Thoughts for St Matthew's Day

 On Friday we held a St Matthew's day service for our school – during which we thought alot about our priorities in life. In the grand tradition of reality television I invited half a dozen children to represent “lots of money” “lots of chocolate” “an iPhone 5” “friends and family” “Peace” “Happiness” - then explained that we couldn't keep all of them, só we voted them off one by one.

You'll be glad to hear that the children chose wisely – dispensing with the quick fixes – money, chocolate and all – and hanging on to Peace and Happiness – though they agreed that it can sometimes be hard to make the right decisions.

Then we heard the story of Levi – who became Matthew- and marvelled at how his priorities had changed when he had that watershed encounter with Jesus.

He became, it seems, a different person...one who set his past behind him só thoroughly that it might never have existed.

He literally dropped everything to follow Jesus

And, like other saints who found thimselves doing a U turn, he acquired a new name to represent his new life

Amazing.

Levi the sinner became Matthew the saint...Matthew the story teller....Matthew the evangelist....

In this church, of course, he is our patron – só how can his story become our own?

One thing I love about it is that it begins on just an ordinary day.

Levi has gone to work as usual

He isn't among the crowds following Jesus.

He isn't obviously on a Great Spiritual Quest.

He is just sitting there collecting taxes.

And there, in the midst of his everyday life, Jesus comes to find him and turns his life upside down with a two word invitation

“Follow me”

That's what Jesus does again and again...

He comes to us in the daily muddle of our lives

Supremely, of course, he comes in the Incarnation – entering into our world in all its broken messy reality...but this is not a story of once and long ago but a story of today.

Today Jesus comes to you...He comes to me... and calls each of us by name.

He takes the initiative...”coming ready or not” he says.

And that's just as well – for we are very rarely ready.

Só he comes and finds as where we are.

We don't have to be wrestling with immortal longings.

We certainly don't have to be waiting in a state of expectant holiness – indeed, his call is specifically for we, who are far from holy

“I don't come to call the righteous but sinners...”

Jesus comes to us and we just have to respond.

Matthew got up and followed him.

That response may feel like a new birth – as we walk away from things that have confined us, made us less than the people God made us to be.

That's part of what we celebrate as we hear again the story of Matthew's call...the way Jesus sees our untapped potential and invites us to fulfill it...

But change and challenge can be too close for comfort.

Imagine, if you will, how hard it might be to walk away from a steady liveliehood, from all that is safe and familiar – the tax collector's booth, the life dedicated to our own satisfaction.

It can seem a costly choice for new beginnings aren't possible without some kind of an ending – that can feel very like death

We have to set aside our old way of being and try to re-order our lives and our priorities in line with that new intention to follow Christ – and that can be só very hard.

For myself, I've found that I need to renew my decision, confirm my intention again and again and again.

Sometimes it seems easier to stick with the old order – the world of selfish gain and short term pleasure – than to admit that I'm among the sick who needs a doctor, among the broken who depend on God's mercy.

But Jesus never tires of offering his invitation...He never gives up on us...and having called us, he celebrates with us – just as he shared that meal at Matthew's house

Jesus wants us to eat with him – that's why we're here this morning.

But having feasted with us, he will give each of us a new job to do.

It's the same job that he gave to Matthew...to become an evangelist – one who shares the good news that each one of us, whether we count ourselves successes or failures, is extravagantly loved by the One who calls us to follow Him to fresh possibilities, new beginnings and lives transformed by His grace.

On sheep and shepherds - a love story for Trinity 16

I wonder if it has ever struck you that when we gather here for worship week on week, we do so in celebration of a love story.

Perhaps that's stating the obvious...

We know, don't we, that God so loved the world...but sometimes we need reminding just what that means.

It's all too easy to get caught up measuring our own goodness or lack thereof – and it's even easier to find ourselves making judgements about the lives of others – the way they dress, spend their money, discipline their children...

A prime example this past week was Michael Gove's criticism of the lifestyles of some who use foodbanks – and I know that his views are shared by others who are só intent on making value judgements about other people that they've almost lost sight of our shared humanity.

That tendency to weigh others in the balance and find them wanting is not confined to the Pharisees who accosted Jesus...it's alive and well in our community and even in our church...but that's NOT what the gospel is about.

The gospel is all about love.

It's that which means we're in no position to judge. Even if we managed, as the Pharisees believed that they did, to obey every letter of the law we would trip up over our failure to love.

Jesus begins his story, as he só often does, by asking a question

 ‘Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?

It's a good question...só stop for a minute to think about your answer.

Honestly

If you had 99 sheep trotting along happily– would you REALLY bother to go in search of the 1 that couldn't play nicely? The loner, the trouble maker, the one who didn't fit in?

Would you risk the safety of the flock – just leave them amid all the dangers of the wilderness while you went to look for JUST ONE???

It doesn't seem prudent. It doesn't even seem kind.

All those good little sheep deserve care and attention. Surely a good shepherd should not just abandon them...

