General Assembly 2011 and 'that' report

They came, they presented deliverances, amended them, proposed counter-motions, chatted quite a bit, drank oceans of tea, they voted, they left.

And so, New College, home to both the School of Divinity and the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland [well, this latter for one week per year], filled with noise and hubbub over this last week is settling back into the quiet of academia over summer.  Echoes of both undergraduates and Assembly commissioners begin to fade away.  This particular General Assembly received quite a bit of press in the run up - apparently there was only one report being presented 'that' report ... in fact, an entire day of the Assembly was given over to discussing what for some is seen as a contentious issue.  In the end, after all was said and voted on, in my mind the only contentious issue was the matter of media misrepresentation of what had been decided by the commissioners at this year's Assembly.  I was rather gobsmacked at just how utterly wrong the press got it.  This was also remarked upon on the Tuesday of the Assembly. 
So... what was it the Church of Scotland did actually decide to do on the Monday of the General Assembly?  As an historian, first port of call is to go to the primary source... and there are two statements provided on the CofS website, which helps clarify the discussion and decisions made on Monday.  The first statement is here.  And the follow up statement can be found here. 
As to my own state of play on Monday?  I decided to avoid it all and go to spend time with a friend over in Fife and play with his ninja spaniel - it seemed a much more satisfying thing to do than listen to the same chaps rehearsing the same arguments on both sides of the fence.  Would be nice not to have that fence - I kind of think He is our peace, who has broken down every wall... just wish we didn't keep putting them back up again!

Apocalypse now? Well, Saturday the 21st May...?

When I was preaching a couple of Advents ago, on some rather apocalyptic texts, the tune that seemed to be the accompanying soundtrack was REM's 'End of the world' - great song.

The mathematical equation to the left is apparently proof that tomorrow is the day - the beginning of the end - the Rapture... well, according to a chap called Harold Camping at any rate.
Now, I was always pretty useless at maths, and trying to understand the calculation convinced me once more that I truly am a better historian than mathematician.  Who'd'a'thunk, for example that the number 5 = Atonement, or 10 = completeness...? I'd been led to believe by reliable, numerically literate friends that completeness, or perfection, was represented by the number 7.  Never mind. 

Anyhoo, given tomorrow's the end of the world as we know it, I'm wondering how I might prepare.  Apparently the event will occur around the globe at approximately 6pm local time - so I guess that takes out the Antipodes first....  I'm thinking an early trip to the shops to stock up on chocolate, then take the radio down to the beach and eat chocolate as I listen to the events unfolding.  It beats planning out another chapter of the thesis... :)

Ah, there might be a flaw in the plan: I've just noticed that the first set of figures in the equation is a date, and I'm wondering if there's some significance?  I hadn't realised Jesus had been crucified on April Fool's Day tho'... hmmm.
Kinda makes ya fink, don't it?

This post finishes with what I think should be the official track for tomorrow...
Fasten your seatbelts, and see y'all Sunday... although, you're welcome to throw a custard pie in my face if Mr Camping is actually correct - tho' he did seem to get the sums wrong in 1994....

[a return to more regular blogging, non-Rapture permitting, will recommence once I've finished off my current placement 
and next instalment of thesis work]

Being a 'biblical' Christian?

I've been reading Rachel Held Evans - her blog article on 'Discussing the Bible: Seven Rules of Engagement' from which I wantonly pinched the opening cartoon.  Think she has some very sound words and it looks like the beginning of a good conversation....

Something that drives me quietly nuts is the term 'bible believing Christian'.  Or, perhaps, more to the point, the misuse of that term.
Perhaps the key word in the phrase is 'believing' - and the inference from the term that there is only one way by which belief, or understanding, of scripture can be held... and that 'truth' is something that is limited to literalism.
I believe truth is much broader than that which can merely be put in a bottle and measured... truth is more than just 'fact'.
The move [in some quarters, not all] to a literalist interpretation of scripture is a child of the post-Enlightenment - born from a need to somehow 'prove' one's faith via the medium of fact.  This seems to me to be an oxymoron, particularly if one takes note of Hebrews 11: 1 on the nature of faith - faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

For what it's worth, my own understanding of the bible is that it is an amazing collection of inspired, God-breathed books.
Each book having its own integrity, each written in distinctly different genres - from poetry, to history, to legalities, to ritual -
each written at different times, in different circumstances, in different places, and for differing audiences...
yet all, somehow connected by an understanding that as a gathered collection, they reveal a story of an ongoing, always developing relationship both vertically and horizontally.
Vertically, as in the relationship between God and human beings and vice versa;
horizontally as in relationships of all kinds between human beings - from the way we conduct our business relationships, to the way we conduct friendships, to the way we conduct our romantic and sexual relationships. 

