of law essays and teddy bears

Coming to the end of writing my Church Law essay - the last essay I will have to do for my training requirements.  Sitting, sighing, and trying to stick with the task at hand, my beloved Dad emails a bunch of jokes.
I think my particular favourite out of the lot was this 'groaner'  :D

A teddy bear is working on a building site. He goes for a tea break and when he returns he notices his pick has been stolen. The bear is angry and reports the theft to the foreman. The foreman grins at the bear and says "Oh, I forgot to tell you, today's the day the teddy bears have their pick nicked."

Thanks for cheering me up Dad, lol!
Aaaaand back to the essay! :)

Ahhh and a brilliant postscript courtesy of friend Amy...
this must be the best blogpost I think I have ever read - I am still crying with laughter:
praise the Lord for giant chickens

doubting Thomas?

Some sermon thoughts...

Poor Thomas.
Much-maligned Thomas.
Doubt for one little minute and they
never
let
you
forget.
Poor Thomas: forever typecast as the one who really just doesn't cut the mustard when it comes to faith.
Thomas: the one you're told *not* to be like -
in Sunday School,
or youth group,
or even from the pulpit:
'don't be a doubter, like Thomas!'
Poor, poor Thomas:
here's a man who's gone through nigh-on 2 000 years of suffering from a persistent image problem.
It's high time we rescued Thomas, the disciple who draws the short straw, who gets a raw deal, because let's be blunt: he was not the only follower of Jesus who doubted on that Resurrection day.

According to the Gospel of Luke, when Mary Mag returns from the garden after her meeting with the resurrected Jesus the disciples dismiss the news as 'nonsense'.  They hunker down in the upper room, lying low, with the doors firmly locked in a room stinking of fear.
But the locked doors are not impenetrable: they 'cannot keep out God's grace...neither the doors nor fear can prevent the risen Christ's coming to his disciples.  They may be able to lock others out, but they cannot lock him out.' [Feasting on the Word, yr A, Vol. 2, 399]
There, in that fear-filled room, Jesus stands among them bringing words of peace, embodying resurrection's promise.  They see his pierced hands, his side, and immediately upon seeing, are filled with joy.
Now, now, they believe...after they've seen.
Not unlike Thomas....
It is not unreasonable, then, that Thomas wants to see Jesus, after all, the rest of them have.
I think the silence regarding the reaction of the disciples is telling:
no laughter,
no mocking,
no exasperation,
no judgement...
just silence.
It appears that over the course of history, the judgement on Thomas as a 'doubter' has been left for others to make.

But what is it they believe, I wonder, these 10 out of 11 disciples?
For having seen the risen Lord, a whole week later, there they are, still hunkered down in that room, with the doors still firmly locked...
These guys are not in a hurry to go anywhere, even though Jesus had indicated that as the Father had sent him, so he was sending them out into the world.

Again Jesus appears.
Again, he offers words of peace.
And then, he turns to Thomas, and gives to him what has already been given to the others:
Thomas sees, is invited to look, to feel the nail marks, the wounded side.
But unlike the rest of the disciples, Thomas sees beyond the physical.
He sees with the eyes of faith.
Unlike the rest of the disciples, Thomas gets it.
This is something different, something other.
Is he perhaps remembering a conversation from the past - this in John 14 - 'now you have known me, you will know my Father also, and from now on you do know him and you have seen him'?

In front of our eyes, as we read the text, we see Thomas have a kind of 'aha!' moment.
And it causes him to utter that great statement of faith that the other disciples have not yet made - because they've not yet clicked:
'my Lord... and my God!'
While for centuries Thomas has been called out for not having enough faith because he 'needed' to see Jesus, I wonder...in the end, is it Thomas out of all of those gathered, who has the greatest faith?
While he does indeed see Jesus with his own eyes, he also sees with his mind, his heart, his faith:
to see Jesus...is to see God.
To say 'my Lord and my God' is not just a statement of faith, it is an expression of worship.

Perhaps it is less a case of Thomas doubting, and more a case of us doubting Thomas...

