#AdventWord 15 : Wonder

Tonight at "Breathing Space" we journeyed round a series of stations based on the great O antiphons...I had feared that nobody would come, as several regulars were away - but the group who gathered was the perfect size to allow intimacy and reflection without self-consciousness. Against all my least hopeful expectations, we found ourselves well and truly on holy ground. 

At the sculpture "The plumbline and the city" we considered O Sapientia, "sweetly ordering all things", we reflected on what was really at the centre of our lives, plotted our priorities on concentric circles, target- style, and asked God to help us re-order our lives where necessary. 

In the holy ground of the Chapel of Christ in Gethsemane, we reflected on O Adonai - and on Moses turning aside to view the burning bush. We wondered how often we fail to notice God in our world, and how often our own pressing agendas inhibit us from changing direction to meet with him.
The charred cross, made from the roof timbers of the bombed Cathedral, reminded us of the shoot of hope that grew from the apparently dead
"Radix Jesse"...just as the Coventry ministry of Reconciliation grew from the death and destruction of that November night 75 years ago.

The gates to the Lady Chapel were firmly shut as we engaged with the 
Clavis David who " opens and no one can shut -You shut, and no one can open."

We each took some keys from a basket and pondered those things from which we need liberation...There weren't quite enough keys, so some people used those they already had in their pockets...Sometimes we DO have all that we need in order to be free...Sometimes keys, and locks, are very small - but once they are unfastened, then we can move on to be the people God calls us to be.

O Oriens - bright and morning star, splendour of light eternal and sun of righteousness: Come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness

and the shadow of death.

Pausing by the Christmas trees, whose lights are reflected in the West Screens so we seem to have two extra trees outside, we recognised that Christmas hope can be hard to find if you are dealing with the dark things of life...Loneliness, bereavement, illness, anxiety all seem even harder to bear when the rest of the world is having a giant party.

But the whole POINT of Christmas is that God's light comes into our world, so that everything looks different. The hard things don't disappear. Sad things remain sad...but we know that light is always stronger than darkness...that all the darkness in the world cannot put out the light of even the smallest candle. So here we took a few moments thinking of people and situations needing God's light and left candles burning...There is one still lit or a dear friend, E, a dear friend who is going home too soon.

O Rex Gentium - the king is crowned with thorns, the sculpture made from the metal of a crashed car...In defeat and destruction, He reigns

O King of the nations and their desire

the cornerstone making both one:

Come and save the human race,

That you fashioned from clay.

Together we built a tower of jenga bricks, and asked God to help us to build our lives on the corner stone that is Christ, and his way of Love.

Finally we came to the altar and the crib - to Bethlehem, the House of Bread, where we were invited to participate in the wonderful exchange that the incarnation made possible. We brought, as we always do , the mess and muddle, failure and brokenness of our lives - and received in exchange Emmanuel - God with us...

And that is the wonder of it all

That God was man in Palestine, and lives today in bread and wine.

#AdventWord

#AdventWord 14: WAIT

As a family, we are quite well off for paintings.
To my surprise, I find I really REALLY enjoy buying them. The Rye Society of Artists' summer show as an unmissable part of Sussex summers when the children were small, and I always came home with a poster to fram at the very least. Meanwhile, OH's parents had an impressive, and eclectic collection in their home, some of which we inherited a few years ago.

As most vicarages don't have the sort of wall space that permits an expanding art collection, I've been under very strict orders not to buy anything for some years - but when we arrived here in May of last year it became obvious that none of our existing art works looked happy over the mantelpiece in the sitting room.
Everything else had found a happy home - but that left us with a serious gap.
Very serious.
So the chimney breast has been bare and void...waiting, waiting....without any of us having any idea what it might be waiting for.

Until November, that is, when these appeared.
Though I really hadn't expected to, I fell in love at once - and after some negotiation, it was agreed that if I never have another Christmas or birthday present ever again (or something like that - I didn't SIGN anything, so I'm hoping there may in time be room for manouevre ) OH and I could give each other a Piper print for Christmas.

So...the blank wall still waits.
But it waits in hope.
There will be something beautiful there before too long - and, for the first time since childhood, I am preparing to be beside myself with excitement at the prospect of opening my present on Christmas day.

Sometimes the waiting is pure joy, when you know that you are waiting for exactly what you need, want and long for.
That's kind of the point of Advent...

 

AdventWord 13: Shine

That's sometimes the hardest thing of all...to shine.

The darkness deepens.
Days get shorter, nights longer - and the press of sadness in the world begins to overwhelm...or maybe I  simply get bogged down in the gap between my own reality and our aspiration to belong to the perfect church, the perfect family, celebrating the perfect Christmas.

Instead of thinking loving thoughts and maybe saying a prayer with each card I gallop through them just at that point when even posting them leaves me anxious. Will they arrive on time?
Instead of finding unique, creative presents which simply exude love and care, I revert to type and spend an evening shopping on line, using a company whose ethics I deplore.

