What I’m seeing today is an octopus

I was thinking this morning about Easter, and reflecting on how much has changed since Christmas. Back in December we didn’t know about CV-19 and it would have been inconceivable to imagine people stock piling toilet rolls.

At the Christmas carol service at Bourton on the Hill, our youngest church member brought one of her soft toys, an octopus who I seem to remember was called Ollie. Ollie joined the shepherds in the crib to worship the new-born Christ-child. It’s a bit odd to see a cephalopod worshipping baby Jesus, but one of the things I have learnt as a vicar is to expect the unexpected.

God comes to us as a baby, as a breath of wind, in the face of a stranger., in the beauty of love. God comes to us, even when we don’t expect it, especially when we don’t expect it. Jesus walks out of the dark mouth of a hungry tomb; Jesus breaks free of death in the most extraordinary, unexpected way. Easter is coming!

What I’m seeing today is blossom

Blossom – a sign of spring, a sign of hope. The brilliance of the cherry against the blue sky reminds me that spring follows winter, and summer comes on its heels. New life, resurrection of that that a month ago looked dead. There is nothing I can do to speed its arrival. In that lack of control, there is sometimes comfort.

But I am also aware of how vulnerable the blossom is. A cold wind or a sudden frost and the cherry flowers will turn brown or fall. That too is out of my control. I am vulnerable as well, subject to fear, anger and worry. These emotions I accept, knowing that they will pass, in time and with prayer.

We are an Easter people, a community of relationships held across eternity and through time, linked by faith, love, forgiveness and hope. We are an Easter people who await resurrection. Even in winter, even in Lent, we are an Easter people.

What I’m seeing today is Blockley

I’m looking down over Blockley, the village in the North Cotswolds where I live, and where I have the privilege of being the priest. You can’t see the village or the church because they are hidden deep in the valley, beside the fast flowing brook which has shaped the village over the last 1300 years.

We know that a Christian monk had a cell here in the 750s. The monks who came after him sold the farm to the Bishop of Worcester in 855AD. It belonged to the bishops through plague and famine, and the village expanded around the church, milling corn, then wool and then silk. The church is in the centre of Blockley, the first church in the north Cotswolds and the first church to have hydroelectric power in the world.

Despite our social distancing, there is a steady stream of people, keeping appropriately physically isolate, but enjoying the sense that even at a time like this, the church is in the middle of everything. God is in the middle of everything. Love is at the core of every wave, bow and smile across the distance between us.

Blessings beyond Measure

According to the Church of England, marriage “enriches society and strengthens community”. This is true in large part because marriage, sociologically at least, is an economic construct. Yes, I know… Marriage is ordained by God, and is a sacrament. Whilst I agree that God blesses the union of a man and a woman, I also know that marriage creates economic bonds which in the past have protected both women and children, and provided for them. So marriage is expedient as well as Godly.

My theology of blessing, the prayer for and divine approval of thriving, has always been to encourage life in all its fulness. Parents bless their children, owners bless their pets, I have in my time blessed my dishwasher and the resulting ease with which I can offer hospitality. Blessing that which we love and appreciate is profoundly human as well as a profoundly Godly.

Why then, given that the church has a deeply-loved place in the wedding of heterosexual couples, and the ability to bless not only life but also inanimate objects (I’m thinking toilets here!), do our bishops feel the need to comment on blessing or otherwise loving relationships which are not part of liturgy, and therefore not part of our theology. Why not keep quiet and allow pastoral requests to take precedence over ridiculous and pretentious statements about sex. What on earth does God make of it!

Made in the Image of God

What does it mean to be fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps 139) in the image of God, and yet have more or less chromosomes than average? Is there only one blueprint for humanity? Are our differences due to our fall from grace through sin ? Or is God’s image more diverse that we can ever imagine?

It reminds me of the question that the disciples asked Jesus. “Rabbi, who sinned: this man or his parents, causing him to be born blind?” (John 9). Jesus replies, ““You’re asking the wrong question. You’re looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do.”

