Shrove Tuesday, Why a Pancake?

OK, I’m rummaging through the fridge: eggs- yep, butter – absolutely! Now the cabinets: Flour –plenty, and yes…there it is – I’ve been saving it – a large bottle of pure Canadian maple syrup! Shrove Tuesday here we go!

It reminds me of children with their modern Advent calendars; chocolates, candies and other assorted surprises hiding behind each door. But sadly, there appears no mention of what the Advent calendar is about or its symbolism; just as with Shrove Tuesday; it is no longer Shrove Tuesday – it’s now Pancake Day!

Originally it was the day that people would confess their sins and receive absolution. Shriving - that act of forgiveness, where the individual is released from their suffering, pain and guilt, was in preparation for the season of Lent. During this time people would empty their larders, freeing their homes from foods such as: meats, eggs, fatty foods, fish and milk items. This prepared the home for the period of Lent – that time for reflection, renewal, and forgiveness. It's the last day before the period of penitence known as Lent, which commences on the 1st of March - Ash Wednesday.

Today so many people are becoming more health-conscious. Many of us are recognising the importance of cleansing our bodies through detoxification, fasting, and exercise. 
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Shrove Tuesday is quite similar. It’s a celebration, as well as an act of penitence, in preparation of cleansing the soul. And Mardi Gras, the French translation for ‘Fat Tuesday’ is the celebration of that act.

How wonderful! We have cleaned out our fridges, and now we cleanse our souls. Indeed, it is a time to celebrate.

Compassionate and Loving God: Mercifully hear our prayers and spare all who confess their sins unto You. By Your merciful pardon may all be absolved; Through Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, one God, now and forever. Amen

Have I told You Lately That I Love You?

Perhaps We Just Need a Little Faith in DOG!

Words of Comfort For the Death of a Child

You're No Good !

Building On Hope

It has been a sad few weeks, yet far more so for a family I love so dearly. The wife was diagnosed with advanced oesophageal cancer and her oncologist, with what I can only describe as a flair for cruelty, even attempted to quash her hopes of a more positive second opinion, via a cold (and cruel) letter to her, stressing the fact there was nothing more than can be done and she was wasting her time! 

Looking at her medical records, simply based upon my own experience and limited medical knowledge, I feel he is wrong. And following a visit with a specialist friend of mine, the prognosis may very well soon prove to become different. Yet, the experience  can all take quite a dent in the spirit of hope. The poet TS Eliot once said that we often had to wait ‘without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing.’

It brings to mind two people in St Luke's Gospel, on Easter Day, out on a walk, when a stranger joins them. It's the risen Jesus, but they don't recognise Him. They get talking to the stranger, and tell Him what's been going on: how they had been followers of this Jesus, and had had high hopes of what He would achieve, but, they said, He has been crucified. And then they add ‘We had hoped that He was going to be the one to liberate Israel.’

And with the benefit of hindsight, we can say that of course that wasn't the sort of liberation Jesus had in mind: freedom from the imperial rule of Rome. And maybe they would have been better not to have given their hopes such a precise content, because in hoping for the wrong thing they missed the moment they should have been waiting for.

But they didn't miss it for long. Because it was on what hope they had, however inadequate it was, that the stranger was able to introduce them to a whole new dimension to hope. Christians believe that God can take whatever hopes we have, and build on them. He can take whatever dreams we have and create a new reality from them. He can even take the flickering embers of a hope that seems to be dying and fan it into a living flame.

One of the earliest Christian theologians; Clement of Alexandria, said that ‘if you don't hope you won't find what is beyond hope.’

I live in hope for my friend, for her family and for all those who often falter in faith. For it's that eternal spring of Hope that can carry us far beyond our own earthly limitations. And this comes in the spirit of the Living Christ. 

And in the precarious days ahead, countless believers, many strangers to them, lift their names to our creator and Saviour. And in our supplications, we ask that through Christ's healing hands, that this family will discover the power of God's hand in our lives. 

