India - in no particular order 4...a lesson from the hospital

During our India trip this year we spent some time visiting health projects - and CSI places a high value on its hospitals, which, for the early missionaries, were a vital part of the process of creating community and making relationships. In healing the sick they not only obeyed Christ's mandate but fostered relationships with the local community based on the meeting of needs. Contrary to some misinformation, at no stage in the history of Christian missions was help and treatment conditional on accepting Christ, though of course there was always the hope that the kindness and compassion shown in missionary hospitals might inspire patients and visitors to explore the faith that was its source.

CSI hospitals today still treat all comers - though rather confusingly in modern India they need to charge for their services in order to survive, so find themselves caught between the free but basic provision of government hospitals and the state of the art, gleaming chrome aspirations of private medicine.
The CSI hospitals are still  held dear, both as a link with those missionary origins and as an expression of an essential outworking of the Church's DNA- but I'm not honestly sure whether they have a place today - though like many other treasures of the past, they are surprisingly hard to let go.
So even the barely functioning hospital at Chickballapur was an essential item on our itinerary - and I'm so glad it was, for it was here that we encountered one of the clearest demonstrations ever of what vocation can mean.
You see, there has been trouble at the centre in our link diocese of Karnataka Central, trouble closing diocesan offices and meaning that some salaries have gone unpaid in CSI projects for weeks and months. Yet at Chickballapur staff came in daily. One sister who strained at the hospital 40 years ago has never stopped coming in to give the care that she knows is at the heart of her calling. Wards were mothballed, dustsheets covered disused equipment - but, said the medical director
"People still choose to come to us to die....because we don't treat death as a mechanical failure but as an essential part of being"
Time to consider a change of focus, perhaps? to move from hospital to hospice? to let go of some of the treasures of the past in order to hold the Christ-light in the present?
Something for our churches to consider too?
Just possibly.

And, of course,a  change of focus need not mean abandoning vocation.

One of our group, who had been considering nursing, was so inspired by this that she went home with her mind made up. To love your work so much that you carry on regardless of salary - just because you have to - that's vocation, right enough.
What inspired us most of all, though, was a rural nursing dispensary - from which student nurses, on placement from the main CSI hospital in Bangalore, went out to isolated settlements, - where their presence and work in health education was having a significant impact. The women and children in these tiny hamlets were simply not going to get to any hospital - of whatever stamp - but with nurses appearing in their community, offering immunisations, wise advice and a rapid first response to more serious ills their over-all health was improving hugely. Further evidence that competition with the shiny trappings of American-style health-care might not be the best route forward for the church's ministry of healing in Inda? 
I don't know - but it might be worth considering.

Back in Bangalore, we encountered another nurse, still driven by her vocation some 2 decades after her official retirement - or perhaps she was simply an angel in disguise.
Mrs Hopi qualified as an SRN at the Middlesex Hospital in London before even I was born, and nursed for many years in both the UK and her native India. Now she lives in a retirement home right next to the CSI hospital and visits the geriatric ward there daily without fail. Her presence there is, quite simply, transformational.
You see, the very existence of elderly care units is a challenge to traditional Indian culture, a sign that western influence is taking its toll on the extended family, that elderly parents can no longer expect to end their days cherished by their children and grandchildren, and with a guaranteed place in their home.
Many now work abroad - so an elderly parent, frail and confused - is a huge worry.
The CSI hospital offers loving care, ensuring that physical and emotional needs are met - but Mrs Hopi loves and cares for the SOUL.

She clearly knows and loves each one of the long-term patients dearly. She reads the paper to them, prays with them, sings to them - every single day.
As our stay in India went on, our less-than-tuneful group learned rapidly that singing was part of the essential package expected of visiting Christians.
On the geriatric unit, it was, triumphantly - the perfect language.
When we had exhausted our small repertoire, I turned instinctively to the Sunday School songs my own mother had learned from the CIM missionaries in Chefoo between the wars...and as I began to sing, Mrs Hopi and the patients soon joined in.
"Wide, wide as the ocean..." we sang - remembering the truth that God's love does indeed reach us wherever we may be
"Jesus loves me, this I know" (and Mrs Hopi taught me a new verse, singing with  the earnest,  simplicity of a child who knows that every word is true)

When we left, she asked me to give her a blessing - but I knew who had really been blessed by the day's encounter...

