the adventures of retirement
Jesus’ disciples are impressed when they visit Jerusalem, according to Sunday’s lectionary. The stones are solid, but Jesus tells them the foundations of Jerusalem are shaky. Things will fall apart, and the fate of the buildings will reflect this. The disciples must not despair – there will be trouble – but that will be the agonising birth of a new age.
This morning a larch needle got blown into my mouth. the event was of no consequence, but I just thought I’d mention it.
Merciful God, we remember
the millions who have lost their lives in war.
We remember their loved ones.
We remember those who carry deep wounds,
in body, mind and spirit.
We remember those
who have spent their lives in terror.
We remember those who even now
are crossing vast distances to escape from terror;
and those who are risking everything
for what they believe.
God give peace, we pray.
Gd give justice to everyone.
God give peace.
Back from Gloucester now. Here is a new housing estate. The clock was a bit of a surprise.
Decent walk this morning. Bit by tiny bit the darkness is lasting longer (as you might expect).
In tomorrow’s lectionary, the writer to the Hebrews seems to want readers to be free of all those ritual obligations. Just turn to Christ instead. But somehow these obligations start to build up again, in any religious organisation. It got to the point that Luther wanted to set people free again, centuries later. And no doubt churches are continuing to follow the same sad path again now, towards piling on the obligations.
Just live right, and love God.
Walking in the nautical twilight this morning, I could see, beyond the head-torch light, that the night was clear and frosty. The frost sparkled in the beam of my torch. But daylight came with cloud, becoming lower, and eventually giving little pulses of drizzly rain. Sometimes, if you hit it right, the night has beauties which are unavailable in the daytime.
Praise God for night and day!
Praise God for rain and sunshine!
Praise God for hot and cold!
God, give us the grace
to take the hard decisions we need to take,
to make this planet habitable,
and lovely, and kind
for everyone.
The weather has calmed down a bit and walking is easy – a lovely day.
In Sunday’s Lectionary, we read that Jesus said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honour at banquets!” I think I have mentioned this before. But it feels like something I’ve remembered for a long time and may have gone deep. I still get a feeling of embarrassment, of being in the wrong place, whenever I’m in exalted company.
Last night, loads of writhing plasma from the sun blasted into the earth’s outer atmosphere. And the weather was largely clear. A few times I went to our west-facing upstairs window and craned my neck around to look north. But nothing. Too far south, horizon too high, and too much light. Never mind. Someone got a nice picture from Hadrian’s Wall. This far south, what you often get is mostly red from the parts higher up, rather than green.
So, someone starving goes and asks another starving person for bread. Reluctantly, she gives it to him. This is the 1 Kings passage from Sunday’s lectionary. Here we see the fellowship of the desperate (which in some ways resembles many of Jesus’ first followers – people in need of something). Under God’s guidance – and part of the mainstream of the salvation-story – , it all works out and both are fed. I have to say, I wouldn’t always be so confident things would work out – and the experience of people in desperate circumstances is often more like the fight for the bent halfpenny. Elijah was a prophet, and the woman who gives him the bread is a foreign widow. God has co-opted an outsider into the things that God is doing. There’s a few things here that we might say offer guidance for what to do in our twenty first century lives, but I’m not so sure there’s very much of a direct translation.
Maybe it’s just a piece of narrative that says God is amazing and might very well surprise us.
A muted morning on the Trail today, with soft clouds and some faint mist about. Sometimes it’s just good to listen. Behind me I heard a pigeon flapping into motion, followed by a cascade of fog drips from the trees. Every so often along the Trail, the sound of a little torrent was very obvious (some streams were visible, some not). There has been quite a lot of rain over the last few days.