But this season of Advent is my favourite ....because of the darkness...because of the longing to arrive somewhere I can only begin to imagine....because lions and lambs are not yet lying down together...and people do hurt and destroy....and yet we know that in ALL THAT MESS.......
the light still shines....and even my poor little efforts to love a bit more help the light to shine more brightly.
And the darkness cannot overcome it.

Now light one thousand Christmas lights
On dark earth here tonight.
One thousand, thousand also shine
To make the dark sky bright.

#AdventWord

#AdventWord 12: DARE

Courage, risk, daring....has been very much the stuff of life for me over the past few weeks.
You see, my wonderful, shiny, best-beloved daughter has been offered a place to do a Masters in Library & Information Studies at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver - and (this is the scary bit) she is taking it up.
In 3 weeks time she will have landed on the far side of the Atlantic, and on the far side of Canada and be beginning to prepare for two years of adventure in a brand new country...
and that's fantastic.

She will love the course, with its specialism in the children's and young adult writing that is her passion.
She will, I'm certain, love Vancouver too. 
It's all good.
Except, that is, for the courage that's asked of us, to let her go.
It will be a wonderful adventure.
The Masters will give her the means to build the sort of career that she dreams of, working in school libraries to enable kids on the edge to find themselves and the courage they need for the future.
And - what a beautiful place to learn.

But - I didn't really like it when my kids returned to uni just a couple of hours away.
I've always found that the water-table rose dramatically in the last days and hours before their departure, and honestly, if there had been floods in the Midlands, rather than further north, they might ALL have been my fault.
I don't seem to have been fitted with the necessary rhino hide when it comes to saying Goodbye to those i love. Not even for a few weeks.

So, the question is not whether L will dare to fly - I know she will.
It's more a question of whether I dare unclench my mitts to let her go - and on that front I really have no choice.
I dare do nothing else.

#AdventWord

#AdventWord 11: Ask

It's surprising how hard that is - at least as far as asking God for things for those I love most goes....let alone for myself. Don't let's even go there.

I'm brilliant at asking him to intervene, to be close to, to love and support those with whom I have a mostly professional relationship - but to ask him to get involved in the muddles and struggles of my own life seems somehow too demanding.
Which is nonsense.
I know that intellectually.
Ask and you shall receive that your joy may be full, says Jesus - and I know, when I actually make myself think about it, that this isn't just an offer for everyone else.

Also, I know how much delight it gives me to be able to respond when those I love ask - for anything.
It's even fun to give the dogs their supper...specially when they look at me like this!
They have no inhibitions about the process, do they?

#AdventWord 10:Surprise

It looked like a perfectly ordinary envelope as it rested in my pigeon hole at work.

I don't tend to get very excited about work post on the whole.

Often it's mailings from groups whom my predecessor supported.

Those make me feel slightly guilty.

Sometimes it's long long missives written on A4 lined filed paper in green ink.

Those tend to make me want to cry.

Usually, it's simply rather dull and innocuous.

But not this.

This was a complete surprise.

A card that makes me smile every single time I look at it

A card from lovely friends who have said some mega-encouraging things.

A card that even included an ELEPHANT.

What a wonderful surprise - a smile in an envelope to light up even the gloomiest winter day.

My friends are awesome - and that is no surprise at all. I hope they won't be surprised to know how much difference they make to my life here.

#AdventWord

#AdventWord 9 BE

Be alert!
Be ready!
Be bold!
Be strong!

Being sometimes seems such a very active process and the Christmas countdown that has all but obliterated Advent is full of relentless activism as the world tries to persuade us to cram a life-time of shopping and consuming into the days that remain before The Birthday arrives.

The Church doesn't help, as we do everything in our power to encourage neighbours and strangers, unexpected pilgrims and exhausted passers-by to come through our doors and help us to celebrate. Candles flicker and pine needles drop. Clergy polish their brightest sermons and  choristers celebrate the events that happened ONCE in Royal David's City dozens, nay hundreds of times.
It's all rather wonderful - but very very frenetic.
We are so SO busy showing our love for God by all that we do for Him, that it seems almost impossible to stop and just BE with Him.

But sometimes it is given to us to step out of all that...

Exhausted from Holy Week and Easter 2008, with all the emotional highs and lows of the season compounded by the end of a wonderful curacy, I boarded a plane to spend a week with some amazing women most of whom I'd met only on line...the RevGalBlogPals, who were staging their first Big Event.
Together we floated away on a cruise ship, hearing wise words from our retreat leader, sharing hopes, dreams, tears, laughter and, delightfully, bags of SWAG.
Each one of us found in our bags a bracelet, whose beads included 2 engraved with the letters BE - for the Big Event was, for each one of us, a time to stop, to reflect, to play and to BE.


Sitting with special friends watching the wake of our ship carve wonderful patterns through the waves, it was wonderfully possible to obey that injunction.
Navigating my way through a cathedral Christmas and the departure of my first-born to Canada, it's a bit more challenging - so, having retrieved the bracelet for photographic purposes, I think I will keep on wearing it for a while.