There but for the grace of God...

On Saturday our Cathedral was full as we welcomed our new suffragen, Martyn Snow, who is now the 7th Bishop of Tewkesbury  - and just a couple of weeks before, some of us went on a coach trip to London for his consecration service at Westminster Abbey.
I'd not been to see a bishop under construction before - and much of the service was splendid - notably the sermon from Rowan Williams and the strains of Howell's Coll. Reg Eucharist and the Tallis Miserere floating around that wonderful space. We were seated in the north transept, so had a superb rose window to focus on when there wasn't much to see on the big screen - and Tallis and stained glass combined to give me a small glimpse of heaven. There were also comic moments - as when the Gloucester procession was verged out before its time - mostly funny because we all knew how very much our liturgy-loving bishop would be fuming...

However, it wasn't all sweetness and light.

Bishop Martyn was consecrated at the same time as Bishop Jonathan Goodall - who now occupies the See of Ebbsfleet. Quite properly there were many present to support him in his new ministry - and of course, the majority of his supporters came from those "traditionalist" parishes where it remains unthinkable that women should be ordained priest.

Thanks to FabBishop, my home diocese of Gloucester is a very happy place to serve as an ordained woman. We know that our bishop is 110% behind us, and there are women in senior posts - including one of our Archdeacons. Of course, as a woman from the catholic end of the spectrum I've encountered some people along the way who doubt the validity of my orders - but the prevailing climate is so friendly that it's easy to forget that it's not always like that in the world beyond diocesan boundaries. Of course, the harsh reality was brought into focus during the debate on women bishops last November, when speaker after speaker seemed determined to rehearse the same arguments against the ordination of women to the priesthood that we had heard so often 20 years before - but, again, the response from senior staff here was so affirming that the pain of that vote was overlaid by gratitude that we have such support at home. 

Now,here we were in the same space as those who will surely have asked themselves

"Why are those women dressing up and pretending to be priests?" or wondered 

"How can those women dare to attend this consecration when it is they who are splitting the Church that we love?"

I need to make it very clear that nobody was in any way ungracious that day.There were no re-enactments of the "won't share the Peace with a woman in a dog collar" experience which has been my lot in the past. Nobody cut us dead and as far as I know, nobody refused to accept the Sacrament because it was being shared with women. 

(As an aside -this did confuse me somewhat...I had understood that "impaired communion" was one of the issues for Forward in Faith et al - but there seemed to be no evidence of this impairment today - any more than there seemed to be any doubt that Bishop Jonathan was validly consecrated, although Archbishop Justin has surely ordained women during his brief ministry as Bishop of Durham. I'm GLAD that these problems didn't rear their heads -but yet more bemused as a result)

Never before have I been so utterly delighted to see Archdeacon Jackie and other senior Gloucester women take their place in the procession - and when the bishops moved forward for the laying on of hands, it was suddenly (naively) shocking how very male they were. Suddenly our situation was starkly illustrated for me and I realised just how chilly the world beyond the borders might be. 

At the end of the service, we greeted our new suffragen, and I was delighted to see beloved +Rowan about to leave to catch his train - but with time for a hug and a few quick words..We were waiting for friends to join us, so found ourselves milling about outside the Abbey as the cohorts from the "other side" departed.And I realised that the parishes represented there were exactly the kind of parish in which, as a young Anglo Catholic in London, I would naturally have made my home.

I looked across at the parish clergy, in monochrome black (as I was myself)...Some were nearing retirement, others in the early years of their ministry - and they largely preferred to avoid my gaze.

I smiled my best "Friendly vicar" smile (the one that my family beg me never to use when we're on holiday!) at a group of elderly ladies who were heading towards their bus - and was rewarded with the sort of icy stare that makes you wonder, for a moment, if you've suddenly turned into an axe-murderer unawares. 

And I reflected that we shared so much in our devotion to Catholic faith and practice - that in many ways I had more in common with those parishes than with the community which I'm now privileged to serve....and I wondered how I would have coped with my call to ordination had we remained in London.