"I lift up mine eyes to the hills from whence comes my help. My help comes from the Lord."

Believe. And live in hope!   


Lord of hope, be with us now and forever. Amen

Take Eat This Is My Body

Last week my son asked me to make bread rolls. It reminded me of my childhood, when I’d watch the wife of a man who looked after my horse, make bread.

I would take the train up to their small town, telling my mother that I was going to check on my horse. I'm not really sure why I bothered telling her as she really wouldn't have noticed I was gone anyway. But the truth was that I really missed Mrs Fowler’s cooking and I enjoyed being around her grown children who were all involved in equine activities.

Mrs Fowler was a simple woman, resolutely Baptist, full of life and full of Christ. I was always fascinated by her dedication to her Bible. It seemed as if virtually every passage in it had been underscored and before I went to sleep at night I would peek at her in their sitting room, napping in her chair beside the fire, with the open Bible serving as a blanket over her chest and her glasses hanging half-way off her face.

From her small kitchen in their simple country house Mrs Fowler could make the most marvellous breads in what appeared to be taskless seconds. And all the while she’d be singing sweet songs about her relationship with Jesus. I'd rise at five in the morning just to watch her in action, preparing what in my eyes was a feast for her family, but to her simply a labour of love.

It was quite a different world for this young Anglican mind to experience, as she'd drag me off to one of her Autumn night church services. And if the word 'confession' is appropriate in this context, it was the end of the service I actually looked forward to, when the local farm women would unwrap their fresh baked goods for the faithful to share. In my small eyes I saw this to be the communion which didn't quite seem to figure into a Pentecostal country Baptist service.

Several months before Mrs Fowler passed away I went to visit her. It had been nearly 25 years since I last saw her. I wanted to tell her that I believed she was the one who had planted the seed in me to start my own spiritual journey. And she was the only person who had given me the confidence to at least 'try' making bread.

But no matter how hard I tried, as a young person, I could never recreate those magnificent rolls she made. It was her art and it was her gift. A gift she openly shared; her communion for those she cared about and loved.

That was long ago. Today whenever I make my bread, my mind is flooded with warm memories of Mrs Fowler. Typical guy; I’m probably much better at incinerating things on a grille than I am at baking, but I still enjoy the exercise.

It’s soothing on the soul and allows me time to make mental doodle marks in the air about things I want to write about. And kneading the bread - that tactile movement, can be quite comforting. Once done, I can set it aside and allow the yeast to do its stuff.

The function of yeast is fascinating. You mix it into a cup of warm water and stir a little: within minutes it begins to breathe, to swell, to soften, and come to life. Little plant spores - that's what yeast is: cocooned in their package until you come along with warmth and water and remind it that it's alive. Mixed with the flour, it begins to feed on it as well, growing and swelling. And in time it has evolved. It has risen to great heights, cresting over the top of the bowl.

Again you work with it, kneading it in your hands, forming it, moulding it, helping it to become what you want it to be. But before it can become bread something important must happen: The yeast must die.

In each place where the yeast spore has been, there will be a pocket of air-an acknowledgement of its death. And into the hot oven it will go. The yeast spores have given their life for the bread.

But their memory remains everywhere in the loaf. They shaped it. Their bodies gave it the power to rise. You even taste and smell them still, though they are gone: that flavour, unique to other breads, is what makes yeast bread so different.

Isn't that just like our relationship with Christ? "This is my body, which I have given for You." It cannot be at all unless I give my life for it. You are the body. You and I - and the bread; we are body together.

And I am in You and You in me. Amen

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Father in Heaven, I submit myself to You. Guide me, be with me, lead me in all I do and all whom I serve in Your name, and always Lord God, help me to grow and walk within Your light. I pray this in The Risen Christ's name. Amen



Krisztus feltámadt! Írásos Bill atya gyűjteményéből. Imádkozunk az egészsége. LR

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Are you suffering from spots or wrinkles?

When Traditions Become Weights

When We Need a Little Help

With Me and Within Me

I always feel Christ near to me. I feel His presence many times a day. I talk to Him frequently and I read His words every morning.