We need to see anyone who is ‘different’ with the eyes of the God who created humanity fearfully, wonderfully and vulnerably. Within each one of us is a selfie of God, a spark of divinity. Because we know that God loves diversity and variety, we should not be surprised that God has made each of us different from one another. Through every person, no matter how differently abled, God is present to others.

We might be heterosexual or prefer same sex partners; like to run or prefer to make pots; have skin colour that is brown, yellow, or just a weird shade of pale; or have 46 or more or less chromosomes.  Each one of us are unique and wonderful. We see a glimpse of God in the eyes and hearts of everyone we meet.

Halloween rethought

imagesLast night, 60 or so children and their parents came to the vicarage in search of sweets given in reward for a new stock of terrible jokes! They were dressed in violence and blood, and how I wish we had adopted the American custom of simply bedecking children in fancy dress. But that said, 60 children and their parents came to my door last night.

As a Christian, should I have turned them away? A few years ago I would have. The celebration of witches, magic and evil turns my stomach. But is a celebration of evil what is actually going on? I think not.

The children come to my door because supermarkets tell them they will get free sweets. The parents let them because pester power and peer pressure is immense. This is no celebration of evil, darkness in opposition to light. This is commercial opportunism.

I lit candles, carved love-heart pumpkins, gave a generous welcome and prayed a blessing on the families who came to my door. My prayer for their homes is for sweet love to light their homes with love, that they might in turn offer hospitality to the weakest in our community. This is probably the most useful way I can communicate our Gospel of love and peace in our secular society.

Stepping Towards

Book of JoyWhen the terrorist attack around Borough Market in London was reported, much was made of the people who chose to run TOWARDS the ensuing chaos, rather than away from it. But these fearless ones said that they were acting on instinct or by training. They denied being heroes but felt they were just supporting people in need.

I saw a very small example of the this week, when the BBC were filming in Blockley this week. Someone who house was being used as a location became stressed and angry as the BBC swept way work on a table which was in the way, without noticing that they were causing damage. There was shouting. Then the BBC location manager moved forward, de-escalating the situation by stepping towards the tension.

He reacted by instinct, showing empathy and talking without pause, while invading personal space and gently touching the person on the shoulder. It was a master-class in how to dissipate anxiety, anger and conflict.

Archbishop Tutu and the Dali Lama’s Book of Joy reminds me that to step towards a difficult situation, even an emotional one like a terrible diagnosis or a bereavement, robs it of its power to terrorize us. By acknowledging our fear and stepping towards a tragic situation, it loses some of its power.

I recommend the Book of Joy. We need to celebrate, delight and radiate joy, more and more, in order to live better, freer, more complete lives.

A rant about General Data Protection Regulation

Idolatry is easier to spot in hindsight. Back in the days of the Old Testament, it usually involved golden calves and sacred poles. People used to accuse pop stars of becoming idols, and ironically, we have television programmes dedicated to finding new ones. But perhaps the whole point of idols is that they are so deeply embedded in culture that we don’t see them. That is the danger they present – they remain beguilingly hidden in plain sight.

Like money, GDPR is not in itself bad. But privacy as it is interpreted by some responsible for implementing GDPR is perhaps just such an idol. Charities, among other organisations that hold data, are struggling to attend to the new legislation with which they must comply in May. GDPR is an expression of the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union that provides a fundamental right to privacy. How that law is implemented is a problem because those responsible for its interpretation and enforcement are at risk of elevating the right to privacy to cultish levels.

The law says that in certain situations, for example employers and taxation, there is a need to know some things about us. But purists argue that we must be allowed to control the extent to which others to see through the wall of privacy into our individual private lives. But God created humans to be in relationship with one another. ‘No man is an island’ and the idea of ‘being known’, not least by God themself, is a core element of Christian love for our neighbours and ourselves.

When a charity, or a newsletter, or even the vicar, invite me to sign up, they are asking me to be in relationship with their organisation. How can this relationship be initiated and maintained with this degree of control? The Church of England says that as vicar, I need to have the consent of every member of the electoral roll before I write to him or her to look at their regular giving – I can preach it but I can’t do direct marketing. Doesn’t that make privacy an idol?