Would I have allowed myself to listen? Or clung determinedly to the "certainty" that such a call could not be from God....

Would I BE a priest in His church if we'd stayed in London?

God knows - but I'm thankful that was free to listen when the call came.

In no particular order 3 .......Mission & missionaries - ancient and modern

Spending time with the Church of South India I was once again very conscious of the footmarks made by bygone missionaries...

The Church itself exists in its current form because of the courage and passion of those who travelled across the sea to share God's love and for the most part their legacy is treasured and valued. Again and again on my last trip I was struck by the way the founding missionaries set their stamp on the churches they built, even down to being remembered in the names. While we were in Chickballapur we visited the tiny mission church from which schools, hospitals and many many churches grew and we visited too the CSI cemetery where many of the early missionaries lie. They were so very young, these men and women who set out willing to risk everything for the love of God and God's children.
Their names live on in the churches they founded - but though they remain revered, many Indian Christians I encountered on this trip fought shy of celebrating their debt to the missionaries. They agreed that so much that is good and admirable was established through their faith and courage -  but the world is a very different place today, and the loving paternalism of the past can no longer be welcomed.

Younger Indian clergy are anxious too that western influence on India should exclude the spiritual malaise which they see destroying our churches...and worry, I think, that as long as the Indian churches are shaped so thoroughly by their western heritage, they will never fully connect with the culture they exist to serve.

So - I was excited to visit a new mission field - in the deeply rural community of Kannapura. Travelling there from Bangalore was a journey back in time, as we reconnected with village India. Cows, flocks of sheep and goats and the inevitable bullock-carts were our companions on the road, and we passed many labourers ploughing with oxen as their ancestors must have done for centuries. As we headed towards Mysore, we saw strange woven structures, looking a bit like archery butts, at the side of the road - lodgings for silkworms, on their journey from mulberry tree to silk-merchant's store

We turned off the metalled road and bumped along a dirt track...soon, even the dirt track was abandoned and we travelled cross country - to a simple house in a field. This was the mission  - part home, part worship space - where Jason and his wife had settled to build a church, supported by Revd Shilpa and her congregation at Christ Church Kannapura . 11 years ago, when the CSI hospital in Channapatna closed, the couple came here, reclaimed the near- derelict building, and set about befriending their neighbours. Jason visits the scattered villages and hamlets regularly, his wife runs a drop-in clinic that is open all hours - and their kindness and compassion have gradually drawn others into the church that meets in their one-room home. When we visited, the children crammed in first - some shy at their first ever western visitors, others giggling....Their parents followed, coming in from their work in the fields til the room was packed. We took it in turns to sing choruses to one another - the children specially delighted when we sang familiar tunes with English words - we prayed together, and then each of us was presented with a rosebud - coming with warm handshakes and a blessing that touched us deeply. There was no doubt at all that this was holy ground - an inspiring glimpse of how the church can be - a small humble community whose only aspiration is to love and serve.

We spent that evening with their "sending church" - another small group, meeting in their pastor's home, in the shadow of a Hindu temple. Shilpa told us that the CSI have approved a new building - a purpose built church to be built in her garden - provided the local community can contribute 5 lakhs towards it - a huge target for 20 families to meet. She asked us to pray - understandably - but also commented that the excellent relationship that church and temple have means that she is confident of some support from her Hindu neighbours, who already to a great deal to further the work of the church in supporting the community, and often celebrate Christian festivals with her congregation.

Syncretism - or outreach? It felt wholly good.

Worship that evening was wonderful...Again, adults and children packed into a small room, the young on floor mats, their elders ranged on benches around the walls, everyone completely at ease with each other. A small boy performed his party piece - a breakneck dash through all the books of the Bible; children sang action songs, and together we learned an African action song/dance - which I found myself performing with a delightful toddler on my hip. There was room enough for all, children and adults listened attentively to the teaching and contributed along the way, and after prayer and blessing we all ate together, the community offering hospitality as a loving duty which we felt truly blessed to receive.

Travelling back to Bangalore that night I felt as if I'd spent the day living in the early chapters of Acts - an experience to treasure and to learn from.

