The Forest and the River.

Tollymore Forest sits at the foot of the Mourne Mountains and I suppose that it’s most recent claim to fame is that it is one of many locations in Northern Ireland used in the HBO ‘slice and dice – athon’ that is ‘Game of Thrones’ (Perhaps I should just say that I enjoyed the first two books in George R. R. Martin’s sprawling epic – but the TV show has largely passed me by. I should also say that hereabouts you could throw a stone and find a ‘GoT’ location which says a lot for the beauty and wildness of the place, and the inevitable cost of the footfall!!). With that qualification out of the way, we walked in the forest last week in between showers and I was struck by the peace and beauty of the forest and the Shimna River that runs through it – it is a truly magical place.

Of course Tollymore is an artificial place, formed and shaped by human imagination, but for all that it is still possible to touch something wild and natural by walking there and breathing the air. We walked though the Victorian folly by the river (one of the children following us thought it looked like a ‘troll house’) and came to the stepping stones. Midway across the stones I was struck by the pattern of the water passing by the stones – arrow shaped ripples and rivers stones glistening in the clear water. Stepping stones are interesting for a variety of reasons both practical and spiritual, they mark a place of crossing from one shore to another, or from one set of attitudes to another.

As I crossed the stones I was acutely aware of the need to both balance and look for the next stone! Without wishing to take anything away from the simple exhilaration of being out in the fresh air, I thought that crossing the stones was a good metaphor for my journey from one place to another whilst all the time life (like the river) rushes by. In fact it could be argued that the life of faith is about seeking those (mostly) firm places to stand as you move through the different phases of life. Also just being in such a magical place is a reminder of the essential goodness of the natural world and how much it has to teach as the forest and the river both point back to that ancient voice that called it all into being and announced that it was good.

A reflection on Holy Saturday.

The first question I want to ask is what is Holy Saturday? The easy answer is that “Holy Saturday is the day before Easter and is the date during Holy Week when Christians engage in preparations for Easter services. Among Anglicans it is typically referred to as Eastern Even (Easter Eve) and among Filipinos as Black Saturday. Eastern Orthodox Christians call it The Great Sabbath because Jesus “rested” in the tomb on this day. Sometimes it is called Easter Saturday, but that is incorrect – technically, Easter Saturday is the Saturday following Easter.

Some early Christian legends recount how the “Harrowing of Hell” occurred on this day. While his body lay in the tomb, Jesus visited hell to rescue the many just and good non-Christians held there. This descent into Hell created a way for all those born before Christ to be redeemed, thus eliminating the problem of teaching that good people would be tormented for all eternity. However, some Christians believe that Jesus only went to Sheol or Hades because this place of shadows is a temporary place whereas Hell is a future realm to be accessed after judgement. In the very early Christian church, Christians would normally fast during the day and participate in an all-night vigil before a baptism of new Christians and celebratory Eucharist at dawn. During the Middle Ages many of the Holy Saturday events were transferred from the night-time vigil to dawn services on Saturday. Modern Catholic churches observe Holy Saturday by severely restricting all religious observances. Altars are stripped bare. No sacraments are administered except in emergencies, for example, if someone is close to death. Neither weddings nor funerals are held. This is the only date in the liturgical calendar on which masses are not held. On Holy Saturday the Church waits at the Lord’s tomb, and meditates on His Passion and Death and His descent into Hell. With prayer and fasting we await His glorious Easter resurrection. Mary is also a Holy Saturday symbol. According to Catholic tradition, Mary represents the entire body of the Church. As she waited in faith for the victorious triumph of Her Son over death on the first Holy Saturday, so we too wait with Mary on the present Holy Saturday. This faithful and prayerful symbolic waiting has been called the Ora della Madre or Hour of the Mother.

