In which God reminds me of priorities

The first part of this week, as we approached our patronal festival, was spent very much focussed on that one service - on making the church building beautiful, on ensuring that the liturgy was "right" and the service booklets accurate...All went well, in a slightly unhinged kind of way, and I believe that the impact of such a celebration will continue to resource us for a good while to come. To have seven confirmands making that significant step in faith surrounded by friends, family and at least a sprinkling of their church family too was a truly wonderful thing.

But I suspect that God thought it was time to remind me of my calling to the whole parish, not just those who gather within the church building - even for such joyous celebrations...

You see, the very next morning I was booked to take a funeral - the stuff of everyday life, of course, but with added complications in the family that has been left behind.

I also heard of great and traumatic upheavals in the life of a beloved friend.

Next day another parishioner arrived to talk about a crisis that could derail her life just when it seemed to be coming together and yesterday the phone rang with another huge and unprecedented event that has blown apart somebody's world.

Fortunately nobody expects me to wade in and fix these situations - most of them are beyond short term fixing, and for those that aren't, there are others with far greater expertise already at work. But, simply by virtue of being "the vicar" people still believe that I should be involved. They believe, even when I doubt it myself, that there is something I can bring to their situation which that situation needs. 

They may not put it that way, but they need to know that God is involved in their lives, even when those lives seem most chaotic, least directed.

And, without exception, all of them hope that I will continue to pray for them through whatever comes next.

Never mind the state of the study - the office and work of a priest is a privilege beyond words.

"This is a proper church"

my bishop teased me gently on Tuesday, noting the thurifer getting organised and the diminutive acolytes standing waiting...
Thus at a stroke he confirmed both how easily he reads me and also how much my perspectives in ministry have been shaped by his influence.

You see, in hosting my first ever confirmation service this week, I felt as if I'd reached some sort of milestone on the way to becoming a "proper vicar" of a "proper church". Remembering an earlier (and not altogether unjustified) remark of his about a certain family likeness between valley church and a jumble sale, I'd spent a silly amount of hours preparing for the service - revamping notice boards,tidying odd corners, begging and beseeching those with the power to do so to remove the mowers from the back of the church.Together with the admirable Dufflepud I had also wrestled with the order of service, til it was in a nearly perfect as we could make it (of COURSE there was one stupid line break in the wrong place - but at least no huge and obvious typos). I knew I could do nothing about the size of congregation beyond encouraging all and sundry to attend...a patronal festival on a weeknight is always going to be a bit challenging, even with a bishop thrown in.
 Finally, having absolutely used up all my worry quotient, I accepted that I'd done my best - and suddenly it was 6.15, the bishop was here, and we were "in the slips" waiting to begin.


Enter the character known to some of you as "cage man" - a resident of the parish who has such issues with drug and alcohol abuse that he no longer has much of a foothold in any sort of reality. He's quite fond of me, and thus sees valley church as his particular pet project - something which has both positive and negative implications. On Tuesday he felt that he could best serve by yelling abuse at those who were coming in to the building, while periodically coming in himself, - whereupon he became quieter, if no more rational...He engaged FabBishop, his chaplain and me in earnest if mostly unintelligible conversation, being deeply disturbed at the fact that we were robed, and taking a great deal of convincing that the bishop was the bishop at all. G., one of the confirmands, who has a commanding presence, stationed himself close by, just in case we needed a rapid response - but all was well. The congregation coped admirably with the tirades directed at them, FabBishop managed to deal with signing registers and certificates while paying proper attention to the rather random conversation and God heard my fervent prayer that "cage man" should vacate the building before we began the service...He departed having given me a large hug and told me that he did love me really. Ummmm........


After that, the service went pretty much exactly as  I'd hoped. Great hymns were sung with gusto.  We enjoyed singing the round (based on the collect) which a gifted friend had written specially for the day. FabBishop pitched his sermon just right and gave all seven candidates things to take away and reflect on....and they were duly baptised (in one case) and confirmed. At Sunday's Messy Church we had all cut out footprints and created a path from the door past the font to the altar and there was such a sense of journey, of significant steps taken, of new horizons glimpsed....I found it all quite ridiculously moving - specially when the cluster of candidates aged 12 to 62 stood at the head of the nave, carrying the candles I had just lit for them from the Paschal candle and we commissioned them to 
"Shine as a light in the world to the glory of God the Father".


The thing was, it was a very real expression of who we are as church. Long before Lucy More launched her brilliant idea, "messy church" applied beautifully to church in the valley. Here, a guidedog in training is a regular member of the choir, and our acolytes include adults with learning difficulties from a nearby unit. Even without their help, Tuesday had its own messy moments. The charcoal refused to stay alight so that when the time came to cense the altar, even the best efforts of FabBishop failed to produce the faintest flurry of smoke...The sacristan somehow failed to expect extra communicants so the wafer box was empty when FabBishop needed to consecrate more...
Nothing was polished in any way...and above all, we started the service with "cage man", reminding us that we are here to welcome, love and serve those who really don't fit in anywhere else.


Maybe, then, we ARE a proper church...or at least getting there.
Will we arrive? 
One day "With the help of God, we will"

Sermon to celebrate the completion of the roofing project, All Saints, Selsley

It began with a few gathered around a table with bread and wine. They heard the words of Jesus. Jesus’ words changed the bread into the food of heaven and the wine into the cup of life eternal. Time passed. Those few did the same thing again. Others joined the table. And the peripatetic church grew. Over time, a large gathering put down roots. Walls rose from the earth. Beams spanned the space. Roof held back the elements. And these places were dedicated and consecrated as holy places. Within these places, there was water for baptism, a place for Jesus’ words to be remembered. And a table were the heavenly banquet would be glimpsed on earth as it is in heaven.

It happened once upon a time. It has happened through many centuries – and it happened here not quite 150 years ago. A church was built, and a community gathered to meet with God in his Word, in bread and wine and in one another – and as they gathered, they found themselves transformed, blessed by their encounter and sent out to be a blessing to others.

Today, then, is a good time to count our blessings. Sometimes we think of blessings as rather abstract, intangible things - the love of our family, our health and strength, the freedoms we enjoy. But today we're here to celebrate blessings in a far more solid form...the visible, beautiful blessing of a church restored and the still more precious blessing of a dedicated community whose efforts secured that restoration.

You see, though we've just sung “Praise God from whom all blessings flow” - under God a variety of human circumstances – outworkings of providence- have combined to make today possible.

All Saints is blessed indeed...blessed with three kinds of resources:

money from an army of generous donors from all over the world,

the love and dedication of the whole local community

and a whole battery of skills that ensured that those gifts of loving commitment would bring about all that we longed for.

The work that has led up to today is in itself an act of both gratitude and faith...The people of Selsley, looking at their beautiful building, recognised that such a gift should be treasured – and thus they expressed their gratitude to the past...But having looked back they looked forward too– forward with a vision of the church living on to serve future generations, as a place where children and grandchildren might encounter God, and emerge, blessed, to be a blessing.