For Jase: 'and now I live, and now my life is done'

Holy Week is not meant to be all light and fluffy.
This, I know.
It is harder this year.
Monday saw me saying that most final of goodbyes to someone who,over the last 6 years, had moved into the 'jolly good pal' category.
It is a small group, and now, even smaller.
Latterly, as we meandered our way through very different PhD's, Jase was always there with a droll remark, an encouraging comment, or occasionally, a 'get on with it woman!'
His humour could make me snort my tea in a most unseemly manner.
He had the keenest mind I've ever encountered, was an avid Whovian, a lover of 'weird French stuff' [existential French theology], a generous spirit, and underneath a woolly-jumpered exterior, an unfailingly kind man.
Jase was an inspired giver of gifts: amongst many treasures [occasionally Knoxian], I rejoice not only in being the proud possessor of possibly the world's largest teapot [16 mugs or 20 cups...'great for the kirk session'], but also a Cthulhu mobile phone case...
He was one of the good guys, and the greatest gift, was of course, his friendship.
Right to the last, his courage and humour and kindness remained.
Having managed, through heroic efforts to finish his doctorate and graduate last July, he died just before his book was about to be published.
I shall miss him, and echoing the sentiments of another close pal 'I feel robbed.'
Too soon.
Too soon.

I'm minded of a poem written by another one whose life was also cut too short, although in vastly different circumstances.  The poem was written on 19 September 1586 by Chidiock Tichborne on the eve of his execution for treason - he was involved in the Babington Plot to assassinate Elizabeth.
However, while Jase could think the occasional dire thought, an assassin he was not!  Nevertheless, regardless of circumstance, the poem just seemed oddly fitting...

Tychbornes Elegie:

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares, 

My feast of joy is but a dish of paine, 
My Crop of corne is but a field of tares,
And al my good is but vaine hope of gaine.
The day is past, and yet I saw no sunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard, and yet it was not told,
My fruite is falne, and yet my leaves are greene:
My youth is spent, and yet I am not old,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seene.
My thred is cut, and yet it is not spunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death, and found it in my wombe,
I lookt for life, and saw it was a shade:
I trod the earth, and knew it was my Tombe,
And now I die, and now I was but made.
My glass is full, and now my glasse is runne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

the sacred in the ordinary...or: normality is under-rated

Today was a gift, involving a couple of friends, and assorted children.  Life has been hectic of late; routines have disappeared in the busyness.  Within both parish and the personal, lately death has felt like a persistent companion.  In the midst of it all, I'd somehow forgotten the wholesome, life-giving sacredness of the ordinary.

In conversations over cups of tea, shared meals, chats about spiders and Robert the Bruce and school holidays - along with the music of Phineas and Ferb and generous helpings of smiles and laughter - my soul was somehow restored.  The sacred ordinariness of life is a wonderful thing; time enough to be extraordinary at some other point.

Am very much giving thanks for the gift of friends today.

Lent 3A: sermon for Sunday - 'Is God with us, or not?'

readings:
Exodus 17:1-7
John 4:5-42

There’s a very old story of a chap who joined a silent religious order...

After five years have passed, he’s called to the Abbot’s office.

‘How are you finding things, my son?’ asks the Abbot.

The monk considers for a moment, and being a man of few words, mutters:

‘Porridge is too salty.’

Another five years pass, and again he’s called in to see the Abbot.

‘How are you, my son?’ the Abbot asks.

‘Bed’s too hard,’ the monk grumbles.

Yet another five years pass and, you guessed it, 

it’s his time to visit with the Abbot once more.

‘Well, my son, how are things?’

‘I’m leaving,’ the monk replies.

The Abbot sits and considers this news for a moment, and says:

‘Frankly, I’m not surprised: you’ve been complaining ever since you got here.’

In our Old Testament reading this morning, 

we heard a story about complaining from the book of Exodus:

the Israelites journeyed at God’s command,

landing at  Rephidim, where they set up camp –

but there was no water for them to drink. 

They complained to Moses and said,

"Give us water to drink."

To which Moses replied

"Why are you quarrelling with me?

And why do you test the Lord?" 

But they ...continued to complain.

Wondering if they were going to stone him,

Moses cried out to God,

and was told to strike a rock with his staff.

And so he did:

water flowed from the rock,

and the people’s cries were answered...

and, demonstrating that there’s more to a

place-name than sometimes meets the eye,

Moses called the place

‘Massah’ and ‘Meribah’,

‘test’ and ‘quarrel’ –

neatly summing up the whole experience;

for the people had done just that, and asked:

‘is God with us, or not?’

