing.

And nobody knows
(Tiddly Pom)
How gold my toes
(Tiddly Pom)
How cold my toes
(Tiddly Pom)
Are growing.

                                                   A. A. Milne

The most amazing dumping of snow in 40 years, according to that vital arm of journalism The Metro [a boon for the weary traveller].  Having been relatively snowed in, I pulled on the sheepskin boots and trudged into uni. on Tuesday.  Oh, it's hard to be shut in when you're an extrovert and I was going a little stir-crazy; plus, I'd run out of chocolate and useful work books.  Mr Knox looked resplendant in his fluffy white bunnet.... and as I looked out at the New College garden I would not have been at all surprised to see Mr Tumnus rushing by with his brolly and packages. 

So many people complaining about the Council: how ineffective, how inefficient.  Grumbling that the pattern of life has had to s l o w down, and what a terribel nuisance it all is, mutter, mutter - and I grumbled at first too.  And then I began to think how amazing it's been, given the unexpected freak conditions that the Council's managed to keep some buses going, have main roads gritted, etc.  I think the bus drivers have done an heroic job.  And - good grief - I've still been receiving mail.  Astonishing.  Pity about the local shop running out of milk, but I can drink herbal tea!  It's also been fun seeing just what stuff is hidden at the back of food cupboards; various friends are counting how many tins of tuna seem to have gathered.  For what it's worth, I discovered amongst other odd things four tins of tuna, plus several jars of black olives and a bottle of cocktail gherkins... I'm sure I can make some kind of fascinating concoction out of that lot and team it up with all the various pastas and rice I've also got.

These are the times when I realise that we humans can't control absolutely everything, and perhaps it's good to be reminded every now and then.  It's been freezing, and yet there's been a glorious, quiet beauty as the snow has softened the corners of the landscape.  Perhaps time to give thanks for enforced slow pace, and possibly even a surfeit of tuna. 

25 or so things...

Meanwhile, over on yet another 'F' word - Facebook - a friend decided to do the '25-30 things about yourself' tagging thing.
I played: and proved number #1 on my own list....

1/ I will do anything to distract myself from my thesis: that I'm responding to this is proof.
2/ Although I am a fan of chocolate, and have been known to frequent my local chippie, the idea of a deep-fried Mars Bar actually *does* horrify me.
3/ I don't drink alcohol.
4/ I do drink ginger beer.
5/ The thought that scurvy is a possibility has been growing for some time now.  This is, in part, due to the fact that most of the food I eat tends to be shades of beige in colour.
6/ Love sailing - especially about the Whitsunday Islands.
7/ Swimming in the sea is a wonderful thing: but it happened more when I was younger and lived in the tropics!
8/ I once did a sit-down stand-up comedy routine on Iona with friend Helen one staff party night, centred on a running commentary on folk-songs to slash yer wrists by, with suitable guitar accompaniment.
9/ Apparently, I am like my dad: when I went to Oz with a friend several years back, she looked at him, looked at me, and then burst out laughing whilst simultaneously quipping: 'well, no-one will ever say that you're the milkman's daughter, will they?'  I'm not quite sure what she may have been inferring about my mother, however....
10/ Scrabble fiend - but prefer real, not virtual, games.
11/ The current man in my life has been dead for 438 years.  Great beard however.
12/ A well-developed love for the bizarre, the ridiculous and the silly.
13/ Dislikes pomposity.
14/ Struggles a little with overly-earnest people.
15/ Also dislikes pigeon-holes.
16/ In a Turkish bath-house in Ankara, was once told by a hopeful masseur: 'Nikki, Turkish sex, nice... you like?'  I never found out, for the record!
17/ Thinks Williams' 'Fantasia on a theme of Thomas Tallis' is the music she will probably hear in heaven.
18/ Dislikes bad manners.
19/ Loves mangoes.
20/ Is currently reading her way through 'Acts of General Assemblies 1560-1618' and has uncovered the scandalous adultery of the Rev Paul Methven.
21/ Once dreamt of a WWF tag-team match - King Kong and Godzilla vs Knox and Calvin in which the predestined result was in favour of the two Johns.
22/ I rejoice when I see the first snowdrop of the year.
23/ Have just been prescribed varifocals and am coming to terms with being an aged hag.
24/ Purples and greens and blues are my favourite colours - remind me of the sea.
25/ I set aside time every year to re-read The Lord of the Rings and every year find something new.
26/ Friends are a tonic for the soul and I am truly blessed by them :)

and now, on with the thesis... :)

