The Mystery

Luke 2:1-7

The Birth of Jesus

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

Birth does not happen

just when the time is right

or when everything is ready

when we've done all the right things

or when we wait patiently ...

Even when carefully planned

and engineered

long awaited

or dreaded,

birth comes crashing in

bringing change

and disruption

The arrival of a baby

in the best of circumstances

brings upheaval that cannot be anticipated.

Whether homeless on the streets

Or camped in a refugees enclosure

Crouched in squalor

Or laying in a manger

Birth comes

Heralding joy and sorrow

excitement and danger

Signalling despair and hope

fear and longing.

Into melee and mystery

God is born.

The world is not suddenly transformed.

The experience of birth is no less traumatic

The chaos and squalor do not disappear.

But the air is charged with a new reality

that is seldom grasped:

A message for all:

You are deeply, deeply loved

by a God who is love.

For a season

 

Grief caught me unawares this morning

as it is wont to do

Amidst the hope and the peace 

and the joy and the love

proclaimed by the Advent candles

grief snuck in

unbidden

unwelcome.

I want to push her away

ignore her

push her far down

into the recesses of my soul

where she can languish

until she decides to play nice.

But she keeps on surprising me

with her force and her persistence

with her ability to make me confront 

what ails me

or at least to consider

the reality of pain

being present

when all is good

and right

and life-giving.

To follow a call

does not grant immunity

from the pain of loss

and the vagaries

of transition.

And the comfort God promises

is slow to appear.

But maybe wholeness is found

in acknowledging, not denying

in welcoming, not ignoring

in sitting with grief as a companion

through whom God intends

to reveal purpose.

And perhaps healing will come

when the tasks of mourning are done.

In God's time

the landscape of loss

will be transformed

into newness of life.

The God of every transition

calls us, not to easy paths

but to paths 

that will help us grow.

And that promise

is the hope and the peace

and the love and the joy

of this season.

Thanks be to God.

Advent waiting

It's strange this Advent

not to be running full tilt

to make sure that everything's ready:

The candles, the poinsettias, the bulletins, the powerpoints,

the trees and the nativity scenes,

the baubles and the stars for the blue Christmas service,

the readers, the mince pies and mulled wine,

the prayers, the poems, not forgetting the midweek reflections.

(and that's just the church stuff)

It's strange.

And I'm not sure I like it much.

But I wait.

Empty handed.

Vulnerable.

Tearful.

Bereft.

Wondering why God calls me to this.

But assured that God does.

I have hope in this season of Advent.

Hope for the world - 

for the glimmer of light in all the darkness that abounds.

Hope for the church - 

for renewal that incites love.

And hope for peace

that reaches deep within in the waiting

massaging a bruised and tired spirit

healing a wound that refuses to close

revealing a purpose as yet not fully grasped.

It's strange this Advent,

And so, I wait...

Peacemakers and Peacekeepers

Matthew 5:9

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

I was moved, yesterday, to hear murdered US Journalist, James Foley's mother speak with grace and dignity on the killing by government security forces of Jihadi John. She questioned how, in the light of her son's peacemaking efforts, anyone could imagine that justice had been done in more violence.

And, as several world leaders declared the world a better place with the death of one terrorist, the horror of IS attacks on Paris, clearly carefully planned and orchestrated, exploded on to our TV screens and social media feeds.

Right now, nations across the world are united in grief and outrage. Public events are being cancelled, both as a mark of respect and out of fear of security breaches. Public buildings are being illuminated with the blue, white and red of France's tricolour.

Religious leaders are calling for prayers for peace.

But how long before governments retaliate with violence?

How long before more lives are lost, lives that will not be mourned or even named publicly, mere collateral in the war on terrorism?

In this week when the UK has honoured those who have fallen in war, along with all those who "kept the home fires burning", as we've heard impassioned pleas from many veterans of war to find a way to peace, we hold our collective breaths, fearing what seems inevitable in a world that knows not how to make peace - that once again we will be led, by our power hungry governments into more revenge and violence in the name of justice.

And our tears mingle with those of God...

Processing change, encountering grace.

It is now six weeks since I left Parish Ministry to take up my new post as Path of Renewal Coordinator.

