Response to prayer.

At my church's Taize service last night we were reflecting on Celtic Saints. The service is a combination of traditional Taize music, silence and prayer, along with a series of multi-sensory prayer stations.  Last night's mini-pilgrimage round prayer stations of the saints included a reflection on Caedmon's inspiration - gifts of song inspired by God's Word which the tale tells came to him in dreams.
The prayer station asked people to think about their own creative response to the Word - to seek out a passage of scripture and if inspiration struck to record their response with pen and paper. I was worried that this might be a bit too think-y and time consuming for a prayer station - but it seemed to work. I found myself looking at John 20.15 in the Jerusalem translation of the Bible - "Woman, why are you weeping? I'm here." - this is what spewed onto the page.

"Woman - why are you weeping? I'm here - I love you."


I weep for my weakness.
I weep for my confusion and blankness.
I weep for pain and disappointment, anger and bitterness.


I weep for you, for what you mean to me.
For my selfishness that my need is always first in heart and mind.


I weep with suppressed joy
praise, adoration, desire.


I am weeping.  I am here -  I love you.

Baptismal Grace

I had the privilege of baptizing two young girls on Sunday morning. Baptism is always a joyful celebration but I was reminded by the comments of a lady attending the service of the strange attitude some congregations and clergy take to baptism.  She spoke of other services she had been to that were at best perfunctory, the sense of being barely tolerated by regular church goers, and coming away no wiser as to what was supposed to have happened and why.
I have myself on occasion been known to whinge about how many baptisms we have in my parish and the need to schedule extra services to deal with the demand (I know - what an idiot - only because I'm tired!) But I think we're in one of those situations where what was alleged to have happened in the rose-tinted imaginary golden days of church has been turned on it's head - and given us an amazing opportunity to share God's grace.
Church communities will comment that there is not enough Christianity in schools - that Christianity is no longer sufficiently part of the ingrained culture of the nation - that we need more Christianity - like we used to have (allegedly). Then almost in the same breath we complain about the number of people we don't know and have little contact with who come to our door expecting to be welcomed for baptism.
When my grandfather was a priest and nearly every child in the community was baptised and baptism service on a Sunday afternoon might have involved a couple of dozen babies - there was no opportunity to have baptisms in the main service as there were so many. I'm sure they were done with love and care, but the image that comes to mind is a bit of a cattle market - lots of people, lots of babies being passed back and forth. (As an aside I'm absolutely certain these kind of services could not have been quiet and calmly ordered - people are people and anyone who tells me old-fashioned babies didn't cry, throw up and generally act like babies is telling big fat fibs).
Now I work in a world were not everyone automatically brings their child for baptism. Bad times? Not a bit of it.  I have the luxury of getting to know the families who come to us for baptism. We have the time to talk together about who we all are and what it means - about God. I have the chance to make sure the language I use in liturgy is language which will communicate meaning to those involved. As a church community we have the regular opportunity to welcome and share in baptism in our main Eucharistic service.
I think my granddad would have given his right arm for these luxuries - and I think rather than whinging about less people being baptized than before we should recognize God's grace giving us the opportunity to explore the divine mystery of this sacrament.

Holding the tension

Have been thinking a lot recently about all the things we 'hold in tension' (popular phrase in preisty training) when our occupation is vicaring. When I was looking for my first post after my curacy I was repeatedly (and perhaps wisely), counseled that it was all about 'God's Time' and not my time, that everything would work itself out and I needed to stop pushing. What I think really happened is that I pushed and God pulled and I have found myself in the place intended as a result.

Having found myself on the verge of giving the same platitude to a colleague in the same position I was in 12 months ago I'm still irritated by the implication that 'God's Time' could conceivably require me to do absolutely nothing to discern the way forward.  My understanding of God's Kingdom is that we're all working together in the process of discernment. If I'm being fobbed off with a pat on the head and 'wait on God's time, deary' - it is too often an excuse to opt out of God's calling on each of our lives to get on a do something. If I trust that God's strength will uphold me, whether the outcome is success or failure in the eyes of this world, I am set free to act.  