Having submitted my 'stuff' for the Board last week, I set to the task of quizzing myself, memorising footnotes, cosying up to Mr Knox to ask his advice... all the while coming down with what has been the filthiest, nastiest cold I've had the misfortune of experiencing.  Ack.
And so Friday loomed and I arrived at New College.
Free buffet lunch, as a 'welcome' to the start of play of the academic year, saw me juggling a couple of sarnies, a coffee, danish and a plum.  Sat to the side of the room quietly dying.  And watched as illustrious supervisor wandered in also looking like death.  Brief chat ensued, with me wondering aloud about communicating via the medium of interpretive dance should my voice fail.
Wandered back up to the office - the wonderfully shiny newly refurbished gorgeous office of joyfulness with my fabulously fabby gorgeouso workspace - and continued memorising footnotes.
3pm was approaching.
Armed with my sample chapter, extended proposal, and thesis timetable - possibly one of the best pieces of creative writing I've done in a long while! - off I went.
My brain was utter mush.
Thankfully, the chair of the meeting seemed to talk at length about a particular book I might want to read.  Then a couple of fairly light questions.
The fog in my brain began to roll down in earnest, just as the next person on the panel starting asking questions.
Gasping for breath at one point and apologising, amidst the voice beginning to go, supervisor slid throat lozenges across the table silently.
Some minor relief re. voice, but brain was still fogged.
I suspect the examiner could have suggested I include a chapter on Godzilla battling zombie seamonsters and I'd have nodded in agreement. 
Ack.
I burbled incoherently.
Next examiner made a few points but no questions, really.
And that was it.
Out of the room I stepped.
In the midst of the fog, I mused on the less than ideal conditions for this type of thing.
Invited back into room
Smiles all around.
A couple of suggestions.
They seemed to like it.
I passed.
I think I smiled pathetically, thanked them for their time and asked them if it was okay to go home and die.
Was told to finish writing the thesis first.
So, I will.
But not this weekend. I am going to watch back to back episodes of the classic BBC edition of Pride and Prejudice. 
Sorry Mr Knox, it's Mr Darcy time.

Tea shops and stools of repentance

Repentance seat, Holy Trinity Church, St Andrews

Candidates' Conference, St Andrews... last of 5.

Having arrived here at morning tea time on Friday to meet the new folks, I was able to wander aboot the toon on Saturday morning while they were in a safeguarding session.
This was a wee wander with a purpose: wanted to revisit Holy Trinity Kirk in St Andrews to take a few more pic's.  Quality a little better than last time, but suspect a higher level camera is needed really, and should have taken the tripod.  Anyway, was a nice Knoxian/ discipline jaunt and the beadle was soooo incredibly lovely and enthusiastic about the treasures housed around the kirk.  Not only did he obligingly allow me to take the bits and pieces off the repentance seat [left] for a clearer pic, he allowed me into the locked room where I knew smaller stools of repentance were tucked away [right] to take pic's as well.

Stool of repentance, Holy Trinity, St Andrews.

Some very nice, tho modern, carvings in there, and then he opened up a door in which a swag of beautifully polished communion silver was stored.
He was lovely and I was a happy amateur historian :)

I do like my supervisor's way of describing how quickly Reformation was accepted in St Andrews;
the sense that change was so rapid that the good folk of St Andrews woke up Catholic and went to bed Protestant.  And the notion of iconoclasm as Protestants having a 'smashing time'.  St Andrews is a wonderful place for just wandering around and going 'ooh' as you walk past various buildings with various bits of history [yup, the technical term!] but it's also rather excellent for the sheer amount of tea shops.  Two were sampled yesterday....

