Category Archives: Christ

GOD’S FUTURE

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ONE THING LEADS to another. The creation of one world leads to another. Questions and answers lead to more answers and questions. And so we grow towards the future. God’s future. Our future.

And I’ve returned again and again since yesterday’s Enough Nattering to Archbishop Rowan’s “question and answer” in a homily addressed to the General Synod on Wednesday morning – (text and video here)

What does God’s future look like? Well, one thing we can say is that it looks like Jesus.

So the fact that next Sunday’s epistle reading is to be from Colossians feels like a fairly substantial gift.

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible – Colossians 1.15-20

We’re relatively more familiar with ‘things visible’ than with the ‘invisible’. And what we’re able to ‘see’ of Church, of God, of humankind, of future, can at times be rather depressing – or at the very least a bit slow and ponderous (“Like a mighty tortoise moves the Church of God; let’s preserve in aspic where the saints have trod”).

So I shall spend some time in the next few days remembering that there’s an entire universe of created order that lies quite beyond either my imagination or my sight. And that was in the beginning. And is still growing. We haven’t seen the End. So in the meantime we can cheerfully engage in being “changed from glory into glory” – confident that the author of the change is none other than the author of our life in the beginning, and that She looks and breathes life into adamah, mere dust like me. She looks and breathes life into the Body of Christ now on earth. Like Jesus.

I’m much taken with a line from a forthcoming film I’ll definitely be heading to the cinema to see; in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (Trailer) the would-be perfect hotelier and host says

Everything will be alright in the end, so if everything is not alright now it’s not the end!

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ARE YOU GOING TO SAN FRANCISCO?

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TO SAN FRANCISCO? I wish. But no. No immediate plans. Bramhall’s my patch for the present. But some day. Some way. Because somehow St Gregory of Nyssa’s Church in San Francisco lives and listens and speaks with and about the kind of words I’m constantly wanting to say. And do. And Grace Cathedral too. Church Times’ front page photo of a celebration of the Eucharist at St Gregory’s represents for me the glorious hotch-potch of loved and redeemed humanity that is my own life’s prayer and perpetual dream. And there’s a big chunk of an extract of Sara Miles, author of Jesus Freak: Feeding, healing, raising the dead. 

Worship and service were part of a whole; the Friday food pantry and the Sunday eucharist were just different expressions of the same thing. Well meaning Christian visitors liked to describe the pantry as a “feeding ministry”, but that just seemed like a nervous euphemism to me. What I saw was church: hundreds of people gathering each week around an altar to share food and to thank God. And then, on Sundays, in the very same space, communion. The priest and whoever else was serving that day – a woman with cancer, a fussy older guy, a serene, angelic seven year old boy in shorts – would lift the plates of fresh bread and cups of wine, and turn, showing the food to the people standing pressed close around the big, round table in the middle of the sanctuary …

These words, and this photo, and these films speak to me of the God of Life whose own freedom has granted humankind its own. Freedom to explore. Freedom to become whole and holy in and amongst the hotch-potch of communities filled with people of every shade and hue and opinion and creed under the sun and stars. Freedom in which hospitality and generosity are extended to all. Am I going to San Francisco? Well, whether on earth, or the San Francisco in heaven, some day, I pray. And in the morning here in Bramhall? There will be alimentos gratis – the free food of Divine Love – in Eucharist at 8, 9 and 10.45am – and during the course of these celebrations, by the Grace of God, six children will be baptised …

BECOMING THE BELOVED

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Henri, I want a blessing …

YOU ARE MY BELOVED. On you my favour rests. – I’ve just come across this extraordinary little series of films and have found myself transported into the company of angels and archangels. Blessed be God for his eternal grace at work in Henri Nouwen (1932-1996) – dear Wounded Healer. Truly beloved.

 

WITH A LITTLE HELP …

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PAUL DEAKIN (vested, left) preached an encouraging and challenging sermon this morning, attired for a few brief moments in a too short preaching scarf – because it’s more ordinarily employed at Stockport County FC!  It’s great having Paul home on leave from his studies at Mirfield. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” – Nathaniel asked of Philip. Well, of course, someone could and did! And Paul Deakin’s one of the many good things to “come out of” Bramhall.