I'm expecting to be with Him eternally when I'm finished here, and I think that eternal life with Him has already begun for me, only I'm too dim to experience it fully now, distracted as I am by everything being alive in the world involves.

Jesus and I have a relationship and I don't have a relationship more important than the one I have with Him. It’s not the jump up and down, roll on the floor and make a spectacle of myself for the sake of showing others that I’m ‘filled with His love’ type of relationship.

Instead, it’s that warm comfort that you feel when you’re embraced with love, when you feel safe and protected and know, with every fibre of your being that it’s forever. And it's the type of relationship when you know, with such a conviction, that when you share His love and His words, that others have no doubt, whatsoever, that what you say is true.

But I readily admit I don't always know what He thinks. He has surprised me too many times for me to assume anything. I always try to follow Him, but His way is sometimes a mystery, and I stumble frequently, I make mistakes and I’m sure I get it all wrong at times. But it never stops me from picking myself up, dusting myself off and getting on with it.

I read and wonder and sometimes puzzle over His words. I look to see what others have thought about them over the centuries. I absorb arguments about whether all the words we think are His really are, and what it would mean if some of them were not. I accept that through history we have evolved and I believe that Christ would have wanted us to do so.

I harbour no guilt about any of these explorations: we're supposed to explore and wonder about things, including the things of God. We have a relationship with Jesus, and we can trust Him to correct the errors we will certainly make and help us to grow into Him.

And I confess that sometimes our priorities and obsessions get in our way. Occasionally, our mistakes get us into some kind of trouble, and some of it can be pretty serious. We raise plenty of hell right here on earth, without anybody needing to toss us anywhere fiery.

But I know, without any hesitancy or reservation whatsoever, that He is always there with me, beside me, inside me, waiting for me.

And I know that when it's time for me to start the next journey, that I shall not be afraid.
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Lord Jesus, thank You for being in our lives. Throughout this day, let us celebrate the breath You place within us. Amen

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The Road to Redemption

How the Other Half Lives

Can You Change a Child's Life?

.Tut Tut Looks Like Rain

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Members Only Please

One Sunday last year I took an empty envelope, sealed it, then placed my signature across the back of it. I then handed it to our churchwarden just at the beginning of the service and asked him to tape it at the steps leading to the pulpit. I did it at a time when most everyone had been seated to ensure there were many people watching. I told no one, including the churchwarden, that the envelope was empty. In fact, I told the churchwarden nothing about why I was asking him to tape an envelope on the steps.

During our service, I noticed from time to time that people would glance at the envelope. My guess was that they assumed I would be using it during the homily. But that wasn’t my intention. After the service, as I greeted people leaving, several asked me what was in the envelope. All I said was that it was ‘something personal to me.’ As we were about to depart the churchwarden asked me what was in the envelope. My response was the same – ‘something personal to me.’

At coffee afterwards I heard several people whispering to one another, asking what was in the envelope. During the week I saw numerous parishioners in town. I wasn’t surprised to hear one lady say that she had asked the churchwarden what was in the envelope and he told her that he ‘wasn’t at liberty to say.’

The following Sunday I collected the envelope during the service. I held it up and commented that I had hoped no one had given away what was in the envelope. I’m sure it was my own perception, but several people looked as if they were deer caught in the headlights of a car. I tore the envelope open to reveal that it was empty.

Humans have an almost insatiable urge to possess knowledge which is not available to others. It may involve joining esoteric secret societies or in its simplest form a preoccupation with gossip. Knowing something that other people don't can give a sense of power or security.

But secrecy does not sit well with the Christian faith. And yet in the Gospels we find that Jesus seems to suggest He uses parables so that his listeners won't understand. When He was asked to explain parables He quoted from Isaiah that His audiences will, ‘listen but never understand ... see but never perceive.’ And then He went on to say the disciples had been blessed with the ability to grasp what He was talking about.

