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!

Journeying Out - reflections on the book

Recently, as part of ministry training, I had to read Journeying Out: a new approach to Christian mission by Ann Morisy and write some thoughts on it.  Certainly the book has provided much food for thought, although it was not the most enjoyable of experiences, and indeed it was a rather frustrating read overall.  Here's a snippet of my journey with Journeying Out....
-------------------------------------------------

According to the description of Journeying Out provided on the back jacket, the book ‘demonstrates just how much society needs the churches.’ It is an odd coincidence that, as I write this, a recent BBC news report has flagged up the toleration of the Church in Cuba, and that churches in Cuba are becoming much-needed places of care in the face of a collapsing governmental social care system. The report observes that ‘authorities are increasingly turning to the Church for help on social and other issues in recognition of the size and influence of organised religion in the country.’  In her book, Ann Morisy focuses on this influence, and on how the Church has the potential to be an instrument for the transformation of local communities: both an agent for change and an agent of mission. The title, Journeying Out, neatly summarises the philosophy of Morisy, namely, that God’s people are called to be risk-takers who journey out from the comfort and security of the walls of the Church/church and engage in meaningful, relation-oriented encounters with the people in their community/ies. Despite her assertions to the contrary, however, the problem that I continue to wrestle with, even after reading this book, is her seeming reduction of the Church to a type of social work agency.

In order to examine Morisy’s ‘new’ approach to mission this reflection is broken into three areas. The first section will focus upon those being approached: the target audience. Here, the post-Christian context will be discussed focusing on spirituality and society. The following section will explore Morisy’s understanding of how to approach mission and will focus upon obliquity versus overt mission. In the last section, the nature of discipleship will be considered, by examining Morisy’s 8-step process.

Section One/ Who is being approached? The target audience.
Morisy describes the society that we in Britain now live in as 'complex, multifaith, multicultural, fragmented.’ [14] She further notes the post-Christian context of our society and its implications for mission, stating that ‘in a materialist earthbound culture we have to do prior work before people can contemplate the presence of God, let alone worship.’ [146] First, I question her theological understanding of the nature of revelation, particularly the suggestion that revelation is caused through, or by, ‘our prior work’. The ‘prior work’ is not ‘ours’ but God’s: God reveals Godself; revelation comes through the divine initiative.

Second, although I agree that we live a post-Christian culture I disagree with Morisy with regard to contemplating the presence of God. Although Morisy draws on the work of Polanyi who posited that as humans we know more than we can say, it is a little surprising that she appears to dismiss the possibility of ‘contemplation of God’ by those out with the Church; it jars with Polanyi’s thesis. Further, she cites Levinas and his understanding of the ‘other’ with regard to human relational contexts, and so it is somewhat puzzling that she seems to ignore his work when it comes to matters spiritual. For Levinas, the ‘other’ can never be fully known – or can only be known through what they choose to reveal. This works within both the human to human relationship, as well as a God to human relationship. [see n. 1] With both Levinas and Polanyi, the logical conclusion to draw would rather be that a sense of mystery and spirituality within those outside of the Church should not come as a surprise, nor be so readily dismissed.

Morisy rejects too easily what I believe is an innate capacity for humans to have moments of otherness and the deep need to make ritual gestures at key life moments. While these expressions – such as the leaving of cards, toys, football strips, flowers by the place where a child may have been killed – may be described as a kind of ‘folk religion’ or ‘neo-paganism’, they are nevertheless possible useful entry points into meaningful spiritual encounter; I suspect if we dismiss them, we are foolish. What turns over in my mind as I observe such subconscious ritual gestures is the fascinating intersecting of a post-Christian, science, technology and ‘truth’ equals ‘fact’ society – its ‘earthboundness’ – with that spark of spirituality within the soul. Is there a point of connection that can be usefully made within the context of mission?

Section Two/ How are they being approached? Oblique versus overt approaches.
A key concept used by Morisy is the ‘principle of obliquity’, which she defines as ‘the notion that in complex situations pursuing an objective head-on may work against the achievement of that object, instead an indirect or “oblique” approach is required.’ [240] She wonders if the best approach for doing mission in our society is:
'by way of an oblique route? And by way of this obliquity, which begins with solidarity with the poor, we might discover the means by which we are both being church and doing mission.' [14]
However both oblique and overt methods of approach have, throughout the history of the Church, been used; it is not a ‘new’ approach. Further, Morisy appears to present both approaches almost as polar opposites; either/or, as against both/and. Both approaches are part of a process, and both connected: to use one without the other would ultimately fail to pursue the holistic approach Morisy advocates.