That's what the concept of “stewardship” is all about...building on a vision that is solid, adding to the heritage of the past with dedication and commitment to the future, even when we have no idea of what that future might hold.

Let me share a story that expresses for me the essence of this stewardship across the centuries. When New College Oxford was founded in the late 14th century, the roof of the college hall was supported by huge oak beams, 5' long by 2' square. In other words built to last! In the nineteen century, it was discovered that the beams were infested with death-watch beetle. But where would the timber be found to replace them? Someone suggested contacting the University forester, and a deputation was duly sent to find him. Their tentative enquiry produced an unexpected response

“Well sirs, we was wonderin’ when you’d be askin’.”

You see it turns out that when the college was built a grove of oaks was planted to replace those beams in the hall when they became beetly, because oak beams always become beetly in the end. The plan was passed down from one forester to the next – stewardship indeed!

As we celebrate the fruits of our own stewardship , perhaps I may sound just the gentlest note of caution. This is a truly beautiful building in an equally beautiful place. And if we are not careful, we could all turn this church building into something of an idol. But we must remember that it IS only a building and not the church...

The church is, of course, all of you gathered here...all who have built their lives on the rock that is Christ Jesus...all who are temples in which the Holy Spirit is pleased to dwell.

All Saints is a building dedicated and consecrated for God’s holy purposes It stands as a signpost, a reminder to this community and to the many was they pass by, that God has not left us alone to muddle along as best we can...but is completely committed to us, sharing our humanity in Jesus and calling us to fresh visions of a world turned upside down.

May this building be a touchstone and not a millstone.May the blessings made concrete here continue to nurture the spirit and mission of this church. May the walls echo with the sounds of praise. May the light from its many windows illumine our lives. May we find here shelter from the storms of life. May we here find a place to grow in wisdom and spirit.

A little sheepish

Today was one of those days at church in the valley.

You know? the ones where half your regulars are away, for all sorts of good reasons, and none of the occasionals appear, and you find yourself at the head of the nave staring down at a half empty church?

Actually, it was a bit worse than that. I found myself staring down at an acceptably occupied south side of the nave - and a north side that was completely empty except for - yup, that's right, the last 3 rows.

Now these pews are occupied by some of my very dearest parishioners....ladies whom I respect, admire and love.....people to whom I would turn without hesitation for wise advice or a sympathetic ear at any time...but I did get cross with them this morning. Pleas, both good humoured and a bit more desperate, have no effect. .

It just doesn't seem to occur to them how lonely it feels standing at the front gazing out upon row upon row of empty pews...nor does it worry them in the least that those same empty pews create a deserted waste spanning the distance between them and the altar.

All this is by the way, really - except that it meant that I started the Eucharist feeling a bit disgruntled, and with a particularly clear sense that there were people missing, that we in no way matched my vision of a "successful" church on this particular Sunday morning.

Yes. I know. I know. It's not about the numbers.......but sometimes that's hard to believe - particularly if you feel that people beyond the parish may have an unrealistically positive view of the health of your church.

So, I stood there and looked at the gaps, and felt a bit miserable, really....but hey, it's Sunday and I get to preside at the Eucharist.....and that's really what I'm for - so the miseries didn't last long.

And so it was that half way through my sermon I heard my own words as I looked down at the people scattered about my larger-than-necessary building...and I realised that actually, THIS is what the church is like....what she has always been like.

A rag-taggle collection of people of all sorts and conditions, older and younger, highly educated and with learning difficulties, happy and sad, weary and enlivened, faithful and wavering.

Ridiculous, really, that this should be Christ's Body here - that, to this little flock, it is the Father's good pleasure to give the Kingdom.

Here's what I said in the sermon (with thanks to colleagues on the PRCL lists, who kick started me in a most helpful way)

I hope you’ll forgive me if I begin by acknowledging an open secret about life in the vicarage. Despite my best endeavours, I’m one of those chaotic people who works on the principle of a place for nothing and NOTHING in its place, so that not a day goes by without an anguished cry from the study
“Has anyone seen my keys?” Or my phone?Or my diary?
On a really bad day it might be all three!
Generally, of course, they are there amid the debris and it only takes a moment for my discerning offspring to produce them triumphantly. Sometimes, though, things go missing for a longer period, during which anxiety mounts at first but then, perhaps, I abandon the search and replace the item - at which point it appears, in the most unlikely place. So, when it comes to losing things, I guess I’m something of an expert, and can empathise with the shepherd in the parable. However, one important thing to do when hearing a reading from Scripture is to decide whereabouts in the story you find yourself…it may not necessarily be in the role of the narrator. 

Let's think of the three viewpoints we're offered...

First, of course, there's the wandering sheep....After all, if she hadn't strayed, there wouldn't have been any parable. But imagine going down in history as the LOST sheep...Not the sort of image any of us would choose to cultivate.
I'd imagine she tried to justify herself.
“The grass really was greener over the hill, - until I got there - but when I reached it, it was the same scrubby mixture as before, so I kept on going...until, suddenly, I realised that I was lost. I hadn't a clue which way was home – so I went blindly onwards. If I had rested, even for a moment, I would have had to face my fear – and I simply couldn't do that.
I guess I might have gone on like that til I could go on no further – but a voice stopped me.....a voice, through the darkness, calling my name.
I almost wanted to hide – I felt so stupid, having to be rescued ..but my need got the better of my pride, so I called out in return – and then he came. The shepherd. He came to the very place where I was huddled and picked me up on his broad shoulders and carried me all the way home – and suddenly I didn't feel stupid and scared but loved and special and so very safe...safe in the arms of the shepherd.”

That sounds like a good place to end up...
I know I can recognise quite a lot of myself in that sheep – heading off on a deceptively attractive path that leads nowhere – unwilling or unable to admit my folly, and my need til it's almost too late. 
Yes, there's alot of me there.


But I can see myself among the stay-at-home flock as well, though I rather wish I couldn't.
They are the ones who have got things right, who are behaving just the way sheep are supposed to.....so I'd imagine they might feel quite indignant at the shepherd's quixotic behaviour. With 99 perfectly good sheep all lined up awaiting his attention, he's turned his back and gone off after just ONE.
What's so special about her, then?
Why does she get all the attention when we're all here, bleating in concert, minding our manners, maybe just a little smug – because, after all, we know we're safe – and we don't really feel the need to fret about those left outside.
I don't want to admit it, but there are times when I feel like this.
I look at the lives of those who, by pretty much any standard you might choose, are well and truly lost – and I'm so relieved that I'm not in a similar state, I don't honestly care if anyone takes the trouble to rescue them at all. 
Actually, with an attitude like that, maybe I'm the one that needs saving – once again.

Whereabouts are you in the story??