No, Jesus, I don't think I'd answer your question in the way that you hope.

If I were the shepherd, then the flock would be left incomplete...one sheep lost forever.

But thankfully I'm not the shepherd.

I'm one of the sheep. And só are you. Perhaps you feel that you're one of the majority, grazing calmly with your fellows, travelling obediently along the path that is set before you...And that might make you a little sad, even indignant when the shepherd – and the Church that exists to join in with His work – insists on making such a fuss about the missing sheep. What's so special about that one missing sheep after all? It's not exactly a prize merino, is it...WHY does it matter.

It matters, of course, because God loves it with a love that WILL NOT LET HIM REST until the flock is complete.

That's the gospel..the good news for all of us.....because, you know, actually each of us is also that one lost sheep...

Willfull....Confused....Downright disobedient......We've all chosen to wander away from the Shepherd from time to time....but HE NEVER EVER LEAVES US ASTRAY

.

He loves us too much.

I was once at a toddler group when one of a pair of twins vanished.

One moment their mother was happily chatting to a friend, the next she had abandoned the conversation and was scanning every corner of the room for her missing son. It didn’t matter that her daughter was safely by her side…she needed to find that small boy so badly he might have been the only child she had. Her daughter, though, was sensible. As her mother swooped off to the furthest corners of the room, she was followed by a small but determined figure, who had no intention of letting her mother out of her sight.

The whole drama didn’t last long, and ended in a happy reunion behind a stack of tables.…but for a brief period maybe those of us involved had an inkling of the way God feels about each one of us. He loves us so much, that we might be his only child. He actively seeks us out when we have wandered away or broken off communications with Him. It’s almost as if He feels incomplete when one of us is missing. He takes every risk, right down to sending his own Son, to seek us out and rescue us.

And that leaves us with another question...

Are WE in the right place?

perhaps we should ask ourselves whether, if the one sheep is with the shepherd, it might not be the 99 who have gone astray

If Jesus is somewhere out there on the margins, hunting for missing sheep, shouldn’t we be out there with him. 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, to keep us from harm, and indeed to lay down his life for us.

That's just the way love works.

In no particular order 2) Being Church

7 years ago when I visited India, it was very much as part of my ministerial development. My brief was to learn from the life and experiences of clergy in the Church of South India - and I hope I did so.
Mostly, though, I was completely blown away by the experience of being in India - the sights, sounds, smells...the overwhelming friendliness and hospitality I received wherever I went. There were also some important lessons about letting go of my own children for a while and learning to spread my wings just as they were spreading theirs...

This trip, my official brief was to support and co-lead the group of teenagers in our care - but ironically, I was far more conscious of the reality of the world-wide Church as the Body of Christ and of all that we have in common, and the fact that I wasn't tied to a particular church, even for a short time, enabled a wider experience of church life in different contexts.

There were many special conversations and times when the sense of unity in Christ was so strong it was the biggest single reality - but I'd like to share four particular highlights, that enlarged my vision and helped me to visualise the worshipping Church as Good News.

The 1st was on our first Sunday in Karnataka, when we were prised away from the home comforts of the CSI Guest House in Bangalore to be given a glimpse of the reality of life in rural India, as we visited Chickballapur, Gangasandra (where our hosts in the CSI hostel for boys even gave up their beds for us) and, the next morning, Tumkur.
This was exciting for many reasons - not simply the presence of a random Temple elephant whom we passed by the roadside as we hurried to church.
The REALLY exciting thing, for me at any rate, was that one of the four churches our group visited that day was presided over by my friend Revd Rachel Priyarani....A reunion with Rachel was one of my greatest hopes for this trip to India - and to find myself directed to the bathroom "in the pastor's house over there" and discover that SHE was the pastor in question was a complete delight! A happy hour catching up and sharing memories in her kitchen while she made a huge pile of chapattis to feed our group reassured me that this was a real friendship - not simply the product of my own longing to feel connected with the ministry of the church here. Later that evening, after I had preached to her evening congregation - who had warmly welcomed the whole group and produced the inevitable flowers for all of us - she gave me one of the best gifts of all. After the prayer of consecration, she handed me the ciborium and dropped to her knees beside me - enabling me to give her the Sacrament, and then to share it with each one of her congregation. That evening, of course, the congregation included our own band of pilgrims - and it was hugely important for me to give them Communion by name at this early point in our journey together. The evening service at Bishop Gill Church is held in English, which made it easy for us to feel at home - but for me it was the warmth of Rachel's smile and her grace in welcoming me to share her ministry that made the difference. I've been privileged to spend time with her now on 3 different occasions, twice in India and once here in England. My hope and prayer is that our friendship is now so confirmed that it is unthinkable that we'll not meet again - though sometimes I could do with a rather smaller world.