This is clearly an ‘in-between’ time after the Crucifixion and before the Resurrection. As has been suggested earlier it is ‘a liturgically sparse time of reflection’. One writer has even gone as far as describing Holy Saturday as ‘a day of atheism’ (Alan E. Lewis), because, as one reviewer of Lewis’ book (‘Between Cross and Resurrection: A Theology of Holy Saturday’ W. B. Eerdmans 2003) puts it; “Jesus is dead, his message and person discredited. The kingdoms of this world have won, and the God Jesus trusted in is seen either to have failed Jesus or as ultimately powerless against sin and death”. It is only against the background of Jesus death and the failure of his mission that the glorious mystery of the Resurrection can be fully appreciated.

It could be argued that life itself is full of these ‘in between’ times. Between birth and death for example, as the songwriter Joni Mitchell puts it in her song ‘Hejira’ (1977);

“I know- no one’s going to show me everything

We come and go unknown

Each so deep and so superficial

Between the forceps and the stone’”

There are also the years of childhood and adolescence, times of great change and development which can be both a time of difficulty and maturity. Without seeming too flippant, what I have called ‘in between’ times can be found in the most ordinary experiences, the reading between starting a finishing a book, or the walking between the start and the end of a journey. If you want to look at the biblical narrative think for a moment of the desert experience of Israel, their ‘in between’ time lasted for 40 years. They wandered as a result of their inability to appreciate God’s love but they also learned a great deal about divine provision for them both in their imprisonment and the ‘freedom’ of the desert. These ‘in between’ times can lead to impatience but they are essential if we are to learn the lessons of life, for example when making a journey we can be so fixed on our arrival that we can easily miss the insights to be gained on the way. Robert Louis Stevenson may have been thinking of this when he said ‘To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive’.

But then I also want to take a cue from the insight I mentioned earlier and see Holy Saturday as a ‘waiting time’, it is a day when we just have to sit still and not do anything. Sometimes Christians seem to live in a continuum where everything is happening at the same time, yet the gospels and church traditions ask us to be patient and enter into this story and honour it. This means keeping Easter Day for Easter Day and being content to be where we are now. This may seem artificial but Christians have always followed the season of Lent and the time of Holy Week as a devotional exercise that honours the story and lead us into its meaning step by step. Some see the church itself as an organisation in waiting. In an article in the ‘New Yorker’ magazine called ‘Confessions of a Church Goer’ the novelist John Updike wrote this; “The future is not just an extension of the past; like a particle being measured, it eludes prediction. Judaism and Christianity are both religions of waiting-waiting in one case for the Messiah, in the other for the Messiah’s Second Coming. Christian time is an interim, which has stretched linger than the prophets and early saints expected. Something might happen in faith’s future”

Even the most cursory examination of a concordance will show you how important the theme of waiting is in the Judaeo Christian scriptures – my favourite is from the prophecy of Isaiah;  “those who hope in the Lord……those who look to the Lord” (REB) and  “those who wait on the Lord will renew their strength” (NRSV).

Waiting has some very negative connotations, waiting for something seems to be nothing, a ‘no space’ where nothing happens, a space we fill up with all sorts of things to distract us, but Christian spirituality demands that we pursue a sort of active waiting, a sitting still in prayer and reflection until God is revealed. I suggest that this attitude is summed up very well by the Welsh poet and priest R. S. Thomas in his poem ‘Kneeling’ which is short enough to quote in full;

“Moments of great calm,

Kneeling before an altar

Of wood in a stone church

In summer, waiting for the God

To speak; the air a staircase

For silence; the sun’s light

Ringing me, as though I acted a great role.

And the audiences

Still; of all that close throng

Of spirits waiting, as I,

For the message.

                         Prompt me, God;

But not yet. When I speak,

Though it be you who speak

Through me, something is lost.

The meaning is in the waiting”.

My final reflection here is a familiar one. These verses may not seem appropriate for Holy Saturday but they illustrate the tension between the ‘now’ and the ‘not yet’, that place where knowing is partial and where it will be complete. Holy Saturday is a place of waiting but it is not somewhere we are meant to stay because we are on a journey towards the light and one day, as Paul writes; “At present we only see puzzling reflections in a mirror, but one day we shall see face to face”. Easter Day holds before us that tantalising glimpse of God’s ‘new thing’, that new reality which is both the present state for the faithful and the ultimate destination of everything. But for’Holy Saturday’ there are no voices and we must wait in silence.