Whatever happened to "Good in Parts"?

Once upon a time there was a curate.
She was a very new curate, just a few weeks into her diaconate, when someone of whom she was fond pointed out that it was rather rude to comment on the blogs of others but to have nowhere of your own to contribute to the conversation.
As one who had always loved words, she saw the justice in this - and so a blog was born.

As she settled into ordained ministry, that blog became a huge blessing to her...a place to think aloud, to try and make sense of the experiences of God at work in, beyond and despite the Church, to learn from others, to wonder and to celebrate.
It became the route to a network of  new friends in places she'd never imagined, her stake in a whole new community, and even drew her into contributing to a book.
Quite often, at gatherings of Christians in other places someone would say 
"You're "Good in Parts" aren't you?".....and many a friendship was born.

It was all most exciting. Finding time to blog was rarely a problem, and curacy seemed a fertile ground for theological reflection...but one day, that curate grew up and became an incumbent.

Abruptly, the world changed.
The luxury of writing time seemed to evaporate overnight, and all too often the new incumbent found that she had indeed "had the experience but missed the meaning".
More, she was acutely aware of the added weight of responsibility that rested on her, the way that so many of the stories she encountered were not hers to share and would be much harder to disguise in a community where she was coming to be widely known and recognised...
The mystery ingredient which had sent her blogwards almost daily seemed to have run out but the vicar felt the poorer for it's loss.
Twitter replaced the blogging community - and indeed many one-time blog-friends turned up there or on Facebook too...but it was never quite the same.

Wonderful things kept on happening - but the vicar had got out of the habit of writing about them.

But - I love blogging...I love reading the blogs of others...I love all the splendid creativity that is freely available if you just sit down and log on...

So - I'm going to try again.
I'm going to try and focus once more on this dusty, neglected corner where only sermons seem to have flourished - and see if I can muster the time, and the creative energy to bring it back to life.

It won't matter much to other people - though with a bit of luck and a following wind it might yet be good - in parts!

Trinity 20C for St Lawrence's

I don't know about you, but I'm not very good at asking for help.

When I broke my arm, quite badly as it happens, 6 months into my ministry here I was determined to carry on as usual, despite the complications of being unable to drive and, for much of the first couple of weeks being high on a splendid array of painkillers.

I didn't think I knew anyone in my churches quite well enough to say – Hey – this is really hard – and I, the one whose job is tied in with caring for others, really struggled to accept the support that I needed. I'll never forget how painful I found it when my teenaged son had to wash my hair...It gave me a foretaste of the dependence of old age and its frailty that I didn't welcome IN THE LEAST.

So – I have both sympathy and admiration for Namaan..that mighty warrior brought low by a disease that would, in many cultures, turn him into an outcast overnight.

Sympathy because he's an action man – a hero who comes and goes as he pleases, answering only to the king.

Admiration because he is willing to accept advice – from that most unlikely source, a teenage slave girl. In this situation, their roles are reversed. She, the helpless captive, holds the power of knowledge....and though she could have chosen to stand by in silence, she chooses to use that power to help

But things are never straightforward, are they?

Naaman is so used to going to the top that, having taken a deep breath and headed for Israel in response to the girl's advice, he goes straight for the top, with the King's encouragement sounding loudly in his ears.

Now it's the turn of another powerful man to find himself powerless...

The King of Israel is understandably alarmed to find his neighbour and long-time enemy, the King of Aram, making impossible demands.

He can see no good ending to this – for he knows he has no skill, no resources to heal a leper and expects a fresh outbreak of war before bedtime.

Fortunately, Elisha intervenes before war can be declared.

He takes the initiative, tells the King to send Namaan to him – and then offers him 7 simple steps to healing.

And therein lies the trouble.

For a powerful man to accept that the solution lies in doing something as ordinary and everyday as washing – and in a muddy foreign river at that – is well-nigh unthinkable.

And so Namaan very nearly misses the healing that is at hand...surely one of the earliest illustrations of that saying “Cutting off the nose to spite the face”

Again, I sympathise.