You never know, I might manage to learn something.

#AdventWord

#AdventWord 8: Care

Advent 2 seems a reasonable day on which to begin to put up some not-yet-Christmas decorations.
Our crib lives in an elderly hat-box from Harrods, which still bears a label addressed to my mother, at my childhood home...
I've no idea at what stage of her life my mother needed to buy a hat from Harrods - but for as long as I can remember, the box has housed Christmas decorations of some sort, so its annual appearance pitches me headlong into the Christmasses of my childhood...a time when anticipation was huge and presents rather restrained by contemporary standards (though a couple of Puffin books and a new dressing gown seemed altogether splendid to me - and the addition of a ladybird torch so I could read under the bedclothes nothing short of genius).

"With care - Advent Crown" reads the instruction in my mother's handwriting.
The Advent crown, a precarious affair involving wire coat-hangers, silver tinsel and  4 glass baubles, as created by Valerie Singleton of Blue Peter, has long since gone the way of all flesh.
So, actually, has my mother.
It feels very strange that something as trivial as a BOX...an ordinary cardboard box...should still be here, and still in use, while she, who was anxious that we should take care of the contents, has been gone almost four decades.
We try to safeguard THINGS - recognise that some of them are fragile, requiring careful handling...but a cardboard box from the 1960s is doing fine, thank you...while a beloved person, full of life and love and delight in the coming of Christmas, is now at rest - and the hand that wrote that instruction simply bones in the earth.

CARE for the people you love - and make sure that they know this.

Because you can't keep that love in a hat-box.

#AdventWord

#AdventWord 7 Believe

Believe!
An instruction...Something to do at all costs?
Or a simple verb...
Credo
I believe
"Credo in unum Deum omnipotentem, factorum coeli et terra" I sing,  with Bach's music loud in my mind
This is the sound of certainty.
Bach has no room for questioning. 
This is the music of faith, not doubt.
I believe.

The light of faith burns brightly...on a good day at least!

But I doubt if I'm the only one who finds that some days belief comes more easily than others...that aspects of the historic Creeds can sometimes seem to strain credulity almost to breaking point.

The candles that write my word are all alight - but some burn with confidence while others flicker, glimmer, are almost extinguished.

Faith is not certainty. 

Faith is not knowledge.

It is both more precarious and more precious.

A gift.

Lord, You have always given
bread for the coming day;
and though I am poor,
today I believe.

ff

Lord, You have always given
strength for the coming day;
and though I am weak,
today I believe.

ff

Lord, You have always given
peace for the coming day;
and though of anxious heart,
today I believe.

ff

Lord, You have always kept
me safe in trials;
and now, tried as I am,
today I believe.

ff

Lord, You have always marked
the road for the coming day;
and though it may be hidden,
today I believe.

ff

Lord, You have always lightened
this darkness of mine;
and though the night is here,
today I believe.

ff

Lord, You have always spoken
when time was ripe;
and though you be silent now,
today I believe.

From the Northumbria Community

#AdventWord

#AdventWord 6: Worship

Worship...worth-ship...the process by which everything is restored to its proper place, as we recognise that God is at the centre of everything.
In giving God his worth, we re-arrange everything else so that nothing supersedes him in our hearts or our lives.
It's horribly easy to get distracted, isn't it?
To find ourselves so delighted by, or concerned with, the ways in which we can offer worship that we lost track of the one for whom all our efforts are intended.

If you are "professionally" involved, it becomes even harder, because I am always so very conscious of the need to make it easy for a whole variety of people, coming from different places, with different tastes and different needs, to let go of their own agendas and be swept up in wonder, love and praise. I know full well that as surely as a well-sung anthem or a majestic voluntary will bring me to heaven's gates, so a Hillsong chorus will bring others to that same place...So, do I try to create worship that has something for everyone, try to ensure that nobody is ever distracted by words or music that grates for them?
In truth, that's impossible so the best course must be to let go of such anxiety remembering that the whole point of worship is not to please US at all...and it happens most authentically when we lose sight of ourselves altogether. 
That's why nature not only shows us how to worship but helps us to do so, as long as we never mistake the gift for the Giver.

“A tree gives glory to God by being a tree. For in being what God means it to be it is obeying [God]. It “consents,” so to speak, to [God's] creative love. It is expressing an idea which is in God and which is not distinct from the essence of God, and therefore a tree imitates God by being a tree”                                                            Thomas Merton



#AdventWord

#AdventWord 5 : Repent

I tend to learn alot about spirituality from my pets - most of entirely positive. Libby and Willow, the beloved dogs, teach me about unconditional love every single day of the year, no matter how rubbish the hours before I get home to them.
Figaro and Tallis the cats teach me to relax, be myself - and to get the sleep I need.
But sometimes I have to think a bit harder before celebrating their role in my life.
Times like this, for example!




