Category Archives: wonder

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

IMAGINING

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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

ALMOST SPELLING ‘HOLY’

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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.

PURPOSE

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Screenshot - click to go to BBC Radio 4

CAUGHT UP tonight with the excellent BBC Radio 4 conversation, hosted by Andrew Marr, between Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Richard Dawkins and Lisa Randall. I was greatly impressed by the tone of the conversation. Respectful and interested, there was also a distinct absence of high-pitched religious or philosophical “certainties”. Wondering quietly about human perspectives 500 years from now (“our view of the world around us, and our place within it”) is a fairly frequent feature of my own prayer-life and daily contemplation. I’m able to delight with Richard Dawkins in his celebrating beauty and “magic”. And one of Rabbi Sacks’ sentences reverberates particularly: “Things do not need to have a purpose, but persons do”. That has certainly been my experience. William Cleary’s lovely prayer speaks of the hope in persons with a purpose, with imagination:

There is hope for me because you are a caring creator, and have filled our experience with caringness: links of concern and love in my heart for those around me, and energies of positive regard from others toward me. In such a circle we can survive, and with evolutionary imagination at work everywhere, we can find joy in the mysterious dance of daily life. Amen

My Being Speaks: Finding joy in life
from We side with the morning: William Cleary

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.

TELEPHONES FOR ONE THING …

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Bede Griffiths (17 December 1906 – 13 May 1993), born Alan Richard Griffiths and also known as Swami Dayananda (Bliss of Compassion), was a British-born Benedictine monk who lived in ashrams in South India.

I READ FR BEDE GRIFFITHS’ A New Vision of Reality way back in 1989 when it was published. Formerly a Benedictine monk at Prinknash Abbey, Fr Bede, the book’s dustjacket informs, left England in 1955 to travel to India to assist in the foundation of Kurisumala Ashram, a monastery of the Syrian rite in Kerala. In 1968 he moved to Saccidananda Ashram in Tamil Nadu by the sacred river Cauvery. This Ashram (founded in 1950) was a pioneer attempt to found a Christian community in India which would incorporate the customs of a Hindu ashram and the traditional forms of Indian life and thought. It seeks to become a centre where people of different religious traditions can meet together in an atmosphere of prayer and grow together towards that unity in Truth which is the goal of all religions.

I’m a devotee of Brother David Steindl-Rast whose website Gratefulness pointed me to the old VHS tape footage of Fr Bede (above) which is simply priceless …

You see, for me, coming to America from India – the complexity of life! All these telephones for one thing, you know, and cars and tv and so on. It’s very wonderful in its way but [in India] in the simplicity, you seem to get an integrity, your whole life becomes more whole … if people can learn to simplify their lives, you know, at least in part – some sphere of simplicity where you can let go and be simple in the presence of God …

Bede Griffiths never lost his grip of the most fundamental requirement for a child of God: living in the presence of God. His / her entire life story arises therefrom. But we human beings are forgetful as Bishop Kelvin Wright of Dunedin (another prophet possessed of “a new vision of reality” in our own day) wrote a day or two ago …

These empty worship shells scattered around the countryside are the signs of the death of a particular religious infrastructure. I look at them with such fascination, I think, because they represent a process which is still continuing. A particular way of meeting the spiritual needs of our society is disappearing because it no longer meets the needs of our society, and still we are preoccupied with preserving it: keeping our buildings open and making sure our functionaries are paid and making sure the committee structures which kept the whole system turning over are filled with the fewer and older and wearier people who still give us allegiance. I think we have missed – are missing – the point.

The role of the church is to introduce people to the Living God and open them to the transforming power of the presence of God. Gradually we have forgotten to do this. We have forgotten how to do this. We have forgotten, even, that we are supposed to do this. And quite naturally, and quite rightly, the infrastructure we have created precisely to help us to do this crumbles and dies.

The old churches tell me one thing and they tell it to me clearly and loudly: The church must facilitate personal transformation or it must cease to exist. It is time to forget the infrastructure except to the extent that it facilitates the one essential task of the Church. As my Lord tells me, “seek first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness and all the rest will be added to you as well.”

Personal transformation before ecclesiastical transformation,  that’s the secret. Jesus changed individual hearts before he changed church. Personal transformation begets ecclesiastical transformation, and thereafter societal transformation. Bede Griffiths, Roger of Taizé, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Kelvin Wright … might all have worn the name badge Swami Dayananda (Bliss of Compassion). And that’s where personal transformation begins: in compassion, first for oneself, and then for all other created persons and things, and that (Christ-like) compassion leads to “some sphere of simplicity” where we can “let go and be simple in the presence of God.”

In other words, we re-member. How lovely that an old VHS tape (oh, the simplicity of such things!) should bring Fr Bede to hearts and minds in 2011. How glad he might be to read Kelvin’s Available Light, even from the perspective of his now living entirely within it. Brother David, I’m grateful.

HEAVEN?

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Journey's end

FURTHER TO LAST NIGHT’S POST on Life influences I’ve had my nose in one of my most beloved Carlo Carretto books again today:  I Sought and I Found. And I’ve been recalling how, across thirty odd years, I’ve quoted this extra-ordinary priest again and again and again. Just at the moment when I was beginning to turn my young attention to reading theology and thoughts of preparing, of “formation”, for the priesthood – and in the case of this book, the very year in which I was ordained priest, 1983, Fr Carlo loomed larger and larger on my horizons. I hope I may be forgiven for indulging in a couple of straight quotes:

We have to grasp that the culture in which we are steeped, the so called ‘current view of religion’ with which the media bombard us, especially here in the West, is completely devoid of theological content and even more devoid of experience of God.