Nobody likes looking silly...and Elisha's prescription seems to call into question the gravity of Namaan's illness. OBVIOUSLY if leprosy washed off, he'd have had it sorted long ago...

Namaan has no reason to trust this so-called man of God, with his irritating refusal to meet him face to face and his idiotic idea that 7 baths in the Jordan will save the day. He has long relied on his own strength and the political clout he has earned. Why on earth should he consent to look a fool

But, once again, power lies in an unexpected quarter. It is Namaan's servants who use their persuasive talents to convince their master that he has nothing to lose.

“Give it a go. We KNOW you could and would take bigger risks, do difficult and dangerous things – so why not give this a try?”

And, perhaps surprisingly, Namaan agrees – and discovers that God can work through the most ordinary and unlikely things – that for him, on this day in this situation, the muddy waters of the Jordan are all he needs...or perhaps it is the lesson of obedient dependence that he needs most.

Either way, of course, he emerges cured – and his reaction is one of joyous gratitude and recognition of God at work.

He doesn't put it down to co-incidence.

He doesn't try to bluff it out

“Of course, I'd noticed that my skin was beginning to heal...”

He simply and immediately gives thanks and resolves to serve the God of Israel from now on.

Recognition of God at work...

That's surely significant in our gospel too.

10 lepers sent away – to claim in faith a healing that has yet to happen, as they go to the priest to be judged clean or unclean.

9 lepers so relieved to hear their wholeness confirmed that they immediately vanish into the daily lives restored to them by the action of one extraordinary man.

1 alone who stops to celebrate God at work...affirming His presence, rejoicing in his action. The fact that it is an outsider, a Samaritan, might give us pause...for sometimes it's those whom we'd imagine to be "outsiders" who have the deepest awareness of God, the most ready gratitude for his love.

Last week our Harvest thanksgiving brought to mind some words of Meister Eckhardt

“If the only prayer you ever utter is THANK YOU – that is enough”

Today's readings re-enforce that message – as they invite us to notice and to proclaim God's presence in the ordinary, his power in the unexpected, the mundane – that is transformed by His love.

I wonder what God wants to show us through the commonplace events of our lives, who he might send our way as agents of healing or change.

Stories like these tell us that any ground can be holy ground, any water can be healing and lifegiving, any stranger can be the prophet who says what we need to hear to change our lives.

But it's up to us to listen – and to look...to set aside our determined independence...and open ourselves to the God who works through the ordinary – through men and women, water and oil, bread and wine – and invites us to see the whole of Creation as a sacrament of His love.

Harvest thoughts for All Saints Uplands, 6th October 2013

St Matthew's School Harvest festival on Friday was a joyous affair. It was the first time that the new Reception class had joined the school for collective worship...so there was much squealing and wriggling along the way. We were also bidding farewell to a wonderful Chair of Governors, retiring after 28 years of service to the school – so we were very 
conscious of the need to say thank you....and, of course, we sang the much loved primary school song “Autumn days....” with its insistent refrain
“We mustn't forget – no we mustn't forget – to say a great big THANK YOU – we mustn't forget”
Together we realised as we looked round the church that at any and every moment of each day there are literally dozens of things to say thank you for.And that, of course, is why we are here celebrating Harvest Festival.
It’s time for us to pause and say,
 “Thank you! Thank you for all those good things that have come our way this year.” 
To pause and think.
To pause and thank.

Now, thankfulness is an attitude central to Christian belief. It's enshrined in the name of this service, the Eucharist, for that too means “Thanksgiving”We really should,always and everywhere, give thanks.

Unfortunately, generally we don’t. 

We look at the world, at all that we have to enjoy, and we take it as our right. We no longer see God in it.
But God is there. 
If we open our eyes, wherever we look in creation, we see signs pointing the way to the creator, tokens of his love at every turn….There are the obvious signs of course – the view from Selsley Common on a perfect autumn day, the night sky reminding us of our insignificance, the joyous giggle of a child paddling…But our creator God is no less present in the tinned tomatoes and processed cheese than in the wonderful displays of Harvest produce … and today at least we can take the trouble to pause and recognise this.