Books, blogs and twitter

So authors are gathering in Cheltenham for the Literary Festival, hoping to entice us into buying their new books. Last night I heard Vince Cable and Stanley Johnson talking about their Brexit novels, and as we left we began to wonder if there is still a place for the political novel in a social media-driven world.

Twittindexer, Facebook and other social media sites are sources of immediate news, whether personal, local, national and global. They share immediate impressions, un-nuanced emotions and initial responses. Time is needed before news can be weighed and assessed, and most of us don’t use social media in that way.

Blogs and editorials allow more scope to reflect on the bigger picture and the better question, but even they do not often have the distance in time and vision to allow for a considered view to develop. It takes time to take in a vista, to look for patterns and themes, to sort the fake news from the actions and trends which are going to affect our lives in the longer term.

In fact, I believe it takes novels to bring that task to fruition. Only when we can transport the immediate into a more creative distance, and sort many truthes into THE truth, is it possible to reflect on where we have been, and where we are going. Stories help us to grasp that there are more possibilities beyond what our eyes can see.  And in all of that, to find out where God has gone before us, and beckons us to follow.

Sermon for St Peter and St Paul 2017

Peter, with his hands the size of dinner plates, hands that had pulled in the nets of fish on the Lake of Galilee; Peter who didn’t make the grade, whose education was curtailed at 12 – he flunked out of synagogue school; Peter, foolish, headstrong, stubborn, a flaky friend who Jesus called by a name into which he would have to grow.

Peter who looked up into the sky on the hill of Ascension, hoping for another glimpse, a clue as to what to do next. With heavy heart and slow mind, he turned for Jerusalem, unable to comprehend what and how the future could unfold. Who. filled with the Spirit at Pentecost, stood and preached the sermon of his life, adding 3000 to the followers of the Way of Jesus. Peter who followed the Way all the way to martyrdom, leading what was to become a movement, then a cult, and finally a religion.

I visited Rome a few years ago as vice-chair of a Church of England Commission. A red clad cardinal took us to the top of the Pontiff’s palace, and we looked down on the square and the tourists and the pigeons. A student guide took us below the huge monolith that is St Peters Basilica, to the ancient cemetery below, where the great and the good of Nero’s Rome are buried alongside Christian gladiators. In a hidden crypt below the altar of the church above, bones were found wrapped in gold and purple cloth during the hopeless, helpless atrocities of the Second World War.

The location, the manner of preservation, the carbon dating, the date of nearby catacombs, suggest these bones may have been Peter’s. In a Perspex box, made by NASA, I looked upon the hand bones of the saint who grasped for the hand of Jesus as he walked on water, as he began to sink through the waves. This man, this hand, had met Jesus, had touched him. It was surprisingly, strangely moving. I brought Peter back from Rome with me as a friend to whom I sometimes talk.

Paul, educated, passionate, young, who joined the Way after a blinding encounter with Jesus, and had to re-frame his faith over the making of tents. Paul, courageous, passionate, inarticulate, rushing around the empire getting into Boy’s Own scrapes and scraps, who spoke in letters to each little benefice of congregations, and from whom we glean universal truths.

The common thread though each story, journey, testimony is the guiding of the Holy Spirit. Without the Holy Spirit and the ability of Peter and Paul to hear, digest, learn, embody and act on the Spirit’s guidance, we might not ever be here, in this place.

Peter learnt of hospitality and inclusion from a sheet of prohibited animals in Joppa, Tel Aviv, and saw beyond that vision to God’s welcome of gentiles, heathen, outsides. He welcomed us, the unclean, to eat as the table of the Lord and king. And Paul, though intent on building up his little churches of artisans in the Middle East, was led by the Holy Spirit into Europe, to our door.

Without these fathers of our faith, we would not have heard the Gospel when we did, and as we have. Thanks be to God for them, and all the people of faith who have walked the Way before us. We take up the cross they carried further, deeper, higher into the Kingdom of God and our own calling by the Holy Spirit to live and work and act and serve in this, our generation.