DAVID TAYLOR (robed, right) served the dual offices of assistant verger and altar server, at short notice, in the midst of one of those whirlwind sort of mornings that Sundays at St Michael’s often look like. With consecutive celebrations of the Eucharist at 8, 9 and 10.45am there’s a lot to be done behind the scenes to make sure there’s a smooth flow. With David and other willing souls like him we’re able to sing: “we get by with a little help from our friends …”

AND ANDY BROWN put imagination into gear and was quick to snap the moments when some of my wonderful young friends here got stuck into “the priesthood of all believers” liturgically. Literally “active angels”, we encouraged each other to pray according to the style and practice of ancient tradition, standing, and with arms raised in a posture of praise, thanksgiving and receptivity. And we all shared in times of silence and stillness too. It all made for a holy communion. Eucharistic. Something accomplished. Religio - a binding together. And I recall that the great son of man who came out of Nazareth once said: I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends – John 15.15-17

COMPANIONS

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A HAPPY MORNING in company with a local group from hereabouts of the Companions of the Community of the Resurrection (CCR) for whom I’m Chaplain. Their name speaks of what they are, and aspire to be further, companions: companying with God, with the monastic  community based in Mirfield, and with one another, in the quiet grace and witness of prayer, shaped and fashioned by a simple Rule of Life. Their presence lent an additional quiet attentiveness to our celebration of the Eucharist this morning. The lectionary epistle was the surprise gift it always is: “God is love, and those who live in love live in God, and God lives in them” (1 John 4.16).

Should anyone ever feel that the Church of England might be renamed I’d be in favour of The Companions of the Community of the Resurrection – but lovely as they are I’m not sure how kindly CCR would take to having their name nicked!

A BRIDGE

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THERE’S ALWAYS a lot going on in and around the life of a large and busy parish like ours. There are comings and goings in the ordinary sense and also, of course, in the literal sense. New arrivals. New departures. St Michael’s is often involved in celebrating both, and today a couple of hundred or so people gathered to say farewell to Nancy, a much beloved member of the local community and the church family.

Many who share in our Monthly Monday Meditation (blissful tonight after a busy start to the New Year) have spoken quietly of how these times, in this space and place, are for them a bridge between earth and heaven, of having, on these occasions, “a foot in both camps”. And I am thus assured that the teachings of Jesus about prayer are still alive and well; that the oft alluded to “going (alone) up a mountain” to commune with God is still a model that we can rejoice in. Jesus himself was able to be Pontifex – a bridge between heaven and earth – precisely because he had “a foot in both camps”. And it doesn’t matter at all that our view of earth or of heaven is misty. In fact it’s probably better that way. In my experience it’s in the quiet times, in the misty times, that I’m most moved to pray – and yet more importantly, to stay.

VOCATION, VOCATION …

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vocation, vocation, vocation, vocation ...

JOHN THE BAPTIST was really talking about vocation out there in the wilderness, wasn’t he? Prepare yourselves for a new world. That seems to have been the message.

Bring together the best of the old with the best of the new. Leave the dross behind. Take a cold bath and rise up out of it renewed, ready to rise and shine. Look about you, every day and always, for the coming of a Word who’ll proclaim that the hands in which the new world will be held and shaped and moulded and nurtured belong to you, and you, and you …

The City of Peace will be built not of stones. The new Jerusalem will be built upon the hopes, the aspirations, the “sacrifice” of those who prove willing to risk traversing lonely highways in the desert because they somehow just have an instinct that there’s a voice to be heard out there (or in there) in the wilderness that’s just too important to miss.

And that’s why, in what has been one of my busiest months in a long time, I’m as happy as a sandboy. I’ve been doing what parish priests love doing. I’ve been talking with one willing disciple after another about vocation, vocation, vocation. And the light in their eyes is reflected in mine. Yes, yes, again:

let earth to heaven draw near;
lift up our hearts to seek thee there,
Come down to meet us here.

This is the day of light 
Hymns Ancient & Modern Revised 42
John Ellerton, 1867

see: Paul David Deakin & Rachael Elizabeth

MORNING GLORY

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please click on photo to enlarge

THE LATE CANON W H VANSTONE, one of my early mentors, comes to mind at this time of the year in much the same way as Woodbine Willie, the legendary WW1 padre, does too. Both were famously fond of their cigarettes. Both are numbered amongst the finest of poets, both engaged in the most profound theological reflection – right “in the thick of it” where an aching world lifted up its hands beseeching mercy and love. Here’s the view from my study window at 7.15 this morning. Probably the particular reason I’m thinking of Canon Vanstone today, who wrote, in Love’s Endeavour, Love’s Expense

Morning glory, starlit sky,
Leaves in springtime, swallows’ flight,
Autumn gales, tremendous seas,
Sounds and scents of summer night;

Soaring music, tow’ring words,
Art’s perfection, scholar’s truth,
Joy supreme of human love,
Memory’s treasure, grace of youth …

Love that gives gives ever more,
Gives with zeal, with eager hands,
Spares not, keeps not, all outpours,
Ventures all, its all expends.