As well as getting to grips with a new job, the description of which is still, largely, being written, there has been the challenge of moving house, leaving church, and finding a new faith community.

We have discovered how easy it is to accumulate far too much "stuff" in 34 years of marriage. Although neither of the manses we have occupied contained the required number of rooms stipulated by the Church of Scotland,  we still had a lot of recycling to do in order to occupy our new home. 

We have also discovered the freedom of choosing our own colour schemes and having work done without committee discussion and approval!

Finding a new church wasn't difficult: there are plenty around and the one closest was so welcoming that we haven't ventured anywhere else. But Sundays are still traumatic. It is difficult to be in the pew. 

It's not so much that I miss preaching or conducting worship per se. And I certainly don't miss all the preparation and angst. But I miss being with the community that I know and love, the community that appreciated the unpredictable on a Sunday, who were always up for a challenge and who welcomed my style and spontaneity in worship.

Well meaning friends and colleagues have suggested that I should fill in for other ministers, and there have been offers. But that still wouldn't mitigate the miss that I feel of worshipping with a community who had become familiar - pilgrims together.

Sundays are pain-filled but I give thanks for a new community of faith in which folk are willing to let me simply be, offering space and compassion, empathy and companionship on this latest stage on the journey of faith.

And in my new post, as I mentor and support others who are exploring new ways to be communities of faith, I will remember these important lessons in letting go, in grieving,  and in embracing the new, supported by those who live into the grace of God.

Refreshing community

I had occasion to travel by bus today in Glasgow. What a refreshing experience. On my 15 minute journey, I witnessed community in action. 

Having no idea where I needed to alight, and having been informed by the driver: "Saracen Street's a lang street, hen", I asked another passenger if she knew of the church I was scheduled to be. She did know and she took great care to not only make sure that I got off at the right stop but that I also knew in which direction to walk to reach my destination, (including where to cross the road).

One passenger got on, heavily laden with packages. In one of his carriers was some grocery shopping. But the carrier bag was torn and his groceries were in danger of spilling out. Another passenger not only donated another bag for him, but helped him repack his groceries. He then proceeded to share with everyone on the bus where the best bargains of the day were to be had. His advice was heard and appreciated. And good natured banter ensued.

I arrived, glad that I had chosen to travel by public transport.

Another way

Isaiah 65:17-25
The Glorious New Creation
For I am about to create new heavens
and a new earth;
the former things shall not be remembered
or come to mind.
But be glad and rejoice forever
in what I am creating;
for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy,
and its people as a delight.
I will rejoice in Jerusalem,
and delight in my people;
no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it,
or the cry of distress.
No more shall there be in it
an infant that lives but a few days,
or an old person who does not live out a lifetime;
for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth,
and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed.
They shall build houses and inhabit them;
they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit.
They shall not build and another inhabit;
they shall not plant and another eat;
for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be,
and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands.
They shall not labor in vain,
or bear children for calamity;
for they shall be offspring blessed by the Lord—
and their descendants as well.
Before they call I will answer,
while they are yet speaking I will hear.
The wolf and the lamb shall feed together,
the lion shall eat straw like the ox;
but the serpent—its food shall be dust!
They shall not hurt or destroy
on all my holy mountain,
says the Lord.

As we continue to witness the appalling plight of refugees throughout the world, fleeing war, persecution, starvation, discrimination and oppression. As our daily news bulletins show children washed up on European beaches, lorries full of bodies abandoned at the road side and migrants being vilified, our hearts tell us: There must be another way. But the vision that is sketched in Isaiah seems like light years away.

And yet...

And yet we see ordinary human beings exercising compassion, refusing to be hampered by governments' attempts to plead poverty or to scaremonger, opening their hearts and their homes, sharing their resources, making a difference in whatever way they can, fulfilling just a bit of that vision, creating chinks in the wall of resistance and fear and apathy that have arisen. We see love in action that gives rise to hope. Hope in the ordinary bringing about the extraordinary.

And we are called simply to keep on being ordinary, using and sharing the gifts that we have until, by the grace of God, our ordinary becomes extraordinary.