Sacred stories

Like a giant ball of wool
plunging in
pulling out a strand
Unravelling
Seeing where it goes
Inviting someone to tell their story
to chart their journey with God
makes for sacred sharing
Those fragile threads
and gossamer layers
so generously given
must be handled with care
They are the stuff of dreams
Easily shattered
Vulnerable
Offered to be honoured
and given wings
Taking flight
to the next stage
of the journey
leaving in their wake
the awed hush
when words are simply
not enough.


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Story Traditions

Tonight we shared bread
as the shadows lengthened.
Bread broken and dipped in wine
Communion celebrated among friends
As we shared, we told stories
Not read- simply recounted as remembered
An old tradition
to keep Communicants from impure thoughts
And so, with common elements
and familiar stories
we kept the faith
And knew the presence
of the one who said:
"Do this to remember me."


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Fighting a way out of the darkness

I spent a good part of today at a meeting of the Scottish Dementia Working Group. This group comprises people who have a diagnosis of dementia in varying forms and who are involved in campaigning to raise awareness and acceptance in community and to change local and national government policy. They are also involved in changing the practice of health and social care services not just in Scotland and the UK but in Europe and the rest of the world.
They are people of great humour, compassion, energy and wisdom. None of them are "sufferers" as they are all too often described. Rather, they are living with a diagnosis or awaiting diagnosis and re-orienting themselves in life.
Members spoke articulately and movingly of some of the struggles they had faced and of the progress they had made in educating others in their different social and community settings about their needs and challenges and achievements. All of this was done with incredible humour.
One man described the excruciating darkness through which he journeyed in the first year of diagnosis, the isolation and fear he experienced, and then had everyone laughing as he regaled us with tales of how he can now go into the local newsagents, pick up his daily newspapers and leave without paying because the local shopkeeper knows which papers he likes and that his wife will pay for them next time she is there. He has a similar arrangement with the local barbers.
None of the folk there today would consider themselves exceptional and yet each is making a vast difference in their own way and in their own community and, in turn, making a difference for others living with a diagnosis of dementia as well as giving others the opportunity to be more inclusive and aware.
There are few families untouched by dementia today so it is incumbent on all of us to transform our communities into places of safety by listening to those who are living with a diagnosis.
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Withdrawal

There are days
when these tired introvert bones
weary from constantly being out there
simply want to retreat
to curl up in some bright sunny spot
and soak up some warmth
or even wrap up warmly
and wage a solitary battle
against the wind and the rain
For the facade of bonhomie
wears thin after a while
and is too exhausting to maintain
So, before it shatters or dissolves
it needs to be nurtured and replenished
Topped up from the well of silence
in which it finds renewal
Then, brand new
those bones can once again
be out there
doing the work
to which they are called
but which comes at a price.


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Wings

I imagine the Spirit
as a winged creature-
Some days her wings are strong and brave
like those of a heron
flapping gracefully over water
not climbing too steeply
but showing clear evidence of potential
coming to rest
with passion and with poise.
Some days her wings are papery and fragile
like those of an earwig
demanding careful measuring
before being unfurled
For being open to such vulnerability
comes at a price.
Some days her wings are swift and beating
like those of a dove
their flapping takes energy
but covers the distance
and reaches her goal
And some days her wings soar on the currents
like fulmars or eagles
their noiseless whisper
carrying them on
to lofty places
The wings of the Spirit
accommodating all kinds of bodies
accomplishing all kinds of tasks
bearing in all shapes and sizes
the gracious love of God.

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Faith journey

It’s a funny old journey,
the journey of faith.
Does faith change or do we?
Those things that seemed so important when we started out
have given way to other issues. The deal breakers
become the room makers,
the passions we held
become mellowed
by the passage of time
as we learn and grow,
as our hearts swell with love.
And, as we begin to understand better the God who lives beside us,
the God who will not be fettered
by any limits
that we place
on compassion.
The God who calls us
to ignore the limits too.
The God who promises that, one day it will all become clear.
But, until then,
we should carry on loving
along the way.
It’s a funny old journey.


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Touched by violence

As you might expect, the Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland remembered in prayer this morning those touched by the violence in Woolwich yesterday. An apparent act of terrorism on a serving officer on the streets of South East London.
Today we also heard the report of our Armed Forces Chaplains and the assembly hall was populated by men and women in uniform.
There is no doubt that a call to serve in chaplaincy to our armed forces exposes those who respond to be a part of the most harrowing stories that, quite frankly, most of us would rather not imagine.
But imagine those stories we must if we are to have any hope of changing the stories and of writing the next chapter that is not filled with such violence.
Daily we are all touched by violence. The shocking violence that makes the news headlines. The violence that has long since faded out of the news, replaced by fresh atrocity. Or the violence that didn't ever register on our limited radar. We live in a world filled with violence and we are ALL touched by it. How do we prevent ourselves from becoming inured to it yet survive the constant attacks that assault us daily? How do we remain open to be compassionate and empathetic while, at the same time, not become overwhelmed by all that we see and hear and encounter?
And how do we begin to be part of a completely different story - a story in which people are not driven to ask:"Where is God in this?" because the love of God is very evident?
We are all called to that ministry of writing the next chapter, changing the end of the story and achieving vastly different outcomes.
Perhaps it begins with us listening closely to the voice of God calling us all to distinguished service wherever we are, the service of countering violence with the more powerful love of God.

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