Then, of course, there's the shepherd. What ought he to do? Recount? Pretend he hasn't noticed that there's one missing?
The sensible thing would be to stay with the flock and just chalk up
the loss as natural wastage, just one of those things…But a shepherd is paid to care – to look after the flock – all of them.
How could he balance competing needs? Should he opt for the safe and sensible course of action – staying with the 99, closing his eyes to the gap in the corner...? that's surely tempting....but remember this is a story told by Jesus – so we are in the upside down world of God's kingdom, where one sheep is worth just as much as 99......and where a shepherd will take any risk at all for the sake of that one sheep.
Well versed in the ways of parables, we know, do we not, just who that shepherd really is.

So – if the shepherd is Jesus, we are assuredly the sheep.

Remember, I wanted you to consider where you are in the story.

If Jesus is somewhere out there on the margins, hunting for missing sheep,
where should we be?
Shouldn’t we be out there with him?
If one sheep is WITH the shepherd, - who's actually lost?
Could it be that the 99 are in the wrong place?
Surely the most important question for each of us is not
“Is Jesus with me?” but “Am I where Jesus is?” for we can trust him to lead us into new pastures, among people and situations we would never have chosen...
We can trust him to keep us from harm, and indeed to lay down his life for us.
That's what the good shepherd does.
Thanks be to God!

Walking the Labyrinth

Earlier this summer an email arrived reminding me that, as usual, there would be a labyrinth in Gloucester Cathedral in the week before Greenbelt (WHY in the one week of the year when those who most need variety in worship are likely to find their needs wonderfully met only a few miles away?? Not complaining, just wondering...)

What's more, there would be a candle -lit Taize service on the Wednesday night.

But my diary already had a wedding rehearsal so I set the information aside and focussed on the delights of GB to come.

Then the couple asked for a last minute change of rehearsal - clearing the evening so off I went.

And it was quite wonderful.

Torrential rain and inadequate advertising by the Cathedral meant that attendance was sparse - which was undoubtedly frustrating for those who'd put so much into curating but was pure gift for those of us who attended.

Imagine a huge and ancient building cleared of chairs and silent after the bustle of daily visitors.

Imagine that around every corner are works of art, there for an exhibition which is running throughout September...everything from a beautiful fountain to a huge crucifixion, with Christ full of nails - and some extraordinary pterodactyls too....

Imagine a candle lit labyrinth, and the gentle sound of Taize chant.

I started to walk the labyrinth during some singing. That was easy. One foot in front of another, praying through the chant. It seemed strange, though, when silence fell...

I've walked many labyrinths, in hugely different situations - but always with music, if in company....

The business of being attentive to one another, of not impeding another's walk, seemed suddenly very important.

I became conscious of the people sitting in shadows, just beyond the edge of the labyrinth. 

For a while I seemed to have too many feet - or at least, the customary 2 had decided to go their own way, in wilful disobedience. This bothered me.
If I stumbled, would it disturb others.

It seemed that as I travelled, I carried a responsibility for the smooth journey of my fellow pilgrims.

I wondered if this sense was peculiar to ministers - whose daily lives seem sometimes to carry more significance to others than we would ever desire.

But then I reached the centre and knelt, knowing myself surrounded by love and beauty.....and the chant began again

"Bless the Lord my soul.......who leads me into life"

Choose life – a homily for All Saints, Selsley. Trinity 14C

I spent last weekend, with some 20,000 others, at the Greenbelt Festival at Cheltenham racecourse. As always, over four days we were presented with a bewildering variety of talks, music, drama and visual arts, spread across 30 venues. An embarrassment of riches Nearly everything sounded splendid but I couldn't possibly do it all.

I had to make choices...but I was sure, at least, that whatever I chose would be rewarding.

Of course, we take choice as read in most areas of daily life...

We demand it when we shop – and I'll never forget my first experience of a third world supermarket: for most foods, there was one option and one only...you could take it, or leave it.

We demand it when we send our children to school, when we need medical treatment, even when we worship.

We believe that more choice means more freedom to express ourselves – to show the world just how unique and special we really are. And in many ways, that's a good thing...

The world is rich and various...and it's good to notice and to celebrate this.

But sometimes, the choice is very stark – so stark that it seems to be no choice at all.

Listen to Moses, presenting the situation to the Israelites in our reading from Deuteronomy.

“I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity. If you obey the commandments of of the Lord....then you shall live and become prosperous....I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life!”

There's no middle ground here, no modified range of options tailored to our needs.

So it follows that we need to do our research, be certain what we're signing up to.

“Choose life” says Moses butt when we listen to God's own PR, as delivered by Jesus in the gospel reading, it doesn't sound too encouraging.

The theologian Tom Wright, til recently Bishop of Durham, wrote thus

Imagine a politician making this kind of campaign speech:

"If you're going to vote for me," he says, "you're voting for higher taxes and lower wages; you're deciding in favour of losing all you love best! So come on -- who's on my side?"

We're talking political suicide

We believe in family values, but Jesus tells us to hate our families, even ourselves.

That's really uncomfortable to listen to......one of those times when the temptation to rewrite the gospel is almost overwhelming....but Jesus is very clear.

To be a disciple means total commitment – with nothing and nobody more important in our lives than Jesus himself.

A real relationship with God will, in the end, cost you everything that you trust more than you trust God.

During the baptism service, you'll remember the point at which the candidate is anointed with oil, in the form of a cross on the forehead. When we reach this stage, I often remind the congregation that this cross is a reminder of the shape of the Christian life – the selfish “I” crossed out, so that we make choices that please God, that fit in with his agenda of radical love and not those that build up our own esteem, our own kingdom.

I sometimes say, too, that this is the point in the service when the candidate might very well scream, cry or, if old enough, make a run for it.

I don't say – though perhaps I should – that I know I fail at this time and again...That though the choices, life or death, blessing or curse, are clearly set before me sometimes it's easier to take the soft option...even when it leads not to life but to death.

Now, it may seem ridiculous that given the choice I might opt for death rather than life or a curse instead of a blessing...but we all know it happens....

We are constantly warned about the dangers of cigarettes, and yet people still choose to smoke.

We are constantly warned about the risks of drug use, and yet people still choose to use.

We are very good indeed at choosing death...

And as for our physical, so for our spiritual life.

The choice to love and to live God's way is one we are asked to make daily.

But sometimes the cross-shaped demands of that choice are too much for us.

We know that we should choose to love God – not just some of the time, when it is convenient, but with our whole heart and mind and soul. That means making our discipleship the major focus of our lives...transforming what we do and who we are seven days a week.

But we don't do that.

We need to know what God considers good and right – without trying to twist God’s will around to look more like our own. That means listening to God’s word and studying the Bible.

But we don't do that either.

We need to do what is good and right, surrounding ourselves with people who share our faith and our love and allowing them to be a positive influence in our lives. But we prefer to bury our faith and fit in with the crowd.

