Music for All Souls

The souls of the just are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them.

They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; and their passing away was thought an affliction and their going forth from us, utter destruction. But they are in peace.

Music for All Saints

Yesterday morning I was lamenting the fact that I'm unlikely to find myself part of a church where this sort of music is on the menu, at least in the immediately forseeable future...
Imagine my thoroughly un-Christian feelings (overwhelming envy would just about describe them) when my youngest, the Dufflepud, announced that he was off to sing it at Lancaster Priory last night.

I'm not sure where I first sang it, but for me it remains one of those windows onto heaven that fill me with longing

Oh how glorious is the kingdom 

wherein all the saints rejoice with Christ

Clothed in white robes they follow the Lamb wherever he goes.

Address for "Journey On" 2010

Psalm 46

1 God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.

2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

3 though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.

4 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells.

5 God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.

…...

10 "Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."

11 The LORD Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.

My father spent his early years in Charlton, London SE7...It was a part of town so close to the river that it was heavily bombed during the blitz, and I grew up with stories of the family emerging from the air raid shelter to a world that seemed quite different. A neighbour's house received a direct hit and was flattened as though it had never been, while in my great aunt's house windows were blown out, ceilings collapsed – but, amazingly, a Bristol blue glass decanter survived intact on the dining table. But what intrigued my father, and me in my turn, were those houses which had one wall ripped out by the blast, but continued to stand. You could, he told me, look straight into those homes, in the same way that you see inside a dolls house when you remove the front...

I imagined sitting in one of those ravaged drawing rooms. If you looked away from the damage, you could pretend everything was normal....only a draught from the missing wall to give things away.

But if you turned to look directly at the 4th wall – the wall that wasn't there – well then you would grasp just how total the devastation that had hit this family as they went about their daily lives.

All jagged edges, chaos and rubble.

I think that all of you who are here today will have some idea of what that experience feels like.

You may have spent many days trying to focus on the things that are still the same...the dear friends and beloved family who are trying to support you...you may have tried to return to familiar routines but found that somehow they just didn't work.

People will have encouraged you to focus on the three sides of the room that are still intact...but always, always you have been conscious of the gap.....where someone vital is missing...

The architecture of your world has been destroyed and, even on the best days, there's a chill wind blowing in.

But the amazing thing is that, like those blitz ravaged homes, you have managed to survive.

You may have wished sometimes that this was not so...have wondered why you kept on keeping on, when the journey seemed so much harder and darker than you'd ever imagined.

But you have survived.

And, whether you've been conscious of it or not, I'd say that God's love and God's strength will have been a huge element in that survival. The writer of our psalm was clearly familiar with some pretty cataclysmic changes in his life and that of his nation

though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

 though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.

That sense of being swept off your feet, of losing all the familiar landmarks can be utterly overwhelming...and nobody would want to minimise that...BUT, says the psalmist, there is another power at work too

To set against the destructive waters of grief and loneliness

“There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God”

You have had to deal with powerful feelings – the flip side of that most powerful feeling – love - and it seems to me that our psalm can be applied to both the experiencing of loving and of losing. You could choose, of course, to shut away your feelings...to turn away from love because it carries, always, the risk of pain...but to do this would be to allow part of yourself and your humanity to die as well.

But to embrace love, with all its dangers, is to allow that other river – the river that makes glad the city of God – to carry you along once more.

And then you'll find it's not all up to you.

You do not have to rebuild the ruins of your life single handed, even if there doesn't seem to be anyone among your friends and family who truly realises what you are going through.

You aren't alone...because that river is the tide of God's own love for you.

Be still and know that I am God

God at the beginning

God beside you on the days of golden gladness

God so close to you that you cannot recognise His presence when times are tough.

For Christians, where there is water thoughts of baptism are never far away .

When I baptise an adult or an older child I say these words

“ God has touched you with his love

and given you a place among his people.

God promises to be with you

in joy and in sorrow,

to be your guide in life,

and to bring you safely to heaven.”