In contrast, my other highlights in worship were in churches where we couldn't understand a word of what was going on. The first was in the Tamil church of the Good Shepherd in the Kolar Gold Fields, where we were warned that the congregation on a Thursday evening would be small - and highly traditional. Not a word of English was spoken during the course of the service, during which we mostly sat on floor mats (men on the right, women on the left) and listened as the congregation sang the traditional hymns and lyrics, with their tabla, harmonium and Indian bells - but I think each one of us was caught up in the atmosphere of focussed prayer that surrounded us. There was never a moment of doubt that deep and faithful worship was going on - which it was a privilege to be involved in. Incidentally, that "small" congregation numbered around 60 - with an age-range from twenties to eighties..The young Indian woman praying beside me somehow carried me in her prayers without our exchanging a word throughout - and I'll not easily forget the lovely stillness of her presence.

Finally, 2 Sundays ago, I found myself preaching once again - this time at Christ Church Hosur. Again the service was in Tamil, so I had the slightly disconcerting experience of pausing at the end of every sentence to allow a translation - while having absolutely NO idea whether the translator was actually sticking to my script at all. Apparently he mostly did - but couldn't resist expanding on some points. As Tamil seems to be a more involved language than English, even a direct translation took quite a while - which meant that my "about God, about 10 minutes" sermon was miraculously expanded to fit the longer slot that Indian congregations expect. Earlier in the trip, one pastor told me that if HE had dared to preach for just 10 minutes his congregation would instantly assume that he knew nothing whatever about Scripture - and be phoning complaints to the bishop without delay. 
This, however, was not what made it a memorable Sunday.
This church has a history of resisting women's ministry and it will be many a year before an ordained woman can pastor there. Though I had no idea at the time, I was making history in preaching - and later I found that I was pushing a few more boundaries, in blissful ignorance.

You see, once again the pastor of the church generously invited me to give Communion to his entire congregation.

All 1000 of them.

It was an extraordinary experience. The sheer number of hands was overwhelming in itself. Though I have been part of congregations of that size before, at ordinations or at Greenbelt for example, the norm in those situations is to have several stations for Communion. Here, every single man, woman and child came and knelt at the altar rail, and opened their hands so that God could fill them.
And SUCH hands
The soft white hands of my fellow travellers
Brown hands
The work hardened hands of some elderly men 
A few hands with deformities - missing fingers, at least one fearful scar gouged right across the palm
Hands knarled by arthritis
The chubby hands of children
All of them stretched out, - and me, ME given the joyous task of offering what they were asking for.

At the door afterwards there were many requests for blessings, many babies placed in my arms so that I could pray for them, many many moments when the language barrier faded to nothing as I was asked to do what I'm ordained to do - to pray, to reconcile, to bless.

For me India is, supremely, a place of hospitality - and in that church on that morning I glimpsed for a moment the faintest echo of the endless hospitality of God - who places himself, literally, in the hands of whoever asks.

"Father against son and son against father" - words for Trinity 12C at St Matthew's

51Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! 52From now on, five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; 53they will be divided:
father against son
   and son against father,
mother against daughter
   and daughter against mother,
mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law
   and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.’

That may sound rather too close to the current state of the Church of England – divided over women bishops, gay priests, fracking and a whole let else besides – and if it does, it probably does not fill you with hope or joy.

We tend to think that to be set against something is always bad – that harmony and unity are goods to be pursued at all cost.

But sometimes, you know, it's worth taking a stand AGAINST something

In India I spent a lot of time singing the sort of Sunday school songs that my own mother learned in childhood – songs that are, for the most part, considered far too old fashioned for the sophisticated children of 21^st century Gloucestershire...One such was “Dare to be a Daniel – dare to stand alone”

and perhaps that's closer to the spirit of today's gospel than the infighting of the institutional church.

Sometimes there are things worth standing up for – whatever the apparent cost.

Let me tell you a story – not from this visit to India, but from my previous adventure there 7 years ago.

I'd spent some time wrestling with the legacy of the British Raj.

Was it something to applaud or mourn?

To be honest, I'm still not sure.

Disturbingly, to be white still seems a passport to instant respect.

A blessing from English hands is valued more than an Indian one, and to the young Indian to be westernised is to be to sophisticated and successful.

That’s a real issue –for westernisation brings as many problems as blessings.

However, nothing is ever quite straightforward in India. Just as soon as you think you've got a handle on something, fresh light shows new perspectives – and I'm still not sure whether the work of the British in India is something to cherish or to lament.

Some of my Indian friends, though, are quite clear about it.

People like Andrew a Sunday school worker with Church of South India.

Like 70% of Indian Christians, Andrew's family is dalit, - the untouchable caste that is still seen in some areas as barely human, the lowest of the low,valued so much less than those beasts that Hindus revere as gods.

But his grandfather converted to Christianity, following what amounted to a miracle – a miracle that both gave him a great deal and cost him a great deal too.

Grandpa was employed by a British tea planter, a Christian who held daily prayers for his household...but grandfather, a devout Hindu, was not convinced.