‘Is ...God with us, or not?’  ...

Now, I confess, that if I was planning on going on a long journey 

and was in the process of looking out for some travelling chums,

based on the apparent evidence found in the book of Exodus,

I’d have to say that,

the complaining children of Israel

would figure pretty low on my list...

...Actually, I suspect they wouldn’t be appearing at all! 

This lot could seemingly win a gold medal for grumbling:

given that God had rescued them from oppression -

and rather dramatically at that, by raining down plague upon plague 

on the Egyptians;

given that God went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud by day

and a pillar of fire by night;

given that God had led them safely across the Red Sea by parting the waters...

AND, given that God was providing food for them in the wilderness – 

quail burger, anyone? -

given these very dramatic, very tangible proofs, how could they NOT see

that God was indeed with them?

It      was      plain    to see...

wasn’t it?

So why were they busily reinventing their recent history, turning what had

been slavery and oppression into some kind of ‘Disney-on-the-Nile’ theme

park?

...Perhaps, it was a coping mechanism.

Their lives overturned,

dramatically uprooted from all they’d known – even though it had been slavery –

journeying as strangers in a strange, forbidding landscape,

anxious in the present

and fearful for their future,

...they looked back

to a place where there was the comfort of home and familiarity of routine daily patterns. 

Tho’ slaves, they knew what was what,

and what was required to get by.

And in the wilderness, everything –

every        single        thing –

was different:

all was change

a daily struggle for survival,

with the accompanying insecurities and fears of never quite knowing if they’d live or die;

never quite knowing what to expect.

Given the huge turnaround they’d experienced in their lives, maybe it isn’t actually that surprising

that they cried out, and asked

‘is God with us, or not?’

That question makes the story become

more human...

more real.

As often as I’ve read the stories of these wanderings in the wilderness,

with the occasional thought of

‘tch, what a bunch of whiners’ -

and I certainly have had those thoughts –

there’s also been the follow-up rueful realisation that perhaps 

I’m not so different from these folk of so long ago...

and I wonder:

how many of us look back on our past

wearing those proverbial rose-tinted spectacles?

Ah, the ‘good old days!’

...However, we often leave out the reality of the hard slog of how things really were,

and of how much we actually grumbled as well. 

Maybe grumbling is part of our human condition, and it continues to fascinate

me that the questions of people like the Israelites in the wilderness so long ago,

echo down through the ages,

to right where we are today

and that they remain so very relevant.

‘Is God with us, or not?’

This is a big question –

a huge question,

underpinning the very essence of our faith,

for, gathered within its folds,

we find that it’s the question that asks:

‘why do bad things happen to good people?’

it’s the question that asks:

‘where are you God, in my suffering?’

it’s the question, the cry from the heart, that asks:

‘how could you let this happen...to me?’

As with the Israelites, ‘is God with us, or not?’ is our very human attempt to 

find meaning in a painful, lonely, and hurting world;

a world in which events can sometimes feel so random and meaningless...

a world in which we can feel lost in the wilderness;

our hope withered,

our souls parched and thirsting for meaning.

And, it’s a question that I believe is okay to ask:

sometimes we need to ask it,

just because being able to ask it,

able to voice the fear, the pain, the confusion

is...enough.

But sometimes, the question demands an answer:

one that avoids clichés, glibness, or glossing over...

and one that avoids trying to explain

everything – including God – tidily away into a box.

Because even in our very modern, very instant, ‘microwave’ society –

sometimes neatly packaged answers that we don’t have to think about too much ...

just don’t cut the mustard.

Which is just as well, because this whole ‘mystery of faith’ business is pretty untidy...

and God consistently refuses

to fit into the boxes we try to put him in.

‘Is God with us, or not?’

Yes.

God is.

We worship an ever-present God

A God, who, in Jesus, became one of us

and who sat at a well in the heat of the day,

and like his ancestors in the wilderness

and perhaps like his followers in the present,

found that he was thirsty,

...and asked for a drink...

but who also talked of living water that refreshed the soul.

Is God with us, or not?

Yes.

God is.

We worship an ever-present God.