I know, as I speak them, that our God always keeps his promises...that he will never desert anyone who call to him for help, whether formally part of his family through baptism or no.

In a few moments you'll be invited to come forward to light a candle as your own quiet act of remembrance...

You might choose, too, to dip your finger in the water here and mark your hand, or perhaps your forehead, with a cross, and to take a paper heart from the basket.

When you do so, focus for a moment on that tide of love that can carry you through no matter what life sends you...

though the fabric of your world may be torn and broken

though things will never be the same again

yet you are not alone and you will reach home safely.

The LORD Almighty is with us – with you - today

May he bless you on your journey.

Sermon for All Saints Sunday Yr C

I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that with the eyes of your heart enlightened you may know is the hope to which he has called you, what the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints.

While it's not always easy to love St Paul, I come closest to it when his own passionate pastoral love for those he has brought to faith shines clear in his writings. Conscious of his own direct experience of Christ on the road to Damascus, of the way his life was turned upside down, never to recover (what price Saul, the respectable lawyer, Pharisee and citizen?), he is ardent in his hope that everyone in the young churches he has founded will find their lives equally transformed, the eyes of their hearts enlightened.
You'll see it again and again in his letters – the fervour of the true missionary, which still sets hearts on fire almost 2 millennia afterwards.

Paul knows he has struck gold, - and he's burning to share it with everyone.
So he casts about for ways to convey the overwhelming gift that is on offer – and, ever the lawyer, opts for the familiar currency of wills, and inheritance.
Through inheritance the treasure accumulated by one is passed on, free and gratis, to another.
Through inheritance family titles and dignities move down the generations...Through inheritance those with little to hope for may acquire wealth beyond their wildest dreams...
without doing anything to earn it.
This, says Paul, - this is what God offers...,in the words of the old acronym for grace - God's Riches At Christ's Expense.
This is our inheritance as Christians – and today as we commemorate All Saints, we thank God for those men and women who have grasped their inheritance and have passed it on through the centuries...those whose lives help us to recognize what grace really means.

You see, when we consider the lives of the saints, what strikes me first is how very ordinary most of them were, at least at first....from that clutch of Galilean fishermen to a consumptive French nun,from a wounded soldier who spent most of his time dreaming of damsels in distress to a forthright Albanian with a genius for spotting Christ in the slums of Calcutta. None of them looked in the least remarkable – they didn't start out as super-holy beings, nor, I suspect, did any of them spend their days with heads surrounded by a heavenly glow. They didn't even aspire to outstanding holyness – but, like Paul himself, they recognized the value of the inheritance on offer and seized it with both hands.
And, as they accepted the gift of grace that God offers to all of us, they found themselves transformed.
All Saints Day....A wonderful festival – but one that could make us feel at least a little nervous...
I'm sure you can see where we're going, can't you? Ordinary people grasping the gift of God's grace??
No?
Then let Paul furnish another clue.

Again and again he addresses his letters to “the saints” in a particular community
“to all God's beloved in Rome, called to be saints”
“to those who are made holy in Christ, called to be saints”
“to all the saints in Philippi”
and as he writes, it's very clear that he's not focussing on some inner circle of specially holy people.
He's writing to the whole church – and often, to a very troubled church at that – but still he addresses “the saints”.
In other words, every one of us, brought through baptism into the family of the church, bathed in God's grace, is called to be a saint.
There's no escaping it
“to all God's beloved in Selsley and Cainscross, called to be saints”

Does that fill you with joy?
Or with panic?
Quite possibly both...
If saints are ordinary people who respond to God's love with all that is in them – then surely, it's only right to aspire to sainthood.
As Isaac Watts wrote in his wonderful Passiontide hymn
“Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all”

When you come down to it, anything less is probably a cop-out.