He liked his employer, valued the kindness that was offered to all the staff, but remained steadfast to the faith of his own ancestors. Then one day he had an accident at work, breaking his hip...hospital treatment was some days journey away, and by the time he arrived gangrene had set in and amputation seemed inevitable. Surgery was planned for the following day, and he lay in great pain and utter desolation. How could he hope to support his family as a cripple? What could he do in in the face of such ruin? Where could he turn.

As he lay there on his hard hospital bed he noticed a picture of Jesus, which the face familiar from pictures in his employer's home...

In some desperation prayed

"I am in too much pain. If you are indeed a god, act."

That night his pain did not keep him awake, and instead he slept deeply and dreamed vividly of two men in white who came to him and assured him that Jesus had indeed healed his leg. In the morning, astounded doctors found that the gangrene had gone, the broken bone was whole and, not surprisingly, grandfather converted to Christianity on the spot.

Wonderful, life changing stuff – but carrying within it the seeds of another change – the sort that sets father against son and mother in law against daughter in law.

His grandfather's conversion meant that he was rejected by his own community, driven from the family home, threatened with violence, subjected to scorn and vitriol.

Even today, when Andrew returns home to his village, he is ostracised, out cast.

But, he says, it is worth it.

For Andrew, Christianity represents an open door, an escape route from the confines of the eternal cycle of karma to freedom and dignity as a child of God.

There are, you see, some things that are more important even than family unity.

You may never find yourself having to stand against those whom you love for the sake of your faith – but today's gospel reminds us that following Christ should never be an easy option. To be honest, if it has never yet cost you anything, you might need to ask yourself whether you're actually living as one of his disciples – or just coming along to a pleasant religious social club.

Think about that.

About what it is in your faith that might inspire you to hold fast no matter what...for Jesus emphatically does not promise an easy ride.

He does, though, promise life everlasting.

In no particular order -reflections on my 2nd visit to India. 1) Multi faith society

I was intrigued when I got home from Bangalore on Wednesday to see that the media was busy reporting Rowan Williams' recent interview in which he suggested that UK Christians claiming persecution should reflect on the true persecution that their brothers and sisters in other lands experience and, not to put too fine a point on it, "grow up".

I'd very much agree with the former ABC...there is a wealth of difference between being asked not to wear a cross at work and facing actual physical violence, and I've come home impressed by the way that different faiths seem to co-exist quite peacefully, even respectfully, in Karnataka.

In India, Christianity is very much a minority faith - owned by just 2% of the population - and of course in some parts of the country it IS under threat. Just google "attacks on Christians in Bihar" to read about the sort of persecution that the early martyrs might have encountered. However, in the diocese of Karnataka Central, and particularly in that great melting pot that is the city of Bangalore, things seem very different. 

We were there during Ramadan, at a time when you might have expected tensions to escalate. After all, nobody is at their best when trying to function on an empty stomach - but we encountered neither sight nor sound of religious tension. Instead, wherever we went we heard stories of co-operation between neighbours that reminded me of the idealised community we imagine was the English village of yesteryear.

Out at Kannapura, Revd Shilpa told how her Hindu neighbours were great supporters of the tiny church that meets in her home, how they always attended harvest and Christmas celebrations and would work alongside her congregation to raise funds for the new church building that will soon become a reality.

In Bangalore, almost every school we visited welcomed children of all faiths, many had special arrangements in place for Ramadan but not one of them compromised their Christian identity even for a second. Thus it was that at the CSI Zenana Mission School one morning we found ourselves singing Sunday school choruses my mother learned at the feet of CIM missionaries in Chefoo before WW2 with a congregation of 100% Muslim children - in the shadow of a Hindu Temple arch. 

The whole multi faith situation in microcosm.

I asked repeatedly if there were any problems, any tensions - and was assured that no, the Church was respected and appreciated. When I pushed a senior cleric as to why this should be so he summed it up very neatly

"For you in the west, the cross is seen as a sign of victory. Here in India it is a sign of service. Our neighbours respect us because they know that we will work tirelessly for the well-being of the community. If we do that because of our faith, then our faith is worth reverence..."

Perhaps that's the issue which should concern those Christians who feel that that they are being oppressed in 21st century Britain. Have we done anything to EARN the respect and love of our neighbours - or do we, by treating them with suspicion and alarm, pave the way ourselves for misunderstanding and division? 

Perhaps we should focus rather more on love in action and less on imagined slights.Who knows, perhaps if we visibly loved our neighbours, they might feel more inclined to love us!

New York Living in Bangalore

...That was the proud announcement of an advertising hoarding as we arrived, bedraggled and exhausted, just a week ago. No amount of inflight entertainment can make the journey from Heathrow to Mumbai a delight - but we survived, landed and found ourselves instantly confronted with the contrasts that are always part of modern India. As we walked to the baggage claim down a clean, modern walkway - polished floor tiles and gleaming chrome in all directions, I spotted an open door - into the parallel service corridor, just behind that shining tiled wall...Bare concrete on the floor, peeling plaster - and yes - that was surely a cockroach skuttling to safety!
Those same contrasts were obvious as we drove to the other terminal...On one side were the trappings of any international airport..., the plate glass office blocks, the advertisements inviting us to fly anywhere without more ado. But on the other side of the perimeter fence were the blue polythene walls and ramshackle structures of the slums...the irony completed by the presence of satellite dishes on some of those buildings that looked unlikely to survive the next downpour.