It was this sense of secret knowledge that led to a Christian heresy called Gnosticism, which taught the theory that you required a ‘special knowledge’ to find salvation. It was attractive because it offered a sense of security for those on the inside - who had the knowledge. Mainstream teaching held that God's truth was available to all who would listen.

It would be wrong to suggest that Jesus spoke in a way that was purposely obscure. The truth is that He was a creative conversationalist whose flowing oratory could invoke graphic images of a spiritual life. He spoke in a way that His words could reach people on many levels. Sadly, it’s a gift that some ministers don’t understand.

Our world is splintering into more and more groups of exclusivity, whether it’s in religions, communities, or social lives. Bear in mind that the root of ‘exclusivity’ is to ‘exclude.’

If we were to invest as much in learning about others as we do in promoting ourselves, perhaps we could begin to shore up the foundations of our severely fractured world.


God of truth, help us to listen more patiently and to speak more honestly so that we can grow in trust and understanding with all we meet today. Amen

The disciples came to him and asked, ‘Why do you speak to the people in parables?’ He replied, ‘The knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of Heaven has been given to you, but not to them. Whoever has will be given more, and he will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. This is why I speak to them in parables: ‘Though seeing, they do not see; though hearing, they do not hear or understand.’ Matthew 13:10-17

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Go Ahead Take Your Best Shot

The Power of Words

When U Turns Are OK

The Childrens Story Visit Our Children

Anglicans

We're Accountable To Our Children

Here in Britain our prime minister has donned his finest marketing hat and is tossing about highly emotive, family-focused sound bytes, assured to energise the public over Labour’s promise to inject millions into our educational system and social care for young people. Their goal being to help revitalise the ever-important ‘family unit.’

Recently, in America, seven children were ‘discovered’ living among animal faeces and bin liners of trash. This is despite the fact that state officials had previously cautioned the parents. The report claims, amidst the parent’s ongoing court appearances over a number of domestic violence matters, they simply ‘forgot’ about their children.

And yesterday, in the state of Tennessee, a mother of three children has been charged with first-degree murder. She allegedly shot her husband, who was the minister of a popular local church. Apparently, their three children witnessed the shooting. And already there are whispers of appalling domestic abuse being made.

How can we expect children who have never known a loving relationship to enter into one when they grow up? How can children become responsible parents when they have had no role models to emulate? And furthermore, today, how are we defining the ‘family unit?’ That’s a hot potato in itself!

I’m not being cynical, but we seem to be focusing more on incidental matters more than core matters. This isn’t to discount those who are fighting wars over oil, or national interests, or whatever personal banner you may carry. But when you look at what one bomb costs, both in money and in all the physical and familial destruction it can cause, and then look at what we invest in the family unit, it’s difficult not to see that something has gone dreadfully awry!

If everyone becomes wrapped in cynicism it merely becomes a blueprint for failure. Such pessimism is also an absence in faith – faith that we can make a difference and faith in humanity as the image God has of us. If we can succeed in saving a rainforest, or the world from a country’s fabricated global threat, or even a baby seal in Canada, then certainly we can save the family.

Success in anything we do requires looking forward and having an understanding of what our core values represent. We can’t profess from a pulpit the importance of family values, when it’s those very leaders who erode the definition.

In many ways the Church is in its infancy, in other ways, it is the culmination of centuries of values and commitment, based upon the Scriptures. We are laying foundations today. Our foundations must include our children. And we can’t simply rewrite the Scriptures to accommodate for our own convenience, weaknesses, or failures.

During our prayers for enlightenment, and unity, and world peace, perhaps we need to include recognising our responsibility to uphold the family as the crucible of all our values.

In the near future our children will hold us to account for the values we instilled in them today.

And I wonder whether we'll be able to look them in the face?


Almighty God, you have blessed us with the joy and care of our children. Grant us wisdom as we raise them, that we may be symbols of what is right and good. Give us strength that our own values may always be in the example of our Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen

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And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord: and great shall be the peace of thy children. Isaiah: 54:13

When The Church Sins