The Church of Scotland in 'The Articles Declaratory' - the constitutional bits stating who we are, and what we're about - states in Article One that it 'receives the Word of God which is contained in the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments as its supreme rule of faith and life'.  I think the wording of the statement very wise: it does not go into a debate about whether one is to believe literally or otherwise.  God's Word is contained in the scriptures... and I wonder, by going down a solidly literalist hermeneutic, is there an attempt to try to pin God down - to contain God in the scriptures?  And does this lead to a kind of 'bibliolatry': a pocket-sized bible becoming 'God in my pocket'?  The bible being used as a weapon to proof-text folk into submission to what might just be a cultural understanding of how to interpret scripture?
And are we all, whether literalist or other, as guilty as each other for perhaps taking a 'pick and mix' approach to scripture as and when it suits our arguments?
I think big dollops of wisdom, humility, openness to listening, and kindness are probably in order, as opposed to beating each other over the head with the bible.
And even as I write this, I'm very conscious of feeling that I have trashed the viewpoint of someone who may be inclined to a more literal viewpoint re. scripture.  If so, God save me from a 'my way or the highway' approach... help me engage in constructive conversations, help me keep listening, and help me avoid the temptation to place labels all over people.  As someone once said: 'labels are for jars, not people'. 
At any rate, I'll be fascinated to see how the conversation develops...

'migrant workers'

I suspect that this post is one to file under 'statin' the bleedin' obvious' category however, stemming from a conversation with current supervisor, it has bubbled up as one of those things to go 'ah, yes, hmm, think about at some point' for me - perceptions 'n suchlike, and so, I'll blog it anyway...




'Migrant workers': it's been the phrase that is usually followed in the tabloid headline by ...
'undercut our jobs/
destroy our economy/
get 'em out',
and other such scaremongering words.  It's been handy fear fodder for both the previous Labour government, and the current ConDem pact of horror.  And it does seem to be a battle about perception.
Being away from the UK has provided a little food for thought already on how we perceive others, and how we perceive ourselves.  I google-imaged the term 'migrant workers' and was met with row upon row of pictures of non-white, impoverished looking people - refugees, illegal immigrants: popular stereotypes.
But ... I'm a migrant worker.
I just hadn't thought of myself as such!

Apparently, here in Geneva, 1/3 of the population is made up of foreign/or migrant workers: from huge multinationals and NGO's, all the way through to illegal folk, hoping for a better life, but who have fallen through the cracks in the system.  So perhaps a case in point, again, of the dangers of assumptions and painting labels with wide brushes.
In the context in which I'm currently working here, the church is mostly - not entirely as there are some Swiss - comprised of non-native Swiss... thus, mostly 'migrant workers'... and this makes for a fascinating dynamic.  The congregation has a core of longer term folk, but also has a high proportion of folk on the move - on one/ two/ three year contracts.

With so much movement, one of the questions I'm beginning to reflect on is how this affects a congregation - relationally, spiritually, liturgically?  Does it make a congregation opt to stay with a more traditional form of worship or does it mean that changes can occur without too much turmoil?
Here in Geneva, I think perhaps, a little of both.  Given that the congregation is not just made up of Scottish Presbyterians, but a wider spectrum, a more traditional format is at least something that provides familiarity: it can be recognised from Church of Scotland, to PCUSA, to Uniting Church of Australia, etc. In this context, it provides a helpful structure, I suspect.  From a community point of view I guess the challenge is to 'plug' the new folks into the existing community as quickly as possible, given time factors, but also not to make them feel 'pounced on'.
[Oh dear, now I have an image in my head of zombie apocalypse and the words 'fresh meat' being uttered... not quite what I actually had in mind!!!!  Pesky zombies do crop up at inconvenient moments in my reflection process - what would Jung say, I wonder?  Note to self: Geneva is not a zombie apocalypse!!!]
One of the church groups I've been involved with the most has been the woman's group.  It's excellently run: a good and varied programme as well as being an incredibly welcoming bunch.  Very good sense of folk belonging and feeling supported... finding community, friendship, fun, spiritual nurture.  I've been really impressed by the hard work of the organisers to keep the thing not only running, but fresh and lively.

As an aside... re churches and migration:
Further afield in the Presbytery of Europe...
Malta has seen a large influx of Libyans, due to the current unrest as the Gadaffi regime clings to power in the face of protest.  As a response to this, the Church of Scotland has set up a project to provide aid to those seeking refuge from the conflict.

In the end, though, I am brought back to thinking that all of us are strangers in a strange land: exiles for a time, here on earth, searching for that heavenly kingdom where all are citizens, all are welcome, all belong.  A vast multitude bound together in and through and by the love of God.  And also, thoughts return once more to Augustine and my favourite quote: 'our hearts are restless until they find their rest in you'. I never tire of that one - it goes deep!

And a tangent to end:
It is also a very odd feeling - I can't believe how quickly this month in Geneva has gone.  It seems no time at all since I arrived and suddenly it is time to think about returning back the the 'burgh.  Last day is Wednesday.  I will miss the people and the place - we have bonded very quickly and it has been a superb experience.

