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.
THRESHOLDS: Paul Deakin is heading back to Mirfield tonight. I’ll be meeting with Tracy Ward tomorrow. Rachael Elizabeth (above) preached a fine sermon at St Michael’s this morning – and what each of these people have in common is their membership of the parish family here in Bramhall, and a sense – each at their different stages – of calling to test vocations to the priesthood. And this is really what Gospel good news is all about – not just call to priesthood, of course, but call at all, to all.
Divine call is still heard today, even in the midst of our all-too-busy – and what my late mentor Bishop Victor Whitsey used to call “naughty” – world. The spark of the Divine is to be found alive and well in the heart of all life. And teachers are taught by those they’re called to teach! Paul, Tracy and Rachael are amongst the contemporary apostles of Jesus who teach and inspire me.
Many, many people have spoken to me of their newfound confidence – whilst the echoes of Rachael’s address were still in the air – that under Grace the Church will yet thrive and grow in the things of God, in all that she is called and directed to be. God plants the seeds.
I’m reminded of the Lebanese mystic Kahlil Gibran:
Then said a teacher: Speak to us of teaching. And he said: No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge. The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple, among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but rather of his faith and his lovingness. If he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the house of his wisdom, but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind. The astronomer may speak to you of his understanding of space, but he cannot give you his understanding. The musician may sing to you of the rhythm which is in all space, but he cannot give you the ear which arrests the rhythm, nor the voice that echoes it. And he who is versed in the science of numbers can tell of the regions of weight and measure, but he cannot conduct you thither. For the vision of one man lends not its wings to another man. And even as one of you stands alone in God’s knowledge, so must each one of you be alone in his knowledge of God and in his understanding of the earth …
Again: God plants the seeds in the heart of all created things. Divine call will lead Paul and Tracy and Rachael to the thresholds of their own minds, as I am continually led to mine. And I watch, and I wait, in awe, and in gratitude, and in wonder.
MERYL STREEP is an outstanding actor so The Iron Lady was, for that reason alone, a film I wanted to see. How now to set about an attempt at review? I knew at the outset that I’d be hard-put to describe the experience, and experience The Iron Lady most assuredly was. A maelstrom of emotions shook me out of the world of today so that I thought I’d done 10 rounds in a boxing ring by the end. Ms Streep, who has said I wanted to locate the human being inside those caricatures (of Lady Thatcher), is way way beyond outstanding here, and Jim Broadbent’s empathy extraordinary.
The (gorgeous) Alexandra Roach, playing the young Margaret Roberts, immediately located the human being in me. I wholly understood the ambition to “do something” that burned in the young Margaret, raised and inspired by her staunchly certain and well-meaning grocer father and Conservative Mayor of Grantham, Alfred. I don’t understand however how anyone, male or female, of whatever political persuasion, is ever persuaded to take on the office of British Prime Minister. The personal cost involved, it seems to me, is beyond all telling, and in saying so I mean to assert no trite judgment, one way or the other, on prime ministerial leadership in what were tumultuous times. I hope that there are genuinely happy and “good times” for all holders of high office.
But the human stories of the time, right up to the present day, are the real power in this film – amongst these the miners’ strike, the Falklands War, the assassination of Airey Neave, the Brighton bombing, the jobless, the homeless, the good, the sad and the bad. And there must be a thousand parables contained therein. Perhaps in time, and with further reflection, the parables will unravel themselves further. But truth to tell I cannot attempt a review at this time beyond admitting that, thinking I was going to burst as I left the cinema, my wife and I headed quickly and quietly for the car and, once safely inside, cried like two small children overwhelmed by huge experience. Cried for countless thousands of lives, the lives of ordinary citizens, hard working, well-meaning people amongst them. Cried for “demented power” gone mad (wheresoever it does). And cried and cried for the heart-searing pathos of a lonely, fearful, haunted old lady who struggles to stay “upright” without the sustenance and support of a one-time certain Rock, peering at times into the abyss. Life is absolutely tough at times. Leadership amongst the human race is costly, demanding and often thankless. And life’s toughness sometimes clobbers leaders just as surely as the rest of us.