(The John Updike quote is taken from ‘Confessions of a Church Goer’ ( The New Yorker Magazine/ The Guardian 8th January 2000). The R.S. Thomas poem from his ‘Collected Poems’ 1945- 1990 p. 199). And Isaiah’s words are from Isaiah 40; 27- 31. The Apostle Paul writes to the Corinthians in the 13th chapter of his first letter).

Between the cross and the tomb.

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Today is Good Friday; part of the climax of Holy Week in the Christian calendar. As I have done my best to journey with Jesus through these cataclysmic events, one question nags at me; was the cross really necessary? Some point to the utter depravity of the human race that required a blood sacrifice to put everything right but I lost patience with that view years ago. The God that view reveals is certainly difficult for me to comprehend! For me the cross is the place where Godself took on the mess of creation and worked within it to bring in the light. Indeed I believe that unless God was intimately involved then the cross means very little. I see Jesus as a courageous pilgrim whose trust in God was so strong he was willing to make that incredible sacrifice. That is courage I find it hard to imagine!!

This year I have been helped in my thinking this year by revisiting a book of sermons by the American theologian Stanley Hauerwas called ‘A Cross Shattered Church’. He writes;

(Jesus) died on a cross to reveal the very heart of God. The cross is where God’s life crosses our life to create life otherwise unimaginable’.

 Our meditations can be helped by the church calendar, yet if we are honest the impetus towards the mystery of the resurrection is very strong and it takes a great deal of discipline to stay with the cross and all its horror and desolation.

As a Christian preacher I am supposed to be a bearer of hope, yet the cross is the end of all hope. As a Christian preacher I am supposed to bring the light and the consolation of the gospel yet both seem to be in short supply today. The cross is the ultimate failure where the mystery of resurrection can only be understood by embracing the mystery of selfless sacrifice.

What else can be said about the cross? There is nothing else to say for today, the blunt fact of the cross and the retelling of the story must be enough, as must the conviction that where Jesus has travelled we must follow. Stanley Hauerwas expresses it like this;

“All we need to know is that Jesus Christ is crucified. He is nailed to a cross. That cross, moreover, is destined to become the icon of God. No matter how hard Christians strive to confirm our illusion that we can follow Jesus without suffering, we confront the stark and brutal reality of the crucifixion. We would like to believe that the crucifixion was some terrible mistake. A failure in communication, but the reality is unavoidable. He was crucified”.

Today the victory of the cross must be deferred. We cannot have the illumination of Easter Day unless we are ready to stay in the dark for a while. We cannot proclaim ‘The Lord is Risen’ unless we are ready to enter into the desolation and abandonment that Jesus experienced. Finding the courage to bear the ignominy, brutality and darkness that surround every Calvary is essential as we travel towards the light of resurrection. But that, as they say, is another story for another day!

(Stanley Hauerwas’ book was published by Darton, Longman and Todd in 2010. The quotes are found in the sermon ‘Was It Fitting for Jesus to Die on a Cross?’ on page 60). 

 

 

Holy irony Batman!

I was waiting in the post office today and I noticed that the Royal Mail is issuing a set of stamps featuring characters from Marvel Comics – then in the ‘paper I saw a photograph of workers dressed as superheroes delivering ballot boxes in Indonesia. The pulpy heroes of my youth (who now grace the ‘big’ screen in various iterations) have now entered into the mainstream. They are now (to use an overworked expression) ‘cultural icons’. But, as part of Christian worship ‘icons’ are meant to be looked through, so what we see as a result of this popularity? Is it ‘dumbing down’ once high brow culture, or a clever stroke of creative genius that saw artists and writers simply recasting tropes from myth and legend in new clothes (or figure hugging spandex if you prefer!). Is it evidence of the human need for heroes – people who will be like us but also markedly different (or gifted) and who will make a difference. Or, is it, in the case of ‘Superman’, the invention of a godlike figure part redeemer and justice maker (think of the last part of Superman’s Kryptonian name!). Whatever it is, these heroes are now a firm fixture in the cultural landscape for good or ill.