Yr A Palm Sunday sermon: the whole city was in turmoil

Sermon for Palm Sunday, in the Auditoire Calvin, Geneva...

texts: Matt. 21:1-11; Philip 2: 5-11

Let us pray:
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, o Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

The whole city was in turmoil, asking ‘who is this?’
Some said ‘Jesus’,
Others said ‘the carpenter’s son’ –
or, ‘the Nazarene’,
One joked and said:
‘Can anything good actually come from Nazareth?’
There were grins at that.
Crowds lined the cloak-strewn streets
A crushing, jostling mass of people,
Waving palm branches in the shimmering heat,
Shouting ‘hosanna, hosanna!’
As he rode in.

The whole city was in turmoil, asking ‘who is this?’
Some called him ‘prophet’
Others said ‘the new Elijah’
I didn’t know what to think:
Couldn’t quite pin him down.
Something seemed odd
Out of place.

In amidst the crowds, the palms
the heat and noise and excitement –
the weight of the crowd’s expectations –
in amidst it all,
he seemed strangely alone
a solitary man...
calmly riding into town for the passover,
listening to the roar of hosannas.
‘Hosanna, hosanna!’

I watched him, this man whose friends called him ‘teacher, rabbi’
And who even now, followed him along the processional route,
laughing,
joining in the cheers,
the excitement,
caught up in the moment
some of them singing the age old holy songs –
pilgrim songs of journeying to the temple to worship the Lord...
Their songs and cries mingling with the crowd:
‘hosanna, hosanna, hosanna!’

It was a crazy, busy, crowded time –
People thronging to the city carrying doves,
Tripping over stray animals
Being charged extortionate prices by the street vendors hawking dodgy looking meat,
or selling old vinegary wine warmed by the heat of the sun.
First-time pilgrims from the back of beyond
gawped in awe at the city,
suddenly stopping without warning
to have a closer look at this building,
or that market stall,
slowly plodding along the streets enjoying the atmosphere,
or anxiously hurrying, looking for a place to stay.

The whole city was in turmoil, asking ‘who is this?’
Some said ‘deliverer’.
Several shouted ‘healer – heal us!’
Some said ‘madman’
Some said ‘messiah’...
I ...held my tongue,
Listening to the cries:
‘hosanna, hosanna!
Watching the man who bore the weight of the crowd’s expectations.
Watching, as he rode in on a donkey.
A messiah...
On a donkey?

In the time of my grandfather’s grandfather
Another deliverer rode into Jerusalem
Palm branches waved
Cloaks covered the road...
Cheers sounded
Deliverance, victory, hung in the air:
Judas Maccabeus –
Judas ‘the hammer’ –
Rescuer of his people
Restorer of the temple...
But, he died,
And after an all too brief independence,
another empire filled the power vacuum.
Although free to worship
We were once again under the yoke of the oppressor.

Was it to lead us in an uprising against the Romans
that Jesus came to Jerusalem?
But what kind of uprising...?
The conquering hero,
the mighty longed-for,
hoped-for liberator
not riding proudly in to town on a horse dressed for battle,
but riding in, humbly, on a donkey.
It was an odd symbolism
A strange mis-match
Unexpected
And quietly challenging our assumptions.
‘Hosanna, hosannah!’
‘Free us! Save us!’

Save us from what?
Ourselves,
burdened with a vast storehouse of needs....?
Needing healing of body, mind and soul;
Needing hope to replace despair;
Needing a renewal of spirit;
Needing to rise up and be freed from corrupt puppet kings
propped up by foreign occupying powers? ...
Needing to mould and make this man conform to what we wanted him to be?...

The whole city was in turmoil, asking ‘who is this?’
I wasn’t sure who he was
Or what to call him
How to label him...
But it seemed to me he already had enough labels to last beyond any one person’s lifetime –
Already had enough to carry along that road:
The hopes
The needs
The agendas.
And so, I remained silent, in the midst of it all
watching him pass by,
wondering,
waiting to see what might come of it all....
wondering if the salvation he offered was actually the salvation being expressed by the crowds –
the salvation they wanted.
‘Hosanna, hosanna!’
And he was gone... ... ...

In Jerusalem, so long ago, at the time of the Passover,
the whole city had been in turmoil, asking ‘who is this?’
But underneath the buzz,
behind the festive atmosphere
was a society splitting and fracturing,
ill at ease;
simultaneously colluding with its enemy
whilst surreptitiously stabbing them in the back.
Political factions,
Religious factions,
And people just trying to get on with their lives...
And it was into this particularly volatile mix that Jesus rode ...
A place where people jostled for position, prestige and power, whatever the cost.
He had already managed to offend the religious sensibilities of the Pharisees,
with his unfortunate habit of healing people on the Sabbath,
his seeming lack of concern for purity laws;
talking to the untouchable – the outcasts:
lepers, tax collectors
giving honour to the disregarded:
women, children, Samaritans.