Creation is so much more than a gigantic supermarket, a mine from which we extract what we want, using or discarding to suit ourselves as if nothing has any value. Creation is not an objective “thing” to be used or abused as human kind sees fit.

Creation is, rather, part of the love song of our God who delights in creating…our God who looked at all that was made and declared that it was good.
We do forget, don’t we?
We’ve come along way from the garden of Eden and we rarely look back over our shoulders to touch base with the Creator as we ride rough shod over his creation.
It’s not a new problem.
Again and again through the Bible, God’s people are urged to be thankful – and we need that reminder more than ever today for we are prone to that danger that lurks embedded within any successful and affluent culture…the risk that success might encourage us to believe that we are sufficient unto ourselves, that the world is OURS and all that is within it.

Maybe recent years have diminished that danger a little for us…All across the world, people are that bit less sure of themselves…that much more aware of the fragility of the systems we’ve come to rely on.
And maybe that’s not a wholly bad thing.
I’m not suggesting that we should in any way rejoice at the economic hardships that are confronting many who thought themselves secure…just that a shock to our economic stability might offer some encouragement to remember our true source of security, the true source of all good gifts.

.Centuries ago, Meister Eckhardt a dreamer and man of prayer proclaimed,
"If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough."
I’m not sure, though, if I quite agree.
Saying thank-you is important, certainly. 
It’s a great thing to recognise one’s blessings and to say so from the heart.
But on another level I would suggest, SAYING thank you is only a small part of the full meaning of thanksgiving. 
Thanksgiving is both an attitude and a response, it is both faith and works.
We need, in other words, not just to say but to DO our thank yous too.
We are the recipients of God’s ceaseless, overwhelming 
generosity – and this should be our own model in giving.
God’s goodness is without limit, and so it follows that our response too should overflow… 
Clenched fists hold on in miserly determination If we open our hands to give, they will be open, too, to receive...
It seems to me that my own besetting sin is the fear that there might not be enough.
I want to give, I want to be generous…but at the back of my mind a little voice says
“Have you made sure you’re saving enough for old age…What if the children can't find jobs – it's not easy for graduates...”Instead of trusting that with God there is always enough and to spare, I wonder and worry and lapse into protective meanness.
Instead of rejoicing in the Lord always I am all too prone to being anxious...
Instead of living by Kingdom values every day, I hang on nervously to what I have and seek for more… 

Communities have this same struggle. If as a church family we are serious about modelling God’s love for the world,then we should be known not just for the beauty of our buildings and our worship but for the unconditional generosity we share. Our hallmark should be the way we give without counting the cost, the way we respond to the needs of others before we turn to gratify our own. 
We CAN trust God to take care of the essentials – and maybe, just maybe, those other things aren’t quite as important as we imagined after all.

Think about it for a moment.
I may not find it easy to admit, but I do not need everything that I have in order to live abundantly…and I’d guess things may be the same for you.
Indeed it seems that the more we have, the more cluttered our spirits become. We so surround ourselves with goodies of all kinds that we struggle to lift our eyes above our treasure. We begin to believe that what we HAVE is what we are WORTH

That’s a general truth but perhaps we are now at a juncture in human history where we will be forced to face certain realities- that our economies cannot and should not grow forever, that we may have to be content with what we have, or less…
Now might be the moment to reconsider priorities
The time of growth is over. Now, perhaps, we can pause and be grateful.
“Tis a gift to be simple…” says the old Shaker song…but it’s a gift that we are strangely reluctant to grasp even if we remember the second line “Tis a gift to be free”.
We seem determined to shore up our fragile selves with all sorts of material props and we become dependent on them, fettered by them…We focus not on thanksgiving but on thanksgetting…like a child who asks his friend on Boxing Day, not “what did you give?” but 
“what did you get for Christmas?”

