Suffer The Children

As you cross the border from Hungary into Western Romania, the noticeable differences are instantaneous. The lights, when there are any, are much dimmer, there are never any children playing, and when you do see children, they're most often huddled in the train station trying to find warmth against the walls.

It's a stark contrast from all I see at home, or from what I saw during my recent visit to America. And whenever I'm at home, our family rituals include warm embraces, playing games, or making biscuits or cakes in the kitchen together. I'm not suggesting a Currier and Ives Christmas card scene, but it's certainly an image of warmth and security.

Interestingly, there's a controversial thesis by French historian Philippe Ariès , that claims my schmaltzy attitude towards my children couldn't really have existed until the seventeenth century. Aries argues that because child mortality rates were so high, parents were not able to make the sort of emotional investment that we do in our children. Until the early modern period, children were simply adults waiting to happen.

All of which suggests a rather different take on Jesus' claim that unless we become like children, we will never enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Unfortunately, most of the time, Christians over-sentimentalise the role of children in the New Testament. It easily becomes cloying chocolate-box stuff: Jesus praises children because they are wide-eyed, innocent and trusting - a perfect analogy for faith. Well, I have difficulty swallowing that image.

Aries tips us off to the insight that children play an important role in the teachings of Jesus because they were nobodies. Life was too tough to waste love on a child who might not survive - so children became insignificant, marginalised, and terribly vulnerable. This then, is the unsettling message of what Christians are called to become if they want to find the Kingdom of Heaven. They are called to side with the nonentities and the defenceless, not with the cute and cuddly. After all, that's the real message of Christmas: the creator of Heaven and earth gets born as a pathetic child by a disgraced mother in a grotty shed.

In countries where its people have been victims of tyranny and manipulation it is difficult to get that first foothold in the rung to climb from deep within the abyss. Most of the children are unable to communicate their needs and therefore remain victims of predator adults or of those fortunate enough to be picked first. And for others, their perception of safety comes from the warmth they find with other homeless children, deep within the bowels of earth, among the steam pipes that criss-cross the city.

As we face what meteorologists claim will be one of the coldest winters in two decades, perhaps it's time for us to forget the cringe-making kitsch of the Jesus 'friend-of-little-children' image we so conveniently create for ourselves. When Jesus spoke of the kingdom belonging to children, it was to children such as these.

Ever-watching Father: we pray for the suffering children whom we do not see. We know that Your eyes see their tears, that Your heart knows their sorrow, that Your hands can reach them now. We ask that You send friends for the lonely, food for the hungry, medicine for the sick, saviours for the enslaved, and rescue for the perishing. Grant us the wisdom to do our part, to leave our comforts behind and share our possessions. Lend them our voice, give them our food and love them with more than prayers. We ask this in the name of Your own child – Christ Jesus. Amen.

When We Need a Little Help

When Traditions Become Weights

Meet The Children

Buy Centuries of Childhood, by Philippe Ariès 

Advent, Moving From Darkness to Light

This Sunday marks the beginning of the season of Advent, in our preparation for the coming of the Lord Jesus. The word 'Adventus,' in Latin, means a coming. Our faith is all about Christ and therefore we begin with His birth, His entrance into the world.

In many ways Advent is a time for renewal or a new beginning. We begin a new liturgical year, and begin once again, our never-ending quest to find our Lord Jesus Christ within our hearts.

Advent is also a time of watchfulness and waiting. We watch and wait for Him to come, that we might pass from our life of darkness into the life of light. The symbol of light is reflective of this Advent and Christmas season. This concept of light, being strongly associated with this time of the year, is not a Christian invention.
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The choice to celebrate Christ’s birth on December 25th was made as early as the year 273. This was the date for the pagan (Roman) celebration of "natalis solis invicti," the birth of the unconquered sun. The celebration of Christmas on the same date "Christianised" the ancient Roman feast of light.

During the darkest days of the year, where the days are short and cold, we long for the warmth of Spring, where life renews and once again becomes vibrant.

Advent is also a time for self-examination and asking for forgiveness, as we prepare for Christ’s Second Coming, even as we prepare for Christmas. This is why the colour of the season is purple, (or sometimes blue), which is used for marking Lent, the season of self-examination preceding Easter.