Landing in Bangalore, I thought for some anxious moments that the the restless buzzing city I had loved had a new personality. The road from the brand new terminal was undamaged, free from traffic...but once we were through the gates India reasserted itself in all its energetic chaos and complexity. Yes, perhaps more motorbike drivers wore helmets than before - but they still carried any number of passengers riding a precarious unprotected pillion. Yes, we passed a huge car showroom filled with the ultimate status symbol, row on row of gleaming Mercedes...but outside cows rootled in the garbage. A Hindu temple seemed to have a sideline in supplying idols elsewhere - for there was an adjoining yard filled with giant figures of gods and goddesses, shrouded in polythene for safe transit - who knows where?

It seems that "New York Living in Bangalore" is the ultimate aspiration...but for all the gloss provided by the booming IT industry, for all the city's dramatic growth (200 new families arrive within the perimeter every day of the year)...this is still my India...the place that makes me smile with its warmth and thrills me with its energy...that blend of ancient and modern...of delightfully dated signs (Rashly driven? Call 875342 - so ironic, because to drive here at ALL is surely the height of rashness!)...and endless optimism (a tiny corner estate agents named Mighty Properties. In this city of endless contrasts it seems that anything could happen...that the world crowds the streets...and every piece of graffiti shouts at the top of its voice
"Alert, alert, ALERT! Robberies here....Beware of cycle lifters! Use the stands provided. You are FORBIDDEN to urinate here. No nuisancing, by order"
This city teems with energy - even the slum dogs roaming the streets might, with the help of good karma, make it one day to the top.

Return Passage to India

7 years ago I was privileged to spend time working alongside some of the clergy in our link diocese of Karnataka Central in the Church of South India. I went in fear and trembling, for it seemed a huge and brave thing for me to leave my family and fly across the world - specially as they were then very much of the age that I'd been when my own parents died.
Going to Bangalore on that occasion was very much a rite of passage...enabling me to grasp that my children were and are now independent young adults who can manage for weeks on end without sight or sound of me. It helped me to grow up as a parent - and in other ways too, as I fell in love with India, - sights, sound, smells but above all people, and learned more than I'd have deemed possible about the strength of the human spirit and the ways in which God is at work amid wretched poverty and blighted futures.

When I came home, I knew I'd left a bit of my heart behind - and for a good couple of years would find myself abruptly missing India, and struggling with the knowledge that I was unlikely to return there. You see, it was a privilege enough to be allowed to spend time there at all - and call it work! - and I knew that particular route would not be open again. But I couldn't bear the thought of returning as a tourist where once I'd belonged as a friend - so it seemed that I was doomed to remain homesick for somewhere I'd only belonged for a few short weeks. Then, last autumn, came the invitation to visit again - this time as one of the leaders of the South India Youth Trip - taking a small group of teenagers from across Gloucestershire to visit many of the same projects and schools I'd visited before....and so I'm off tomorrow, with a joy in my heart in marked contrast to the alarm that I felt before.

It will be quite different visiting with the young people...and I'm looking forward to seeing India through their eyes too. I'll write here if I can - but in the meantime here are some reflections from last time round, - back in the days when this blog was a regular piece of reflective writing that I might have been proud of.


It's me, Kathryn! In India!

A Question of Priorities

Travelling hopefully - remembering gratefully

What the papers say

The Prince and the Pauper

Girl Child Sunday

Flying Pastors

Still thinking

Of missionaries and their ways

Surprise!

Yesterday was one of those days when it is extremely evident that, warts and all, this is still GOD'S Church - something I forget far too easily in the comings and goings of life at the vicarage.
8.00 is a service for those who want peace, quiet & (on a bad day) minimal challenge...which means that the service itself is often a challenge for me, even without the added joys of an earlier start for one who has never been a lark...
I tend to approach it with minimal expectations. The congregation is small and reserved, a response to the sermon is pretty much unheard of, and while I know that they value this space with God on a Sunday morning, the service rarely makes my heart sing.

Yesterday, though, was quite different.
I'd begun the service by suggesting that as our intention of the day we pray for the Church's ministry of hospitality in all its many forms, and mentioned the hostels for street-children I will be visiting in Bangalore as an example of Christian hospitality literally saving lives. I'd reminded the congregation of the wonderful words of John Chrysostom
"If you cannot find Christ in the beggar the door, you won't find him in the chalice."
Then we went on with the service as usual...the familiar pattern of words almost, but not quite, washing over me...Time for the homily - where the theme of welcoming the stranger was loud and clear.
And then, the church door opened.
And 2 unfamiliar figures made the laborious journey up the aisle to where our small group clustered in the choir stalls for this early celebration.
Christy & his wife.
Sri Lankan Christians visiting their daughter in Stroud and anxious to find a church home for their stay.
Maybe not quite angels unawares - but strangers for us to welcome into friendship, reminders that the Church is always bigger than we think - and maybe a sign that even when I think that NOBODY is listening to my words, God is nonetheless involved in the process.
To see the reserved regulars, who normally depart at top speed, coming over to shake hands and say "Welcome" after the final blessing made me giggle with delight...