As his popularity grew, and crowds listened to him, he was also becoming a concern for the political power brokers of the day.
Was he yet another rabble-rousing rebel intent on bringing down the system?
As the self-interest of both the pious and the politicians began to merge together,
and the wheels of political machinations began to turn,
was it really such a surprise when the cheers turned to jeers,
when joyful shouts of ‘hosanna!’
became angry cries of ‘crucify him!’
The whole city was in turmoil, asking ‘who is this?’
And wondered what to do about this man in their midst. ... ... ...

Our whole world is in turmoil:
earthquakes rocking the very foundations of the planet;
waves washing people, towns and villages away.
People crying out to be saved:
to be liberated from the oppression of tyrants –
attempting to bring down governments.
And people, clinging onto power regardless of cost.
A world of banks collapsing, financial downturns, government cutbacks, job losses –
People crying out for security in the midst of instability;
People calling out for justice in the face of injustice;
And for fairness in the face of corruption.

Our whole world is in turmoil and perhaps in the midst of it all, we too wonder who Jesus is...
And how a man, riding into Jerusalem on a donkey 2 000 years ago could possibly have any relevance to where we are now;
how this man could possibly have anything useful to tell us about the politics of power,
or of where true security might be found?

And yet...
The very act of riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, not a war-horse,
was a rebuke against a ‘might is right’ mentality –
a reminder that power in and of itself is not bad, but that rather, the way in which we choose to use our power can have disastrous consequences: on the planet, on other people.

Riding into town on a donkey was a subversive act that turned the definition of power onto its head: the all-powerful creator of the universe demonstrating that true power is to be found in service:
Service to God, and to others –
a power that has at its heart utter vulnerability –
That powerful vulnerability seen in the incarnation:
Of God made human:
emptying himself:
Becoming a tiny scrap of human flesh born in a stable,
dependent upon the hospitality of the human heart to take him in...
Of God, made human:
challenging the power-brokers of his time by emptying himself upon a cross
and overturning the horror and power of death in the process.

Our whole world is in turmoil:
and into this broken, messy hurting world
Jesus rides still...
for, all who follow him are his body.
The sixteenth century mystic, Teresa of Avila,
put it best by noting:
Christ has no body now on earth but ours,
no hands but ours,
no feet but ours,
ours are the eyes through which to look out
Christ's compassion to the world
ours are the feet with which he is to go about
doing good;
ours are the hands with which he is to bless all now.

As Christ’s hands, feet, and body,
We are called to challenge systemic structures of sin and injustice – be it political, financial, or ecclesial;
As Christ’s hands, feet, and body,
We are called to be his compassionate community of care...
being at the margins with those dehumanised by the system
standing with the voiceless, the disregarded. The overlooked.
It’s easy to follow Jesus when we simply make him into the person we want to follow.
To mould him to fit around us,
around our needs,
around our expectations.
It‘s a different prospect,
a much harder task,
to follow the one who rides into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey moving steadily towards his death –
a much more frightening task to empty ourselves of our own definitions of power and allow ourselves to be powerfully and utterly vulnerable…
but we don’t do it alone –
we follow the one on the donkey,
we walk the same path as those who have followed him down through the winding years –
a holy company of pilgrims bound together in and through and by his love,
committed to sharing that love with others.

The whole city was in turmoil, asking ‘who is this?’
Our whole world is in turmoil…
And in the midst of it all…
Who do we say Jesus is…
And what impact will that make on our lives,
the lives of others,
And the life of the world? Amen.

je suis arrivée à Genève

Gosh - a whole month living and working in Geneva - with the CofS congregation meeting in what used to be Knox and Goodman's church when they were in exile.
Marvellous.
I love Ministries Council for going outside of the box and letting me do this - hurrah! 
A super opportunity.
Arrived yesterday and wondering what the crucial thing is I have forgotten.  I expect I shall find out presently.  Have at least now worked out the intricacies of the Swiss electrical system 'no, we don't use European adaptors, we use Swiss'.

woman at the well...

The gospel reading for today is taken from John 4: 5-42.
It's the story of the meeting between Jesus and the Samaritan woman, at a well, in the heat of the midday sun.
There's an implication in many commentaries on the passage, and indeed, from the poem above taken from youtube, that the woman was 'dodgy'.
That she had a slightly dubious morality.
Five husbands?
Currently living with a man who was not her husband?
Knowing glances all around: we know why she's coming to the well in midday when 'normal' people come in the cool of the morning and evening.
She's sinful - 'unclean' and ashamed.

And yet, I've struggled for some time with that particular hermeneutic - the hermeneutic of shame, if you like.  Thinking back to the cultural context, I wonder if it is equally as valid to interject a hermeneutic of compassion?
So, a way of reading this text that takes into account:

• the husbands: we do not know what had happened to them.  
• Divorce was easy to get, a matter of the chap getting a certificate and that was that. [Mt 19:7; Mk 10:2-5].  Through potentially very little fault of her own, the husbands could have just dumped her really rather easily.
• There was also the case of Levirate marriage.  Had she been unfortunate enough to have been married down the brotherly line.  This is not to suggest all five were brothers, but it does give an interesting twist to the tale even if a couple of them were.  [see Mt 22: 23-33; Mk 12: 18-27; Lk 20: 27-40]  Perhaps her reputation was more about being 'the kiss of death' if you were unlucky enough to marry her...?  Small village, rumours, fearful people, not always a winning combination.
• the man she was living with: we know nothing about her family.  No mention of parents or siblings.  Was she alone?  For her own protection, was it safer for her to attach herself to a chap than be alone?  And for a woman to live alone was rather unthinkable in that culture.