Meanwhile, back at the conference, I suspect I am probably a nerdy geek-girl but I quite enjoy these things.  I think it's the people-factor thing.  I've worked out there are two ways to approach conference:
1/ pick the thing to pieces and be very critical and set up a circle of negativity...and probably in the process hate every minute, or/
2/ just hunker down and find the good stuff - and there is good stuff and good craic as well.  It's very cool that folk are so willing to give of their time and experience and it is also excellent to see all the folk you're training with - and to meet the new folks.  There's a sense of support and solidarity about it all that I like.  But I am 'miss silver lining girl' as a former spiritual director once noted!
The only down-side, really, is that I am indescribably tired and my brain feels like mush, and there's so much work to do before handing this in on the morning of the 12th for the Board on the 17th - but the work is coming along much more happily now and a happier supervisor makes for a happier supervisee.

still waiting, still writing, still breathing

Looks like miracles still happen: my Board date was shifted.  Actually, it's been shifted 3 times since my last post due to combinations of clashing schedules, holiday, zombie apocalypse and even the Papal visit... okay, so I was fibbing with regard to the zombies, the rest, including the Pope, is true. 
Pity.
Would be rather entertaining to see zombies and Knoxy battle it out in the quad.  I suspect if they were Protestant zombies, they'd probably be okay... ;)
The lastest state of play is a date for the 17th Sept.  Three weeks to have all my writing done and then submit.  One week of reading it all again and anticipating questions having spotted fatal flaws.  And this is just 1st year.  Crumbs.  If I survive and get to 3rd year I'm not sure I'll live through the viva.  Handily, I have just sorted out my will.....

National Library of Scotland: home sweet home?

In the meantime, I really do feel like I've taken up residence in the NLS...
It's a nice 'office away from office' while our postgrad space is being refurbed, and not having to shove through buskers and tourists up the Royal Mile is a plus.
And I also have a friend who works there, so the occasional conspiratorial grin is exchanged amidst the hushed and scholarly atmosphere.  The downside is not having my own books about me to work from.

This is the 3rd attempt at this wretched chapter... as in mostly all new, as opposed to just editing and footering about.  I truly hope that I've got the focus right this time around.  It's an odd business - reams of data and working out how to analyse and order it.  Which is why it was probably very gratifying indeed on Sunday afternoon to do physical battle with the evil ivy of doom infesting the back wall. 
Bwah hahahahahaha.
Although the gazillions of baby spiders crawling about after was a tad disturbing... empirical evidence suggests that there is one huge very cheesed off mama spider plotting murder.
Perhaps I might just take the sleeping bag with me tomorrow when I head back into the library.

the plus-side to idolatry...

Knox, accustomed to preaching against idolatry, looked down at the objects of veneration left by his devotees and quietly reconsidered his theological position...

New College, 

now a 

Bollywood 

film set

[with thanks to Crystal for the pic!]

Foxy Knoxy's word to the wise #4: the importance of humour should never be underestimated

Beloved brethren and sistren, in these image-conscious days [a plague on all images, I say!] the art of acquiring a good marketing agent is an important skill.
It is an art, alas, that those of us immune to the charms of idolatry have definitely not managed to acquire.
And so it has come to pass, in these latter days of godless frivolity, that we Reformers have been caricatured and much maligned for dourness, an earnestness of temperament, joyless zeal and even the occasional tasteless accusations that we are... shall we say... somewhat lacking in mirth and merriment.
Lies, foul lies! 
Did we not invent the
'Reformation Polka'? [one of Brother Martin's better moves, despite his dodgy theology]
Have we not laughed at the irony of Christian graffiti and quietly derided such dieting groups as 'be slim 4 Him' and 'more of Jesus, less of me'?

Why, even on my death-bed, did I not ask for a cask of wine for my guests and joke in a most jolly and japish manner: 'well, I might be finished before you are, lads!'