I find myself now on the verge of my first APCM (annual church council meeting legally required in the Church of England for the election and appointment of roles within a church's life), with question marks over some of those roles as volunteers retire after years of dedicated service.  Half of me is stressed that the answer isn't neat and the roles haven't been filled by willing and forthcoming volunteers - the other half of me is contemplating 'God's time' again. I have acted, I have discussed, I have preached about vocation and discernment - I have even read the Church Representation Rules (extreme times call for extreme measures!) I now need to watch and pray, trusting God to do what is needed.  Maybe what is needed is a gap, a problem, a crisis, for the right people to hear and accept their particular calling.  I hold these things in tension, and pray the Vicar's prayer "Please God, help me not to snap."

Domestic Violence - Refuge

Patrick Stewart was on the Chris Evans Show this morning.  He always seems like a lovely chap and a pleasure to listen to. I am slightly biased as I grew up in his home town, his brother sang in the church choir with my dad for years and I went to school with his nephew. I have inspiring memories of him coming to my home church of St Mary's Mirfield to perform his one man show of A Christmas Carol - which must have been round about 1987 - pre-Star Trek.

I noticed this morning that he was trending on Twitter (unsurprisingly) and that people were re-posting an article he wrote in 2009 about domestic violence in the Guardian. Patrick is a patron of Refuge who provide help and assistance for women and children who are experiencing domestic violence.  It's a really good article, highly recommended.

What struck me most though this morning (considering my 'top tenuous' links to Mr Stewart as Chris Evans' show would put it) is that when he talks about the people who knew about the violence in his household as he grew up, the people who knew but said nothing, he's actually talking about some people who I know.  Much of my family lived within streets of his at that time.  Some of the knowing but not acting was by people who I grew up around and had great respect for.

As Mr Stewart points out in the article, there are still a lot of situations where people know and do nothing. Things need to change.

Advent Calendar Conspiracy

If anyone visiting this blog hasn't yet come into contact with the Advent Calendar Conspiracy, it's something I was asked to get involved with by Changing Worship, a friend in both the real word and the t'interworld.  Inspired by the Advent Conspiracy - a bid to get some real meaning back into Advent and Christmas by asking simple questions and taking simple but effective action - it's an Advent Calendar.  Each day there's a 30 second video clip which juxtaposes traditional images and sounds of Christmas as we know it in modern Britain and the western world, with images, sounds and ideas about the reality of our world, the changes we might like to see, and the truth sent from above.

You can get your daily dose of questioning by following the group on face book here - just like the page. Or you can follow them on Changing Worship's blog - follow the link above. We've really enjoyed putting these together - and I've found when I've revisited the clips I put together myself that new thoughts have been inspired.

In his article for the Christmas Radio Times, the Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams talks about what we mean when we bandy around the slogan 'What Would Jesus Do?' - he suggests it's all about asking awkward questions - and I hope that's what our little project has done this Advent.

Ethics and Gift Aid

I appreciate this is a slightly random topic but I have been thinking recently about the ethics of Gift Aid. Gift Aid seems to be a wonderful scheme which has benefited many charities, not least the church. It is available to all UK tax payers and means that by making a simple declaration you are able to add £0.25 to every pound you give to a charity.  This £0.25 is claimed by the charity from the government - and each £0.25 comes from the tax you have already paid.  So it is a way of re-allocating the tax you have paid to a charity of your choice.

So far so good.  But unless I have missed the point (and will be happy for someone to put me out of my ignorance) this means that every time I Gift Aid a donation, I am in fact taking money out of the tax I have paid to support essential services, and putting it somewhere else.  I know this seems churlish, but I'm not entirely sure that this is OK.  If my tax pounds are needed to support the NHS, schools etc. is it really ethical for me to choose to opt out of part of that essential payment by re-allocating it to my chosen charity?

I suppose for those who understand this area better than I there are many mitigating factors. I would be happy to be enlightened.

Advent Songs

My song: Doris Corti

I sing my God
   in blue of skies and seas -
I sing my God in green and brown
And the magnificence of fields.

I sing my thanks for the orb of sun
and quiet of each moon,

I sing my God in what we sow,
   seeds scattered
and the hope of what is to come.

I sing about the brilliance
   that underscored each day,
the bread rolls, warm upon the plate
the milk poured from a jug

shafts of sunlight that hit the river deep,
and rain that splinters on a path;

I sing my God in his excellence,
his unknown ways - the life he gives,

     I sing my song.