Wherever we are – and even where we are not,

God is present:

in times of celebration

or sorrow,

in the midst of the mundane

or the terrifying,

in the fibre of our being

and in the very fabric of our world...

in Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan,  

and in places of peace;

in the cockpit of a plane mysteriously disappeared

and alongside the waiting relatives of all those on board;

God is present:

in the corridors of power where the cats

just     keep     getting     fatter

and among those gathered at the food bank hungering for food and thirsting for justice,

desperate to survive.

‘Is God with us, or not?’

In the mystery of our faith

God is present

God is with us

and for us

in Spirit and in truth

rejoicing when we rejoice

weeping when we weep

grieving over the appalling things that humans do to each other,

comforting,

guiding,

cherishing us,

regardless of whether we feel it or not...

and sometimes the more pressing question is:

‘are we with God, or not?’

We may not have the dramatic signs that the Israelites had in the wilderness

but there are signs that God is with us,

if we stop and we look

and listen for them closely enough.

‘Is God with us, or not?’

Yes.

It can be seen in the way that we value each other in this community –

through myriad, tiny,

and sometimes near-invisible acts

of caring and kindness;

it can be heard underneath the banter during coffee, when a joke is shared,

but what is meant is ‘how are you really doing?’

It’s in the way we live our lives amongst our friends and our families, 

our workmates, our neighbours...

being listening ears,

or a hand to hold,

a place of refreshing and hope in the lonely wilderness 

that someone is feeling...

and that we may not even know about:

the important thing being, that we were, and are, there.

God is with us, as we drink in the life-giving, living waters of his love

and go and share that water with others.

Someone once said that

‘faith is the triumph of hope over experience.’

In faith, 

we say ‘yes’ to God being with us –

even though we can’t neatly package the whole mystery of how and why.

Shortly, we’ll go out from here, into the rest of the week, touched by God

And, in turn, touching others –

being water-carriers into a parched and thirsting world.

‘Is God with us, or not?’

Within the very heart of the question,

within the mystery that surrounds us,

we worship a God who is with us

indeed, who is so much with us

he became one of us,

and who, even now, in this place,

invites us to drink deep

from the fountain of life-giving water

...and quench our thirst.      

And so, may the God who is with us

bless us and keep us in his care

this day, and always,

Amen.

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

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

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

lectionary leanings: 'well, that's awkward' - Matthew 5:21-37

Although I'm not preaching this coming Sunday - as I shall be in Israel [she said, casually!] - a conversation in a facebook group prompted some thoughts on the upcoming gospel text for the day: Matt. 5: 21-37. I love being a part of a group who are happy to engage in conversation both casually and deeply about the texts for preaching. I value the variety of approaches and insights - they both feed my soul and stimulate my own thinking. The verses concerned are:

²¹“You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ ²²But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. ²³So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you,²⁴leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. ²⁵Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. ²⁶Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny.²⁷“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’²⁸But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. ²⁹If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. ³⁰And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell. ³¹“It was also said, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.’ ³²But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.³³“Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.’ ³⁴But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, ³⁵or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. ³⁶And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. ³⁷Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’; anything more than this comes from the evil one

One of the group had posted a comment observing that she really did not like the text - which, given some of the content, is understandable. In response, another noted that, in sensitivity to some folk who'd be visiting the church that Sunday, the reading would be stripped a little - especially the 'divorce' stuff. Some said 'find another text to preach on, then', while others encouraged a 'don't shy away from the hard texts' approach. A couple noted that by omitting the text, the original poster could be storing up a homiletical problem a little ways down the track when the gospel unpacked some other matters that were based on this chapter. So, a nice diversity of opinion already, with regard to whether to preach on it or not. 

I think that I'm inclined to the view that when these so called 'hard' texts turn up, we should face them square in the eye.  And that it's completely okay to say to a congregation 'you know what, I struggle with this reading.'  Chances are, they do too - it may even come as a relief to know that the minister is also sweating somewhat with regard to the passage.  Given that, if I were preaching this coming Sunday, I'd still go for the gospel text - warts 'n all - and think my sermon title would be 'Well, that's awkward...!', thus acknowledging the difficult sounding stuff in the reading, and also the possible difficulty regarding what on earth to do with it.  However, having taken that communal deep breath with the congregation, I'd also acknowledge that the passage is a massively rich text and there are many ways in which to approach it.
Looking at the passage, my own tendency would be to try and stand back a little to try to see a broader theme and try to avoid the potential of becoming bogged down in the individual offences.  As I read it, this passage is part of a much wider discourse on how to love one's neighbour - the offences mentioned are all potential causes for dispute and disharmony undermining personal / familial/ community/ divine relationships:
murder, anger management, insults, adultery, divorce, false witness.
Thinking of John Calvin [as I often do] and his understanding of the godly community being an harmonious community - ordered and peaceable, and thus potentially at least, demonstrating a foretaste of the kindom of heaven - perhaps I'd invite folk to think about how to live in love/ harmony with one another?
For me, then, the key verses would be:

'23 So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, 24 leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift.'