Although like many I am looking forward to the conclusion of the ‘Infinity War’ story when ‘Endgame’ is released at the end of this month, I am also (like many of my age) pining for the days when these comics were pulpy things printed on cheap paper and bought and swapped in various shrines to teenage angst. Places where we glimpsed the incredible potential of these imagined universes, and places where we knew that we could make a difference to the world. I miss the the market stalls and the cramped shops where coloured costume capers opened up a new way of creating wonders – these are places which will never return (except in imagination or Stuart Bloom’s shop in some sitcom or other!). But every time a new film hits the cinema and some hero (or heroine) takes on the forces of darkness, comes close to defeat or even death, but then rises to create new hope, those early comics live on at least in imagination and memory. They are echoes of a greater story about darkness and light that, on Maundy Thursday, remind us  that although the darkness may seem to be absolute, the light is coming!

My Lenten Journey.

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Some years ago in the churches where I was minister I started a series of short public reflections on what I called ‘The Lenten Journey’. It followed the weeks of the season and was composed of prayers, readings and silent reflection. Several of those who took part were gracious enough to say that they appreciated the time but some (deep in an evangelical tradition!) wondered why I was doing it. Surely, they said, the cross and the resurrection are what really matter, isn’t marking this season a bit ‘Catholic’ or a bit ‘high church’? Thankfully what I experienced as a slight suspicion of anything that sounded like silence (!), or reflection has largely disappeared but as I mark my own Lent this year the importance of these things has come back to me with renewed force. As I sit in silence with the bible or a Lenten reflection I realise that everything is grace and I just have to accept it.

The seasons of the Christian church are tremendous gifts given (as with Lent and Advent) for preparation. They suggest that the feast of Christ and the mysteries of Easter should be prepared for, that they are too important to be dived into, much less ignored completely. But Lent can be a difficult one, it has been associated with giving things up and with privation – the word that is hanging around here is of course ‘mortification’ which carries with it uncomfortable echoes of death! After years of preaching in Lent I have come to see that it should be about giving things up and reflecting both on our mortality and on God. The prophet Isaiah reflects on the immutability of the divine word compared to all living things; “All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field….the grass withers and the flower fades…” (40. 6 – 8). So if we give things up for Lent (like chocolate or alcohol), it should be because we want to make room for something, or someone, to renew our focus and our faith.

This is why the desert sojourn of Jesus recorded in Matthew 4 has often been the touchstone for this season. Like him we set ourselves to journey through a different landscape, or rather we look at familiar landscapes in a different way. Lent can be a time when the sheer fragility of our humanity comes into focus, a time when many familiar signposts have disappeared and when, through ill health or doubt, the road seems to be obscured (as in the photograph above!). However this time of privation and uncertainty can be a time of revelation, it can be a time when we realise that we are not alone but that the God who has promised to be our Emmaus companion is still there. And it can remind us that the road is still there, once the  sand has blown away! The theologian Frances Young reflects on the way that experiencing darkness and difficulty can be the way to a fresh recognition of divine presence; “it is often on those deepest moments of darkness that people do actually sense the presence of God – and not when everything’s going smoothly – that Jesus is a kind of demonstration of the presence of God in the darkness, and of God taking responsibility for the darkness”.

Any Lenten journey means travelling through some difficult territory; confronting our own mortality, looking for fresh signs of divine presence, and at its climax, daring to stand before the cross before the mysterious light of resurrection breaks in. That is why it is important to mark this season, however you chose to do it. This is not just because (cliche alert!) ‘life is a journey’ but because, as T. S. Eliot warned;

“…..you neglect and belittle the desert.

The desert is not remote in southern tropics,

The desert is not only around the corner,

The desert is squeezed in the tube-train next to you,

The desert is in the heart of your brother”.