Because sometimes the reality of Libby being fully her happy gun-dog self feels like a really colossal nuisance - and sometimes it causes no end of trouble.
She loved every minute of getting this mucky. Puddles are designed for wallowing, after all. But her fun made for a rather grumpy Canon later...
On the whole, though, she's got it right as usual.
Better to enjoy being fully alive that to live within the narrow confines of an overly-circumscribed existence of "shalt nots".
Her fun did no harm to me, or to anyone else...and her pleasure was, as always, infectious.
So - though I posted this picture with the thought that she really should repent of her swim, I'm forced to conclude that I'm the one who needs to repent once again - for allowing the hardening of my "oughteries" to rob me of some of the joy of living.

So - today is my day off, and we took the dogs to Kenilworth - and Libby celebrated with all that is in her.
I'll clean the car later...

AdventWord Day 4: Forgive

"Forgive" is a word we use rather alot at Coventry. 
In fact, I can guarantee that it is used at least 7 times every single day, as it appears in the Coventry Litany of Reconciliation, the prayer that we offer daily at noon, the touchstone that brings us back again and again to the reconciliation ministry that is the heartbeat of our Cathedral's life and purpose.
This prayer, and the ministry that evolved from it, had its roots 75 years ago, on "the morning after" the Coventry Blitz, when much of the city, including the medieval Cathedral of St Michael's, was destroyed....As he walked in the ruins of his Cathedral, Provost Dick Howard resolved both to rebuild and to go forward along paths of compassion and reconciliation. He had the words "Father Forgive" written on the wall of the burned-out Sanctuary...words which caused outrage and revulsion in the wake of the city's destruction. What many in the city, s wanted to hear, as they struggled with their heavy loss,  was "Father forgive THEM"....to receive fresh justification to demonise "the enemy", to stoke up the fires of hatred and vengeance til an eye for an eye made the whole world blind indeed.
Instead, Provost Howard's words forced those who saw them to ponder the missing object of the sentence, and to recognise, however reluctantly, that we are all equally culpable for the world's ills, all equally in need of forgiveness. The Litany which grew from that day is based around the "seven deadly sins", and challenges us all to recognise our destructive patterns of behaviour, and, seeing them, to repent of them. It is, I think, Coventry's great gift to the world.

All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.

The hatred which divides nation from nation, race from race, class from class, Father, forgive. 
The covetous desires of people and nations to possess what is not their own, Father, forgive. 
The greed which exploits the work of human hands and lays waste the earth, Father, forgive. 
Our envy of the welfare and happiness of others, 
Father, forgive. 
Our indifference to the plight of the imprisoned, the homeless, the refugee, Father, forgive. 
The lust which dishonours the bodies of men, women and children, 
Father, forgive. 
The pride which leads us to trust in ourselves and not in God, 
Father, forgive. 

Be kind to one another, tender hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

#AdventWord

Day 3: Give

One of the lovely things about Coventry Cathedral is the way that its genesis in the aftermath of war inspired so many people and nations to GIVE as the new Cathedral rose beside the ruin of the old. So we have (among many lovely things) a Czech cross, a Norwegian Organ, Swedish windows, a Canadian roof, and...a Palestinian rock that has become our font. It came from beside the main Bethlehem/Hebron road, as a gift from the people of Palestine. A whole series of people arranged it's transport overland to Coventry at no cost to the Cathedral, and now a scallop shaped dip holds the water for baptism. I love the thought that beyond the family and friends who have brought baptism candidates to this day, a whole line of unknown others also contributed to their Christian birthday, through the gift of the font#AdventWord

Proclaim!

A slightly pompous word...
You have to be very sure that your message matters before you risk proclaiming it, and sometimes that sense of its importance can actually get in the way of the message itself.
We've all heard readers who are so determined you will grasp the Full Significance of their reading that they ham it up beyond all bearing...
My guess is that such insistent proclamation disrupts understanding  even more than the depressingly flat presentation that packages timeless words as though they were entries in the phone book.
Famously, of course, in England we enjoy both understatement and mocking ourselves....hence my choice of picture for today 

But I know, really, that I've missed the point.

One of the high spots of my year came when, having led my son and daughter-in-law through their marriage vows, I told the packed church

"I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife".

Good news for them and for all who love them...but we have even better news this Advent.

We have a gospel to proclaim!

#AdventWord

Wake Up

This will be my 3rd year, I think, of trying to post an Advent photo a day as part of a Facebook project...but I'm hoping that the discipline of doing this might encourage something close to a daily blog post, however brief.
No promises, mind...
This morning the theme set was "Wake Up".

 

 

The light squeezes through a gap in the curtains, as if it knows that I will not be happy to see its arrival.

In a vain effort to persuade myself to feel more positive, my phone alarm rouses me with Beethoven's Ode to Joy.

Usually this fails. I roll over, burrow under the duvet, until the minor vandalism of a cat intent of breakfast forces me to react before the entire contents of my ear-ring bowl are scattered on the floor.

Wake up!