Thankfully, though we may make the wrong choices time and again – God has already made a choice for us...

So, when you recognise the choices before you – don't panic.

Try your best to choose life – but know that there is grace and forgiveness enough for all of us – for that is the final message of that cross which we sometimes fear to carry.

Let's pray

Almighty God,

whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain,

and entered not into glory before he was crucified:

mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross,

may find it none other than the way of life and peace;

through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Greenbelt reflection - on being a hippy dippy Christian.

Just one week ago excitement was at fever pitch in the vicarage.

Hugger Steward and the Dufflepud were already encamped in the swamp that was Cheltenham racecourse after a deluge, working with that wonderful team of festival makers that transform a space of grass and concrete into a fantastic playground for 20,000 people to celebrate, learn, dream and worship together.

With a friend staying who was new to the festival, I was slightly apprehensive.

I love Greenbelt so much, and for the past 11 years it has been so central to the life of our family...

Introducing it to someone else is a bit like the process of watching one of the children perform on stage (one of the most nerve wracking parts of parenthood for me). 

Will they achieve their best?

Will their music reach others? 

Will it be ALL RIGHT?

I needn't have worried.

My friend "got it" immediately - though I suspect I taxed her stamina to the limit and beyond as we drove home after Last Orders every night.

But I was sad when a twitter contact was clearly unconvinced and wrote of "too many hippy dippy Christians".

At least, I was sad at first.

But as I thought about it, I began to cherish the label.

Yes, Greenbelt is full of grown ups reliving their youth, awash with the idealism that struggles to find a place the rest of the year.

There's a preponderance of bright colours, tie & dye & Fair Trade cotton - such that I always struggle with the thought of these joyous birds of paradise constrained once more by city suits or clerical collars come Tuesday morning.

There's also, and more importantly, a preponderance of Christians who are passionate...who long to make a difference...to change the world for the sake of the Kingdom...to live their faith each and every day.

It's that passionate joy that I miss in the Church community for the rest of the year...the sense that we are dreaming together of something beautiful beyond our imaginings...the sense that we are marching to a different drum.

Yesterday as I read the epistle at Church on the Hill it all fell into place

If any one of you thinks he is wise by the standards of this age, he should become a "fool" so that he may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God's sight. 

So I'm home inspired by Tom Sine and dreaming of intentional Christian communities.

I'm home considering how to live the upside down world of the Beatitudes with Dave Andrews.

I'm home considering the rival claims of peace and truth as presented by Giles Fraser.

I'm home with the music of Jars of Clay, Courtney Pine and Ellie Williams still filling my head and making me want to dance at odd moments.

I'm home with a longing to engage in deep contemplation - be it the Rosary or, the Jesus Prayer or a route beyond all words.

I'm home - but certain that I really do have a foothold somewhere else.

I'm a hippy dippy Christian - and proud of it.

There are no easy words

My beloved friend, whose parish is only 15 miles from here, finds herself conducting untimely funerals, for babes and children, far too often. Given the economic profile of parish in the valley, I'd expected to find myself in a similar position when I moved here from my affluent title post - but though there is a collection of tiny graves in the valley church yard, it wasn't until last week that I found myself standing at the head of the nave while a tiny white coffin was carried lovingly in by the little one's father.

I was worried that, having lost too many babes myself, I might be too emotional to function well - a worry that escalated when the family decided to use Coldplay's "Fix You" as the central item in the service. For various reasons, that's a song that makes me rather weepy at the best of times, but having asked pretty much everyone I know to pray, it wasn't surprising that all was well.

I did a lot of tinkering with the Common Worship service to make it feel less oppressively wordy...because, after all, there are few words that help in this situation. I found some resources that seemed right - so am posting them here for anyone else who is trying desperately to get out of God's way in this sort of situation. I found much to draw on from Dorothy McRae McMahon, and from the New Zealand Prayer Book - as well as little book that Sr Frances Dominica of Helen House put together as a resource for parents...In the end, of course, words can do little - but they do give you some comforting purpose as you stand alongside parents in their pain.

Here's what I said in the address, following 1 Corinthians 13, quite beautifully read.

These three remain, faith, hope and love...and the greatest of these is love”

There are no easy words today.

We come with hearts full of the pain of grief and with minds numb, or filled with one insistent question

“WHY?”

And to that I have no answer.

O. has been loved and longed for over so smany weeks and we are rightly appalled that the joy of birth should be transformed sunexpectedly to the sorrow of parting.

There ARE no easy words.

At times of great suffering, people of faith look to their God for some meaning, and when that is hard to come by may at first turn away, defeated.

But we are here in church, and behind me stands the cross.

In the agony of his own death Jesus cried out

“My God, my God why have you abandoned me?”

As he voiced his own suffering he quoted too from the book of psalms, the ancient prayer book of the Jewish people. Here again and again men and women faced with situations that made no sense poured out their anger and misery in passionate lament.

To do was, and is, an act of faith.

These outpourings at least keep the conversation, the relationship with God alive, and God has broad shoulders that can hold us through the storms until the worst of the heartbreak and anger have passed.

Perhaps this might be the route for us today?

God, we are told you are compassionate:

today this is hard to believe.

God, we are told that you love us:

today we do not feel loved.

God, we are told that we should offer you our praise and thanksgivings,

today all we have to offer is anger and confusion.

God, despite these feelings we turn to you,

today there is no one else to turn to.

God, hold us until we can believe again.

God, love us until we can feel your love again.

God, accept our anger and confusion until we can offer you praise and thanksgiving again.

God, our lives and our feelings rise and fall but you remain constant.

Help us to rest in your eternal changelessness.

(Michael D. Smith, cit. Just My Reflection Frances Dominica ASSP)

Faith, then, has nothing to do with glib answers: it is, rather, the force that drives our questions.

But Hope too seems strained and broken by disappointment today.

Through the weeks since his conception, O carried many hopes - for his parents, of course, - but for each of you here in some measure. Now we are asked to lay those hopes gently down and it hurts, terribly.

But, X & Y, the very act of being here, of getting up each morning, of preparing meals even when you don't much want to eat them, of managing somehow the ordinary everyday things of life is itself an act of hope.

It says "I will not turn my face to the wall. I will carry on. However hard it may be, tomorrow matters

And love? Oh, that's both the easiest and the hardest part.

Conceived in love, carried and born in love, O knew nothing but love through every precious minute of his life, and it is in that love that he will live all your lives long.

But even beyond that, I am certain that with God nothing is ever lost or wasted.

The love the brought Jesus through the darkness of death into the dawn of everlasting life holds O secure and reaches out to each of us today.

It's hard to feel it as we struggle with grief but, like the sun behind clouds, God's love exists as an objective reality...

In a moment we'll listen to Coldplay's "Fix You.." with its overarching themes of loss and redemption.