I do keep wandering back to this unnamed woman:
has she been overly, and unfairly, maligned?
Was she just doing what she needed to do to survive?
And how does the water she finds at the well through her conversation with Jesus transform her, and her village?

And then my pointing finger points back at me:
how often do I unfairly malign others/ label them/ and through doing so, dehumanise them when they don't fit in with my particular hermeneutic of life?
How do I allow the water of life that is offered transform me...and in turn, through its sharing, allow it to transform others?
Perhaps I am picking up the theme from last week again - the wideness of God's mercy.
Who do I share the water with?
Who do I refuse to give water to?

So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 

Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, 

was sitting by the well. 

It was about noon. 

A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, 

“Give me a drink.” 

(His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) 

The Samaritan woman said to him, 

“How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” 

(Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) 

Jesus answered her, 

“If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, 

‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, 

and he would have given you living water.” 

The woman said to him, 

“Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. 

Where do you get that living water? 

Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, 

and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” 

Jesus said to her, 

“Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, 

but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty.

The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water 

gushing up to eternal life.” 

The woman said to him, 

“Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty 

or have to keep coming here to draw water.” 

Jesus said to her, 

“Go, call your husband, and come back.” 

The woman answered him, 

“I have no husband.” 

Jesus said to her, 

“You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; 

for you have had five husbands, 

and the one you have now is not your husband. 

What you have said is true!” 

The woman said to him, 

“Sir, I see that you are a prophet. 

Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, 

but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” 

Jesus said to her, 

“Woman, believe me, the hour is coming 

when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem.

You worship what you do not know; 

we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. 

But the hour is coming, and is now here, 

when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, 

for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. 

God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” 

The woman said to him, 

“I know that Messiah is coming” (who is called Christ). 

“When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.” 

Jesus said to her, 

“I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”

Just then his disciples came. 

They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, 

but no one said, 

“What do you want?” 

or, “Why are you speaking with her?” 

Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. 

She said to the people, 

“Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! 

He cannot be the Messiah, can he?” 

They left the city and were on their way to him. ...

Many Samaritans from that city believed in him 

because of the woman’s testimony, 

“He told me everything I have ever done.” 

So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; 

and he stayed there two days. 

And many more believed because of his word. 

They said to the woman, 

“It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, 

for we have heard for ourselves, 

and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.”

an 'in tents' experience?

It seemed like a crazy, over-complicated idea.
It also seemed like fun.
Fun won and so the scene was set:

• long, suitably lenten purple cloth [with flowers from the previous week decorating the first section]
• a small tent, on cloth, by flowers,
• prior to worship, everyone handed a coloured plastic ball with the order of service
• several dubious signs with 'ooooh', 'aaaah', 'baaaa', 'phew', and 'stomp feet'
• a group of incredibly cooperative and fun kids
• a congregation who are wonderfully long-suffering and who have a fabulous sense of the ridiculous

Prelude:
As part of an ongoing collage aimed to last over Lent, there was I, Sunday morning, sitting on the chancel steps at 'leafy parish in the burgh', with the young 'uns.
We'd been listening to the reading about God's call to Abram to up and leave, destination unknown.  I do love the honesty of children: when I wondered if any of them might have listened to the reading, several did say 'no', and a couple said 'sort of'.  They'd managed to listen well enough to work out the gist of the story, and that was the main thing.

Part the First: I wondered if we might retell the story, making particular use of sound effects - cue signs as per above list.
I further wondered whether those sitting in the seats might make passable sheep noises... they were really rather excellent at this.  And so, we re-told the story together - pointing at various signs on the way, listening to the 'ooohs' and the 'aaahs', not to mention the 'baaahs'.

Part the Second: as we collapsed on the stairs from our story telling exertions, I mentioned the plastic balls.  Knowing that to avoid sniggers I needed to be quite specific in my articulations, I noted that these were 'journey balls' and we talked a little of those things that helped/ didn't help us become closer to God.  I invited the congregation to hold their 'journey' balls and reflect quietly on their journey with God.
All was quiet - even the kids... miraculously, no balls were used as missiles.
We then prayed.

Part the Third: having happily remembered to grab some large plastic bins, the kids then collected the 'journey' balls and threw them in the bi... er, gently placed them in the 'journey' ball receptacles, while we sang 'one more step'.  The balls were put into the tent, through holes in the top, or by small people throwing themselves bodily inside said tent.
[No broken bones is always a good sign of a successful all-age address]
And there they'll stay until Easter - the balls, not the kids - a colourful reminder that as we journey with God, we are not alone - we are in this together.

