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.

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Spots Or Wrinkles

Spots Spots Spots! My teenage daughter sees things I cannot see. She’s certain that the moment one spot goes away there’s another lurking somewhere deep from within, ready to leap out. But I tell her truthfully; I can’t see any on her beautiful complexion.

‘Oh Daddy!’ she’ll sigh. And on it goes; typical of a self-conscious teenager.
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It’s no different for adults. There’s a bevy of things for us to worry about. For example, watch the news for ten minutes. Or closer to home, take a look in the mirror: It's either pimples or wrinkles! You finally get rid of the one and then it’s time for the other to start showing up and unfortunately wrinkles don't go away, they just invite all their friends!
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Trials and tribulations, irritations, and aggravations: That's life, but only one side of it. Because hidden inside every trouble and every aggravation is an opportunity just waiting to be noticed and taken hold of.
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They’re an invitation from God to let go of what doesn't matter or doesn't work, and to search for what does matter and what can bring us joy and freedom. It’s His invitation to focus on straightening out what's behind the face, what's inside the head and deep within your heart.
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Sometimes there are pains or frustrations that must be lived with; we can't make them go away. What's the opportunity there? Perhaps it's an invitation to relax in the Lord; to give ourselves over to Him at long last. Perhaps it's an invitation to let go of our obsessive perfectionism or our excessive need to control and focus on what really matters.
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Each of us has our own special collection of stresses and hurts, and we know them well. But have we looked behind them? Have we searched in faith for the invitation God has wrapped inside them?
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If we haven't, we're wasting a lot of time on pain and disappointment. That isn't what God wants for us. He is offering us joy and freedom for the taking, here and now. Look a little deeper and you'll find it, wrapped discretely inside your troubles.
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If you look, you'll find it. I promise you it's there!.

Loving Father, it’s so easy to become laboured with life’s wrinkles. Teach us to accept what we cannot change. Grant us the wisdom to see beyond ourselves, that we may reach out to others and bring Your world closer. Amen
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Remembrance Day

There is a passage in the New Testament that reads 'Greater love has no man than this; that a man lay down his life for his friend.'

Whilst I can appreciate what the writer is saying, I have to say that I find it difficult to agree with. I think that there is a greater love than dying for a friend and that is dying for a stranger.

And it is precisely that which so many members of our armed services have done over the years and whose deaths we will remember this Remembrance Day.

Having served so many people, whose lives are either in the military or are touched by the military, I have often been struck by the number of similarities that seem to me, to exist between the lives and attitudes of the early disciples and soldiers today.

Consider both the soldier and the early disciples; each has or had a mission that was greater than their own lives. Both had a leader, whom they trusted and followed. And for the disciples, just as for some soldiers, that leader was killed whilst pursuing their common aim.

The impact of that event, on both disciple and soldier, is very similar, as it can affect the subsequent course of their entire life. In the same way both have a commitment that must put their families after their vocation: - 'he who follows me must leave his mother and his father and brother and sister' and again, 'No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.'

Finally, both are under discipline. In fact the word disciple comes from the same root as discipline: - one who follows.

Ultimately all discipline is self-discipline; all soldiers go about their business from an inner strength... as do all disciples.Lord Redeemer, give us the courage to do what we must to make our homes and society a better place for all, despite the fears and desires to live only for ourselves. Amen

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Postat căci Tata Bill 

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Welcome Home Emily

Today I celebrated the passing of a life. Emily Hanwell, age 95, died, alone, in her home. She had lived through two world wars, the sinking of the Titanic, the advent of television, and four monarchs. She was survived by two sons - both no longer living in the area. Emily died in her bed. The coroner listed her cause of death, as ‘suspected natural causes.’ It was the best the coroner could offer. Emily had been dead for several weeks before her body was discovered. Nature had followed God’s mandate and there was little of her mortal remains left.

I spoke with one of her sons. He had already been made aware of her death. He told me that he was too busy to attend her funeral, but he was sure that his other brother would ‘try to do something.’ He said his mother had become difficult to deal with and it was a ‘blessing’ that it was all over. I asked him when it was that he had last spoken with her. He said he had spoken to her on Christmas Day ‘when she had called him.’

When I arrived at the funeral directors, I discovered there were no flowers. There had been no calls about Emily. Her coffin was of the ‘particulate variety,’ a euphemism for cheap board, with colourless plastic handles, which was all the government would pay for.

And so we headed to the chapel at the crematory. In Britain the pallbearers are the professional staff of the funeral director. There was no one there to receive Emily. And it was impossible not to have tears well in my own eyes to see this pitiful coffin lifted up and placed upon the catafalque, with no one there to mourn her loss or celebrate her passing. And I had to wonder what the last days of her life were like.

One of the greatest fears that a human being can experience is the fear of being abandoned by family and friends and being left to live one’s life all alone. Prison guards know this when they place recalcitrant inmates in solitary confinement and torturers know it too when they need their victims to confess to fictitious crimes.