But today at harvest festival we have a chance for a rethink.
We come together to celebrate all that we have received, and we express that celebration by giving of our best, our first fruits not our left-overs, just as people have through many centuries.
Harvest festival sounds cosy, reassuring, a link with the golden days when churches were full and summers were hot.
But I’d like us to use our harvest festival as a challenge this year.
If you and I can remember that we are celebrating thanks-giving, if we can live lives that reflect the boundless generosity of God, then we can honestly say with Meister Eckhardt that a simple prayer of "thank you" expressed in word and in deed, will be enough. In fact, it will be more than enough, abundant and overflowing with grace and love shining through every action. And so let’s thank God, for life, thank God for food, family and 
friends, thank God for the opportunities of living in a rich land flowing with milk and honey, and thank God for being able to express our gratitude in acts of love, sharing and giving without counting the cost. 

Angels and archangels - a homily for 8.00 on Michaelmas Sunday, 29th September 2013 at St Matthew's

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John

Bless the bed that I lie on

Four corners to my bed

Four angels there be spread

One to watch and one to pray

And two to bear my soul away

In the bedtime prayers of my childhood there seemed little difference between the evangelists – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – and the shining guardian angels whom I was certain were my overnight companions....

I loved those angels, believed in them implicitly – and still, as this feast day of St Michael and All Angels approaches, I find myself dreaming happily of wondrous golden beings whose presence reassures me that all is well with the world.

In that I guess I'm in good company. Angels are hugely popular today. Gift shops can rely on selling any number of angel trinkets...books of angel stories walk off the shelves at a time when public interest in more mainstream expressions of faith seems at a very low ebb. People LIKE the idea of heavenly beings charged with taking care of us....a reassurance that we are not on our own in a hostile universe.

But, you know, the Biblical experience of angels is very very different.

Often their arrival seems to be anything but reassuring – and perhaps that's why every angelic appearance in the New Testament opens with the words

“Don't be afraid”

Annunciation, Ressurrection, Ascension...

Heaven in all its dazzling splendour breaks into our world. Time is interrupted by eternity

It's alarming stuff right enough – even before we've discovered quite what it is that the angel has to say.

Just think of the most famous angelic appearance of all.....Gabriel's mission to Mary.

Imagine yourself as that teenage girl, minding her own business in an obscure corner of the Roman Empire.

Hear those words spoken to you.

“Do not be afraid Mary – for you have found favour with God. You will bear a son”

BEAR A SON!

Me?!?!

No wonder Gabriel feels the need to begin the conversation by speaking reassurance.

“Do not be afraid...”

Words that suggest that he knows he has already lost that particular battle!

And só often that's how it seems.

Angels break into our world as messengers of heaven – and their tidings turn the world upside down.

Like a stone dropped into a pond, their messages ripple outwards, touching and changing many lives in ways we could never imagine.

Jacob is at a pretty low ebb when he has his vision of angels

He has cheated his brother out of his birthright, run away from home and is sleeping rough

He's not on retreat, attending to his soul. He's on the run. He's scared, and he's tired. Since he has a stone for his pillow it may not be surprising that his sleep is disturbed.....but his vision is one that sums up the ceaseless activity of angels as they act as go-betweens constantly carrying messages between our world and heaven.

Jacob sees

a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it

That's the vision – and then Jacob hears his own good news.......that God has a plan for him, - even fraudulent, fearful Jacob - and will not forsake him til that plan has become a reality.

Angels prepare us to hear of God's plans

They appear at times and in situations that may seem most unpromising...as agents and messengers of God's good news.

And their words and their presence awakens us to a truth that we all forget

Jacob put it this way

“Surely the Lord is in this place and I knew it not”

Angels alert us to God at work in our world...they point towards God's actions, his plans, his presence

Good news then....

Which brings me to one more thing.....their name ANGEL means messanger but it shares its roots with another message of good news – EVANGELISM

Perhaps my childhood self wasn't that far out in confusing the saints and the angels of that poem!

And perhaps that's where we come in

We are not, surely, to be content to be passive recipients of the Good News the angels bring...

Like them, we have a calling to point out those surprising places where God is at work in our world só that others too may see and celebrate

And, for ourselves, having noted God at work we are to join in the ceaseless chorus of praise that resounds throughout creation

“Therefore with angels and archangels and with all the company of heaven we laud and magnify thy holy name

Evermore praising thee and saying “Holy, holy, holy. Lord God of hosts. Heaven and earth are full of thy glory. Glory be to thee O Lord most high”

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.