The danger of focusing solely on the overt is, as Morisy herself observes, to miss the whole human being; talking of living bread is pointless if the person one is talking to is physically starving. Likewise, the danger of keeping one’s approach oblique may lead to physical nutrition but spiritual starvation. In addition, the oblique without the balance of the overt risks tipping into the very professionalised/ detached provision of social care with ‘service users’ and ‘clients’ that Morisy cautions against in her introduction. This raises a thorny question and cause of my rumbling disquiet expressed in the introduction to this paper: how do we as Church love our neighbour without getting caught up in a process leading to professionalization? In his blog, Duncan Macleod asks the other thorny question that follows from this:
'Do we therefore stop producing resources that help people with sharing faith? Do we just encourage people to spend time with their friends and hope that they’ll unconsciously make the connections? Do we tell people to forget the mission statements and priorities and get people to just ‘get out there’?'

Rather than falling into the trap, or cycle, of creating more social care agencies and structures, as followers of a God who is passionate about justice and who cries out against injustice, perhaps our role is to be advocates who cry out against injustice: who speak out, speak up on behalf of those who have been crushed and silenced by systemic structures of power? [see n. 2] This does not mean we cease to actively help those in need, but that help must not be in place of what wider society/the government should be providing; it is a stop-gap not an end in itself.

Section Three/ Who is doing the approaching?  The nature of Discipleship.
Morisy, in language not dissimilar to Church reformers down through the ages, observes that:
the Church, like the chronic alcoholic, has to go through a period of detox, clearing out from the system the toxins that would otherwise bring death. Power has been the poison that has prevented the institutional Church from understanding the Gospel.[233]
Using the motif of AA she observes that ‘the Church has to face up to the fact that its life is unmanageable and take steps to reorder every aspect of its life.’[234] Noting that real power is found in being vulnerable, she states that ‘it is when we are stripped or our power that we discover a deep spirituality.’ [234] This is a good reminder about God’s kindom values overturning worldly definitions of power, and that God’s people should seek to foster both vertical and horizontal relationships, not seek status. [see n. 3] That said, I am left wondering about where Morisy is placing the faith focus, particularly with regard to the 8-step process she models on the AA programme. Perhaps I am bandying semantics but the emphasis appears to sideline God as we focus on, and have faith in, the process: it appears less about God’s power and more about self-empowerment. She states ‘if we put our faith in the process... we rehearse...we practise... then grace.’ [235] In Chapter Two of the book, she notes that:
our missionary endeavours, therefore, have to harness the enigmatic ability of the most unlikely and vulnerable to generate a force that moves us closer to the kingdom of God – and to God Himself.[38] First, God is the ground of our being out of which our practice should emerge, it is not our endeavours that move us to God – God has already moved towards us in the incarnation. This comes back to the revelatory context discussed earlier: God acts and we respond. Second, the person of Christ and the practice are bound together, otherwise the focus becomes the practice, not Christ, and subsequently, what we do is therefore a work. Morisy’s 8-step formula of ‘we do x then grace follows’ becomes a theology of work and utterly loses the point of grace. Or perhaps I’ve been reading too much Calvin lately.

Morisy repeatedly berates the structure of the church, and highlights – rightly – its historical obsession with worldly power, calling Christ’s followers to dismantle the structure and demonstrate vulnerability as real power. The paradox, however, is that Morisy herself seems too institutionalised, too much in the system, seemingly in a love-hate relationship with systemic structures to fully journey out. In order to be truly vulnerable, we must be able to let go of protective structures that we can sometimes hold close like a security blanket. God is our security, not an 8-step process.