To be cut off from human contact is immensely painful, but it pales when compared to being cut off from God. And yet that is the daily experience of too many of God’s children, wandering about this earth with no sense of any larger purpose or destiny and no vision beyond the blank wall of death. What a tragedy, and how unnecessary it is!

Jesus long ago spoke for us all when He said, ‘I can never be alone; the Father is with Me.’ He is with us, within us, always — healing, comforting, strengthening, enlightening, encouraging, and guiding. He is with us always, and we’ll never be alone — not in the deepest cell or on the darkest night.

Emily, I know that today, as God opened His arms to receive you, the angels danced.Our Heavenly Father, we know that every life is precious. Help us to see the value in everyone we meet. We pray for Your guidance and we pray for Your Blessings to lead us to those who are alone, or frightened, or lonely, so that we may share the message of Your love. In Christ’s name we pray. Amen

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Not That Old Chestnut Again!

In a recent edition of the diocesan magazine, Crux, the Bishop of Hulme, The Rt Rev. Stephen Lowe laments that the clergy are working too hard and are risking ‘burn-out’ or severe strains on their marriage.

Our cemeteries are filled with clergy who would love to have shared the same news with us. Unfortunately, a few of them probably dropped whilst running between countless PCC meetings, advisory groups, church fetes, tombolas, school assemblies, stewardship programmes, outward giving planning, evangelism initiatives, choir meetings, funerals for people whom they’ve never met, weddings, pastoral appointments for depressed individuals, failing marriages, infidelities, feed the homeless events, refugee conferences, and somehow in the midst of all this, following their daily ‘office!’

Bishop Lowe went on to say that some clergy never take holidays and he personally knows some clergy families who feel that they always come second. Well, bless his socks! I couldn’t agree more.

But here is where we seem to reach a fork in the road. The venerable Bishop suggests that clergy’s terms of employment could change radically over the next few years, ‘coming much closer to those enjoyed by the rest of the workforce.’ He even stated that the Church might consider imposing European regulations limiting the working week to a maximum of 48 hours.

This week’s news has shown some of the appalling conditions under which our military personnel work - often 24 hours a day, or in some cases until they drop, be it by a bullet or exhaustion. But did these soldiers not understand what the conditions would be before they enlisted in the military?

Don’t get me wrong, I completely agree with Bishop Lowe regarding the potential for burn-out. It is an indisputable fact this happens. But I also recognise that when humans feel they need to see their doctor they will not settle for a brief chat with the chemist at Boots. Trying to move clergy to a working schedule of hours could be compared with suggesting humanity try ‘DIY’ religion, which is already part of society’s greater problem.

So what’s the answer? I don’t feel there is a straightforward answer. And since I’ve spouted off with my own opinion, you would be quite within your rights to ask me what do I do?

It’s simple. I do every thing I can to serve everyone I can for as long as I can, until I recognise I’m about to drop. And then I try to take a day’s break…sometimes two, to regenerate, recharge, renew, and refresh, and then I get on with it again.

Why? Because what I do is a vocation - a calling to serve. It’s a joy to be part of people’s lives, to help when there is a need, to celebrate their joys and to mourn their sorrows. And sometimes, together, we find a moment, or an answer, that helps us have a little more understanding of God’s wonderful world around us.

Christ Jesus, teach me to be generous
Teach me to love and serve You as You deserve,
To give and not to count the cost,
To fight and not to heed the wounds,
To toil and not to seek for rest
To labour and to look for no reward,
Except that of knowing that I do Your Holy Will. Amen

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Loneliness Comes In Many Flavours

Over the past few weeks I have been visiting someone who is incarcerated in one of Her Majesty's Prisons. It reminded me that it has been several months since I last wrote to my friend Larry.

Larry is a murderer. Fifty years ago he and two other boys burned down an american army recruitment centre in protest against the Vietnam War. In the early seventies the american population were enraged over the war and numerous exceptionally emotive events such as: the Kent State massacre of students and the discovery of the My Lai Massacre which included the rape and slaughter of innocent women, children and babies by american army personnel. There were many uprisings across the US by people incensed over these events. At one point the nation was close to anarchy.

During Larry's anarchical act someone died in the fire. Larry didn't start the fire. But because he knew what the others had planned and he readily went with them, he was equally culpable. And in the blink of an eye, an innocent person lay dead. A senseless tragedy all around.

I met Larry when I volunteered to participate in an American university ministry outreach programme one summer. Our goal was to visit prisons and institutions, and to share religious services. Larry admitted that he first came to our service out of boredom. But later he came because he felt the need. When I announced that I was returning home he asked me if I would write him. I promised that I would, not realising that my, at that time probably half-sincere promise, would end up lasting decades.

Today nothing has changed in his physical life. He is just an ageing convict: no longer wild, no longer as convinced as he was when he was young that he doesn't need anyone or anything. The prisons are full of them: old men who did terrible things in their youth but are now just old men, who have problems with their feet like other old men have, whose backs and knees hurt, who tire easily. Couldn't rob a bank or assault someone if they tried, but also couldn't do much else. Frozen in one place by choices they made long ago, frozen in their own lives.