The third week in Advent is set aside as more celebratory than the others. Rose is the colour of this week rather than purple, to mark the week, which is why a rose candle is used in Advent wreaths.

Advent, then, is a time of beginning, a time of watching, a time of light. It is a time for the decorations to begin. The lights of our Christmas trees, cribs, and other decorations sign The Coming, the birth of Christ, the Light of the Father, the Light of the World. He comes to light our path, the path to peace and justice, love and happiness.

The Apostle Paul, in his letter to the Romans, tells us "the night is advanced, the days are at hand. Let us throw off the works of darkness and put on the armour of light."

Yes, He is coming indeed!

Preparing For Christmas

The Pain of Disappointment

A Lesson In Forgiving

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Tre Ore, The Three Hours

Tre Ore, the ‘Three Hours’ is the name of the solemn service we attend now, this Good Friday, from noon until 3pm. During this time we meditate on the Seven Last Words of Christ, the seven utterances Jesus delivered from the cross, which are selected from the Four Gospels:

1. ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’
2. ‘Truly I say unto you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’
3. ‘Woman, behold your son! ... Behold, your Mother.’
4. ‘My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?’
5. ‘I thirst.’
6. ‘It is finished.’ (Tetelestai or τετέλεσται)
7. ‘Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.’
 
Cursed, beaten and forced to carry His own cross, Christ’s crucifixion on ‘Good Friday’, is the blackest day in Christian history.

There are many opinions about the origins of the term Good Friday. Some scholars argue that the word ‘Good’ is an abbreviation of ‘God.’ And early Christians commemorated the sad event by calling it ‘God's Friday.’ Others claim that ‘good’ signifies the bounty of blessings we’ve received through salvation itself that Christ won for humankind in His sacrifice.

Good Friday leads us to focus on the death of the innocent. Perhaps as we pray today we will reflect on the crucifixion and will be aware, perhaps uncomfortably, of a resonance between the unjust death of Jesus and the many unjust deaths in our world.

We're all still profoundly shocked over the appalling loss of innocent lives in New Zealand at the bombing of the Al Noor Mosque in Christchurch, as well as the continued abuse and torture of innocent children in Syria.

Actions such as these repulse us on every conceivable level. The events are tragic enough without the grotesque marketing of horror by the news media.

We’ve become so accustomed to media interviewers sticking microphones into the faces of those whose loved ones have been unjustly killed and asking "what do you feel?" This always seems so perverse and tasteless - we know what the injured must feel, and it seems cheap to expose their feelings of outrage and hostility just for our entertainment. And yet perhaps we want the interviewer to ask, because we’ve come to believe that only by expressing hatred the living can do justice to the innocent dead. We crave for the bereaved to be angry and implacable.

We even use religion to sanctify these feelings. In medieval times Good Friday was a day when Christian mobs assaulted the Jews because the Gospels said their ancestors were to blame for the death of Jesus. But if that is what Good Friday is about then The Christian Church is no better than the mobs.

The point of this day is not that Christians become incited about the Crucifixion and vow to destroy Christ’s enemies. It’s a day for repentance and worship.

What does that say to the innocent deaths in Belgium, Syria, Moldova, Ukraine, America, and all the other personal horrifying murders we know about and mourn for? Is it only the bereaved who must speak for the dead? What would happen if the dead came back and spoke for themselves? And what does it say about those who had killed them, about us? Would they come back in spirit? Would they return seeking revenge, or would they bring us a message of forgiveness and reconciliation from God?

It’s an important question because on Good Friday Christianity calls us to see death - all death - through the cross and resurrection of Jesus. The dead are gathered into Christ in their dying and the Christian hope is that they are given back to us in His resurrection.

When Jesus returned from death He came both bearing the marks of the cross, and bringing the forgiveness of sins. He offered the same peace to those who loved Him and to those who had betrayed Him. Could we allow the innocent dead to bring us peace this Easter?

Christ, our Lord, our world is in darkness. Without You all our hopes and dreams, and all that we are, and all that we are yet to be, becomes nothing. Come into us Lord Christ, our Saviour, so that we may be filled with Your Holy light. Amen

When Traditions Become Weights

Can You Save a Child's Life?