If care and love could have helped O to live, we know he'd be with us...but now hear God's promise that O HAS been guided home, to the place where we all truly belong.

Listen and try to believe that, amid all this pain and confusion, God is still there, still saying quietly

“I will try my best to fix you”

“now these three remain, faith, hope and love...and the greatest of these is love”

Music : Fix You

Let us, in silence, give thanks for the life of this child.

Each moment of our journey with this life is precious to us.

Even as our thankfulness is overwhelmed with grief

sthat our joy is misted in pain,

we give thanks for this life and for all life. 

(Space for reflection)

Lord Jesus Christ

Your took children into your arms and blessed them.

Keep O in your loving care

And bring us all to the heavenly kingdom

Where you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and forever

Amen.

God our Creator, from whom all life comes

Comfort this family,

Grieving for the loss of their hoped-for child.

Help them to find assurance

That with you nothing is wasted or incomplete

And uphold them with your love

Through Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen.

X, Y, you are not alone.

We are here together, ordinary human beings

who travel through life's pain and possibility,

holding on to one another with surprising courage and strength,

facing each day and each moment, whatever it may hold.

In your grieving we are with you

In these next days we will be beside you.

You are surrounded and held by us all

And by the tender love of God.

Receive our love.

Not exactly restful.

It was a bitter January day.

The snow lay thick on the ground, and driving was impossible.

But nonetheless, I had to reach the Cathedral, where I was supposed to be singing Evensong.

For reasons best known to myself, I set out to walk there already wearing my cassock, - and the heavy black wool was soon wet and weighty with melted snow.

The drifts were so deep that I decided my best route was along the garden walls of the houses that lined my route.

It was slippery and hazardous, but I seemed to be doing alright until, as I moved from one garden to another, a woman burst out of the Fisher Price play house that was clearly her home and shouted

"Get OFF my wall! I'm not having any s***ing vicar walking along my wall.......Who do you think you are?"

I protested that I was already very late, and would definitely not reach the Cathedral if I had to retrace my steps...and which point she responded (in a voice that reminded me strongly of my junior school Maths teacher)

"You should have thought of that sooner......"

And then, to my relief, I woke up - and lo, it was Sunday morning.

All of which suggests that going to sleep uncertain about those things which I have not done is a recipe for an uneasy night...Small wonder that I forgot to take my sermon with me to Church in the Valley, and found myself preaching from my Nokia, reading direct from this blog.

Sermon for the feast of the BVM, 15th August 2010

Yesterday I saw a poster outside a church not far from here

It read: “Do you have a family? We are a family here”

My first reaction (and that of my passengers) was distinctly negative...and that made me reflect on the way we use the language of family to describe relationships within our churches.

When your own experience of family life has been a good one, it's a fine analogy, but for the many who equate family with failed relationships or disappointed hopes there are definite problems. That's part of the reason why we talk about

“All Age Worship” rather than a “Family Service”...And yet, on a good day church life is very much like that of a family: a group of people of all ages, sharing lifes ups and downs together not because we've chosen one another, but because we know we have the same Father.

I know there are problems with this too, that survivors of abuse can find our language about God a barrier to belief...but we can only use the words that we have, conscious of their limitations, and knowing that when we speak of God we use language to point to One far beyond words.

So today we're encouraged to think about families. The Grapevine will have alerted you that this is a feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary, a day to celebrate the one whom the Orthodox describe as the Mother of God, and our readings are full of family references from the “bride and groom” of Isaiah, to Paul's clear exposition of the divinity of Christ “God sent his Son, born of a woman...” - and of our own identity as adopted children. Perhaps one additional danger of overusing family language in our churches is that we lose sight of quite how staggering this adoption is. We, ordinary, grubby humanity, with all our selfishness, our instinct for mutual and self destruction, are nonetheless adopted by the source of all Love, all Goodness...Adopted by God!

What's more, we stand to inherit all God offers– for we are heirs with Christ of all that the Father has and is.

Heirs, invited to share divinity because Christ first shared our humanity.

As we proclaim each week in the Creed

“For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven, was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary and was made man”

Incarnate of the Holy Spirit AND the Virgin Mary...

At that crucial moment in salvation history God invited human co-operation...and turned not to the centres of power, to Jerusalem or to Rome, but to a small town in Galilee and a young peasant girl...

Through the centuries a culture of devotion has grown up around Mary. Some of it may seem extravagant, even inappropriate for one who was, after all, not so very remarkable.

Not a great church leader, not a theologian or teacher, but a teenage mother. Nothing special.

But think for a moment of what she represents – and what was achieved through her obedience.

Mary, you see, recognised God and opened herself completely to God's will, holding nothing in reserve...welcoming God not just in name but in the reality of God's being, carried in her own body, flesh of her flesh.

Mary opened herself completely to God's will, and so through her, as the Holy Spirit overshadowed her, Salvation came into the world.

I think, then, there IS something remarkable here...As so often, God takes the ordinary – a girl like Mary – and uses her in an extraordinary way. Her obedience changes everything...In Mary the teenager, as so often at other times in God's dealings with human kind, God takes something very ordinary and does something extraordinary...but here we have not just a miracle of transformation. Having heard the angel, Mary believes, and obeys – though knowing that she faces at best an uncertain future.

Her obedience is, in itself, the first fruits of the revolution to come, for she embraces change, without knowing what may come to pass.

We don't hear the story of her encounter with the angel today, but we do hear what happened next...

It's easy to imagine Mary heading for the hill country, in search of her cousin. Perhaps she wanted to escape the village gossips in Nazareth.

Perhaps she longed to share her news (was it good or bad? How could she know) with someone she could trust.

Perhaps she hoped for reassurance – for the angel had promised her that Elizabeth's pregnancy was a sign that with God nothing is impossible.

Whatever the reason for her journey, on arrival she was greeted with words of affirmation and that welcome must have been music to her ears

“"Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear!”

Here was evidence that the angel had spoken truth, that her faithful obedience was rooted in God's reality – and so Mary opened her mouth and gave voice to the cry of joyous revolution that the Church has tried to tame by familiarity, that great shout of praise that is the Magnificat.

Listen to those familiar words and imagine what they could mean in our world

Share in the excitement of Mary's vision of the future God plans, a future where the unthinkable happens, where the lowliness of God's servants does not prevent them from co-operating with him in doing great things.

“God scatters the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. God brings down the powerful from their thrones,  and lifts up the lowly; God has filled the hungry with good things, and sends the rich away empty...”

How you hear these words depends, perhaps, on where you are in life.

Among the powerful, they surely strike a chill – for this is the world turned upside down...but among those on the margins, those who believe themselves to be small and unimportant, they are the clarion call of Good News.

And that Good News has been released in the world through Mary's openness to God.

So as we celebrate her part in the history of our Salvation, we have a choice. We can cling our own agendas, refusing to let God work his transforming will in our lives or we can honour Mary by imitation, as we strive to be open and obedient to God– to welcome God into each and every aspect of our lives, so that we too may be God-bearers for our place and time...