 

Yes, really, Kathryn - WAKE UP.

 

Wake up to recognise each day as the gift that it is.

Wake up to the realisation that time is precious, and finite,

That there are things that I need to do that are part of my purpose here,

things that will remain undone if I don't do them.

Wake up to the miracle that is a human body working largely as it should, so that I can get out of bed without having to think about whether it will hurt to do so.

Wake up to the to the recognition that I have friends and family who bring me joy whenever I think of them.

Wake up to the privilege of living out my calling in a place that excites and delights me again and again.

Wake up to the knowledge that today is Advent Sunday, that soon I will lead God's people in worship, that we will stand together and strain our eyes, longing, hoping...

"Look to the east, O Jerusalem - and see the glory that is coming from God".

Wake up. Be ready.

The light that squeezes through the curtains is a promise...for Light is coming into the world if I open my eyes to see it.

 

Just Pray? Or maybe not ...

Imagine the scene.
It's the week before Christmas.
Your children have broken up from school and are boucing off the walls in all directions...so after a painful day's Christmas shopping you agree to take them to the new Star Wars film. As you munch popcorn with half an eye to the adverts, the glossy model tossing her shining hair is replaced by a small balding man in a clerical collar.
The Archbishop of Canterbury!
What?
And then words that you remember from school days, weddings and funerals begin to fill the air
"Our Father...Hallowed be your name..."

Do you
a) ignore it, after a moment of baffled amusement
b) get angry: why are you being forced to engage with something bigger than the demands of a Star Wars film at a time when you're already stressed and tired...you don't like having those buttons pressed
c) get even more angry: you're a fully paid up atheist/Jew/Sikh/Hindu/Muslim and you really don't see why you should have to sit through a Christian prayer will waiting for the movie to start
d) think to yourself "Ah yes. Christmas is about the birth of Jesus. Maybe we will drop in to the Christingle service this Sunday...I'm quite pleased I could remember all the words of that prayer. It's a long time since I prayed it.

The C of E communications department clearly felt that the odds were in favour of "d" - and of course I'd be delighted if that assumption of theirs turned out to be correct, that offering the prayer in all its wonder to that audience at that time would prompt people to visit www.justpray.uk and maybe, just maybe, to risk a prayer themselves.
But as you'll all know by now, that has turned out to be impossible.
Cinemas are not screening the ad, and there has been all sorts of kerfuffle as a result, with people claiming persecution in one corner and proseltysing in the other.
Deep deep sigh.

OF course I love the idea that a really rather beautiful video showing some of the most precious words that we say should be offered in all our cinemas at a time of year when people might already be thinking more about matters of faith, as they sing carols that share the story of Christmas…and I’d agree with Archbishop Justin that it is really sad that public suspicion of religion is such that this just isn’t possible.

But actually the Digital Media Agency had no choice but to bann the film as their advertising policy clearly states that they will not approve

advertising which wholly or partly advertises any religion, faith or equivalent systems of belief (including any absence of belief) or any part of any religion, faith or such equivalent systems of belief.

So – if the Lord’s Prayer is one of the great gifts of Christianity to a world that, I believe, needs to recover a sense of every person as a child of God, entitled to call him Father;

if it challenges us to step away from a consumer culture that reaches fever pitch in the weeks before Christmas;

if it calls us all to practice costly forgiveness;

then yes, I guess it can be construed as an advertisement for the heart of the Christian gospel.

And the DMA has a policy of not advertising any faith group. We can't expect preferential treatment - because despite the formal ties of establishment, we know, really, that we live in a post Christian country, where even the underlying story is no longer shaped by the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.

I'm not sure I'd have found it altogether comfortable to be confronted by the voice of a muezzin offering the call to prayer as I waited for a film to start...and I'm wondering if it smacks just a little of spiritual imperialism to expect our neighbours of other faiths to feel any better about the Lord's Prayer in those circumstances (specially as I'd guess there's a chance that some self appointed guardians of the prayer might have chosen to "tut" those who opted to unwrap sweets while the advert screened).

 

So on balance I'd not leap to voice indignation. I don't think it help. If anything, it surely makes us look rather silly (though it would have been good to have been warned of the DMA policy before the money was spent on the video - but I'd guess it has had far more exposure now than it would ever have had in the cinema - so maybe this is a blessing in disguise?).

I'd love us to live in a world where the climate was such that we all felt able to share and explore the riches of one another's faith traditions, without loss or compromise - but currently faith (or at least "religion") has been highjacked by extremists in all directions, so that there is more suspicion, less respect, than ever before.

And that I can and do lament. Deeply.

But all is not lost! Coincidentally we've been studying the Lord's Prayer as part of the (really rather excellent) Pilgrim course this term - and one of the things that most struck me when we started was the discovery that, in the days of the early Church, the prayer was considered so precious that those who were working their way through the 3 years of catechumenate  were only taught the words in the final weeks before that Easter when they would join the Church through baptism.

The bishop gave this treasure to them personally.

