Month: January 2021

From Sunday’s Lectionary, Psalm 139. Just read this selection – I can’t think of anything to add…

Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18
139:1 O LORD, you have searched me and known me.
139:2 You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away.
139:3 You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways.
139:4 Even before a word is on my tongue, O LORD, you know it completely.
139:5 You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.
139:6 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it.
139:13 For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
139:14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.
139:15 My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
139:16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed.
139:17 How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!
139:18 I try to count them — they are more than the sand; I come to the end — I am still with you.

This morning a shorter walk – feel it may be antisocial to be out for too long. The weather is clearing, although a little cooler. Now it is lovely.

In next Sunday’s Lectionary, there’s a reading from the first book of Samuel. The writer sets the scene; “The word of the LORD was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.” This phase in the story of God’s relationship with the human race starts in a thin time, a time of God-drought. I’m not particularly wanting to assign blame for this state of affairs – I just want to note that these thin times are also part of the story – and probably will continue to be: it doesn’t mean that God is dead. Even if hardly anyone seems to hear God speak, even if there’s a great flowering of lies and bullshit told in the name of Jesus, even if the drums of violence beat louder and louder, even if we feel total desolation; don’t give up, for this too can become part of the story of God’s love for us.

I can’t think of anything good to say about the weather today. It is simply miserable. A little warmer, yes, but miserable. It didn’t even have the advantage of putting off the dog-walkers: the dog-walkers around here are way too hardcore to be put off by rain and the invisibility of the hills.

Nevertheless, it is all part of a wonderful system that circulates the water and nourishes the land, and I praise the Creator for that!

Meanwhile, our government is delaying the decision about increasing restrictions. In a way they are right – we can’t know for sure what effect the current restrictions are having for a while yet. In a way they are wrong, because any delay is going to cost more lives. There are two reasons they have chosen the delay route – one is that unfortunately our Prime Minister is an optimist. Optimism is fine, but as I already mentioned, you wouldn’t want an optimist driving your bus, would you? Second reason is that he has to ask permission from a few dozen right-wing MPs before he does anything. I wonder what new restrictions would look like. Already I am going beyond – we’re experimenting with getting deliveries from our nearest Co-op. I just hope it isn’t keeping someone else from using this option – I’d know though, by the lack of delivery slots – which are all free at the moment.

Please pray for the NHS/GIG* and everyone who works there…

* Forgive my poor Welsh, but it’s something like Gwasanaeth Iechyd Genedlaethol.

In today’s Lectionary, both the story of Jesus and the book of Acts associate baptism with the coming of God’s Spirit. When Paul baptised some believers in Ephesus, the Holy Spirit “came upon them”, mirroring what happened to Jesus. ‘Following’ Jesus also means entering that experience which he pioneered. His life lives in us. Those believers “spoke in tongues and prophesied” – something amazing had happened. But not all people who get baptised speak in tongues. How do we know the Spirit of God has influenced us? How can we trust what someone might say in that altered mental state – if it even makes sense? I believe there are things God’s Spirit can do in us that might seem rather more prosaic, for instance give us altered priorities – and the kind of wisdom which comes not from knowing lots of stuff, but from knowing what’s important. As for this thing of what utterances to trust – there are tests – what are the ‘fruits’, the real-world outcomes? Has this person, this speech brought people closer to Christ, furthered love and mercy and justice? Another test is something that I find it really hard to do, which is listen to sisters and brothers who believe different stuff about Jesus and have different life experiences. The early Christians struggled to do this, but they did do it. They had councils, they worked out together which way to go next. It is one of the downsides of social media that they prevent us from hearing alternative voices, and act like a great big echo chamber for our own prejudices. But until we can get at least some idea of the scope of Christian belief, we’re in no place to say “listen to such and such” or “don’t listen to such and such”. This is not just an academic issue: there are real Christians out there who believe fervently that they have a God-given right to treat huge sections of the human race like dirt, including some of their own brothers and sisters in Christ.

Have a look at Psalm 29 in tomorrow’s Lectionary. Does that glory language discourage us from being vain or narcissistic or pompous or thuggish? Surely it must because glory belongs to God, not to any of us human race. But experience makes me wonder if that’s true, because many people who claim to serve God are quite fond of their own glorification.

And I too am always cheered up when someone has seen something I tweeted. Maybe the platform reduces us to being ‘likes’ engines.

God give me a realistic idea
of my own worth,
not above the rest of humanity,
but because I am human,
for we are all made and loved
by you.

Please pray for Indonesia

The Lectionary for Sunday starts at the very beginning of the Bible. People have imagined how God created the world. (God did, I believe – although it’s hard to imagine how our earth- and time- bound language can make any sense of such a thing. There’s a lot of gold in those stories about humanity’s relationship with our Creator though).

If God created the world from chaos, or from nothingness; our beginnings are mostly not from nothing, but start somewhere. They are the endings of something else, or steps along the way. In Sheffield, the scrapheap is the beginning for fresh steel and a new piece of engineering.