The wonders weren't over, either.
At "Together at Ten" we had decided to mark the end of the school year by inviting our Messy Church families to worship with the 10.00, and explore the Experience Eucharist stations we piloted in school back in February.
Clare the curate had done a brilliant job of adapting them so that our less mobile regulars could still be involved - and in the event, though few Messy Church friends came, there were enough children and more than enough engaged adults to make the whole thing a success. 
I explained what we were about before the service started - and was thrilled when a positive stream of people encroached on the font, intent on floating their own prayer flower, its petals folded in on those things which need forgiveness - but opening out in the water as a symbol of sins forgiven.

They coped, too, with scattering confetti over maps of the parish and of the world, as we bathed them in prayer...with thinking about the different kinds of remembering "Your keys....Clare's birthday...When I was a child....." as a prelude to remembering all that Jesus did in the Eucharistic Prayer...and they positively thrived on the thought of taking away a small heart as a reminder of God's love and blessing to carry with them through the week.

Then the nucleus of the Messy Church family shared a picnic together. It wasn't the all-singing, all-dancing family fun day we might have envisaged when we first mooted the idea - but there was food in generous profusion, some lovely care of little ones by much bigger boys, and time to chat and nurture the friendships at the heart of our Messy Church.

I love St Matthew's dearly - but sometimes undersell them to myself - so it was wonderful to see the generosity and openness that shone through yesterday. I am blessed to serve this community.

Rescued by a hoodie - the Good Samaritan for Trinity 7C

It's all about rescue today, isn't it?

One of the most familiar of all parables – so very familiar that I'd guess that at least some of us zoned out as I began to read the Gospel.

We know the story of the Good Samaritan so very well...with its message of a wider love, a more inclusive compassion, the kindness of stranger...and because of the way the story is framed – in response to the ultimate BIG question

“What should I do to inherit eternal life?” - we tend to cast ourselves as the Samaritan.

Clearly that unexpected hero is to be our role model. We are to set aside all other duties and concerns in favour of constant readiness to respond to others in distress, whatever their circumstance – and whatever cost to us. Well and good. That's the message that I hope and expect the children of St Matthew's school to take away whenever the parable comes up in assembly – and it's a good one too.

The best – in terms of getting through life with as much love as possible.

But – the Samaritan is not the only character in the story.

There are the other by-passers – the ones who are too busy, preoccupied or fearful to stop. We often hear reasons why it was beyond them – the priest, for example, was anxious to avoid defilement, for it wasn't clear whether the solitary traveller lived or died...

And the Jericho road was a hostile place – lonely, best avoided...to linger there would be rash.

Preaching on the parable once, Martin Luther King imagined those bypassers saying to themselves

“If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me.......”

A natural question.

A human question.

We are all programmed to a degree of self preservation, after all.

But – this is the story of a rescue – and as King goes on to say

““But then the Good Samaritan came by, and he reversed the question: ‘If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?’”

For the Samaritan, his own needs, his own agenda came second to the task of saving someone in dire need.

Remember I said that our readings today were all about rescue, dare I say salvation?

In our epistle Paul writes of God's mission, enacted by Jesus

“He has rescued us from the Kingdom of darkness.....”

So, on these terms, you and I are that benighted traveller.

WE are the ones in need of salvation...lying by the roadside, powerless to help ourselves.

That's where we are, isn't it....really?

We set out on our journey through life with high hopes and great expectations – but we find along the way that we are not only not as invincible and immortal as our younger selves believed – we're also more faltering frail and fallible than we would ever have imagined.

We go on and on disappointing ourselves – as Paul puts it, writing to the Romans

“ For I don't do the good I want to do, but instead do the evil that I don't want to do.”

And what's more – this is a recurring pattern.

We can't somehow make the transition to “good enough”... - We need rescuing.

Enter Jesus....reaching out to those who might seem to be excluded – Samaritans are automatically aliens – and unfriendly aliens at that...There was a story circulating in 1^st Century Palestine about a rabbi who was so holy that he was even prepared to help a Samaritan..

But now we go one step forward.

The Samaritan, the outsider, is the one who is willing to help those who've been so knocked about by life that they can no longer keep going....those who don't even have enough about them to pay for a room for the night.

He reaches out to them – to us – picks us up, sees us to safety and bears the cost of that himself.

We are rescued by someone who is Not One of Us – someone infinitely greater, who will go to any lengths, put Himself at any risk, for our sake.

Grace in action – here as wherever he intervenes in our lives.

But – goodness, our world makes it hard for him sometimes.