It was THAT special.

And we get to call God, Father...

 

And yet we say it every day, all over the world, almost unthinkingly - when every line in an invitation to explore more deeply what it means to be part of God's family, to try and live lives shaped by his love, to make choices that turn us away from our natural inclination and call us to become our best selves.

 

That's what the Lord's Prayer offers, so, recognising that what might have been a moment of irrelevance to families munching popcorn before Star Wars began might also have connected with those feeling a isolated, scared or bereft this Christmas, may I suggest that those who value the prayer pray it with love, focus and commitment as we travel through Advent together. It might even make a difference.

 

http://www.justpray.uk/#

 

From Coventry to Paris

"Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it"

Not the words I had hoped to have in mind on this 75th anniversary of the Coventry Blitz, when the city has planned to gather in University Square, to form a chain of light leading to the Cathedral - destroyed by the Luftwaffe but rebuilt as a sign of hope.
In Coventry, the decision was made not to tidy away the past, for there is no hiding the fact that the wounds of history run deep, and it is vital to acknowledge them if healing is ever to be possible.
So, the medieval walls of our ruined Cathedral stand open to the sky, as much a part of the Cathedral today as they were when they were all the Cathedral there was. They act  as a constant reminder that humanity is flawed, that we get things unbearably wrong, cause incalculable pain to one another, and assuredly make God weep again and again and again.
They make me pause whenever I see them - and never more so than in this week of remembering. On Wednesday, at 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, there was silence in Coventry, as I stood with my colleagues from the university chaplaincy team looking out across the square to where the ruined Cathedral continues to dominate the skyline, drawing the eye on a journey from old to new, from past to present. The future was represented by the students in front of us, coming from all over the world, from places that were “allies” and from places that were “enemies” 75 years ago. Together we stood and reflected, not remembering exactly, for none of us was alive when the bombs fell, but each of us, I'm certain, experiencing in some way that bewildering cocktail of sadness and gratitude which is part of Remembrance tide.

But Remembrance here has an added dimension. The day after the Blitz, Provost Howard stood in the ruins of his Cathedral as a petitioner, a representative of the whole of the damaged and destructive human race, and spoke to God.
"Father, forgive" - he said.
A sentence with no object...It's not "Father forgive THEM" - projecting the violence and hatred out to the other, and thereby justifying acts of reciprocal violence and vengeance...
Rather "Father forgive" is a prayer for us all - for the many ways, great and small, in which we wound one another and mar God's image in us day by day.
I can't imagine those words were universally popular in the city, as people emerged from air raid shelters to pick about the rubble of their homes, or searched the morgues desperately for friends and family.
When we are in great pain, it's natural to want to hurt others.
When we see the innocent suffering, it's tempting to want the perpetrators to suffer in return.
But "an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind" - and whatever the pain, to meet violence with violence can never help.

On Wednesday, it was an extraordinary privilege, when the silence ended, to lead the Litany –words we know so well in our Cathedral, which speak into the shared guilt of a broken world but carry always the promise of transformation. Sometimes we might take those words and their promise for granted – but when you stand between the ruins of yesterday and the hope of tomorrow it’s impossible not to be moved to a fresh commitment, and to pray from the heart “Father, forgive”. 
Today, as I pray for the people of Paris, and for those who are so quick to take up arms to avenge the lives lost, the peace shattered, I'm trying to own the Litany as never before. God's love is never limited to the innocent, the victims, those whom we long to comfort and embrace. That's so hard to grasp...but grasp it we must if we are to be people of peace today and tomorrow.

For now, this Hasidic story offers a wise perspective as we try to move forward as best we can, by light available to us...

Only Then..

A rabbi asked his students, "When is it at dawn that one

can tell the light from the darkness?"

One student replied, "When I can tell a goat from a donkey?"

"No," answered the rabbi.

Another said, "When I can tell a palm tree from a fig?"

"No," answered the rabbi again.

"Well, then what is the answer?" his students pressed him.

"Only when you look into the face of every man and every woman

and see your brother and your sister," said the rabbi. 

Only then have you seen the light. All else is still darkness."

Lighten our darkness,
Lord, we pray,
and in your great mercy
defend us from all perils and dangers of this night,
for the love of your only Son,
our Saviour Jesus Christ.

Holy living, holy dying: part 2

Remembering P's triumphant assertion of resurrection, I found myself regretting once again the protective reticence that meant that even as he visibly wasted away, my father could not,  would not speak of death, or allow us acknowledge the uninvited stranger whose presence was about to derail us. A naive teenager, cherished and protected at every turn, I lacked the intuition to pick up the few hints he offered, and so I repeatedly bruised myself walking into the elephant that had apparently settled down comfortably in the midle fF our sitting room. Though he was a man of deep faith, Daddy was also a man of his time...for whom soul baring would have been unthinkably painful, so I have no idea how he negotiated that final journey, nor did I really manage to say goodbye....Tragically, we were all far too busy pretending we were bound somewhere else entirely.