Further, the nature of discipleship appears to be boiled down to following a programme. She notes that:
Jesus has demonstrated and urged us to follow distinctive processes or steps that will enable our life to be different, and to be a life with fullness beyond anything we can contemplate. However, I suspect discipleship is both simpler and more difficult than this: Jesus says, ‘follow me and I will make you fish for people.' [Matt. 4:19ff] It is not necessarily an efficient way to approach mission – there is no blue-print and God uses imperfect human beings to carry out the task. We stumble on as flawed followers, empowered by the Spirit and grace cascades, because God is gracious, not because we are following a system. This does not mean disciples are called to be disorganised, but we must always be wary of falling into following a system and placing our faith in it, and not in God. Mission is done best is when it is relational, not mechanical – when God’s people understand that they are loved beyond their wildest imaginings and, empowered by that love, learn to love themselves and love their neighbour. Love is the starting point for mission.


Final thoughts.
Ultimately, I found Morisy presented what I would term ‘macramé’ theology: an approach full of holes, desperately trying to tick ‘right on’ politically correct boxes, being more ornament than substance, and not really a new thing at all. Further, her arguments were a contradictory mass of sociological knots couched in the kind of pseudo-academese one employs when not entirely clear of one’s arguments. [*grins*: it takes one to know one!] Whilst the author advocated a more accessible/ vulnerable approach, it did seem rather ironic that she appeared to hide behind a wall of academic jargon, written in a ponderously inaccessible style. On the other hand, that she chose to do so, whilst slightly infuriating, was strangely encouraging: it reminded me that no matter how much we know, whatever systems we might devise, that in the end there is an inherent mystery and simplicity when it comes to mission.

Mystery inasmuch as we do not journey out alone, but rather in relationship with God and the people of God; and mystery also in the way success is measured. Is the fruit of successful mission a church the size of five football stadiums and a tithing membership with an average age under fifty? Is it to be found in smaller ways: people noticing an increase of homelessness and responding to that localised need? Is it the result of a quiet conversation with someone over coffee in a shopping mall that many years later may lead to someone acknowledging the God-shaped hole inside? Mission is multi-layered: it is best approached contextually as opposed to a ‘one size fits all’ or 8-step, or ‘4 spiritual laws’ process. The approach will also be as diverse as the vastly diverse group of people that comprise the body of Christ and to the diversity of people to whom they are called to tell the old, old story. Simplicity in that, we are invited to respond to God’s mission initiative and, as part of that response, to share with others the story of a God who reveals Godself to humanity and who wants to be in relationship with us. We are to share that story honestly and vulnerably, admitting our own frailties and faults, and like one who has travelled the desert and finally come to the oasis, we journey out of the oasis, back into the desert, trusting in God that we find and help others to quench their thirst with living water. [c.f. John 4: 5-15; John 7: 37-38]



NOTES:
n.1/ Within the context of divine revelation, of course, there’s a paradox: God reveals Godself in Jesus and in this manner is fully known, and yet, can we as finite creatures fully know the infinite God? I think it becomes an ongoing knowing and learning, learning and knowing that takes us all our lives and moves into eternity. So, an inaugurated eschatology perhaps: yes, we know God and continue to get to know God for all eternity.

n.2/ Biblical passages that come to mind concerning God’s passion for justice: Jer. 7: 5-7 ‘For if you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly one with another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place, in the land that I gave of old to your ancestors for ever and ever.’ Deut. 24: 14-15; Ps. 41: 1-3; Is. 58: 1-9; Jer. 7: 5-7; Amos 5:24; Mic. 6: 6-8; Christ as stranger – Mat. 25: 31-46; on who is my neighbour – Luke 10: 25-37.

n.3/ ‘Kindom’ here is deliberate: it emphasises the relational context and moves away from a hierarchical power dynamic that ‘kingdom’ can have.

blood feud and fornication...

Stool of repentance, St Andrews.

busy... busy... busy:
up to my oxters in bloodfeud and fornication.
Well, immersed in transcribing records from Burntisland Kirk Session records late 16th-early-17th c.  Finally the palaeography is beginning to pay off.
The laird of Orrok's son was a bit of a naughty boy, and Orrok senior wasn't that much better....
Normal blogging service will resume soon.
Aaaand back to it.

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.

light into darkness into light

Rembrandt's 'the stoning of St Stephen', 1625

The way in which Christmas has fallen this year means that straight after the festivities and joyful celebrations of yesterday, we move immediately into the much less jolly suggested lectionary readings for today.  One track takes us to the stoning of Stephen - first Christian martyr.