We are called to be a community of reconciliation - as God has reconciled us in Christ, so we are to be reconciled one to another and as we do so, live into our calling as Christ's body in the world to bring the message of the gospel of peace to the world.  The challenge of preaching upon a 'hard' text is paralleled by the challenge it is to live as reconciled people...


And I am now filing that thought away for the next time the text comes around!! 

BE 7: boats, bonding, and beignets...or, 'what I did in the holidays'

a rather large boat...

some friendly feet for a pheeto...

beignets in New Orleans

7am Tuesday: the 3rd, and final, plane flew above the darkened Forth. Various signs of human habitation twinkled in the blackness; orange-yellow street lights, occasional twin-white beams from cars snaking along unseen roads, the scattered lights of households preparing for a new day, the glow of a lonely ship upon the river.
Touchdown.
Customs.
A tired goodbye to the last remaining RevGal in the chain; a chain linking back to where the 1st plane had lifted off - New Orleans, a cruise, a meeting of minds and hearts and voices, virtual friends moving from ether to earthy reality, shared pheetos and new friendships made.
So it was that the RevGals BE 7 came and went.
Delighted at last to meet up in real-time with some of the amazing community of women who have been such a support and inspiration over the last 6 years since I started reading the main blog and linked blogs.
Remembering the email from 5 years ago welcoming me into that community of blogging women.
Also remembering wishing folk a fabulous time each year as another BE swung by, while also quietly wishing wistfully that perhaps, one day, I might go and play.

As journey's end so, too, the arrival into New Orleans 9 days earlier was in darkness, followed by a mad shuttle bus ride to the hotel, weary collapse in an oh-so-cosy bed after travelling sitting for so long, and the building anticipation of knowing that RevGals were beginning to converge on the town.
New Orleans by day in sight, sound, and smell:
the Big Easy, bedecked in the green, purple, and gold of Mardi Gras, grooved and hummed to the sounds of street jazz bands, children rat-a-tat-tatting doing tin-can tap for any passer-by willing to throw a buck in a hat.  The occasional blast of a steamer sounded in the distance, while tourists, gator-like devoured the experience, snapping cell-phone cameras.  The wafting, weirdly alluring/appalling smell coming from cigar stores competed with fried oyster and crawfish poboys, beignets and milky coffee from Cafe du Monde, racks of ribs, and alligator being cooked in various eateries.  Eschewing the cigars, I opted for the oyster and crawfish, sampled some alligator and washed down both with copious root beer [ah, the joy of free refills].  Groucho Marx came to mind at one point re. the gator: 'get me an alligator on a stick and make it snappy.'

'Do do that voodoo [burger] you do do so well'
Neutralising bad magic? The BVM and voodoo burgers compete at a cafe in the French Market.

That first weekend was gloriously warm - eating al fresco without winter woollies in January was fabulous.
Sunday and Monday before boarding was spent meeting and greeting and eating with newly arrived RevGals.  We boarded 'Elation', a rather ambitious name, for further meeting, greeting, and eating.  In my ongoing inner life as a musical, the ear-worm of the day was 'Getting to know you'.  We began the process of telling our stories, bonding in laughter at some of those 'really can't tell this anywhere' else anecdotes, sharing deep thoughts and bad jokes.  Initial reserve disappeared quickly and I relaxed in this great company of folk; cue for second ear-worm 'I think I'm gonna like it here'.