But I'm personally very aware that I give God at best a token allocation of my time and my energy. I'm congenitally fond of my own way and, to be honest, I'd prefer to not to have my life shaped by the template for holiness that Jesus presents in the beatitudes that we heard morning.
I don't want to be hated and excluded. I like being loved and secure.
I may not consider myself rich (though you may remember that when I checked my stipend in the global rich list a while ago I discovered I was in the top 5% income bracket for the world) – but I certainly don't like worrying about money.
I'd rather laugh than weep, rather eat than go hungry – and goodness, I like to be approved of.
Jesus has strong words for people like me, doesn't he.
“Woe to you” he says...
Not much hope of sainthood then.

So, is everything lost? Perhaps not.
One of the many Catherines whose stories have acted as a spur to my own faith, Catherine of Sienna wrote long ago
“We are not called to perfection but to infinite desire” while the unknown author of that wonderful medieval work “The Cloud of Unknowing” suggested
“Not what thou art, nor what thou has been, but what thou wouldst be, beholdest God in his mercy”
In other words – to recognize our shortcomings and sins isn't the end of the story. That inheritance is still there to be claimed, that overwhelming love is still on offer

Living a life of contagious holiness has never been easy...but it is at least straightforward.
Jesus doesn't mince his words, but nor does he demand that our feelings always have to match our actions...Always, in the Bible, love is a doing word – solid, practical, nothing to do with passing emotions
We probably won't feel warm and fuzzy towards those who make our lives difficult but we can try and act in their best interests.
Praying for those whom we struggle with is a huge challenge – but one that can often transform a relationship.
Letting go of material wealth is easier when we realise that if we stand with empty hands, God will fill them with treasure we can barely imagine.

That's the secret of sainthood.
To empty ourselves so that God may fill us.
For some, that process is instantaneous. They fall in love with God, and from that moment nothing else really matters.
For others, - and I'd guess the majority, - emptying ourselves, getting our own desires, our sense of self importance out the way, - is the work of a lifetime.

But we're called to be saints – and our presence here today is a sign that we want to try, at least, to take our calling seriously.

I began with Paul speaking from the heart to his children in Christ...the Ephesians.
Listen to his words again, let him speak across the centuries
“to all God's beloved in Selsley and Cainscross, called to be saints”
“I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers. I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that with the eyes of your heart enlightened you may know the hope to which he has called you, what the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power.”

Sermon for Bible Sunday Yr C

What did you think as you listened to the news reports on Wednesday?

Perhaps the Spending Review didn't seem to affect you too much at first – but as I listened I found myself visualising all sorts of people whom I know and love, or work with in the parishes, whose lives will be substantially harder when the cuts kick in.

There are members of the education department whose jobs with children excluded from school will simply cease to exist...Elderly parishioners who will no longer get the “social care” that has made such a difference to their ability to cope in their own homes.

I say this without, I hope, making a political judgement.

Times ARE hard – but Wednesday night seemed bitterly cold, however you look at it.

However, the sun rose on Thursday morning and a few of us gathered, as we do each week, to celebrate Holy Communion.

Actually, in my head what we did, and what we do, is to celebrate Mass. This isn't because I'm trying to haul you all by the scruff of your necks into the arms of Rome – that would be a non starter for all SORTS of reasons. But I do love the way referring to our service as Mass reminds us that what we're doing is not just about forging community together, as God's children gathered at God's table...(that, after all, is the root of Communion)...nor is it simply about being thankful, (as the word Eucharist reminds us)

No...This amazing sacrament in which we experience God week by week exists as an expression of God's ongoing Mission – and of our Mission - in the world. That's what the word “Mass” means – taking its name from the final words of the deacon, in Latin, “Ite, missa est” - Go, you are sent!

On Thursday, the small congregation was uncharacteristically late, so that I was afraid for a few minutes that the service wouldn't happen...and I minded. Hugely.

It seemed important to me, in the wake of all the upheaval and anxieties of the day before, that we should celebrate together...It seemed, and still seems, as if that short space of time around the altar should make a difference in important and material ways.

Let me try to explain.