Still here, I think

Suspect that I may be breaking the longest silence this blog has yet known...In part this was the result of 2 lazy weeks aboard Polyphony, exploring the previously uncharted waters of the Staffs & Worcs & Shropshire Union Canals, and in part it's the result of a longing to retain the feeling of calm and space with which I returned from the holiday.

This is in no way reflected in the state of my study, which is as post-cataclysmic as ever...but at the moment my brain still feels OK, as if things are mostly manageable, as if there is some hope that God and I will get through the next few months together.

What struck me above all, in this period of post holiday clarity, was that I had space not just to read some good theology but to let it work on me.

I'm part of a very small, very sporadic clergy birds reading group, and we met on Monday to have another go at Timothy Radcliffe's "Why go to Church?"

We'd started it early in the summer, but too few of us had got beyond the opening chapters though we all agreed that what we had read encouraged us to delve deeper. I'm strictly forbidden from taking theology of any kind on holiday, so it wasn't til Sunday afternoon that I was able to revisit, and indeed finish the book......and I found myself excited and inspired in ways that I only usually manage at the end of a week long retreat. That sort of reading makes me happy to my core - reminds me of all the reasons that I love my calling - sends me on my way singing...and it hasn't happened anything like enough since I became an incumbent.

Learning point: I really do need to make space for reflective reading - which will involve not just the time in which to read, but the preparation time in which decks are cleared, preoccupations shelved to enable the process at all.

Possible supplementary: I may be more likely to achieve this if I spend less time online...though I need to set against that the value of reflective blogging, which used to be so much the stuff of life for me.

Oh what a dilemma!

Once I've logged on, the siren voice of the internet is liable to call me in so many different directions, and often the half hour I'd thought to spend writing here is taken up ranging far and wide to read all sorts of exciting things.

While I was away this blog celebrated its 6th birthday. I began posting in the early weeks of my curacy, when the space to reflect was a given...as I wrote I discovered a community of friends whom I'd never have dreamed of, and it is this more than anything else that keeps me blogging onwards, though I've all too conscious that the glory days are past. There simply isn't the time. It would be truly ironic if it turned out that time spent blogging was the barrier to having something to blog about...but it seems a distinct possibility...

Come what may, I simply must share some of Timothy Radcliffe's wonderful words- which have filled me with such joy, - but not tonight. My post holiday resolutions include bed by 11.00 unless there is a real crisis - and tomorrow I need all the strength I can muster, to brave the Messy Church outing to Weston-super-Mare. 

If I make it, I'll see you on the other side!

Sermon for Trinity 7 Yr C (8.00 at St Matthew's)

Hospitality – a great Christian virtue – one central to the life and ministry of the church, defined by the OED as “the reception and entertainment of strangers with liberality and goodwill…”
I like that. 

Liberality and goodwill would seem to me a good starting point for any church seeking to engage with the community...but hospitality is often more complex, more wide ranging than we dare to imagine.

Think about the Old Testament and Gospel readings this morning, with their accounts of hospitality given and received.

suggest a wider definition, though, as they present two different pictures of hospitality given and received.

In Genesis, we hear about Abraham’s purposeful activity in preparing a suitable meal for the strangers who've appeared, unexpectedly, out of the shimmering heat of the desert. He's very much the host - seating his guests while he rushes inside to instruct Sarah to get baking, chooses an animal as the main course for the feast and ensures that all hospitable duties are lovingly performed.Abraham is busy doing the right thing, obeying the ancient laws of hospitality simply because they are there. He has no knowledge of his guests, no inkling that he might be entertaining angels unawares…He just does what seems right to him.

Of course, this is the story that inspired my favourite icon, Rublev's Hospitality of Abraham - about which you may be weary of hearing by now!

Looking at the icon, there are clues to suggest that there might be more going on than simply an unexpected dinner. The three strangers in the picture are each haloed, and the alternative name for this icon is “The Holy Trinity”. 

Certainly, when we hear verse 10, the last read to us this morning, we realise that something significant is happening, something well beyond the conventional expectations of host and guest. Outrageously, the stranger speaks of a personal matter, the subject of the childless couples’ deepest regrets and most fervent prayers, and announces coolly
“Sarah will have a son”.

The lectionary leaves us there, with that bald announcement changing the whole balance of the encounter. 

Here is Salvation history being played out again, unexpectedly, through the promise of a son, coming late, against all hope, to fulfill God’s covenant with Abraham.
If this is the crux of the encounter, then we must ask 

"Who is the true recipient in this hospitable exchange?"

We’ll leave that question hanging for a minute, as we turn to the Gospel, where we find Martha engaged in the sort of bustling activity which is almost a paradigm of hospitality. She is, in one translation at least “Distracted through much serving” and it's easy to imagine her checking through lists in her head, dashing in all directions as she strives to ensure that Jesus receives only the very best in her home and at her table. 

No detail must be overlooked. He must be in no doubt that he is truly welcome.

The trouble is that, as many of us have discovered, it’s easy to get so involved in arranging a meal that we find ourselves spending the whole time in the kitchen, instead of with the very people we want to entertain. Poor Martha. Not only does this happen to her, but Jesus tells her off for it. Her frenzied activity, her anxiety to devote all her domestic energy to Jesus, is not what he wants at all.                        Traditional courtesies are superfluous.                                                                          Jesus wants her attention, not her cooking.

Again, as in the Rublev icon, there is a stillness at the centre of all the activity. Here Mary sits at Jesus’ feet,- something revolutionary in itself, for this is the place for a rabbi’s disciples, not somewhere for women to stake a claim. Amid all the bustle, Mary is simply there, listening, drinking in what Jesus has to say to her, learning to receive while her sister concentrates on giving.

So, in both stories, the presumed guest is in fact the one with gifts to bestow. Abraham and Martha both came so close, in all their work of hospitality, to missing out on the whole point of the encounter. Their focus on doing threatened to cloud their recognition of the unexpected gifts on offer.

They are called not to do things for God, but to be where he is and to receive from him.
Being hospitable involves being open to a myriad unguessed at possibilities…including the possibility that our efforts, our activity, whether as individuals or as a church, may not be essential!
 

As someone with decidedly Martha-like inclinations, I struggle with this. There is always so much to do.
Surely I’m not being told to stop all meetings, leave funds unraised, forms incomplete, discussion groups unvisited…Am I?                                                    However, I keep coming back to some words of Austin Farrer’s which I first heard many years ago
“Do you want to bear fruit for God? Then simplify your life. Do fewer things and do them better”
We’re not called to be frantic, harassed by the fulness of our diaries, or our parish newsletters. We’re called to bear fruit, to be human beings, not human doings.
Doing fewer things will give us time to listen to and receive from the One who invites us to be with Him, to be nourished by all goodness, to encounter his unexpected Grace, …which is all we need as we set out to serve Him.