The alternative track moves us from the celebration of the baby in the manger to the slaughter of the innocents by Herod.

Slaughter of the Innocents - Duccio Di Buoninsegna

It is odd timing.
Discomforting,
disquieting,
and definitely discombobulating. 

Through Advent the build up of hope, the sense of expectation, of light in the darkness - of light defeating the darkness - led us to that blazing star hovering over a stable in Bethlehem.  Choruses of angels proclaimed the birth of the Messiah; shepherds and sages looked upon the baby with wonder.
For a brief moment in time, the light shone and fearful hearts were cheered. 
And then, in a fingersnap of time, the darkness seemed to descend again.


Is that it?
It feels a little like the police officer who tells onlookers:
'move along now, nothing here to see.'
Perhaps this is where faith comes into play?
We move from darkness to light to darkness.
Perhaps the glimpses of light are like stepping stones of hope along the way, that keep the fires of faith burning: sometimes a flicker, sometimes a steadier, brighter flame.
We move from darkness to light to darkness... but we do come back to light, and therein is the hope, the faith, that this is not all there is:
the light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.

a digital nativity?

This vid. has been doing the rounds on Facebook.  V. cute.  I think my favourite bit was the travel planning option 'avoid Romans'.  Enjoy!!

The welcoming church 3: Welcome - a simple and elementary matter...

I do love my research sometimes, especially when I come across such gems as the following entry from Kirkwall U.P. Church, 1894, re. elders and church welcome:

'they are not there for the mere purpose of standing at the plate, but for the purpose of giving a kindly welcome to the worshippers as they pass - were it but a pleasant smile or nod of recognition.  A shake of the hand would not be out of place....This would show the kind of interest which...elders are expected to take in the membership of the congregation....All of us should do what we can to promote each other's comfort, to encourage each other in well-doing, and to foster the spirit of brotherly love.  These are simple and elementary matters, but we require to be reminded of them.'

Seems the difficulties involved with regard to the 'simple and elementary matter' of welcome is no new thing!  Perhaps it's the raging extrovert in me, but I really don't see how difficult it is to welcome folks when they dare to cross the threshold... but it does remind me of a story.

I remember visiting a church [that shall be nameless] for a particular service held annually.  Dragged a pal along and we walked in and sat in the back pew [so we would know when to sit, stand, etc].  An older woman wandered in, stopped at the pew we were sitting in, fixed us with a baleful glare, made a loud choking noise of displeasure and then rather unhappily plonked herself into the pew in front of us, shaking her head.  Friend and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows, a bare glimmer of a smile, and together had the unspoken thought that we were, perhaps not this woman's flavour of the month.  Several minutes later, another woman, similar age, also wandered in, stopped at the end of the pew momentarily, and then spotted her friend - woman in front of us.  She waved and then sat next to friend, who muttered rather loudly 'we're having to slum it in this pew - ours is taken.'  Cue eyebrows in pew behind being raised even higher.
For sheer devillment, I tapped the woman on the shoulder and said in incredibly apologetic tones, and with the most sincerity that I could muster: 'Goodness, I'm terribly sorry, I couldn't help but overhear what you said.  We're visitors here and really don't know the drill.  We didn't realise this was your pew - would you like us to move?'
Said woman was about to open her mouth with what I think would have been a 'yes, get out of my pew' comment, when her friend turned around, gave us a huge smile, welcomed us to the church, made sure we had orders of service, invited us for the post-church cheese and wine, and said 'my dear, no, not at all.  There's no such thing as 'my pew' - we do normally sit there, but it will be good for us to sit somewhere else.  We hope you enjoy the service.'  Utter graciousness.  Although her friend was simultaneously giving her a death glare....

Many are called.
Few are chosen.
Some get seats.
Others get death-glares.

Welcome to the church... you're in my pew.

Feasting on the Word - review

Feasting on the Word - preaching the revised common lectionary [Yr A, vol. 1]; edited by Don Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Westminster John Knox Press, 2010. £26.99

This is yet another excellent edition in what is an absloutely superb series.  The overall series aims to cover the three years of the Revised Common Lectionary, splitting each year into several books. With an eye on the price, I wondered if collecting the whole series might be just that bit too pricey, but realise that I'd be short-changing myself not to buy into this brilliant resource; it is far too good an investment to miss.