Intertwined with the fun 'Galship' was the matter of attending a programme set up for the purpose of continuing education/reflection.  In this instance, we were exploring the Enneagram with Suzanne Stabile.  When it came to our Enneagram encounters, we were a mixed bunch - some were new to the whole thing, some had dipped in, while others were well-acquainted.  In the past, I'd been fortunate to do work on the Enneagram with Dorothy Neilson, so it was good fun to build on that foundation as well as compare two very different but equally fab Enneagram teachers.  Given my previous Enneagram background, this time around I was able to concentrate less on my own traits and characteristics and more on getting a better all-round sense of how it related to others - useful stuff and hopefully it will help as I move into my own congregation, work on committees, chair the kirk session, relate to my parishioners with hopefully more understanding, and such like.  It was not all hard work, however.  Dancing waiters at dinner-time encouraged some of our party to dance 'Gangnam-style' between mains and dessert; jaunts ashore to Progresso and Cozumel that included Margaritas and Pina Coladas served in gold-fish bowls posing as glasses; being gently rocked to sleep by the waves...more conversations, more laughter, stress and tiredness seeping away.

When we docked early Saturday morning, New Orleans was hidden in a cold fog worthy of an Edinburgh haar.  As some of the others shivered, I felt at home in the weather, smiled and put on the thick jumper [sweater!] I'd brought with me from Scotland.  Happily extending some of the 'Galship', four of us travelled across town to enjoy the hospitality of the folks at the Magnifcat House of Discernment - a place where young, post-college aged women are invited to stay and reflect on a possible vocation to the Religious life. Sisters Diane and Carmen were wonderfully kind, and over dinner with some of the discernees present, we pondered the nature of 'calling' and women in ministry both Catholic and Protestant.

Having the use of a car, the next morning, our wee group of 4 pootled up the road to worship at a church currently being pastored by another RG who'd also been on BE 7.  Great fun, and inspiring to see how two congregations, one black, one white, had come together as one.  Equally inspiring was the vote that they had taken the previous weekend to become an 'open and affirming' congregation.  I thought to myself quietly 'people: you rock,' and gave thanks.  After worship, and with RG friend, we decamped to Juan's Flying Burrito for enjoyable, extended food and fellowship.  Farewells to S. followed by a tour around the Lower 9th Ward of New Orleans still recovering from the effects of Hurricane Katrina 9 years on.

In the midst of wasteland and desolation were signs of new life and habitation, but it is a slow process.  A signboard on one house commented on the cost of war in Iraq/Afghanistan and wondered when the government might look to helping out its own citizens.  Amongst the new builds, the innovative, sustainable housing of the Make it Right organisation [a.k.a. Brad Pitt's houses] were visually stunning.  Not being comfortable about taking photos of the housing, I opted instead to snap a sign by the levee which gave brief details of what had happened in 2005.  The conversation was somewhat subdued as we drove around the devastation and bit-by-bit regeneration; we wondered how many more years it would take for the area to fully recover...we couldn't help but agree with the sentiments of the sign we'd seen on the house earlier.

A small trip down memory land followed for two of our company - sisters - who had been born in, and spent their very early years in New Orleans.  Having phoned their mother for directions, we drove into the neighbourhood of their childhood; it was filled with cute, matching bungalows all along the avenues.  Our last supper together was had in the French Quarter accompanied by the sounds of raucous jazz coming in off the street.
An early night.
A morning flight, leading to Houston, leading to Newark, leading...home.

It has been a wonderful, wonder-filled, space for refreshment, relaxation and renewal [spot the Star-word!] which did not require the writing of an essay at the end of it.  A time to be and breathe in the company of some particularly excellent women.  Currently still a little jet-lagged, although the on-land sea-swaying seems to have stopped.
If I have the opportunity to go to another BE, I'll be there like a shot if I'm allowed :)
Thanks for the welcome, the hospitality, the fun, and the friendship RevGal sisters - it has been awesome, as are you all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Star-followers and Star words

This morning in worship we reflected upon journeys, star-followers, and paying homage to the Child in the manger; Parish by the Sea paused to consider Epiphany.  Beyond being the last chance saloon for getting in a few more carols before we pack them away for another year, Epiphany itself offers the opportunity for wondering and wandering at the beginnings of a new year: wondering at the incomprehensible thought of God revealing Godself in flesh and blood and bone; and in response, wandering where the Star-child might lead us.
Where will our wonderings and wanderings take us this year?
That's an unfolding revelation.
Perhaps to assist both, some form of intentionality might be useful?
Well, it might for me, at least.