Trust me, brethren and sistren, when you're standing looking down the abyss into the face of the oncoming apocalypse, the importance of having cultivated a well-developed sense of humour should never be underestimated...

[Um, incidentally, not that I'm bothered about image you understand, but does this Preaching BeardTM make my bum look too big?]

that 'most perfect school of Christ'...

Wall of the Reformers, Geneva:

Farel, Calvin, Beze, Knox 

Since the last blogpost I've been on a whistle-stop tour with a group of trainee Church of Scotland ministers to Geneva which, according to my main man Knoxy, was that 'most perfect school of Christ'.  
Things have certainly changed since JK's time, but it was just fabby:
to wander around the old town;
saunter about the Reformation Museum and then later the Museum of Geneva; 
spend a day at the World Council of Churches and then a trip to the Ecumenical Institute in Bossey; 
see the astonishing Reformation wall - hadn't realised just how big it was;
worship in both the Cathedral and the English speaking 'exiles' church.

For this Early Modern historian-type, it was heaven on a plate, and there were many high points.  
Possibly the two biggest personal highs, however, were:
reading a lesson in the Auditoire during Sunday worship...
and...
sharing a brief act of worship with friend John [no, not Knox!] in the Auditoire Calvin on the Friday night.  
Having visited the World Council of Churches that day, we placed symbols of different approaches to following Christ [rosary, icon, candle, open bible] on a small table in the middle of the group and picked up the theme of unity and diversity.  
We read from John 17 - Jesus' prayer for unity.  
We also read extracts from the very first sermon preached to the Marian exiles - by Christopher Goodman - and recently transcribed by my supervisor, who'd kindly sent it to me as she knew I'd be interested.  
Alluding to the discord and disunity in the Frankfurt church, Goodman's sermon was a call for unity.  
It was quite an awesome thing to read his words - long lost and recently discovered - in the place where he had preached them over 450 years before.
After a brief discussion on 'unity not uniformity, and diversity, not division', we rounded off with the prayer of unity, the Lord's Prayer and then stood and said the Grace.  
What made it particularly special was that there had been several odd 'coincidences' leading up to the actual worship service:
John and I had joked about 'stirring' the Reformed worship pot a little a few weeks before we went to Geneva... so I had packed a rosary and icon... and we'd already decided upon using John 17 before we arrived in Geneva.  
We didn't realise [I hadn't looked when I organised the worship rota] that we'd be on worship duty the same day as the WCC visit.  
During that visit, one of the speakers used the John 17 passage...
Worship had normally been conducted in the place we were staying and the night before, we'd decided to use the Goodman stuff... however, on the evening, we found out we'd actually be worshipping in the Auditoire where Goodman and Knox had worshipped.  Goodman's words in Goodman's church - neat.
If we had actually planned all of it, we couldn't have done it better as to effectively setting the scene.  I love it when a plan comes together in such a serendipitous way.   

a penny drops...

detail from a Gradual, c. 1500 of an Easter Mass setting... note the sleeping guards!! 

A mid-week evening in the midst of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity.
The post-service ritual of cuppa and chat before we all headed to our homes.
One of the ministers in the parish grouping led me across the room to meet a member of her congregation.
A question was asked.
I pondered, a little uncertainly.
And then said 'yes'.