Remembering Keble

Today the Church of England is invited to remember John Keble...
I've just been googling and found a site with these "definitions" of the man as

•  a hero and a model for the modern church

• an amazing example of patient witness to the gospel truth 

• a prominent Tractarian theologian and poet 

As a catholic Anglican I'm very conscious of the legacy of the Oxford Movement in both theology and worship. I've snarled quietly (can such things be?) as commentators have announced that there would be a "mass exodus of Catholics" if the Church of England ordained women to the episcopacy. I am a catholic by heartfelt conviction and for too long it has felt as if the church in which I minister has not, itself, been truly catholic in its ministry.

For me, being catholic is all about being inclusive...in the richness of worship, that involves all our senses, in a theology that recognises that Christ on the cross draws ALL to himself and in a practice that asserts "For everyone born, a place at the table". That sense that we have disabled ourselves by excluding people from ministry on the grounds of gender and of sexual orientation has been a heavy burden. That I've lacked the courage to speak about the situation in my daily context has also been a burden - heavier because this by my own choice, my own cowardice.


So I've been thankful for groups like Affirming Catholicism, Inclusive Church and Society of Catholic Priests  for articulating things I feel, and for providing community - which makes all the difference in anxious times.  I'm also thankful for Bishop David Stanncliffe's reminder of what we are all about

Authentic Catholic faith is grounded in Christ’s sharing of human life and his transformation of it. This is the hope to which we hold: the transformation of our lives,our Church and all creation. This is the Good News.


That Good News transcends all party lines...and should surely bring us together, under God. 
Exciting Holiness provided some lovely material for Mass this morning - but if I hear nothing else today, how about this for a word in season?

⁶May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. (Romans 15:6)

Lord, in your mercy hear my prayer.

Doing my best

Back in January, while avoiding some piece of essential admin, I noticed a Calligraphy Quiet Day at our diocesan retreat house...I've always envied those who can make even ordinary words beautiful, and I knew that by the penultimate week of term I'm always gibbering, so found it impossible to resist booking there and then.

Fast forward to yesterday and, thanks to the dramas at General Synod, I seemed unlikely to be able to quieten myself, no matter where I went to attempt this. However, the place was booked so off I went....

You need to know that I've never been gifted at the visual arts. I love colour and can get really excited about it...but the gulf between what I see in my mind and what emerges from my pen/paint brush has always been too huge to bridge. No matter how encouraging my mentor, I've never been able to bury my own disappointment that whatever it is that I'm producing doesn't actually match the beauty  of my vision. I wish I could say that yesterday was different - but it wasn't. At least, not where the end product was concerned. But I loved every minute of the process of creating...The time spent mulling and praying and reading and praying some more til the right phrase arrived...The gradual refinement of the vision...the selection of materials to make it happen.

On the whole, I suspect that my finished work might have made a year 7 quite proud...and really only the fact that I knew it shouldn't matter that much prevented me from hiding it away when we reached "Show and tell" time. There was some fantastically beautiful work produced - really heart-singing stuff...and then there was mine. 

But the words that had leapt out at me as I tried to forget about synod and focus that morning turned out to speak, too, to the process of enjoying what I can do, for they spoke of a journey towards beauty - not of an instant of arrival.

A long time ago, a wise selector at my first ABM suggested that I might have a problem with perfectionism. It wasn't something I recognised at the time! I knew the areas where I had some ability, and simply focussed on them, resolutely steering clear of those where I was out of my depths. It worked pretty well. I just didn't risk things that seemed likely to be outside my scope - so I never had to be content with a "best" that was less than acceptable in my own eyes.

Strangely, over the next 12 years, God has talked to me quite a bit about this.

I've learned that though it would be churlish to offer God a fistful of wilted dandelions from the bottom of the garden when there are prize roses blooming too, there are times when the dandelions are absolutely fine. "Just as I am" applies to my creative abilities as much as to every other area of life, and, believing this truth, it seems time to work with it.

So, when I came home, I went online and have ordered a real live calligraphy set of my very own. You see, calligraphy is not a process you can rush...- and that's good for me in the sometimes frantic patterns of vicarage life.

It's a process that ensures that you engage deeply with your text...holding it in your thoughts, polishing it quietly til it you know how best to make it shine,and, as you might just have guessed, I love words.

What's more, it's something I'll probably never do very well - but that makes me happy too.

Even slow learners sometimes begin to get the message!

So synod disperses

and across the country clergy and people try to focus on our primary calling, to be the Church, the Body of Christ, in our own communities.

So many words, so much passionate conviction, such fervent prayer.

And today, the prayer after the psalm at Morning Prayer (ps 133) could not have been better

"Grant to your people, good Lord,

the spirit of unity,

that they may dwell together in your love

and so bear to the world

the ointment of your healing and the dew of your blessing;

through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

Praying for General Synod

The loveliest chapel in Gloucester Cathedral is, I think, the blue chapel...with fabulous glass and an altar of stunning simplicity. It is here that a candle has burned throughout General Synod, here that a prayer tree bears many blossoms of fervent prayer poured out....Among the beautiful resources to focus our prayer this one, with its echo of the Good Friday reproaches, spoke most to me when I visited yesterday.

O loving God, Lord of all creation,

you have created us in your own image.

You have called us, men, women,

young and old, people of different races and nations,

to serve in your church and to love each other.

But we have abused your creation, divided your church through prejudice,

malice and lack of love for one another.

Look in mercy on us, your children,

forgive us, forgive your church

as it struggles against injustice

and strives for honesty and integrity.

Heal our divisions, heal us that we may serve you faithfully. Amen.                                                                     Revd. Jenny Thomas

Earthed again

After the high tension of yesterday's General Synod debate, which I followed pretty constantly on twitter, it was undoubtedly very good for me to find myself in my lovely churches this morning...Here the high questions of church politics, the anxious deliberations and less than charitable debates in synod could not have impinged less.

All that mattered was that God's people had gathered, and were waiting to be fed.

The Eucharist at St Matthew's was specially lovely...We baptised little A., who was so pleased to find herself the centre of attention that she refused to be fazed by anything we did for her. Not only the vicar, but every one of her party of supporters shared in the anointing - and she continued to smile and giggle at all of us. Even the indignity of three lots of water poured over her had no impact: she positively chortled and buried her head in my shoulder as if we were old friends. Her baptism really was pure joy for all of us there!

But for me the highlight of the day (perhaps the month) came when I said, as I do every week,
"This is the table of the Lord, and all are welcome here".
The chalice assistants joined me in the sanctuary, as did the organist - and there, beside her, was one of the baptism party - so keen to accept the invitation that she didn't so much jump the queue as return to her seat before ever a queue had formed.
It made me so very happy - and I bet God was smiling too.