We all need to learn the language of compassion, and live accordingly, for we human beings, towering former prime ministers included, are made of flesh and not of iron.
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
IMAGINING. I think that’s one of our chief works as humans. It’s how we co-create with the Source of all life. And imagining is what I’ve been doing all day. First in a fairly routine sort of early morning meeting, later in a scintillating encounter between an artist, Stephen Raw, an architect, John Prichard, two churchwardens, Ralph Luxon and Sue Taylor, and a photographing priest who thought he was in photographic heaven, moi …
I took many dozens of photos. Mindful of my manners though I will check with the artist before sharing too many more than the one above. This is a little trio of beautiful articles in a Stephen shaped cave. Not the work of the artist, but absolutely the work of the artist, if you know what I mean? Stephen’s studio feels like a coloured X-ray of his heart and soul and mind and body; a statement of faith and an act of imagination and creation. We came away energised at some profound level. We’d been standing on holy ground. I shall hope to stand there again. And there was good coffee! And cookies.
~
Later in the day I imagined a lovely local man being now in the nearer presence of God. I was deeply moved by his wife Sheila’s beautiful reading of Psalm 121 during a memorial service at nearby All Saints’ where Harry had been the organist until his sudden and unexpected death. The music, sung, played and listened to, together with Fr David’s quite simply superb shepherding of the service, and a fine address, made for one of the very finest funeral thanksgivings I’ve ever experienced. I’m deeply grateful for that and know that Harry’s family must surely be yet more thankful. Harry was an artist in his own distinctive and giving way. Perhaps all of us, in early morning meetings, artist’s studio, thanksgiving service in Church, or wheresoever we may be, are, each and every one of us, artists in our own distinctive ways.
How did God bring about such an extraordinary work, I wonder? And I only come near being able to approach an answer when I make time in my life to imagine ….
Update: with Stephen Raw’s kind permission: my photos are here
WRITING ABOUT stained glass fragments “blown apart in wars” and haphazardly reassembled later, the priest poet David Scott, in the second stanza of his A Window in Ely Cathedral, tells of
A leering bit of face with twisted lips,
a bit of beard, and letters almost spelling ‘holy’,
a sheaf of corn, a leaf, and then the sun dips,
lighting Mary in her simple glory.Piecing Together
A Window in Ely Cathedral,
stanza 2 of 3, page 29
In the economy of God there’s something afoot. I can feel it in my bones. The downtrodden, the dispossessed, the shattered, the fragmented and the forgotten, wherever they are in the world, are raising their voices. They cry for the reconciliation, resurrection and restoration of a humane humanity – for people of every race and nation, and of every creed (or lack thereof), or “class”, or colour. Too much has been blown apart by wars and for too long. But days wear on, the sun dips in her course, illuminating that which speaks of life’s real glory, and is thereby truly holy.
This is exciting. This is the stuff of the reign of the Source of all of our lives, to whom we have prayed, and with whom we have yearned, in every time and place, in every political and religious tradition, for so very long. Whether we’re speaking of ordinary Libyans standing up to be counted, intent on “occupying” their own entitlement to a bit of their own space as human beings; whether we’re speaking of Occupy New York, or Occupy London, or occupy-a-space-in-the-queue for fresh air, or clean water, or a bowl of rice, something is most assuredly afoot. The sun dips, lighting Mary in her simple glory, and because at evensong we’re rather quieter than usual we may hear her softly say and pray
he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He hath put down the mighty from their seat: and hath exalted the humble and meek
Come Christ-Mass this year the stable and the tent will not be featured only in hand-picked and glossy Christmas cards. Tents and stables are being raised up alongside cathedrals and churches. Tents and stables are being raised up in our dreams and in our slowly-awakening hearts. Here are opportunities to catch real glimpses for the possibilities of life’s glory, opportunities that are thereby truly holy. Some amongst us, nonetheless, will not look any more kindly upon such fragmented opportunities than they would ever have looked upon the teenage mother in the stable of Bethlehem.