Finis: I love it when a plan comes together.
I also love it when folks get that 'reflective' and 'playful' don't have to be mutually exclusive.
I also love it when the people on the following weeks have to deal with tents and coloured balls and I will have fled the country to Switzerland... :)

Lent 2A sermon: 'A Tale of Two Journeys'

Too woolly by half... c'est la vie!!

Texts: Gen. 12: 1-9;  John 3: 1-17

Let us pray:

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God our strength and our redeemer.  Amen.

Two journeys:

One made in the light of day;

The other made in the silence of the night.

One made through the barren wastes and oases, with family and friends – companions on the way – [and some rather noisy sheep]

The other made through a breathless maze of city streets,

a solitary shadow slinking through the dark.

Two journeys:

One journey made at the behest of the God who spoke and said to Abram:

Go. 

Leave.

Leave your own country,

Leave your kin.

Go.

I’ll show you another country

I’ll make of you a great nation.

In that place, and as you journey,

You will be a blessing to others.

The other journey?

Nicodemus, the Pharisee:

driven by his own needs,

his own questions,

his particular assumptions,

and theological viewpoint...

searching, seeking,

fearful,

and in the dark on so many levels.

Two journeys:

Yet with strangely similar parallels –

People travelling to places they had never been,

whether geographically, intellectually, or spiritually.

Both journeys requiring openness,

the readiness to embrace newness:

new frontiers of place,

of heart,

of mind and of soul.

Both journeys requiring a degree of risk:

Of having to leave some things behind –

a comfortable settled life,

people, places,

positions of power, attitudes.

Both journeys that had at their heart an encounter with God:

the God of Abram,

and God made flesh –

the God who speaks,

and the Living Word, Jesus.

Two journeys.

Two very different conversations.

Two very different mindsets.

But both filled with the potential of transformation,

both filled with possibilities...

and both filled with faith:

Abram was perhaps the more obvious – he seems to get the better press –

as he responded willingly to God’s call to embrace an unknown future –

packing up the tents and launching out

just at that time in his life when he could have been enjoying the benefits of his bus pass,

or relaxing in the jacuzzi in the oasis

and talking about days gone by.

But instead of looking back to the past,

And, having passed the prime of his life,

instead, he looked to the future and walked towards it.

But Nicodemus, too, was a man of faith –

doubt does not mean lack of faith.

A blogging friend, and inspiration, Jan Richardson, writes:

I'm intrigued by Nicodemus,

and by how intrigued he is by Jesus.

I love the wonderful detail that John includes about Nicodemus in chapter 19,

... Joseph of Arimathea tends the body of Jesus...

"Nicodemus, who had at first come to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds."

And then Nicodemus and Joseph together wrap Jesus' body with the spices and linen cloth and place his body in a tomb.
We don't know a ... lot about Nicodemus, but this strikes me as a wondrous glimpse into the effect that his night-time conversation with Jesus had on him.’

Somewhere, deep within Nicodemus, in amongst the doubts and questions, was a hope,

a faith that this rabbi, Jesus, would have the answers to the questions in his heart. 

Even though he chose to meet with Jesus in a clandestine way,

meet him he did.

And had he been discovered, he may very well have lost his position,

his status as a leader and a teacher of the Jews,

as a person who was respected. 

And yet, he risked it all and made a journey to Jesus.

In doing so,

Nicodemus, cautious, hesitant and afraid, acknowledged that God appeared to ‘be’ with Jesus, and talked of signs and wonders...

And was then rebuked quite soundly by Jesus the Teacher,

and told that he really didn’t understand.

In the rebuke,

and in the ensuing conversation,

Nicodemus was to get a lesson in the wideness of faith that he didn’t quite bargain for. 

We so easily get caught up in John 3, verse 16, that we can overlook verse 17 –

‘It was not to judge the world that God sent his Son into the world, but that through him the world might be saved.’

And in the Greek, it not only means to save or rescue, but also means to heal, and to preserve.

And this for the entire world... not just the people Nicodemus perhaps had assumed. 

A tale of two journeys:

journeys about new birth, new creation, new life,

new relationship with God...

the gift of a fresh start.

And perhaps, in this season of Lent,

not two journeys,

but a tale of three:

for we also are a journeying people,

responding to God’s call in our lives.

Sometimes, we hear God’s call and respond like Abram –

even though we might be comfortable where we are, we may nod to ourselves, smile, and respond freely, willingly...

and jump into the next part of the journey,

and in the process, surprise not only those around us, who might think we’re utterly mad,

but perhaps surprise ourselves as well.

At other times as we walk with God,

we may be like Nicodemus –

questioning, fearful, hesitant...

yet even in the midst of the doubts,

still respond to God’s call, as we wrestle and fight and pray.

                                                                                 
As Abram and Nicodemus responded to God, and were challenged to think beyond their own personal boundaries –

or, if you like, to think outside of the box –

we too are challenged in the way we respond to God’s call.

How do we journey?