We hedge ourselves and other people around with artificial barriers, designed, it seems, to curb any outpouring of his outrageous, excessive love.

Perhaps we're scared.

Perhaps we just don't recognise our need of rescue – or are unwilling to accept that it comes in through the unlikely person of an itinerant preacher with a following of undesirables

We can't be rescued on our own terms – who knows how the traveller felt about Samaritans before that fateful day?...

It's only when we are able to admit our helplessness and let go of all our hard won protective strategies that we can share in the rescue plan God offers to all his people.

So – finally – a story. A familiar story – THIS story – as retold by a colleague of mine, Sallie Basham, and published on the "Preaching the RCL" lists this week. 

As you listen, consider where you recognise yourself today

Once upon a time, a certain man went to visit his mother in Gloucester hospital.

She was critically ill, so although it was late on a Saturday night, he went without delay, catching the last bus, which left him with a short walk from the bus station.....

He took with him presents for his mother and money so she could use the hospital telephone.  As he journeyed through the city centre some youths, who'd just been chucked out of a nightclub set upon him and beat him up and robbed him of all the presents for his mother and all his money and left him by the side of the road.

Along came a Christian minister, a Jewish rabbi, a Muslim imam, a Hindu priest, … ; but they all hurried past because they were going to a religious conference about how to resolve differences and live in harmony in a multi-cultural society. Next came a mini-bus with a social-worker and a doctor and a health worker and a counsellor: they stopped to look at the man groaning at the road-side, made some notes for a case study and drove on.

Finally, a hoodie wandered past. He did a double-take when he saw the man at the side of the road. He went to see if he could help; but he didn’t have any transport and one dirty handkerchief was not much use in dealing with the man’s wounds. So he ran along to the nearest all night chemist, explained what had happened and asked for some bandages and the use of a ‘phone to call an ambulance. The pharmacist was very polite; but he couldn’t let the hoodie use the ‘phone – it’s more than my jobs worth! The hoodie wondered if he was joking as he’d only ever heard the word “jobsworth” used sarcastically. It seemed that the pharmacist was serious and the hoodie knew that if he tried to have a serious discussion with people, he was usually misunderstood and always got into trouble.
The chemist went on to say that if the hoodie didn’t have any money, he didn’t see how he could let him have any bandages. Particularly if the hoodie didn’t have a First Aid Certificate to prove he knew how to use them. After all, it’s no longer permitted to give someone a painkiller, or to touch them – which means no bandages or antiseptics. These things can be regarded as assault. The hoodie wondered about the meaning of assault in this situation; but was unable to persuade the chemist. Although, if he came back with money, the chemist would sell him bandages, provided he didn’t mention he was going to use them on someone else.

All this took some time.

By now it was early on Sunday morning...and there were a couple of churches nearby.

The hoodie knew that churches were supposed to help people. So he went to the first church; but they were busy preparing for a Family Fun Day.They told the hoodie there would be games, a bouncy castle and a time of worship. The hoodie wasn't on speaking terms with his family, - he'd left home some time ago - so he just asked again if he could have some bandages out of the First Aid box. But the people knew the regulations about not handing out painkillers or bandages or touching anyone to clean up their wounds and said they couldn’t help him.
So the hoodie went to the second church, where they were setting up for the 8.00 service.

“Come back later and the vicar might help you. I think she has a fund for desperate cases”.

Back on the street, the hoodie found someone selling The Big Issue and he gave him money to ‘phone for an ambulance and to buy bandages.  So the hoodie rushed back to the chemist and bought some bandages and some antiseptic cream.  Then he ran back to the man who had been beaten up. He had stopped groaning; but when the hoodie asked how he was there was no answer. For the man who had been beaten up had now died. So the hoodie sat down beside him at the roadside and put his head in his hands and wept. He thought of how he would have been neighbour to the man who had been mugged; but there was no-one willing to be neighbour with him. He put his head in his hands and wept.
He put his head in his nail-scarred hands and wept.

Trinity 6C Proper 9 The Kingdom of God has come near to you - a homily for Uplands

In a fortnight's time, if the Indian Embassy sees fit to grant me a visa, I should be flying off to Bangalore as one of the leaders of this year's diocesan youth trip to our partners in the Church of South India.

This is very exciting for all sorts of reasons – and just 2 weeks ago the whole group of teenagers & leaders met together for a final briefing.

It was then that we were given The Kit List.

It's several pages long and VERY detailed.

We've been told not only what injections we need and what to wear, and what medicines to take but also which electrical items may prove too much for the Bangalore grid and a host of other things beside. There's a definite feeling abroad that we need to be prepared for all eventualities – and as I'll be responsible for 8 other people's daughters, I'm quite glad of that.

However, when I was 1^st in India 6 years ago, I couldn't help but contrast the meticulous planning of our trip with the lot of the earlier missionaries who set out with no clear idea of where they were heading...no language courses...no immunisations...with very little but their love of God and a determination to share the gospel with brothers and sisters whose lives were immeasurably different from their own.