The 'yes' came to fruition last night in the shape of delivering a mini-lecture on the beginnings of Protestant Reformation in Scotland and the place of John Knox in the midst of all of that.
And as I shared the stories of 450 years ago I thought again of the real flesh and blood people just getting on with the business of living their lives: all so very human.
I love the story of Knox, holed up with other Protestants in St Andrews castle, during the siege:
of Knox being so reluctant to accept his calling to preach the Protestant cause.
Of being asked and categorically stating that God was definitely NOT calling him to be a preacher.
Of being publicly challenged, whereupon he promptly burst into tears and ran to his room.
And of wrestling miserably for several days until reluctantly agreeing.
Human... and humans... all getting on and in the process becoming part of the patchwork of human history - some recorded, some not, but all connected and woven together into an amazing rag-bag tapestry.
There are dark and torn and scratchy bits: the bits that make you despair and cry at the horror that we, as humans, can create around us.
There are places sewn in gold thread: golden, shining moments that make you stop in awe and wonder when we, as humans, somehow move beyond our fears and reach out and risk practising planned and random acts of generosity... and in doing so, make the world and life that much more beautiful.
And amidst the darkness and the shimmering gold threads - the good, the bad and they ugly! - there are all the colours in between... making up the whole.
The 'life's rich tapestry' metaphor is an over-used metaphor, I know.
And yet somehow, last night, in a small room talking about human beings doing very human things
I realised again why I do love what to some is 'dry, dusty and dull history':
I love it because I see that although times and circumstances and mind-sets may change,
perhaps the human heart does not.

I read letters, and records of meetings, and side comments in margins of psalters of long ago
and see a tiny part of somebody's life.
Tiny snippets and snapshots of story which show hope, and joy and sadness.
Of human lives motivated by fear and love.
And am convinced of the truth in the old saying: the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Human beings are history - past, present and future - and what a marvellous thing:
I have the joy and the pleasure,
in the midst of sometimes hard slog,
of spending this part of my life doing what I do -
looking at the stories of people.
How can that NOT be amazing and interesting?
I guess, last night, I realised just how much I love this part of my particular story.

Foxy Knoxy's word to the wise #3: on the subject of predestination

To be sung to the tune of "Jesus Loves Me"
(Revised Church Hymnary, 1927, Hymn no. 660)

"I'm predestined! This I know:
Church of Scotland tells me so.
Hell is with poor sinners crammed -
I am saved, but they are damned.
Yes! I'm predestined!
Yes! I'm predestined!
Yes! I'm predestined!
The Kirk it tells me so!"
                                  *with thanks to the lovely RA for this one!*

Predestination defined -
predestination: alighting from the train one stop too soon
double predestination: doing the same thing the next day.

Foxy Knoxy's word to the wise #2: preaching beards

Facial hair letting you down?

Preaching beard lacking in Reformed gravitas?
Tired of older Reformers throwing theological sand in your clean-shaven face?

Why not try:
PREACHING BEARDSTM!

Made specially from the hair of pedigree, prize-winning Angora rabbits on the Isle of Sanday*, all-new PREACHING BEARDSTM come in two colours: black or white.
That's right, definitely no shades of grey here!

Hear the hushed murmurs of your congregation as you stride up to your pulpit in your long and luxuriant beard!

Watch with pleasure, from your 6 feet above contradiction pulpit position, faces staring up at you in rapt attention, straining to hear every word being filtered through your beard of authority!

'Before I received my preaching beard, I just felt naked.  My ministerial life was a meaningless abyss of self-loathing, failure and despair.  My preaching lacked the 'zing' that comes with the choreography of beard stroking that always denotes wisdom.  Since I started wearing my PREACHING BEARDTM, the sick are healed, the dead are raised and the congregation stays awake during my sermons.  Thank you so much!'
Lazarus B. Raysed, minster, St John of Knox Presbyterian Church, Cummerbund.


'Baptisms were an ordeal before I ordered new, 100% gravitas guaranteed PREACHING BEARDSTM.  Babies screamed when I approached.  Toddlers burst into tears.  Since I started wearing my PREACHING BEARDTM children flock to me.  My PREACHING BEARDTM is so strong that it can take the weight of 3 babies and toddler swinging from the long, luxuriant locks and into the baptistry.  The optional 'slide' accessory is great too.'
Noah Wheretogo, pastor, 1st Baptist Church, Auchtermuckle

'Thank you for transforming my approach to minstry!  My authority as a woman in ministry was often under attack.  Since wearing my PREACHING BEARDTM however, the congregation sit in awed silence as I proclaim the word.' 
Shirley U. Musbjokin, priest, Valhalla Episcopal Church, Fetlar.