 

What I've really enjoyed as I've prepared worship has been the layout. Sunday by Sunday, each of the four key lectionary passages are explored, examined and discussed - each of the passages considered by dividing them into four columns and using four different angles: a theological perspective, a pastoral perspective, exegetical and homiletical perspectives. This ensures that Feasting on the Word is indeed just that: a veritable feast of a resource. 

 

Truly, a must for the bookshelves of all those who lead worship - but also a great resource for lay-folk who want to dig deeper into the word. Perhaps a useful parallel function might be to employ Feasting on the Word not only as a worship leader's resource, but as a regular group study focus. Just a thought. Why should ministers get all the good stuff, after all!?  ;)

The entire series will be available to buy as a set from May/June 2011 @ c.£299.  Individually, or as a set, you can pick it up in via the UK distributor Alban Books or give Cornerstone Bookshop a wee call...

Great Expectations? A sermon for 3 Advent...Yr A

It's a little rough... but here goes:

'Great Expectations'

Isaiah 35: 1-10; Matt 11: 2-19

If Charles Dickens hadn't pinched it first, I think I'd have titled this sermon 'Great Expectations'...

Great Expectations -
the hope that something quite extraordinary is going to happen.
That sums up Advent.
It's the waiting time.
The time when we identify with Mary all those years ago in her time of waiting.
We wait with expectation to celebrate the mind-boggling idea of God coming to us,
to be with us,
to be one of us:
God coming to us on our own, very human terms.
Expectations that are great?
Expectations of greateness?
What is greatness?
And what happens when the expected...
is completely
unexpected?

The Third Sunday of Advent traditionally focuses on John the Baptist -
a man we heard a bit about last week...
a man who knew a lot about waiting and expectaion:
His entire life had been spent waiting for the fulfillment of God's word,
and his ministry was one of preparing the people of God for this event.

In our Gospel passage for today, we see John coming near to the end of his life and ministry -
imprisoned for speaking out against Herod's lack of moral character:
prisoners of conscience are no new thing.
But there he is,
languishing in jail at Herod's mercy.
John had spent the greater part of his life living out of doors in the wilderness - we'd say in Australia that he'd 'gone bush'.
William Barclay, commenting on this passage, describes John's situation like this:
'he was a child of the desert; all his life he had lived in the wide open spaces, with the clean wind on his face and the spacious vault of the sky for his roof.  and now he was confined in an underground dungeon.  For a man like John, who had perhaps never lived in a house, this must have been agony.'
Quite poetic for a commentary!  Barclay tries to enter into the mind of John, and, if John wore shoes, to walk in his shoes.

What was in John's mind when he sent his disciples to Jesus to ask the question:
'Are you the one, or should we expect someone else?'
What was John's expectation of who the Messiah should be?
Of what Messiahship should be about?
Were his great expectations of a warrior-hero, coming to liberate Israel from the Romans?
Or, since his role was that of a prophet,
a forth-teller of God's truth,
did he expect the messiah to be a mighty judge,
who would bring the divine fire of purifying judgement on the nation -
and we saw a little of that last week....
Did John ask because he was impatient
and wondered if Jesus was ever going to get on with the job?

Sometimes, because we know the story
because we've heard it so many times,
are so familiar,
we flick through the pages of the Gospels seeking for theological truths
but in doing so,
the people on the pages become like mere characters in a book:
we lose sight of the dirt-under-their-nails very human people -
everyday, ordinary, people caught up in extraordinary circumstances.
In asking the question of Jesus, was John, this wild-man of the wilderness,
who didn't know if his next day would be his last,
was he wanting to know that he hadn't got it wrong?
That his expectations
his hope in Jesus
hadn't been in vain?
Did he need to know that at this end-point of his life
that it hadn't all been a useless waste of time?
I wonder...
if the question was about his own faith and hope
and a need to seek confirmation of this hope
confirmation of his life's mission in his last days?
What were his expectations?