This meant that later I had no real language for my grief either when it came, and the relationship with my then parish priest was not one to enable confidences. The school's massive performance of Brahms Requiem which ended that A level term for me helped a bit, and music and poetry provided a series of safety valves tbrough which to endure the un-endurable, but that great conspiracy of silence which isolated each member of the family just when we most needed one another undoubtedly left its scars. My longing to offer excellence in funeral ministry probably dates from then, for certainly the "one size fits all" service the Prayer Book presented gave cope for neither personal grief nor thanksgiving.  (More recently I watched the anger and confusion of many at a traditional RC funeral, which allowed no reflection of the departed in the liturgy, and feelings of professional frustration mingled with the overwhelming sadness of a farewell in which there was so little scope for gratitude). Learning the ways of grief at first hand at 18 is far from ideal, and has left me peculiarly bad at endings and goodbyes of every kind, and given the "changes and chances of this fleeting world",  this can be a bit of a handicap...so I am more than ever convinced that generous and early conversation is a really important element in a good death.
I want to have time to leave well, and perhaps to try and hand on whatever *ve learned of life and love along the way.For me that conversation will, of course, be shaped by the "sure and certain hope" that we go from love to Love...so that I trust that one day I can say with conviction "For all that has been, thanks: for all that shall be, yes."

Holy living, holy dying. Part 1

All Souls Tide...a fitting season for a clergy study day on funerals. Lots of excellent material, delivered by the ever - splendid Sandra Millar,  who really could sell snow to Eskimos.  I'm confident that all present will have gone home pondering the mission potential, the vital importance of building relationships, both pastoral and professional, and feeling encouraged that, despite prevailing g secularism, many people do still want us to speak of faith, to give an account of the hope that is in us.
I enjoyed a fresh chance to engage with material I had first encountered at the national conference, Taking Funerals Seriously, but I drove home reflecting in particular on what might be termed "holy living, holy dying".
The room was shocked into deep silence when Sandra reminded us "We are all going to die". Despite the ample evidence, despite all our attendance at deathbeds and graveside,  I am not sure that clergy are any better at believing this than anyone else. We know it. Of course we do. But it is unbelievably difficult to actually imagine a world of which we are not part, a future for our family that excludes us. Years ago, during ordination training, we were invited into a meditation on our own death, and it proved to be one of the most profound and important experiences of training, provoking deep deep sadness, many tears, but an ultimate stillness.

"Teach us to live so we may dread our graves as little as our bed" wrote Thomas Ken in a verse redolent with an appropriate fear of Judgement. Yesterday, my thoughts went in a slightly different direction, thinking on how the way we live will shape the way we die. I long to live generously, with open hands and heart, though I fear that too often my hands are clenched, to hold on in case there turns out not to be enough. Of what?....Time? Life? Love? Who knows?
But if I could live my aspiration, then maybe I could make a gift of my death too.

 A priest I knew did just that, deciding against treatment that could only prolong, not cure. He talked and preached openly on his hopes and his fears, and as his body weakened he seemed stronger day by day. His journey towards death was rapid, and he died on Easter Sunday, as his congregation packed the church to sing of resurrection, with all the shining alleluia of the day. His funeral was a profound and powerful statement of transcendent hope. There were so many there, it was impossible to see much of what was going on, but his coffin was loaded with sunflowers, and as it was carried out their warm gold was a like a wave of joy, rippling through the congregation. The choir sang Handel "Hallelujah! For the Lord God omnipotent reigned.  The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdom of our God and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever. Hallelujah!" and at that moment I am convinced that we all knew this for truth.

Shared Conversations observed

One way and another, last week was a good time for reflection and for growth.

Not only did I find myself reflecting on the nature of loss and change, as I spent three nights in a house whose wooded estate had been one of my most favourite childhood playgrounds, but I was there in the privileged position of chaplain to one of the Regional Shared Conversations.

For those who aren't up to their elbows in the Church of England, these are a series of opportunities offered to every diocese in the country for exploration of one particular question

"Given the significant changes in our culture in relation to human sexuality, how should the Church respond?"

Over three days, participants from a cluster of dioceses, and from all shades of opinion, engage in facilitated conversation, sharing their stories, their understanding of Scripture, and their ideas of possible futures for the Church of England. To be there on the sidelines as three southern dioceses explored together was an extraordinary privilege - which changed my own perspective, enabling me to understand something of the pain felt by those whom I had previously dismissed as having a purely black and white view of life. For the first time I was able to learn, in informal tea-time conversations that were anything but casual, of the pain that is experienced not only by the LGBTQ community, with whom as a lifelong liberal I instinctively ally myself, but also that of the conservative evangelicals who see the Church they love departing from her true self. 

Suddenly viewpoints and issues had human faces. Faces I was growing fond of. It was impossible to see one group or the other as "them"... they were, and are, family.