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*all rabbits free-range and fed only the highest ethical quality fairly traded chocolate*

Foxy Knoxy's word to the wise #1: on fasting

Plagues getting you down?
Witches upsetting the tone of your village?
Wars, rumours of wars, or cows dying unexpectedly?
Afraid that pesky Catholic conspirators are plotting your downfall?

You need all-new, all-Protestant penitential fasting.

Be the first in your faithful remnant to fast decently and in good order.

But wait!  There's more!  With each penitential fast, you get a free set of stainless steel steak knives - great for tucking into that post-penitential roast lamb dinner.

You've seen the fast,
you've admired the steak knives, but wait - we'll also throw in a slightly used set of jougs for those of you who place your order in the next 30 minutes!

That's right: a penitential Protestant fast,
a set of fabulous steak knives AND for a limited time only, a free set of slightly used jougs.  This is an unrepeatable offer!
Offer finishes when all stock gone.

100% guaranteed for obtaining God's favour or your meat and ale returned in full.

*wearers of 'gorgious apparell' ineligible to apply*

[because every blog should have a mascot... and Knoxy is my home-boy]

Lent 2 Yr C/ Epiphany 3A Behold the beauty of the Lord...

A sermon for Sunday, 28th Feb, 2010.
Based on Ps 27.

What is beauty?

Apparently, beauty is in the eye of the beholder;

Beauty is only skin deep.

Or there’s the alternative version:

Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clear to the bone!

A Beauty Parlour, according to the old joke, is apparently a place where women curl up and dye…

And in response to that, there’s the question:

if love is blind, why is the cosmetic industry still making so much money? 

What is beauty?

How do we measure it?

As I’ve looked over the bible readings we heard earlier, one phrase in particular has stayed with me over the course of this week…

it comes from Psalm 27, verse 4:

The Psalmist says:

One thing I ask of the Lord, one thing I seek:

that I may be constant in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,

to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord,

and to seek him in his temple. 

And the phrase I’ve been thinking about?

‘To gaze upon the beauty of the Lord.’
To gaze upon the beauty of the Lord? 

Beauty is not a word that’s often used to describe God.

In fact, when beauty does get a mention in the bible, it's normally associated with warnings about vanity,

or with describing the house of the Lord – the temple. 

Not of God…

Beauty, as a descriptive word, is more associated with 
sunsets or sonnets,

or songs and symphonies.

Beauty can be detected in the scent of a perfume

seen in the shimmering of sunlight on snow,

or the strands of colours that make a rainbow…

But God…?  

Beautiful?

When we think of God is this the automatic description we’d apply?

And so I’ve pondered over this idea of God’s beauty through the week and I’ve gone back to reading the Psalm several times for some clues to help answer the question.  

In the translation of the Bible I use, the Psalm has a wee preface noting the theme.  It states that the Psalm is a ‘triumphant song of confidence’.  Maybe it’s just me, but as I’ve read the Psalm this week the words ‘triumphant’ and ‘confidence’ don’t quite fit with the way it comes across. 

I sensed the Psalm spoke more of vulnerability and yearning,

and perhaps because of that, it has a powerful and strange beauty.  

Listen to the description of God throughout the Psalm:

The Psalmist describes God as his ‘light and salvation’…

his ‘refuge’. 

It’s followed by the question ‘whom shall I fear?’

And he makes statements about ‘my heart shall not fear,

‘I will be confident’

Now, I strongly suspect that those who are triumphantly confident don’t tend to feel the need to remind themselves about not being afraid.

The Psalmist further describes God as the one who will hide him,

shelter him,

conceal him under the cover of His tent…

who will raise him beyond the reach of distress.

God is seen as his helper,

the One who is faithful,

and who acts in the present –

God is not just the ‘pie in the sky when you die guy’…

And …he describes God as …beautiful….  

And there’s a yearning in that description.