Whatever his psychological state of mind,
whatever the reason for the question,
I hope he found the answer he needed in Jesus' response.
At other times when such questions were asked of him Jesus was likely to say:
'happy are they who believe without seeing'
but here, Jesus shows great compassion in his reply:
'tell John what you hear and see -
the blind receive sight,
the lame walk,
the deaf hear,
and the good news is preached to the poor.'
Jesus is quoting the prophet Isaiah to John -
the last and greatest of the prophets.
And in doing this,
gives John what he needs to know:
Jesus is the one expected -
and the proof in the (Christmas?) pudding,
is the fulfillment of the prophecy.
What Isaiah never saw in his own lifetime,
John has seen in his -
though perhaps not quite in the way he'd envisaged or expected.

If John had to slightly revise his idea of the Messiah -
if even John the Baptist felt the need to ask if Jesus was the one -
how did the people of Israel imagine the Messiah?
What were their expectations?
Under the yoke of the Roman Empire,
longing for independence,
did they dream dreams of Messiah as a great freedom fighter?
I wonder if the people of Israel would have coped better with Jesus if he'd just done 'the decent thing'...
had conformed to the stereotype of what great deliverers should be like?
But then, from their very own history,
they should have known not to try and force God into a box,
because sometimes, God is a little like the jack-in-the-box
that you know is there,
that you know will appear,
and yet who still manages to surprise and startle when the lid finally springs open.
The expected
and yet the unexpected.

Can we really blame the people of Israel for maybe having these expectations of a mighty super-hero Messiah?
Don't we ourselves often define greatness as who the strongest is?
Now, if we were God, we'd probably plan this whole coming into the world business quite differently.
We'd arrive on the world stage as the big strong warrior-hero type
overpower those pesky Romans
make a real name for ourselves,
possibly even set ourselves up as Caesar -
be at the top of the hierarchical power pile -
that'd convince everyone we weren't to be trifled with...
But our God...
is the God of surprises.
The one who turns our value systems
our expectations
upside-down.
Who completely makes a nonsense of what we think of as great and powerful.
God defies our definitions.
Perhaps even laughs at our definitions
and challenges us to redefine them again and again and again.

Matthew goes to great pains in the Gospel to point out exactly where Jesus came from:
his lineage certainly contains a few surprises,
and who would think that a virgin would or could conceive?
And that the Messiah would, like us,
have to undergo the whole messy, undignified birthing process?
Yet, the prophets foretold it.
Who would think that the Messiah would be found in a stack of hay in a stable...
and not a grand palace?
Who would think that the 'little baby Jesus' could possibly be 'Immanuel' -
God with us?

I remember a conversation with a friend a long time ago.
Said friend was saying with some feeling that she was sick to the back teeth with the idea of the cute 'n cuddly 'little baby Jesus' -
helpless, sweet, inoffensive.
An anaemic, watered-down religious symbol for people not quite comfortable with the grown-up Jesus.
In many ways, she had a point... but...
let's not sneer at the idea of 'little baby Jesus' too readily:
without 'little baby Jesus' there can't be a Christ crucified.
Without 'little baby Jesus', we lose Jesus' humanity.
Without Jesus' humanity we lose the idea of the God who feels our pain
who knows us utterly,
identifies with us completely...
and who, in turn, we can identify with.
Without 'little baby Jesus' we lose the wonder of God who turns the meaning of greatness on its head
by coming to us as a helpless, gurgling baby
dependant on the hospitality of the human heart to take him in...
God needing us...
as much as we need God...
a mutual bond of relationship forged in fleshly incarnation.
The expected, yet unexpected coming of God-all-powerful
who comes as God-all-vulnerable
in that tiny scrap of human flesh:
'little baby Jesus'
and who, by doing so, puts hope in the heart of humanity.

We come full circle at Advent:
back to the waiting time
to the having of great expectations...
Great expectations:
the hope that something quite extraordinary is going to happen...
when the expected is completely unexpected.
And what could be more unexpected than the idea that a helpless dependent baby could be the God who created the universe?
The God who comes to deliver us
by becoming one of us in our frail humanity?
No wonder John felt the need to ask the question of Jesus:
'are you the one?'

May the God of surprises teach us to expect the unexpected,
and fill us all with joy this season.
Amen.