On Thursday afternoon, after all the official conversations (which were quite rightly reserved for those who came as representatives of their dioceses), after the plenaries, after the late night conversation over drinks and copious supplies of chocolate (this was a conference centre sans bar!), I presided at the Eucharist. Immediately beforehand, the lead facilitator had encouraged all to attend, saying that those who felt unable to receive the Sacrament (whether because of their sense of impaired communion with one another, or because of their reservations about my ministry as an ordained woman) would nonetheless be an important part of our worship, their pain at not receiving a testimony to the pain of a broken Church. 

So... they were all present - and nearly all of them received. It was quite overwhelming to stand before them at the Peace, looking slowly round at people whom I had come to respect and like, to proclaim "We are the Body of Christ" - and then to move behind the altar and in just a few short minutes take that Body, present now in bread and wine, and break it. It was impossible not to project into a future in which that Body would be broken again, to think about just who would be missing from the table if the Church split - and to feel keenly the pain of loss.

Though I was not part of the official conversations, those 3 days in Sussex helped me to understand that we will, truly, be a diminished Church if schism comes. We will lose not just a bunch of uncongenial opinions (whatever your perspective) but family members, with whom we are deeply connected. Who knows if family bonds can hold.... but come what may, last week's experience has enabled me to see people, not simply issues. My mind has not changed, but my heart is open in a way that it was not before - so I am praying for an outpouring of grace, so that a work of reconciliation may yet be possible.

All is harvest, a homily for the All Souls Requiem at Coventry Cathedral

This past week has given me plenty of food for thought.
You see, I spent Monday to Thursday just a few miles away from the place where I grew up.
Driving south, the memories came thick and fast.

The woods that surrounded the conference centre where I was staying had been the scene of some magical afternoons building dens with my father – and seeing them in their full autumnal beauty made me long to leave the car and plunge into the undergrowth – to see if somewhere a little girl and her Daddy were still playing.

On the second afternoon I found myself in a country church with a small group of people I'd met only the day before, singing Faure's Requiem just for the sake of it, because we could. The church, too, had been somewhere I had visited with my parents, who were avid church-crawlers, and, singing the Pie Jesu I recalled standing to sing it at my father's funeral. More, a trip into the nearby town for some necessary supplies sent me past the cemetery where my parents are buried. This is somewhere I rarely visit, not because I don't love and miss them deeply – but because it is some 200 miles away from home – and because they are, quite simply, not there. I was, therefore, a little surprised at how important it seemed to turn off the road, and spend some time among the graves, searching. In the event, it didn't seem to matter at all that I didn't actually find them.

What mattered was that I had stopped, and remembered.

Even in the shock of losing them both, just 6 months apart, before I turned 19, I had somehow grasped that that what had happened to the bodies of those beloved people who had been all my world was painful, sad – but not the reality.
I understood it as I ordered a stone with the one criterion – that it should be one that weathered, that would soon be softened by the elements, covered with lichen....and hoped that in the same way, the immediate searing grief of abandonment would gradually be softened by time. Now I know that I was right, that memories remain but the sadness has largely gone.
And I think that's as it should be.

There are moments, like last week for me, when past and present collide, and we can remember with thanksgiving all those whose lives have been a gift to us, can commit them again to God's care, and perhaps reflect for a few moments on our own mortality.

I think this is what today is for

We stand and look back with thanksgiving – for these beloved people are OUR saints...their light of their lives has brought warmth and beauty to our journey and of course we miss their physical presence beside us.
But listen.
“This is the will of him who sent me...that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day”
That is the sort of promise we can rely on...and one that we see reflected in creation, as we know that the dying leaves of autumn will give place, in due course, to the new life of another spring. Change and loss are part of living in time – but the inheritance we hear about in the letter of Peter is of a different order – imperishable, undefiled, unfading – above all a LIVING hope.
It is, truly, something to look forward to.

Here I'm stopped in my tracks by the voice of my older son, who contends, always, that I am too easily persuaded by the beauty of words...and he is right that words are of value only if they match experience. He is right, too, that I have no direct experience of the reality of that promise – but I HAVE experienced the enduring wonder of a love, which is not changed or broken simply because we can no longer see or touch those who have been a gift to us.
That love colours our memories, giving them a warmth and beauty that makes the ordinary things of life seem an extraordinary treasure
That love, a pale reflection of God's love for each one of us, is nonetheless truly stronger than death so that even from a purely human viewpoint, love never ends.

But remember what Jesus says
“I should lose nothing of all that he has given to me”
In other words, the guarantee of our future well-being, of that inheritance prepared in heaven for us is nothing to do with our own care and attention...for I know that I too often lose or damage things that are precious.
Our living hope for the future, for ourselves and our loved ones, is nothing less that Jesus's own care for us...something on which we can always, ALWAYS rely

He will not let us go.

So today we pause to look back...and we look forward.
To do so in the golden beauty of autumn days is to do so without fear – as we recognise that death and hope walk hand in hand, that in God's economy nothing is ever lost or wasted, that all in the end is harvest.