In the midst of feeling surrounded by enemies ready to destroy him, the Psalmist expresses the deep-felt yearning to live in God’s house,

to seek God,

to talk with God,

to look upon God …

who in comparison with all other is utterly beautiful. 

His response as he thinks of the faithfulness of God, in who he can trust…

is to realise that God is wonderful.

His response is…

to worship.  

All through the centuries, Jewish people, and then Christians, in response to God have done just that:

Worshipped…

And have tried, as they’ve talked about God, to convey a sense of God’s wonder,

God’s faithfulness,

God’s … unutterable beauty, 

so that others might behold God’s beauty, might get a glimpse of heaven.

I’m hoping, at this point, that you all received a small picture when you came into church this morning… and if you haven’t, I’m sure the person sitting next to you won’t mind you looking at the picture with them… so, this is your cue to find where ever you put the picture you were given because we’re going to talk about it for a little bit!  

This is an icon created in the early 15^th century by a Russian monk called Andrei Rublev: 
Rublev was a man captivated with the idea of the beauty of God, so much so, that he tried to convey that beauty with paint.  It is part of what was a set of icons that were created for a Cathedral in town called Zvenigorod – about an hour’s journey from Moscow.

Now as some of you know, I seem to spend a lot of my time with a certain Mr John Knox as he’s a major part of the thesis I’m working on…

I have a strong hunch that John would be a little disturbed that we’ve got an icon in church, and that he’d possibly use the word ‘idolatry’…

but I think that’s a tad harsh on John’s part, so let’s live a little on the edge today.

It’s important to remember that as we look at icons, we are definitely not worshipping them…

an icon in itself is not a god, it merely points to God…

Icons are aids that can sometimes lead us to a deeper prayerful conversation with God,

Or another helpful way of thinking about icons is that they have been described as ‘windows’ to God…

as we look at an icon, we are meant to be drawn beyond it…

it is designed to help bring us into God’s presence,

to think on God’s beauty…

to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord. 

So, with John Knox’s reservations aside, let’s think a little more on this particular icon.  

The icon tells a story of 'lost and found'.

It was hidden away in the middle of the chaos of war when the Napoleonic French forces were marching through Russia. 

A wise move, as the French apparently camped in the cathedral itself and caused quite a lot of damage in the process. 

But in the aftermath of war,

in the chaos that followed,

whoever had hidden it away disappeared or died and the icon was lost…

A generation came and went and another war came –

A war and a Revolution….

In 1918, in a dusty barn in Zvenigorod, a man happened to trip over a stair, which came loose, turned over…

and in that dingy, dusty barn, he gasped with amazement at what he saw:

he gazed upon the beauty of the Lord. 

He found himself held by this face, these eyes. 

Rublev’s long lost icon of Christ the Saviour. 

Also called ‘the Peacemaker’.  

And so, quietly, let’s really look at this picture…

As you look at it, what is the first thing you notice?

That strikes you?
Look at the surrounding, …

notice the colours, …

the clothing – the red underneath representing Christ’s divinity

the blue representing his humanity.

Look at the way Rublev has positioned the body:

there’s movement to it, as if Christ has been walking and, noticing you, turns his gaze upon you.

Finally, look at the face…

under the eyes there is almost a heaviness…

perhaps a weariness and sadness caused from seeing so many terrible things and from the carrying of the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And as you gaze into the eyes,

eyes that are looking back at yours…

they search you,

they know you,

they see you for who you are,

and love you with such compassion…

They see you as beautiful too – created in the image of God.  

The writer, Henri Nouwen, says of this icon that when he saw it for the first time, that what struck him initially was how damaged it was. 

The discolouration around the edges,

the cracks and tears on the face and the chest…

And yet, the more Nouwen gazed upon Christ the Peacemaker

the more he realised that is was as if ‘the face of Christ appears in the midst of great chaos…

a sad but beautiful face looks at us through the ruins of our world…

a face that expresses the depth of God’s immense compassion in the midst of our increasingly violent world.’