The ending of Trump’s term as President of the US will probably be the beginning of a newly organised movement of resistance against democracy. I hope it isn’t, but… China is right: democracy is fragile. I believe it needs a lot of work to defend it (i) because it depends of fair and accurate information by which people can make choices (ii) because democracy depends on people, and people are prone to do wrong from time to time, most relevantly by believing what they want to believe (mea culpa too) so as to save their psychic skins. We’d much rather blame someone else or some other group for our misfortunes than admit our own fallibility. (iii) etc..

To return to the Lectionary, there’s another little word-worm that is a refrain in that section of Genesis; “And God saw that the light was good…” It was good. Hard to believe sometimes, but this is a wonderful world – dangerous sometimes, a place of pain as well as joy, but fundamentally wonderful. A surprising amount of our misfortune is more to do with human actions than the world we inhabit. COVID-19 is both natural and terrible. But its impact on us depends on our response and on how we are as a society. As with other health issues, it’s people in poverty who suffer disproportionately. As I think I’ve said already (somewhere) one of the reasons for this (not the only one) is that people who are desperate to put food on the table or who are terrified of losing their jobs will go into work even when they are infected or might be infected – and this feeling of desperation has not been discouraged over decades of government in England – indeed some people consider it the bedrock of a healthy economy. Anyway, may God forgive us.

Please pray for the US…

It troubles me that a lot of people are already praying in the US, and yet this is where we end up. Can Americans (or indeed Brits) even pray together anymore?

Living God, give us all grace
to listen in our praying,
shutting up our own voices from time to time,
to hear what our brothers and sisters…
…and you are saying.

It’s Epiphany and here’s the passages.

The Isaiah 60 reading is a prophecy that many naturally connect to the wise people who visited Jesus. It speaks of “the wealth of the nations” coming to the subject. This is the tangent… Something very similar to this phrase was used by Adam Smith to title his foundational book on economics, which like many foundational books has since been much misused. A quick look in Wikipedia suggests that the famous “Invisible Hand” only appears once in the book, and in a very specific context – it does not say that all markets everywhere operate beneficially on the basis of self-interest. That’s obviously untrue – self-interest has no time for later generations, or for the environment, or for those too poor to vote with their money, or for people who put their feet in your dog-mess, or any other externalities.

Anyway, according to Matthew, people did visit Jesus with gifts, although I’m not sure the picture I have in my head is necessarily accurate. Songs like “We three kings of orient are”, and Christmas cards with the silhouettes of three kings on camels on the horizon have conditioned us to think a certain way. Were there three of them? There were three gifts, so we jump to conclusions. Besides which, would three kings, dressed like kings and carrying gold really have traipsed across the Middle East without a few bodyguards?

As I write, the fairy lights are still flashing. We’re not sure whether to take them down or leave them up as a small particle of COVID cheer.

Unless everyone’s really scared, I can’t see this lockdown achieving dramatic results, but it should at least buy some time to get more vaccinations done. I hope it goes well. Worship is still legal, but I don’t see myself attending in the near future (not that a few silent people spaced out in churches are the most significant route for infection). Leading, if required, would be different.

Merciful God, give us all the grace
to cope with the strangeness and strain
of being shut indoors again,
and to do what we can
to help others cope.

Having slipped behind a bit (too much use of the ‘back’ button without checking I think), I need to get back on track and reckon now that the Lectionary for next Sunday is this.

Jesus was baptised. It signals a beginning for him – he has a ministry (serving) ahead of him. It signals his solidarity with the imperfect human race. It signals a death followed by a new life. It signals his special place in God’s intention for the world (“And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”) (“Well pleased, my son”, sounds a bit London to me.) It signals much more.

The meaning of baptism is also in the emotional impact. It’s not quite so obvious when an infant gets dabbed: but when someone older goes right under and is brought up again, with all their friends around, that is a big deal.

In Psalm 29 we read about the voice of God thundering over the mighty waters. It keeps amazing me that something so familiar, and so – well – liquid can also be so powerful, in the sea, in waterfalls, in destruction and in creating power.

No walk again today, because it’s slippery at this preferable quiet time of a holiday Sunday and I don’t want to clog up A&E. No church for me either, because the current restrictions probably aren’t enough to keep R down once the new strain takes over (which is inevitable), and I don’t want to take a chance on spreading this thing.

And from today’s Lectionary – all those readings in some way remind me, “Don’t forget to hope!”

Look at the table of countries which have abolished the ‘tampon tax’* here, and you’ll see it includes Ireland which is in the EU. So what’s this nonsense about the abolition in the UK being a benefit of Brexit?
* other sanitary products are available.

God of love.
we praise and thank you
for good weather and bad,
for the eternal interplay
of sunshine and moisture,
of hot and cold,
that nourishes the earth.