At very best we are purveyed a load of superstitions, trite, worn-out commonplaces, absolutely alien to the great, single, sublime mystery of the Unity in Trinity of God, which is the epitome of all visible and invisible reality, the answer to all the problems, the environment in which we live like fish in water or birds in air, the teeming womb of Love.

Heaven is not up there – though it is up there too.
Heaven is everywhere.
Heaven is up there and down here,
Heaven is the infinitely far and the infinitely near.
Heaven is the secret place, that is, the hidden place, where my Creator lives, and where I, his creature live, where he is there as Father and I am there as child, where he is the spring, and I am the one who thirsts, where he creates and inspires, and I have the potential to create and inspire.

Heaven is everywhere, because God is everywhere; and it is called heaven because God is mystery, he is hidden. And it is right that his dwelling place should be called this, out of deference to my immaturity in my ‘becoming’, out of deference to my inclination to half-close my eyes on the path towards the fullness of the All, the path of my progressive discovery of God as Person …

Glory be! How clearly I can now see how this priest has shaped me. How what I read in the late 70s and the early 80s was to have a direct influence and effect upon what I would become, and long to be, and pray for, and hope for, and go on to read, and write, and dare to preach, (see note 5. in Christopher Burkett’s definition of preaching) and seek to live. We’ve absolutely no business allowing ourselves to get caught up, imprisoned, hidebound, by “a load of superstitions, trite, worn-out commonplaces”.

… And because this is so, the light has need of darkness, life must touch non-life, selfless love must discover the fact of selfishness, truth must make its way through the lie, virtue must do battle with sin.

Yes, it is true, I discover the positive of God in the negative of me and the universe, and I know that you need both to have a beautiful photograph.

This is experience of God.

God becomes man so that man may become God, sorrow become joy, the Nothing become the All.

It is meeting.
It is togetherness.
It is begetting.
It is the maturing of the child in the Father’s shadow.
It is the Kingdom of love.
It is the everlasting.
It is paradise.
You living in me and I living in you. Behold journey’s end.

When I was a boy I looked for God by directing my gaze towards the light coming from on high.

As a lad I looked for him in my brothers and sisters around me.

When I grew up I sought him along desert tracks.

Now I have come to the end of the road, I have only to close my eyes and there he is, within me.

If I see light I see him in the light, and if I see darkness I feel him in the darkness. But always within me.

I no longer feel even the need to search for him, or to kneel down to pray, or to think or speak in order to communicate with him.

I only need to think of my human state – and there, in faith, I see him in the midst.

For the second evening in a row I am wondering how my own life might have turned out without lifelong relationship with the Source of that life, and with the dear, dear and sometimes very trying Church of God?

MAGDALENA

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CYNTHIA BOURGEAULT’S The Meaning of Mary Magdalene has been such a gift to me this year; and so, more recently, has Jan Richardson, and her In the Sanctuary of Women, both of which books I’ve been revelling in, and recommending widely.

I’ve often spoken of my undying gratitude for something the late and great Archbishop Michael Ramsey said – I believe quite frequently – and once to me and a small group of doting ‘disciples’ gathered around him in my small rooms in Salisbury 30+ years ago: (Gleefully and with a slight stammer) “We’re the early Christians!”

How glad I’ve been to recall the truth and the depth of the archbishop’s wisdom! How glad to be a disciple alive today – 2000 years (only!) after Jesus and Mary Magdalene and their friends graced and anointed human encounters – glad to be alive in a wide world and in wide faith communities that are still being blessed, and still being graced, with new and ever deeper understandings of what it means to be fully human; to be anointed, to be loved, and graced, and held (even “after the Cross”) and sustained, and still learning.

And tonight I fell upon this achingly beautiful video produced and gifted to the world (thanks be to God) by Jan Richardson and her own “sweetheart” Garrison Doles. May it bless a wider and more humane humankind, and awaken new riches in all of us. May we know, and feel, and be thankful for, and above all understand, passiontide - Christ’s and all peoples’ passiontide – in new and personal ways. May we delight in the Love of the God who sees the deepest and truest beauty in us. May we know the fullness of the blessing of Life. May we hear Life say “Today: today you will be with me in paradise”.

IN THIS SINGLE HOUR

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WHAT’S THE LIFESPAN OF A BUTTERFLY, or of veined architecture in sand, or of the music of a poem, or a song? Here today, gone tomorrow, if they live that long.

A large and beautiful butterfly battled against a stiff wind on the beach the other day, and the miraculous creature has since loomed large in my mind. It seemed there was both physical strength and purpose in this tiny life’s fluttering. The “will” to live was plain. And huge effort involved in the living. And for how long? May Sarton, life-long poet and author, in her late eighties, learned another take on temporality:

Now there is time and
Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself …

May Sarton
from Now I Become Myself

Further along the beach, on that same walk, I photographed the Atlantic’s own tidal art-work in damp sand. I think it marvellous and extraordinary that in countless such acts of creation, every moment, every day, something of beauty and of outstanding merit is brought to birth, whether or not a single soul notices, for a nanosecond, its glory or its worth. The same ocean that supports the great liners plying the waters between continents, is also home to dolphins just off-shore here, and – more delicately – carves temporary filigree, spectacularly and consistently, in rock and in sand. In this single hour I live all of myself:

Stand still, stand still
and stop the sun!

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Fuerteventura, Spain