But something of and from the divine is afoot. The leering bit of face with twisted lips, a bit of beard, and letters almost spelling ‘holy’, must give way to the sun’s dipping
lighting Mary in her simple glory.
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Your visible world is a sea-cave,
samphire, pale marshland jewelled with salt,
fog denying distance;
in solitude you watch icy rain
sieving away dead weeds,
wait for clouds to rise
from vast inner horizons
& green truths of faith
to grow on the rock.
Crossing earth’s last river
will bring you no terror -
fear is already emptied, and all
fantastic dimensions of the universe
merely a dilapidated hut.Sally Purcell
Collected Poems, Anvil, 2002 page 179
I’VE RETURNED time and time again in the last couple of years to the writings of Diarmuid O’Murchu in the quest I’ve engaged in all my life: the search for Adult Faith. In his book of that name O’Murchu quotes the late John O’Donohue:
Our modern hunger to belong is particularly intense. An increasing majority of people feel no belonging. We have fallen out of rhythm with life. The art of belonging is the recovery of the wisdom of rhythm.
John O’Donohue, cited by Diarmuid O’Murchu
I’ve witnessed a spiritual hunger in young and old alike in the past thirty years – along with a reluctance to partake of a “spiritual” diet grown old and stale (albeit that the kind of theological staleness I’m thinking of is too often dressed up as “contemporary”, or “for the young”, or “modern”). Many would rather remain hungry than have to suffer indigestion wrought by leave-your-brain-outside coercion. Me amongst them sometimes. O’Murchu, though, whets my spiritual appetite in these early years of the twenty-first century in much the same way that John Robinson reawakened interest, debate and dialogue mid-way through the twentieth.
There is a tendency in all the great religions to pass on religious wisdom through doctrines and creeds, with emphasis on knowing the verbal formulations. Adults are judged to be religious if they can pass on those beliefs to future generations just as they have been passed on to them. But this transmission is often lacking in internalized understanding; the neophyte learns the formula, and frequently is unable to apply it to daily life in an integrated way.
The bigger challenge is the realisation that we are all endowed with an inner transparency for the holy, for the mystery we popularly call “God”. We are programmed internally in the power of living spirit, always inviting us to attune more deeply to the Great Spirit who infuses the whole of creation. Whether we adopt a religion or not, we are innately spiritual and will remain so throughout our entire lifespan. For contemporary adults, this awareness is quite widespread and is raising formidable challenges for the meaning and place of formal religion in human living.
ibid. page 14
It was precisely Jesus’ own raising formidable challenges for the meaning and place of formal religion in human living that attracted me long ago to follow him. I’m still attracted, and still formidably – albeit willingly – challenged. When we’re able to rise to Jesus’ challenge to rid ourselves of outdated and outmoded shibboleths on the one hand, and perpetually to align ourselves with Divine Mystery on the other, we begin to roll away the stone from the tomb. And in doing so begin to glimpse new ways of belonging, in an altogether more “catholic” universe. We wean ourselves away from the life of the “whited sepulchre” and find ourselves nudged towards the joy and belonging of perpetual resurrection.
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.
The College of the Resurrection, Mirfield
PAUL DEAKIN preached at Evensong tonight. Friends had travelled, some of them long distances, to pray continued blessing upon our latest ordinand. The set lesson for Evensong was a bit of a gift at the outset (Agrippa said to Paul, ‘You have permission to speak for yourself.’ Acts 26.1) and, thus “granted permission to speak”, Paul spoke of his wedding day at St Michael’s twenty-seven years ago when, looking at his new bride Angela the words “Aisle, Altar, Hymn” sprang readily to his mind. Angela had altered him. He’d never expected to be standing in a pulpit. Others had expected it. And Paul’s account of a growing vocational awareness has touched many hearers.
Tomorrow I’ll wave off a friend, former Bentley car designer, and scout leader as he sets out for Mirfield. “This is going to change me”, he’s said to me, more than once, over many a cup of coffee. It is. As the people of St Michael & All Angels Bramhall have been changed by him. That’s what Christian discipleship is about. And none of us need to be afraid of it.
