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

Maundy Thursday, in a time of pandemic...

Maundy Thursday, in a time of pandemic...  

This Maundy Thursday,
there’ll be no shared meal around a table
for there’d be more
than two households who’d gather;
no washing of feet,
nor a beloved disciple coorying in;
no touching, no hugging—
and where a kiss is a betrayal
on a variety of levels.

In a time of pandemic,
when simple touch
can lead to death,
how then to show God’s love,
to do as Jesus has done for us?

Loving one another is:
a facemask worn;
the skoosh of sanitiser,
falling cool upon hands
when making entries and exits;
making space—
at least two metres.

There are other ways to practice love—
to touch hearts without touching:
be deliverers of medicines,
of food,
of news,
or, stay home—
for that, too, is an act of loving service.

Support the local food bank.
Phone a friend,
ask them how they really are—
and give the gift of listening
when, timidly, they tiptoe past ‘fine’
and move into harder honesty.

This Maundy Thursday,
we follow the command to love
by touching other’s lives...
without touching.
                    c.Nik Mac 2021

Snakes on a [wilderness] plain: thoughts on Numbers 21:4-9

Having a conversation with some colleagues about this passage, there was talk of whingeing in the wilderness. Familiarity with a text can be both a good and a bad thing! But this time, as I began to try to walk in some wilderness shoes, I found a community of fear and grief, a community of people who were reacting in the way that some do, in circumstances where life has been so utterly changed, and the Promised Land is both an unknown quantity, and an unknown distance. A community who want to believe in the God who has liberated them from Egypt, and yet, who find it so hard in the hot searing sun of the wilderness, when each step forward saps your energy... and then, have to contend with snakes on a wilderness plain.
And so, a reflection of sorts:

A tough love, this.

A tough love, this.

Wilderness wandering,
weary wondering:
‘are we nearly there yet?’

But they do not know where ‘there’ is.

What they do know is:
blasting heat by day,
surprising cold by night;
sand and stone,
occasional bones
bleached clean;
scavengers hovering,
picking off
the ones who fall behind.

No signs of life here,
only dust and death.
Is this their promised freedom?

And some grow nostalgic,
rewrite the past
as a glorious feast
of life.

Slowly
a creeping mutiny begins
in the arid landscape
of their hearts,
and moves outwards;
insinuates itself throughout the camp,
undermines the voice,
the vision,
that led them from slavery.

Hope seeps away
like sweat in the sun
and they are undone
by toxic murmuring.
New life slithers among them,
with a sting.

Stunned
from their misremembered past,
they cry out to heaven,
call upon the One
who brought them to this place,
this strange new freedom.

They are not a petulant people,
but traumatised
and afraid:
there will be wobbles
on the way
to the promised land.

Until then...
a tough love, this,
that removes one poison
through another.
           c.Nik Mac 2021

Transfigured

original painting by Dominic Martinelli - see:
https://www.dominicmartinelli.com/blog/the-transfiguration/

A wee reflection for this upcoming Transfiguration Sunday...

Transfigured                                              

Scrambling and scrabbling over scree, 

snaking their way along ridges 

on the barest of trails, 

they climb,

leaving earthly things behind. 

Clambering with effort around crags, 

avoiding cliff edges, 

looking up occasionally, and feeling dizzy, 

still they follow him. 

He ascends the heights 

like Moses did so long ago, 

he, who wrote the Law on stone. 

They pause awhile upon the mountaintop, 

almost, but not quite, the roof of the world, 

and suddenly, the light is blinding, 

bright, white; 

searing the scales from disciples’ eyes. 

And for a moment, here, closer to the heavens, 

they see him for who he truly is: 

magnificent and glorious, 

majestic. 

Shining amid rocky pinnacles 

the humble rabbi 

is transfigured – 

shot through with shafts of 

burning brilliant white, 

exalted, 

conversing in illustrious company. 

Moses, the Law maker, 

Elijah, the prophet, 

return to the mountaintop 

to meet with the Messiah – 

transcendent anointing. 

Senses ravished by unearthly beauty, 

desperate to stay, 

Peter babbles of pitching tents, 

unable to understand 

the mystery and glory of the moment. 

It passes. 

They slope back down from the summit, 

subdued, and told to keep the secret: 

a truth that they cannot comprehend 

when they descend 

and are more earthly-minded. 

And only after pain and grief, 

execution, 

and a resurrection 

will they truly see him for who he is once more. 

            c.Nik Mac

Labels

Noodling about with the idea of identity in this week's reading from the RCL:

Matt 16:13-20, I was reminded of an old sketch by Rikki Fulton, in his persona of the 

Rev. I. M. Jolly, commenting on a baptism and forgetting the child's name.

'Spindonna Jaiket' comes the reply from the father.