Who do we journey with?

Who are we afraid to journey with?...

Whose company do we refuse and

who do we try to prevent from undertaking the journey with us?

There’s an old hymn I’ve been thinking of recently, which says:

‘There’s a wideness in God’s mercy,

Like the wideness of the sea;

There’s a kindness in his justice,

Which is more than liberty...’

As God’s called people

We are called not only to journey with God,

And not only to journey with those who are like us –

or indeed, who like us and who we like.

There’s a wideness in God’s mercy which compels us to widen our own boundaries,

to open the boxes,

to question our assumptions about who fits in

and who does not.

The season of Lent gives us time and space, as we journey to the Cross and beyond it, to the Resurrection, to reflect upon the way in which we respond to God’s calling – both as individuals, but also as the gathered community of God’s people here in [parish in the 'burgh].

We step into a future without compass or map, called to take risks,

called to new levels of trust and reliance on God.

Instead of exclusionary parochialism –

a version of ‘this is a local church for local people’ –

instead of defining people out of the community "according to our own tastes and predispositions" [Eugene Peterson]

God calls us to a universal and inclusive embrace of everyone and

"all peoples on earth."

We are called to be the community of the fresh start,

the second, the third, the fourth,

the infinite chance:

to demonstrate the healing, saving, wideness of God’s mercy.

‘The purpose of Lent is not to dwell on suffering,

or to spend 40 days bewailing

our manifold sins and wickedness

for the sake of feeling our pain. 

Lent is about engaging in the ongoing process

of renewal, regeneration, and new birth,

it is about encouraging us to trust, and to risk,

going forth and being sent out with the promise of new life.’  [Angela Askew]

And back to another verse from the hymn mentioned earlier:

‘For the love of God is broader

Than the grasp of human mind;

And the heart of the Eternal

Is most wonderfully kind.’

The God who spoke to Abram and asked him to go,

to leave his kin

and his country

and who said that Abram would be a blessing to others

is the same God that we worship.

As we journey with God through Lent and beyond,

may we respond to God’s call,

the call to trust God’s creative,

transforming power in our lives,

the call that urges,

entices us into an unknown future,

a future that is filled with new possibilities.

And may we, like Abram, be a blessing:

a blessing to one another -

those we know

And those we do not.

May we be a blessing –

as we share the good news of

God’s healing, restoring grace to the world....

AMEN.

you don't want to be a raisin in the vineyard of the Lord...

I've always been a bit of an Amy Grant fan - great voice, some excellent songs. But...I guess everyone can have an off day... tho' to be kind, Amy was about about 15 at the time. A funky li'l country and western ye-haar kind of tune and ... remember kids, you don't want to be a raisin...



Lyrics:
I am a small and lonely grape,
Clutching to the vine,
Waiting for the day when i'll become my savior's wine!

Oh, wouldn't french cuisine just yearn it,
I've eternity to ferment,
But knowing me I'd end up ripple
In a cellar of chablis.

Are you a small and lonely grape
Clutching to the vine,
Waiting for the day when you'll become your savior's wine?

Don't give up hope ye heavy laden,
You don't want to be a raisin;
There's a grape grape joy in jesus,
In the vineyard of the lord.

Equal?

Meant to post this on the 8th - International Women's Day - but got sidetracked by Mr Knox... which has its own particular irony given the caricature of him as a misogynist, which is not entirely true....

Words I loathe...#1 'frape'

This is a somewhat meandering rant.
A friend of mine has posted, much more eloquently than I, about her rage at the use of the word 'frape'

First, what is meant by the term?
An example: you happen to leave your computer unlocked, with your Facebook page open... a friend walks by, notices and decides to play a joke on you and messes about with your status updates/ info.  You come back and find various bemused comments regarding said changes.  Either you, or someone commenting exclaims that you have been 'fraped' - Facebook raped.  Other comments ensue, such as: 'well, if you leave your computer unlocked, you're just asking for it'.  Oh jolly japes, and comic moments....
However, underneath all of the 'banter', is an appalling and unthinking trivialisation of the crime of rape itself.

While hijacking someone's computer may be rather crass behaviour, to equate messing about on Facebook to being raped goes beyond crass and moves into the realms of eye-popping incredulity.  I loathe the term 'frape' as it casualises or makes light of the serious horror of a particularly agonising type of violent attack.  The other week I was listening to Radio 4 - an interview with a woman from Northern Uganda who had been mutilated by the Lord's Resistance Army.  While she was not raped, the group itself appears to use not only mutilation, but rape and sexual enslavement of women as part of its campaign of terror.  Elsewhere, in the Democratic Republic of Congo, women are systematically raped: a particularly grim strategic /deliberate tool of war.  These are not the only places in the world where women are violently and appallingly brutalised.