Larry comes to mind often. I'm sure every minister has noticed that visiting someone in a nursing home feels much the same as visiting someone in a prison. It's also not unlike visiting a seafarer on a ship.

This is odd, you think at first, noticing that you're saying the same things to a convicted murderer that you said yesterday to a sweet ancient lady with a broken hip: looking at family photographs, chatting about the food, about how they pass the time, about the past, carefully about the future. But no, it's not odd. Neither of them can leave. Each has lost the life they knew. Each is learning the hard way, what it means to live one day at a time.

And then you remember that there really is no easy way to learn that.

Lord God, under the shadow of Your wings, let us hope. Your love supports us when there is no one – no one to share a word, or an embrace, or a smile. Bless all who suffer from such loneliness. Enrich their lives with a friend or a stranger who will spend a moment caring. In those moments Your love shines through, the world is reborn, and Christ is known. Amen

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The Power of Words

The sun in the sky, the warm air, the cadence of the sea as it touches the shore, the sounds of people laughing, and a good book. That's a real holiday for me. A good book - I am constantly amazed by writers who have the capacity to put information together, weave it into a whole and lead the reader through a story.

I was interested to read recently reflections from an author who has written a biography. Her reflections were about how biography influences the reader in their opinions of the main character and how that person's reputation is in the hands of the biographer. She expressed it in terms of the main character's afterlife being in the hands of the writer.

The thought has remained with me. Clearly, I am not a 'writer' and if I aspired to any kind of writing it would not be biography. I consider myself as an 'essayist,' sharing what I see with my eyes and feel with my heart.

But there is a sense in which we are all biographers, writing the reputations and creating the after-lives of those whom we know. We do that writing in the pictures we paint, in the stories we tell about them, in the tone of voice we use about them, in what we choose to tell and what we choose to leave out.

In whispered and suggestive tones we can contribute to the destruction of another person's reputation. We can so easily set in motion a chain of thought and conversation that sees to it that the other person's reputation is destroyed.

No wonder the New Testament warns us that the tongue is a fire. In James we read: The tongue is placed among our members as a world of iniquity; it stains the whole body, sets on fire the cycle of nature, and is itself set on fire by hell.

Lord God, help us with our tongues, which misrepresent so easily, both in life and after. Give us the integrity to know that we hold each other’s after-life in trust and that You mean us for resurrection and not for death. Teach us how to be bringers of life in the words that we use today. Amen.

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And the tongue is a fire. The world of iniquity among our members is the tongue, which defiles the whole body, and sets on fire the course of nature... James 3:6

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It's Tempting To Just Run Away

A man was walking down the street when he passed a house and saw a child on the porch, stretching to reach the doorbell. No matter how hard the little fellow tried, he couldn't reach that bell. So the man called out, ‘Hey, there, let me give you a hand.’ The man came up on the porch and rang the bell.

‘Thanks, mister,’ said the child, with a huge smile. ‘Now, let's run!’
 
Running away is a temptation that comes to us all. Sometimes, just for a moment, even the bravest of us would like to run away as hard and fast as we can because life seems just too much: needs of others, work, family issues, friends, exams, contracts, TV, and ourselves. Some days all of them or any one of them can make us want to run far and fast and let someone else clean up the mess. ‘Forget love and duty. I don't care what happens, just get me out of here!’

We've all thought it or said it, and sometimes we've done it. The temptation to run is real, and because it is real, it gives birth to a powerful kind of fear, the fear of being abandoned and left all alone.

We know only too well our own temptation to run, so it's only a short hop to the other side of the equation. What if everybody gets fed up with me, and runs away and leaves me all alone? What if God finally gets fed up with me, and leaves me all alone forever and ever? What if...?

The Eucharist is the Lord's answer to that terrifying ‘what if.’ In giving us His own body and blood to be eaten as often as we need it, Jesus is saying, ‘I'll always be here for you, and I'll never run away. Whenever you come to me, I'll nourish your spirit. I'll make you strong when you're weak. I'll be medicine for your heart, and I'll heal you on the inside when you've been wounded there.’

That's the promise Jesus made when He first gave us His body and blood, and it's the promise He renews every time we celebrate the Eucharist.

And what does He ask in return? Only that we not run away, not run away from our commitments or our challenges, not run away from ourselves or our need to change, and most especially, that we not run away from those who need us and those whom we serve.

At the moment of communion, as we raise up the host and proclaim ‘The Body of Christ,’ the Lord whispers to our hearts: ‘I'll always be here and always be enough for you. So promise me you'll never run away.’

And our hearts answer, ‘Amen. Yes, Lord. I know You are here; and You will always be enough for me. I promise I'll never run away. Amen, Lord. Amen.’
Gracious Lord, give us the strength to stand and the strength to lift others through Your love. There is no weight too heavy when Your hands guide us. Amen

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