The Rev. is bemused by these strange new names that people feel the need to come up with...

he begins the baptism 'I baptise thee, Spindonna, in the name of...'

and is interrupted hastily by same parent, pointing to the label on the wee one's gown upon

which the child's name has been pinned -

'No you fool, there! There! Spindonna jaiket!'

[which in a good Weegie accent = It's pinned on her jacket]

From that ridiculously silly sketch, I began thinking about labels and identity and the questions 

Jesus poses to his disciples -

'Who do people say I am?'

and

'Who do you say I am?'

Anyway, from my noodling and silly dialect sketches came the following:

Labels/

Labels: 

John, the baptiser;
Elijah, ravens’ friend
(and occasional flame thrower);
weeping Jeremiah, perhaps,
in an echoing well?
A prophet –
just a random
one for any occasion?
The expectations of the people
are pinned on Jesus’ jacket
but cannot
pin him down.

Another label:
the One,
the Son
not just any old son...
this One
is of the Living God.
Not wood,
not stone
but flesh and blood
and bone.

Somehow,
in the mystery,
God has put skin on
trying on ‘human’
for size:
becoming
a waymarker
pointing us
to life
less wooden,
to hearts
less stony;
showing,
in who He is,
whose we are
and what it means
to fully live.

Our expectations of the Promised Messiah
are pinned on Jesus' jacket...
while we

are pinned as Jesus’ own.

c.Nik Mac 2020

The quality of mercy...

Crumbs...

A wee thing I wrote for a resource I'm involved with - which works for this week's RCL gospel passage.

The quality of mercy

Mercy:
doesn’t need to be pristine,
nor need to be huge.
It doesn’t need to be protected,
nor kept in a pot
with a lid
and a lock –
and oh-so-carefully
parcelled out
to those deemed ‘deserving’.
Just
a
crumb
will
do.

Mercy:
is not like pie,
nor is it mealy-mouthed or stingy.
It can’t be measured,
can not help itself
can’t be contained.
No matter how some try,
still, it overspills
the tables of power and privilege,
subversively escaping in
scraps
and crumbs
that are limitless,
boundary-breaking.
Just
a
crumb
will
do.

Mercy:
is subversive,
spilling out for all,
even those deemed (by some) as:
‘undeserving’,
‘different’,
‘not one of us’.
It re draws the circle
wider than the edges
of our imagination.
Just
a
crumb
contains
more grace and love
than we
will ever need...
so:
just
a
crumb
will
do.

c.Nik Macdonald, 2020

Gone fishin', and other thoughts

Currently procrastin...er, pondering and reflecting upon the sermon for tomorrow.
*ahem*
It's been a different space, over the year since the end of August 2016, as I've moved from making use of the Revised Common Lectionary, to working through Brian McClaren's book 'We Make the Road by Walking' with the congregation. It's been fun encountering texts I've not necessarily preached on before, as well as finding other texts in quite different places in the church liturgical calendar than I've been used to.
Enjoyable.
Challenging.
Refreshing.
Engaging with story/stories.
Making me think in a slightly different way.
All good stuff.
Hopefully, the folk who've bought the book and aimed to follow along as they could, have also found it a helpful approach.
Currently wondering where we might go from 'Making the Road'...
Always the big question, really:
how to help folk engage with God a little more - new ways, and old ways, creative ways and more structured ways, in the mystery and the everyday.
And, following on, through that engagement, how to work out that engagement
in a context wider than just a 'me and my God' way.
I'm still passionate on the 'called to be in community' thing - a challenge in a world where
we seem to champion the individual over all, forgetting that none of us ever gets 'there'
completely by our own efforts.
Anti-Hayek bias coming to the fore: there is such a thing as society...darn it.

In the meanwhile, I've recently come across Steve Garnaas-Holmes' site Unfolding Light.
Some really lovely reflections in there, and I'm looking forward to gently working my way through some of his posts while I'm on a wee break.
Given that I'm off-lectionary at the moment, and meeting fish, rather than walking along the road to Emmaus, I'll be borrowing the following during worship tomorrow, for a short reflection:

Fish

Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach;

                  but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus.

         Jesus said to them, “Dear children, you have no fish, have you?”

                  They answered him, “No.”

         He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat,

                  and you will find some.”

                           —John 21.4-5

The surface is always blank.

The real, submerged.

Look down into that sky,

where beneath a vague cloud flashes,

—is it above or below?—

created, given, waiting.

There is another way,

another side of your little boat.

Beneath your dreary, fruitless nights

something graced awaits,

abundance exceeding your capacity, blessing

at which you laugh in wonder and fright,

a gift that bears you to the breaking point,

a net swelled with light and glory,

and not by luck, but given in love: a presence,

a companionship you hadn't recognized.

Heaven is offered, hearts are restored

in something as simple as a broiled fish, shared.

But first you learn a new way,

another side, the unrecognized friend.

And then, after the gift, the revelation,

you learn a new way, another side.

The Mystery doesn't leave you.

It leads.