This is what the incarnation is about:

God made flesh,

who walked among us as one of us…

getting dust-caked feet from travelling along so many roads,

to so many places,

meeting folk where they were,

loving them.

Teaching by word and action what it was to live fully,

authentically,

abundantly.

Eating, laughing,

living,

crying,

dying….

Many icons have faces that look stern, almost severe - meant to evoke awe and fear:

this face is calm, quiet, human and humane.

Something different is happening here, something new…

It’s as if Christ comes down from his throne,

touches our shoulders

invites us to stand up

to look at him

to gaze upon his beauty.  

The icon is drawn to evoke love not fear.

To evoke within us a desire, as we gaze upon the beauty of the Lord, to worship.

To evoke a little glimpse of heaven so that we might realise, as Paul does in his letter to the Philippians, that we are citizens of heaven…

to remind us that while we know that this life is a gift and a joy, that there is so much more…

and that our inner restlessness, our inner yearning is there because our lives, like Abraham’s, are spent travelling:

travelling towards that promised land,

travelling to that place where we will be with God,

where we will see him as he is,

where we will gaze upon his beauty forever

and worship face to face. 

One thing I ask of the Lord, one thing I seek:

that I may be constant in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,

to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord,

and to seek him in his temple. 

Let us pray:

Holy God

Source of all beauty

Lover of us all

Kindle the yearning deep within us

Reminding us that you are our true home…

Inspire us to seek for you

So that we may gaze upon your beauty

In worship, awe and love

In Jesus’ name

Amen.

based upon a meditation by Henri Nouwen, from his book 'Behold the Beauty of the Lord'

Is this the fast I choose?

Is not this the fast that I choose: 

to loose the bonds of injustice, 

to undo the thongs of the yoke,                            

to let the oppressed go free, 

and to break every yoke?   

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, 

and bring the homeless poor into your house; 

when you see the naked, to cover them, 

and not to hide yourself from your own kin?                         

                                                                                                   

                                                         Isaiah 58:6-7                         

I’ve been spending quite a bit of my time with John Knox this year.  We’ve been chewing over the matter of the Scottish Protestant practice of public fasting in 1566.  For Knox, public fasting was a sign of the covenantal relationship between God and the people of God.  Its basic aim, like most Protestant disciplinary rituals, was to effect reconciliation.  And yet, it was also a very political act. 

In the Order of the General Fast, 1566, Knox railed against a whole host of matters and, in the midst of these, there is a highly critical rebuke to a society that he believed  encouraged injustice.   
He cried out against merchants who grew fat by cheating the public through the use of falsely balanced scales; 
he blasted  the  aristocracy —earls, barons and lords who oppressed their labourers just because they could; 
he condemned greedy property owners who forced their  tenants into homelessness. 

Knox called on the God of justice to intervene but he didn’t merely leave it up to God: he understood covenant relationship as something which required action not only by God, but by the people of God.  Fasting in the face of the public was an act of witness—a witness to the injustice of  humanity compared to the justice of God.  Those made invisible and silenced by injustice were  able to be seen and heard through this act of witness.  It was the fast Knox chose to highlight the iniquity of  inequity; a fast that was both spiritual and political.  Although Knox was no fan of the traditional seasons of the church year, the timing of the General Fast did just ‘happen’ to coincide with the start of Lent—perhaps a subtle attempt at continuity in the midst of change?!!

What is the fast we choose?  This Lent, rather than giving up something perhaps the fast we choose might be to take on challenging systemic structures of power—structures that reek and creak and are rotten to the core.  Structures which dehumanise those created in God’s image.  In this, I’m reminded of  Iranaeus who said ’the glory of God is a human  being fully alive, and the life of that human is the image of God.’   

God of Justice, God of compassion,                       

show us your image in those we encounter.  

Help us to be your people of justice and compassion;

Give us courage to stand up for those bowed down by the weight of injustice. 

Free us from the temptation to collude and ‘be comfortable’.  

May the fast we choose be life-affirming and love-giving, 

shining your light of hope into the world.              Amen.