When we gather for the Eucharist, we encounter God first of all in the Word. We engage with the story of God's people in the Hebrew Scriptures, and build bridges to our own situations, our own time.

We stand to hear the Gospel as a sign that we are ready at once to go and live out its commands...Later we encounter Christ embodied in bread and wine, receive God's own life and are sent out to live it...

That's the action of the Mass, week on week on week.

Today, of course, is Bible Sunday – which gives us an extra reason to consider the impact of our engagement with the word.

That process of hearing God speak and then living his word is at the heart of what it means to be a Christian. As we read the Bible daily, as it is opened up to us during worship, we will find ourselves opened up in turn, shaped, gradually transformed by these ancient books to which we must still pay full attention today.

Sometimes this process takes months, even years.

Sometimes the impact of the word will be immediate and obvious.

That's clearly the process we heard about in our gospel reading.

We can imagine Jesus reading Isaiah's words, already centuries old, and realising as he did so that they were for him...that he was the embodiment of this mission.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because he has anointed me to preach the gospel...”

The words take on a life of their own as he realises that this is what he is for..

We, in our turn, are blessed to have that interplay of written word – Scripture- and living Word – Christ himself, always before us.

We know what God's word looks like in action, for we have seen it in the life and ministry of Christ, and we are called to live it too.

If we read the Bible assiduously and do nothing then the words are empty and lifeless.

If we let them work on us, if we open our lives to them, then they can become our mission statement...and it is up to us to discern how best to live it in the months ahead.

Whatever your politics, you'll surely recognise that the coming days will be dark and difficult for all too many.

Paul exhorts us to steadfastness and to hope.

Already I am receiving invitations to involve our churches in social action as never before in my lifetime.

Let us, then, be truly people of the Book and live out Isaiah's mission, perfected in Christ.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor. He has sent me to heal the broken hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind...to preach the acceptable year of the Lord.”

Think Twice

If it weren't so sad, it would be quite funny how long it can take me to get the message...This morning I can hear God's laughter quite clearly, as one penny at least has finally dropped - til the next time!

Let me tell you about it.

The summer after I arrived here, my parishes became part of a new Deanery, created by merging two existing one, under the leadership of gifted and enthusiastic Area Dean. Chapter suddenly became substantially larger, task groups were created ideas began to buzz, and before long we were piloting all sorts of diocesan courses and initiatives, - and then somebody said brightly

"Let's have a mission!"

Cue ambivalent feelings. Of course as a Christian and as a priest I believe passionately in mission.

It's what I'm for, whether defined as "finding out what Jesus is doing and then joining in" (ABC in "Mission Shaped Church" or (the statement adopted by one parish that I know and love)

"Cherishing and working with this community in God's name".

Those are very much about incarnation...about God's love made flesh and "moving into the neighbourhood".

But this Deanery is quite an evangelical place - so I knew that their ideas of A Mission might be rather more geared to proclamation...

As always, being me, I had to work through a good deal of the ludicrous internal conversation that goes something like

"Well, they're the real Christians...Their idea of mission must be right...We ought to do it their way....Help! Who do I know who'll be happy to give a challenging 10 minute talk that brings people to the point of committment...? What NOBODY??? Call yourself a vicar......."

It happens every time.

I tie myself in knots over the fear that those churches where evangelical certainty is the order of the day are somehow more authentic, that I'm letting God and my congregations down by my inability to do things that way...and then give myself a good shake and carry on.

Actually, as the plans unfolded, I began to feel increasingly comfortable with them. Under the badge "Think Twice", each parish in our deanery was asked to stage some sort of event to which non-church-going friends might be invited, and at which they might be inspired to "think twice" about Christianity - though not, praise the Lord, via an altar call. With plenty of time to plan, some wonderful ideas have come into being..

Debates "Think Twice about Money" "about the Environment" "about Assisted Suicide"....

exhibitions "Harvest of Talents", antiques evenings "Think Twice about what you throw away"...And many churches have used the three week mission period to hold an extra special Harvest Festival.