Over at the fabulous blog Glass Overflowing, Marci has been handing out star words to her congregation [and anyone who asks her nicely!] as tools for reflection to be used across the year.  Given my own reflections have been somewhat undisciplined and haphazard of late, I decided to opt in - after all, it would not do to have written a thesis on discipline and not pay any attention to the matter.
And my word?  'renewal'

Given the potential for certain life changes come the end of September, what might need taken out and looked at in the revealing light of day...what might need new life breathed into it...?
Let's see where the Star-child beckons, and how the star word might prompt new green shoots.
Happy 're'new year.

'there are children here somewhere, I can smell them'

'A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, 

Rachel weeping for her children; 

she refused to be consoled, for they are no more.' Mt 2:18

The Sunday immediately following Christmas is, if following the Revised Common Lectionary at least, a somewhat delicate and tricky matter.  Unless opting for a service of Lessons and Carols [good call for the exhausted preacher - and what we did at Parish by the Sea] we move from the hope of the Christ child to the horror of Holy Innocents.  It's a time when we remember Herod's decree to slaughter all male children under two years of age; this upon hearing of the birth of a new King of the Jews. 

I got to wondering about this particular 'terrible text' of the bible after reading a statement by a friend on facebook about the Feast of the Holy Innocents. Quite frankly, I really struggled with the content - or, perhaps, more correctly, where that content took me in my own thoughts through no actual fault of my friend.  Perhaps, given the subject matter, struggle is the only appropriate response.  The trigger prompting my move beyond what friend has posted was something along the lines of remembering 'all such children for whom their Creator was jealous, who are now at home with Him...'  

Initially, it was the word 'jealous'; an odd word to use and yet utterly Old Testament biblical.  But it set me off thinking about responses by people in cases where a child, or children, die; of comments made to help console friends or strangers in their grief:          

'God must have needed another angel in heaven'
'God looked at all the wee ones in the world and chose yours'

or the dire poem that contains the following:
'Perhaps God tires of calling the aged to his fold,
So he picks a rosebud, before it can grow old.
God knows how much we need them, and so he takes but few
To make the land of Heaven more beautiful to view.'
          etc. etc. etc.

Beyond a theology concerning angels - angelology, if you will - and of what Christians believe happens when they die, which is not to be transformed into an angel but rather, the resurrection of the body [we don't change species / I'm thinking here of the Apostles Creed], I wonder at this understanding of a God who is not unlike a divine version of the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang: 'there are children here somewhere, I can smell them.'  

How do we balance theological understandings concerning our image of God and our beliefs around what happens when we die with providing a helpful and appropriate pastoral response to those who are in the midst of grieving the loss of a child?  Personally, God walking with folk in the place of pain is more comfort to me than the thought that God decided he needed another wee soul in heaven to brighten it up [what kind of cruel and capricious God does that?]...some folk, on the other hand, apparently derive comfort from this [here perhaps seeing God's particular care and a way to make meaning out of death].  How best to minister to folk who hold a viewpoint that may be very much at odds with one's own?  Lots to chew on - this is only the beginning of a conversation.  I think I wanted to post while it was still fresh!

A prayer: For those who are not busy, but wish they were

There are so many posts, as is totally right and as should be at this time of year for many, about stress and busyness and the near-meltdown that the run-up to Christmas can bring.  Not all are caught up in the maelstrom and the seeming madness, however.  Sometimes it feels that there is an enforced conspiracy of silence - of nodding politely at others' comments about how busy they are, how many will come, what preparations are left to provide the 'perfect' day...letting them talk and fobbing off 'what are you doing?'
In the midst of it all, in visits with those who are grieving, and those who are dying, those who are single, and those who have no family... a prayer:

For those who are not busy, but wish they were;
For those who wish they had someone to buy and wrap presents for, but do not;
For those who miss the hospitality of preparing a banquet for others to share;
For those who feel sidelined by this coming Christmas Day
as they hear the ceaseless message: 'it's all about the children'...
Remind us:
Lord, in the quiet spaces you are everpresent;
Lord, in the lonely places, you are our gift and our comfort;
That it is you, Lord, who prepares a banquet where all can share.
And on this coming day, in both busyness and quiet,
remind us once more:
It is all about the Child -
Immanuel - God with us.
Amen.

the 'Addams' Advent 3...or 2

I awoke this morning, having subconsciously processed the gospel texts for both last and this coming Sunday into the beginnings of a most annoying ear-worm.
Sunday will be Advent 3, and the gospel text will feature our fierce friend Johnny the Baptist.
But wait.  Didn't we have him last week?
Well yes.
Think of this week's gospel text as the sequel - John in prison going 'ahhh, hang on...'
Given I'm preaching this week, it's clear the boy has been on my mind.
Oh, yes, the ear-worm:
think of the tune to 'The Addams Family' ...
fingers clicking?
Then I'll begin.