Morning glory, starlit sky | stanzas 1, 2 and 4 of 7

There were times in their lives when Geoffrey Studdert-Kennedy and W H Vanstone came as near to breaking point as any of us dare imagine. They followed the pattern and example of Jesus of Nazareth. They spared not, all outpoured, ventured all, spent. Such a following may raise up a new morning glory in the life and witness of the Church today if we, with humility like theirs, could only learn afresh to live and love and work alongside all humankind, and to rest, to play, and of course to pray.

THAT COMES WITH THAT

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I’VE A LARGE AND AFFECTIONATE soft-spot for the Episcopal Church in the United States, due, in part though not entirely, no doubt, to the enormous warmth of welcome I once received at her hands. I also feel an attachment to her because of her willingness to stand on the edge, to function prophetically, imaginatively, inclusively, creatively, joyfully, faith-fully and probably, for all these reasons, like all of us, sometimes wrongly. She doesn’t mind taking a minority view. And that’s very Christ-like, it seems to me.

And it’s in the light of this affectionate regard that I noted with interest a little paragraph in this week’s Church Times – Membership drops by 2.3 per cent in US. (2,175,748 baptised members in 2009; 2,125,01 in 2010). Not a massive issue of itself, for me. I don’t count often but I’m fairly confident that membership in my parish church has probably dropped by a similar percentage in recent years. Jesus is thought to have spent a lot of his time with a little congregation of around a couple of dozen men and women (all of whom were prepared to leave behind a lot of their likes, dislikes, occupations, comfort-blankets and, ultimately, their lives) – and we’re still celebrating the results of that well-spent time out there “in the world”. There’s more to church than numbers in the pews, and what’s really important about baptism is that it sacramentally points to the grace of God that’s already at work in every area of life, not just church-baptised life.

But what really caught my eye was: “The chief operating officer (my !) of the Episcopal Church, the Rt Revd Stacy Sauls, said that the figures suggested that “We cannot continue to pretend we are the Church of the establishment, entitled to the power, prestige, and privilege that comes with that”. I couldn’t agree more, of course. But my question is (and maybe the good bishop’s too): who ever gave any Christian to understand that she / he was / is entitled to power, prestige, and privilege? Following the pattern and example of Jesus of Nazareth always involved renunciation of power, prestige and privilege didn’t it? Or else I’ve misunderstood discipleship - for a long time – and all “that comes with that”.

MAXIMILIAN’S BAPTISM

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THE FULL HOUSE for the joy-filled Baptism of Maximilian this morning gives me (another) opportunity to head up this post with my very favourite account, by a simply wonderful narrator, of Jesus’ Baptism! But more than that, it’s always such a joy when our House for the Church is full of people come to celebrate the goodness of God and the richness of the gifts we revel in. And there’s no greater gift to a family than that of an infant. Nor, perhaps, any greater responsibility laid upon older shoulders. Bringing infants to Baptism in and into the House of the Lord provides glorious opportunity for all of us to reflect upon the giftedness and gratuitousness of our lives, upon our hopes and our aspirations, what – in co-creating with, and in, and surrounded by God – we want to make of our world, our humanity, our society, our church – for Maximilian, for ourselves, and for God.

“I baptise with water”, said John the Baptist. One who will come after me will baptise with Holy Spirit. And so it came to pass. Today and every day humankind is baptised “new every morning” by the Spirit of Divine Grace and Love. Perhaps that’s why Maximilian and his wonderful parents were smiling so much in our sacramental celebration of the fact this morning. Perhaps that’s why people had travelled from far and wide to celebrate the gift and the treasure. Yes! – wherever and whenever humankind is “baptised” in the Spirit of God we can rest assured that the Source of our Life continues to turn the world upside down. “Whoever has seen (this human) me has seen the Father” said the anointed Jesus to Philip. And this morning he might have said “whoever has seen Maximilian has seen the Father”. What a joy, what a commission, what a responsibility – this living of the Life and Love of God in and through each one of us, dear created people.

DIVINE PARENT,
Mother and Father, Sister and Brother of us all,
in company with Jesus,
in the power of your Spirit,
with prophets, priests and royal leaders,
and with every woman, man and child
upon the face of the earth,
we bless you for the gift of life and of abundance.
And as we bless you we also ask
your blessing for ourselves that we may be
inspired, strengthened and encouraged daily
to share that life and that abundance
throughout the world.