You do not have to look very far these days to see the truth of those words. Lent opens us to that truth, but also shows us the companion who has promised to travel with us, if we will have him. I close with a prayer by Thomas Merton that I often turn to and especially in the season of Lent;

My Lord God, 
I have no idea where I am going. 

I do not see the road ahead of me. 
I cannot know for certain where it will end. 

Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. 

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire, 

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, 
though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. 

I will not fear, for you are ever with me, 
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

****

(Frances Young was in conversation with Gerald Priestland in his book ‘The Case Against God’. I came across it in a marvellous anthology called ‘The Little Book of Lent’ published by William Collins. T. S. Eliot’s words come from his ‘Choruses From the Rock’ in his ‘Collected Poems’ from Faber and Faber, and although I have searched for the origin of the prayer by Thomas Merton I cannot find it! Those who might like a different view of the desert experience of Jesus might want to read Jim Crace’s superb novel ‘Quarantine’).

Preach!

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In the Christian tradition I found myself in as a teenager a great deal of emphasis was put on having ‘a call to preach’. When I encountered this at first I was quite unsure, I had run the gamut of jobs in the Methodist Church (Sunday School, youth group, bible study etc.,) and had discovered some facility in leading and speaking but preach the gospel? All the unhelpful stereotypes fell into my mind, and some of them are quite pejorative (perhaps summed up in the phrase “don’t you preach at me’). There is often a sense of superiority in the idea of preaching to others, as if ‘the preacher’ has an inside track on divine purpose, or is made of stronger stuff than those who are the listeners. I read in church and felt very comfortable, this was something I could do. But it wasn’t long before people I trusted were asking me whether I felt I had a call to preach – and this was something I felt should have tested and in Methodism this consists of receiving a ‘note to preach’ and going on to a period ‘on trial’ and I remain grateful to those who were mentors to me during that period.

I started to preach regularly and I soon discovered both the privilege and cost of this action. I came to see preaching as not so much imparting what I had discovered in my exploration of scripture but inviting those who heard me on a journey of discovery – in a sense preaching is an incomplete act – although the sermon may end in a particular act of worship the journey of preaching carries on in the preacher and in the church. This thought is summed up in a comment that Dietrich Bonhoeffer made when asked how long it took him to prepare a sermon – he suggested that the whole of the preacher’s life is preparation (I have not been able to find this quote). I find great solace and challenge in those words and when I stand in the pulpit these days as a supernumerary minister I still feel that this activity (along with worship and praise) is the highest activity I can give my time to. Even when I was in full time work I felt that preaching was important and could not understand colleagues who downloaded sermons from the internet or prepared their ‘sermon’ in the vestry before the service began.

One contemporary book about preaching compares preaching to giving blood. It is a book that I have only dipped into but the author (Leonard Sweet) suggests that although the metaphor of blood is not politically correct he writes; “If blood is the liquid bearer of incarnational life, preachers are homiletic haemophiliacs……bleeders of the Word….If when you’re finished preaching you’re not spent, wiped out – if you haven’t ‘given blood’ you haven’t really preached”. Even I quote these words I am aware of their deep challenge to something that is often taken lightly or even dismissed by congregations and by preachers themselves. I hear of preachers who seem to offer a mix of stand up comedy and homily in an effort to appear popular, leaving congregations wanting something of substance. Preaching is too important to be delegated to a ‘preacher of the year’ competition – an irony when incarnational preaching seems to be disappearing from the church! – it is meant to make scripture live, to revive the church and to offer encouragement for the journey.

I started this post after preaching my first full service in the Irish Methodist Church, an experience that reminded of me of the privilege and cost of this act – as I stood in the pulpit I felt I was in the right place, a place I was called to long ago, and a place I am still trying to understand. The worship went well and was well received, one member of the congregation said they found it ‘challenging’, but my question remained; did it give glory to God, or in Leonard Sweet’s terms did I ‘give blood’? These are open questions of faith and trust and a good sermon is still “thirty minutes to raise the dead” as someone once said.

Soli deo Gloria.