Church on the Hill, a community that includes many of retirement age, and a good few with a military background, chose to explore "Faith under Fire", and invited a former curate from the benefice, now Priest in Charge of Wootton Basset, and a serving army Chaplain to reflect on the impact of war on faith, and of faith on way. They spoke movingly, though they chose to take a different direction from the one I'd originally envisaged...The church was full (though very few were not at least occasional worshippers) and the curry supper provided was delicious. But (you can guess where this is going, can't you?) I went home saying to myself

"That was a really good evening...but it surely wasn't mission!"

Church in the valley was predictably less well organised (mostly because the organisation was down to me)...We made a fair stab at going OUT, as we worked with some members of the local youth and community centre to hold a "Community Harvest" there. We ate fish and chips, a few people talked about the harvest of their year (my chickens featured heavily) and we auctioned gifts to raise money to be split between the Pakistan appeal and the renovation project of the community centre. Attendance wasn't great, given the constituency - about 30 in all - but there WAS a blend of church attenders and others, and some happy conversation all evening. God barely got a mention (apart from a wonderful reading about apples, where God crept in almost unnoticed) but this felt a bit better...We were at least going where we were sent!

Finally came our attempt to "Think Twice about how you Pray"

As I sat in the candle-lit church, soaking up the peace and the plainsong, this seemed altogether good and necessary, for me at least...and those who walked the labyrinth that evening seemed to appreciate it. But there were just 2 who weren't part of the Sunday congregation, and though I've no way of knowing who, or how many might have walked the labyrinth while the church is open every day, and when I'd got home and the enfolding peace began to diminish I felt a little indignant.

Perhaps we'd opted for the wrong events (though we'd done our best to involve and consult with others, the reality was that beyond clergy and Reader there hadn't been many who'd wanted to contribute even ideas to the venture)...Perhaps everyone had good reasons for staying at home...Perhaps (mounting panic here) they didn't think that anything we offered would be worth inviting a friend to...Perhaps (internal scream) they just don't care about mission at all, have decided that "church is fine for us,- we like that sort of thing - but there is no need to worry about those who don't"

It's complicated, isn't it? Because actually, I believe that this is true. I don't, when the chips are down, believe that the ultimate destiny of anyone will be hugely affected by their appearance or not at a certain time on a Sunday morning. I am passionate about my calling to help the people of these communities to encounter God - but I'm not particular about the location of that encounter. Of course I'd like to be "leading a growing church" - partly for the feel-good factor for all of us, but also because a growing church is an exciting and energising place to be, and presents more opportunities for service than a church that is weary and disspirited....But I don't believe that on the Day of Judgement my usual Sunday attendance figures will be a compelling part of the evidence offered for or against me (actually, I'm not sure that I have that sort of picture of the Day of Judgement anyway "For lo, between my sins and their reward, I set the Passion of your Son, our Lord"). Full churches are good - but not a make or break issue.

BUT (that's a huge "but", in case you'd failed to notice) I DO think it matters if my congregations don't care that their friends may not be meeting with God. If they (the congregation) don't feel that our churches are the best place to do this, then perhaps we could talk about how we might do things differently...but if the congregations honestly don't wonder or worry, don't long for their communities to be transformed into signs of the Kingdom, then things are more than a little off course.

That's where I'd got to by the time the BCP Mass had ended yesterday morning. I'd moved from anger to sorrow (so some improvement there) and I then returned to the vicarage to "get on with things". A detailed list of tasks was, in the event, left almost untouched as a result of assorted phonecalls.Too many lives are currently unravelling in the valley community and though there are limits to how welcome "the church" might be in some of these situations, there are enough real people who like to talk to me to mean that this particular bit of the church is quite involved really.

And this morning, the penny dropped. Here and now, what I'm sent to do is to be with those who are hurting and try to show that they are loved by God...That's mission, for my context today.

I'm glad that God made me think twice...

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...