Mind you, I still find it shocking that it is deemed to be acceptable in a court of law to ask female rape victims why they were out so late at night, in a particular part of town, and what they were wearing.
Nope.  Not acceptable, actually.
In the same way that nobody walking down the street is just asking to be beaten over the head with a hammer, nobody 'asks' to be raped.
That anyone could even believe that someone is asking to be horrifically assaulted just because they happen to be wearing something deemed 'provocative' astonishes me: it is an all too convenient shifting of responsibility onto the person attacked, when in reality, the attacker is utterly responsible.

The term 'Frape' is an alarming sign to me that as a society there is still an, if not overt, subconscious understanding that violence against women is not only tolerable, but acceptable.
What part of 'no' don't some folk understand?
Hence my twitchiness and loathing of 'frape'.
It is not 'hilarious'.
Just say 'no' to using it, yeah?

drunkenness, slander and fornication...

I occasionally worry about my love of the wacky, bizarre, and slightly gross - on the other hand, I do get to harness that into a PhD!
The other day I came across an account from the Burntisland records from June 1604, concerning one James Young.
'James Young confessit that the last Saboth in tyme of the reading of the word he vomit in the kyrk, his stomach trublitt with sundrie drink of new and old aill’
He was required to pay a fine and threatened with banishment if he repeated his ‘knavish tricks’.
Perhaps the moral of the lesson is don’t mix your drinks...and if you do, don't do so before going to church!?

It was an odd week, last week.  I gave my first ever uni. lecture - this to a class of honours students.  We examined the establishment and purpose of kirk discipline, and talked through the actual disciplinary process, both within the context of a kirk session and then within the framework of worship.  I did manage to include the story of James throwing up in church, which seemed to appeal - it got a good giggle, at any rate.
One slightly awkward technological moment when I looked at the powerpoint and realised I should have been a couple of slides further on.  Hey ho.

While I'm now no stranger to standing up in front of groups of people and doing things, my more usual context is within worship.  So it was a tad strange to be doing the lecture and watch pens flying across notepads/ fingers tapping furiously on keyboards.  The thought floated through my mind at one point that I could have said anything and they may have written it down, revised it, and later put it in an exam answer: that was a little sobering!  And I hadn't quite thought about closing the lecture - I had the general 'in conclusion' bit to round off, but then, had it been worship where I would normally conclude with a blessing and dismissal, Lecture Room 1 was not the place.... I stopped and said 'thank you'. They all kindly applauded, I blushed, and then stammered 'er, any questions?' 
It was all slightly surreal - but it was good fun, and I was totally shattered afterwards.  Have even more respect for those who do this full-time.  I suspect you get used to it, but even so....

This coming week, we'll actually be walking through the disciplinary process: the students have agreed to have a go at staging the drama of discipline in their seminar - what stars. 
Supervisor and I currently organising 'props'. 
I get to make a large hat and paint 'penitent' on it as a starter for ten.
Who said history was dull? :)    

the tale of the grumpy snowdrop

I've never been the biggest fan of winter.  In June, when the summer solstice hits, the phrase 'well, the nights are fair drawing in the noo' jumps to my lips and a little slough of despond enters my soul.  When winter does actually hit, I get the logs piled high by the fireplace, put fairy lights up to cheer... and spend post-Christmas searching desperately for the first sign of snowdrops: gentle heralds of spring and light and warmth to follow - that all is not given over to the darkness.  Which is possibly why a story in the news today quite tickled: grumpy snowdrops.  Love it.  And I learnt a new word as well: 'galanthophiles' - lovers of snowdrops.
Now all I want to do is set up a thought bubble above this pic of said grumpy snowdrop and imagine what is making it quite so grumpy.  :D

And now, back to writing a lecture on discipline!

pop idol meets Paul Tillich in the Church Times

A student pal at uni. had brought in his copy of the Church Times - with front cover a full page shot of the ubiquitous Cheryl Cole.  This, apparently not an attempt to boost flagging circulation, but rather to flag up an article about our modern cult of celebrity - or [pop] idol worship. 
The article was a snappy one by Pete Ward and had a rather neat hookline that ran along the lines of:
"Cheryl Cole may be omnipresent but she is not the ground of anyone's being."

Marvellous - pop idol meets Paul Tillich - happy days! :)

Problem students? No problem!

Picture at left currently making me laugh - probably very inappropriately.
However, I am most fortunate to have had very affable students in my tutorial group both this semester and last.  They will not be going in the 'pot'!  Delighted that my lot all passed last semester, and willing them to do well this time around.

In between tutoring, palaeography, and blood feud I am kept very busy, however I have now booked my flights for Geneva.  I'll be spending April there and getting to know the current Church of Scotland congregation.  Worshipping in what was the english speaking exiles church where Knox and Goodman were ministers - an odd, spiritual/ historical pilgrimmage - v. exciting.  Am curious to see how the dynamics work - a CofS congregation outwith Scotland: how it works, why folk come, how it differs/is similar to CofS in Scotland, as well as the ecumenical context.  I think I am ridiculously fortunate that the minister and session have agreed to this, as well as 121.  Now just pondering how to make the most of this amazing opportunity :)
Meanwhile... time to get back to the bloodfeud!