Pray like Hannah: a sermon for the Eucharist, Trinity 6, 11th July 2010

I was part of a small diocesan working party that put together a pack to encourage our parishes to "Pray like Hannah" - with passionate longing, for the children of our communities...We produced assorted resources, including two sets of sermon notes...this is an amalgum of both, and owes alot to Revd Dr Sandra Millar, the "unclaimed treasure" (tm) who is our Children's Advisor

Imagine, if you will, that it's the year 2037

“Today a small item appeared in the Church Times announcing that the last person known to have been involved in the church since childhood has left. Jake became involved in the parish church as a toddler, through a pre school group. He has continued to attend faithfully, but has decided that the pressure of being the youngest is too great. His church is now concentrating on offering museum tours. Since the demise of Church Schools in 2017, Christianity has been an optional module in the life skills course offered by primary schools. Churches continue to offer a range of worship and activities for adults with different tastes and interests. “It's sad we no longer have children, but in enables us to concentrate on our core ministry and business” said a spokesperson.

Well, of course, that's just a piece of imaginative writing...but the situation that it describes is not so very far away. In some churches a question about children's work will elicit a shrug, a sigh and and rueful acceptance of the statement

“We don't have children any more”

As if it doesn't really matter...and as if there is nothing to be done.

But it does matter.....hugely....and there is so much to do.

[Today we have the joy of welcoming A. into the church family...Her parents and godparents will make huge promises on her behalf – that she'll be brought up within the church, helped to know God, shown how to pray...

But we in the congregation make our promises too.

We promise, all of us, to welcome her and uphold her in her new life in Christ.

From today, we are all related to her, united by our baptism, by the life of Christ that we share...so it makes sense that we should care about her, hope to watch her grow, get to know her better...

And we all have a duty to support her as she grows in faith

Like all the children baptised in our churches, A is part of us now...What a privilege for us, to be involved in the life of young Christians as they begin to discover their faith. We can support her practically, by making her family feel comfortable and at home, but we can and must support her too by our prayers...for today is only the first step in her lifelong journey.

But what if there ARE no children in our churches? What if our font remains dry, our junior church empty?

Let's look again at the story of Hannah that we heard just now. As she confronted her own childlessness, Hannah prayed with devotion, fervour, intensity. She prayed from her own need (as a childless woman she was disenfranchised and disabled in her own culture), and she prayed in longing to safeguard the future.

In praying for children, we stand in a similar place.

If our churches are childless, our part of the body of Christ is incomplete and disabled.

But though Hannah's prayer was indeed a petition for herself, to free her from shame and bullying, it was also an investment in the future. It is our children will shape the world and carry the truth of the Gospel into the next century...and the Church that they minister from may be quite unlike the one that we inherited from our parents. Does that sound exciting? Or frightening? Maybe both...– but our God is always doing a new thing, always going before us into Galilee, - so the Christian faith has never encouraged us to settle down and let the grass grow.

Always, always there are challenges...
Before even the child was in her arms, Hannah was preparing to let him go – and it's the same for us. When we pray for children, we must recognise that God may have different directions, different plans for them – we may be asked, as parents are, to let them go to grow and flourish elsewhere, in another place.

What matters is not that we should be able to preen ourselves at our “successful” children's work – but that the children in our community should be able to encounter the living God, and know themselves loved...that they should be introduced to the way of faith and grow to hunger and thirst after righteousness, that they should learn and live by the great commandments of love that we've heard again this morning.

What matters is that those baptised as Christians should truly become “Little Christs” - signs of the Kingdom, each and every one.

Remember, we are praying for our children – not for ourselves.

As always, prayer doesn't change God, but prayer will change us.
This summer, churches across Gloucestershire are invited to pray “like Hannah” for children, - and there will be many ways in which we can engage with this...but as we pray, we're invited too to be ready to be changed by God...
Maybe as we pray we'll see new ways of sharing Good News with children, new ways of being church, new ways of engaging with schools and families.

I'm certain that any church community that truly prays like Hannah will find itself more open, more receptive, more aware of the children in that locality, whatever their relationship with the church.

Because, you know, prayer works...so it may be (it probably will be) that this new attitude of awareness will impact on the way the church relates to children.

Do children matter to us?
We know that they matter to God...and if children are important to the church, this will show in the whole ethos – and children may respond to this by arriving, by returning and by staying.

Or it may be that our prayer will have little obvious impact on our own church...but that's good too. So often we plant seeds whose harvest we don't see directly....but we can be confident that, even if God places those children in a different context for their growth and nurture, our prayer will change things.

Children, Scripture reminds us, are a blessing...a joy, a delight, a sign of God's commitment and the fulfilment of God's promises. Today let's resolve to pray like Hannah, that the children of Cainscross, of Cashes Green & Ebley/ the children of Selsley will be in no doubt that they are loved and wanted by God and by God's people.

Pray like Hannah - letter for the parish mag

This month churches across Gloucestershire are going to “Pray Like Hannah”...But why?

It's an answer to a question, and also an invitation. So many churches are asking

“Why do we have so few children coming to church?” - and the answer takes the form of another question

“Have you prayed for them to come?”

The invitation is to all of us connected to the church: Pray like Hannah

I'm sure you remember her story, which is found in the Old Testament Book of Samuel. Hannah is the loved wife of Penniel, but she is childless – in her culture the ultimate disaster for a wife, a badge of shame, a judgement of God. Children were vital to secure the future of the family, the tribe, the nation. In desperation, Hannah is driven to pray, to “pour out her soul”. Her prayer is so urgent, so passionate that the old priest, Eli, assumes that she is drunk.

So the first invitation is to pray passionately for children to know that they are part of God's family. It's as simple as that. It's born from a deep longing and love for children, and a sense of loss that they are absent from our midst.

Hannah's prayer is answered; Samuel is born. But then Hannah takes him to the Temple and leaves him in Eli's care. He grows up to become a prophet and leader of God's people – probably not what Hannah had expected when she longed for a baby to cradle in her empty arms.

So we too have to be ready for answered prayer to look quite unlike our expectations...We may find that instead of the children flocking in to church on a Sunday morning, we are called to go out and take God's love to them....We may believe that we have much to teach them, but will surely find that they have more to teach us.

So this month parishes across the diocese are invited to Pray like Hannah...It's a good time of year to focus on children, a time when things change for many of them as they move from home to school, from one school to another...It's a time with endings to face and new beginnings ahead. It's also a time when we can expect to meet children on holiday from school, shopping with their parents in the Co-Op, riding their bikes in Victory Park. Sometimes their presence will delight us, at others we may wish that they could leave us in peace.....but each day as we encounter them, and each day that we don't, let's pray for the children of our community. Jesus welcomed children – loud, mucky, unkempt street kids...He told us to become like them. As the Body of Christ, the church is handicapped, incomplete if our children are not with us...so please join me in prayer this month.

We know that prayer changes things – so we've much to look forward to.