They might, I imagine, have taken some quinine with them in their medicine chests– but not alot besides...and they died, by the dozen, and are buried far from home in a land that perhaps they could never fully understand.

And before them, of course, was St Thomas.

The mists of time hide all the details of his arrival in Kerala...though legend is very insistent that arrive there he did...and surely, as one of the 12, he must have set out as Jesus had told him to...empty handed...no bag, purse or sandals...armed only with his mission to  

Heal the sick who are there and announce, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’

And from that beginning came thousands and thousands of Indian Christians...

The kingdom of God has come near to you.

The kingdom of God has come near to US.

Can we see the signs?

Because, you see, that's part of the work of the Church today.

Yes, we are called to BE signs of the Kingdom – places of healing, of transformation and good news...but we are also called to spot and celebrate the Kingdom in all its joyous variety as it unfolds in our own communities.

Isn't that wonderful?

We are to go about our daily lives expecting to see God at work and celebrating whenever we do só.

We are to act as signposts, só that others too may begin to recognise the signs, glinting like precious gems amid the mundane, broken reality of our world.

Sometimes those signs will be big and obvious – last weekend's ordinations & Clare's 1^st Mass spring to mind – or a pet service in another place where an Archdeacon spent hours lovingly blessing each and every pet and their owner – reminding them by her infinite care that each of them is infinitely precious to God.

Sometimes they will be easy to overlook...things that might seem too small and insignificant to be worth celebrating.

Celebrate anyway.

The Kingdom of God has come near to us.....see.....

Someone who has been a beneficiary of the Food bank arrives there with a small bag of groceries to help another family on the edge...

Sweet peas transform an urban landscape with their pastel beauty and heavenly scent.

Laughter erupts between those see eye to eye on nothing much EXCEPT that joke...

A small child smiles and waves at the lonely old man who sits on the park bench

The Kingdom of God has come near to us

Signs of the Kingdom are signs of hope...evidence that God is at work each and every day in Uplands and Slad, in Stroud and Cainscross....and further afield, in every corner of the world God loves so much.

And we don't need special equipment or special training to equip us to notice or to celebrate.

All we need is a longing to be PART of the Kingdom in all its transforming joy and an openness to the God who will give us all that we need and more, if we can only bring ourselves to trust him.

RGBP Blog Carnival - Galship!!

Once upon a time I was a very new curate feeling my way into public ministry in the Church of England. Every day was different. I missed the regular contact and ready-made community of my friends from vicar-school, who had been my sounding-boards as I thought aloud about all that was going on and what God was up to...so I started blogging.
Just for myself.
I had no IDEA that there were blogging communities out there, that I might find like-minded souls, that anyone would actually read my blog at all.
Thinking aloud is what ENFPs do all the time - so typing into an apparent void was no problem whatsoever.
Blogging wasn't big in my circle...though one or two Greenbelt friends had blogs and I enjoyed reading them and was happy when they sometimes posted a comment on my early posts. 
I began to explore - but I was such a novice I didn't really know how to search, or what I might hope to find.
I could so easily have missed the whole thing!

I'm not sure how I first discovered Martha's blog...I'm not even sure which title she was using at that stage - but suddenly I seemed to be reading the words of a kindred spirit.
I'm that strange creature, a shy extrovert - so even on-line it took me a little while but one day I posted a comment - she responded....and we were off!
Her blog roll led me to other women in ministry and their friends...who gradually became my friends too.
I was part of the conversation that summer when someone suggested a "blog ring"....I rather think I asked what one of those might be....
Then came Katrina - and in the wake of that our friendships became ever closer, as we responded in love to a disaster that seemed very close to home, even in Cheltenham, England, because someone I cared about was so deeply affected.
We wrote books together - 2 collections of reflections that I'm still delighted to have on my shelves
We talked about maybe, just maybe, meeting face to face one day - but most of my friends were the far side of the Pond and trans Atlantic trips are not part of the stuff of life for 40 something clergywomen with 3 children and a mortgage...

But, amazingly,it happened!
Martha and her family were coming to England - and would be able to spend a night in Cheltenham if I liked. IF I LIKED?!? I've seldom been so excited...and the minute they got off the train I knew that we really WERE friends....that the internet was not a snare and a delusion but a place where real, lasting and life-giving connections could be forged. 
We talked and talked and laughed and talked and talked some more and it was very good.

Later I crossed the Atlantic myself to share with these special people in the very first Big Event.
Scared of flying, never having stayed in an hotel on my own, I somehow found the courage - because of the strength of our friendship and because I wanted to somehow testify by my presence to this wonderful network that we had made out of nothing as we sat at our computers.
Again it was good. I will never, til the day I die, forget an evening spent at the Midnight Buffet

I'm a vicar now. I blog much less - for the freedom of curacy is only a memory, many of the stories I hold are not mine to tell and in any case the online world has moved on.
But it was RevGals who showed me the way in which internet friendships can transform lives...My soul-sisters for whom I thank God whenever I think of you.