Írásos Bill atya gyűjteményéből. Imádkozunk az egészsége. LR

When Morning Dawns

There is the story of a young student who went to his rabbi with a question. ‘Rabbi,’ he asked, ‘how can we tell exactly the moment when night has ended and day has begun? Is it when it's so light that we can no longer see the stars in the sky?’

‘No, my son,’ said the rabbi. ‘That is not how we tell that night is ended and the day has begun.’

‘Then how can we tell?’ asked the boy.

The rabbi spoke softly: ‘We know that night has ended and day has begun when we look into the face of the stranger next to us and recognise he is our brother.’

With God there is no night but only day. For when God looks at you and me He always sees a much cherished child and never a stranger. There is nothing in us — nothing about us — that God does not see, and yet even on our worst days, God's attitude towards us — what He really thinks about us — never changes: ‘You are my dear boy, my dear girl,’ He says. ‘I love you, I'll never give up on you, and I’ll never call you a stranger.’

For those of us who have come face to face with our frailties and have seen and named our sinfulness, those words of the Lord are both comfort and healing, ‘you are my dear boy, my dear girl, and I'll never give up on you.’

But those words are more than comfort and healing for us. They are also God's mandate to us. God, in His gracious hospitality, has welcomed every single one of us inside the circle of His love and left no one outside. He is asking us to do the same. He is asking us to make the habit of hospitality the foundation of our lives. ‘As I have welcomed you into my life,’ He's saying, ‘so must you welcome one another and call no one stranger.’

How different every part of our lives could be if we refused to label anyone as ‘stranger.’ How different the way we'd drive and do business and even celebrate this liturgy. How different life could be if we said inside our heads, ‘I don't know her name, I don't know who he is--and I probably never will--but I do know she's my sister, and he's my brother. And I cannot call them strangers. I cannot fail to value them.’ How different life would be!

So let us pray for one another, no matter what our culture, or nationality, or political affiliation, or disability, or gender. Let us all be one in His name.

Heavenly Father, grant that the darkness will end for us all. In Your light may we look upon one another's faces and see there only brothers and sisters, always cherished as one family. Amen

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Finding Words Of Comfort The Children's Story

Moldova Prisons

Anglican Prayers

Anglicans

Preparing For Christmas

 

Preparing For Christmas

It's a reality that so many people spend a majority of their time preparing for Christmas by trying to find the right presents. Searching, buying, hiding, wrapping, are the main activities in the build-up to Christmas Day, and something that closely resembles panic sets in when, as seems to happen even with the best laid plans, these tasks are all squeezed into the few days before, or even into Christmas Eve. I too share some guilt in this. My first inclination would be to blame my heavy calendar. However, the truth is I'm hopelessly disorganised when it comes to trying to decide what I want to give to whom.

It seems important to give the right gift, and yet as the wonderfully acerbic poet John Betjeman memorably puts it in his famous poem 'Christmas,' we often end up giving or getting 'bath salts and inexpensive scent and hideous tie so kindly meant.'

Betjeman isn't meaning to dismiss these humble gifts, however. His point is that the inadequacy of the things we give at Christmas does not matter, because no gift could possibly compare with 'this most tremendous tale of all,' the gift of love eternal in a recognizably vulnerable human form.

And yet, it still seems true that we all want our gifts to be valued and remembered. Though Betjeman is right to think that no gift of ours stands in comparison with God's gift, the desire that our gifts have meaning behind them has a good theological basis as well. Giving is a way of putting ones self aside and making others matter. I choose the gift and pay for it, but what I choose and how much I pay is decided by your wants and needs. The right gift will always reveal our knowledge of the person who receives it.

And so it is with the Incarnation itself. It is a great mystery how the divine could become human, but however we understand it, it is essential to see that at its heart is God's setting aside His divine nature in order to enter fully into the humanity of His creatures.

 

Let us continue our advent journey thinking about those who are living in darkness. They may be on the other side of the world from us, or right next door. There are many reasons for walking in darkness - fear, loneliness, oppression, depression, poverty, or violence.  God sees those in darkness and becomes light for them.

 

Lord, we name before you those we know who are going through times of darkness. We think of them and ask, gracious God, that You may bring them light, hope, love and direction. In Christ's name, Amen

 

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The Private Diary of a Priest