He's scary and he's hairy,
The second cuz of Mary...
and there it stayed, until I noted said ear-worm on the RevGals facebook page.
In a glorious sisterly collaboration with Cindi, Martha, Annabel, and a cast of others interjecting with amusing and bemused comments... herewith 'The Addams Advent 3' [well mostly 2, but who's counting?]

da da da dah *click click*
da da da dah *click click*
da da da dah
da da da dah
da da da dah *click click*  etc!

He's scary and he's hairy,
The second cuz of Mary,
He's not too fond of dairy -
Our beloved Johnny B...

He doesn't have much money:
He's eating bugs and honey
He probably smells funny -
Our beloved Johnny B...

He's into independence
He's calling for repentance
I can't write one more sentence...
On beloved Johnny B...

The Pharisees will go up,
The Sadducees will show up,
And at them he'll blow up -
Our beloved Johnny B...

[bring on the vipers...!!]

The vipers are so creepy
They always make me weepy:
They scare me in my sleepy
When preached by Johnny B...

[alternative vipers!!]

Our Johnny, getting hyper
cries 'Repent, you brood of vipers!'
The Pharisees need diapers -
He's quite scary, Johnny B.

When Jesus wants a dippin'
John B's wig will be a'flippin'
But J-man comes out drippin'
Bedunked by Johnny B...

Much later in his story
It's gonna get quite gory
But Jesus' words assure him:
He's God's beloved Johnny B.

Salome shakes a titty
She really is quite pretty.
Alas, she shows no pity
For poor old Johnny B.

When Herod is rewedded
Herodias is bedded,
And John B is beheaded
And that's the end of Advent 3

---------------------------
Postcript [or the 'but wait, there's more' bit]
There was a tangential 'Girl from Ipanema' comment made.  Taking up the challenge I wrote:

Tall and tanned, unstrung, lives roughly
the boy in camel hair's baptisin'
and when he dunks 'em, each person he's dunkin' goes 'ahhhh'...
----------------------------------------

So.
What, I think, is clear from all of this nonsense is that I am truly no longer bowed down by the thesis...
the jury is out as to whether this is a good, or a bad, thing.
Also, after a very mixed day of good, but shattering visiting, some holy humour was just the tonic I needed.

a prayer for Advent 2a: prophets' voices

The voices of the prophets cry out:

‘Prepare!

Straighten the paths!

A new king shall arise!’

The voices of the prophets cry out:

‘Rejoice!

His reign will bring justice,

His reign will bring peace;

His reign will bring healing from hurt and harm.’

The voices of the prophets cry out:

‘Prepare!

Repent!

Be washed clean!

The king is coming:

Great and mighty is he.’

...  ... ...

In this Advent season of waiting and preparation

help us to straighten the paths of our lives:

when we have wandered from your path,

when we have meandered down myriad highways and byways

and every way but your way,

forgive us and draw us back to you.

When we have ignored the voices of your prophets

When we have filled our lives with so much noise and distraction that we cannot hear your voice,

Forgive us and draw us back to you.

When we have turned a blind eye to justice

When we have fanned the flames of conflict

When we have chosen in whatever way, to hurt or to harm

Forgive us and draw us back to you:

In a moment of quiet reflection, we bring before you those stumbling blocks we put on the path that hinder our preparations 
as we await the coming of your Son, our King...

...   ...   ...

Sweep through the dark and dusty corners of our hearts,

Clear the corridors of our souls,

Cleanse us and cause us to rise up and rejoice;

To cry out with your prophets:

‘the King is coming:

Great and mighty is He!’

And now, gathered as your people, we pray again the prayer that Jesus taught us, praying: 
Our Father...   

Amen.