Untidy holiness

It was a very great pleasure to join Fr Richard Lamey, his colleagues and members of the parish, for Evensong at St Paul's Wokingham on Sunday evening.  They are in the midst of a series of Evensong sermons on 'My prayer one for the Church of England'.

It was a delight and challenge to respond to Richard's refreshingly honest and thought provoking question: given that the Church of England has, as he diplomatically put it, quite a few things not entirely perfect, what do we hope for, pray for, need to let go of or indeed do more of?

My reply 'untidy holiness' might sound like a curious prayer for the CofE: but it is rooted in the same honesty and hope as Richard's question.  It is honest about our untidiness, our differences and our disagreements; it places hope in the nature of God and indeed God's capacity to transform us.  To seek to embody a holy grace in an untidy church is demanding; but we need such a vision more than ever.

Catherine Clancy - All Hearts To Love Will Come (2015)

Over recent days the national press has been full of headlines about the Anglican Communion: Archbishop Justin's invitation to the Primates was seen by some as a 'last throw of the dice to avert a split; a way of loosening ties or occupying separate bedrooms. Giles Fraser and others have offered a commentary on why the world wide communion is under strain - narratives of growth or decline, different theologies, proclaiming the gospel in different cultures.

The important thing is that where Archbishop Justin has extended an invitation, rooted in a relational authority.  He spent two years, visiting every Primate; praying with them, listening to them, building bonds of affection. He has now invited them to pray together; to shape an agenda around their concerns; to talk about health, education and yes, sexuality; to build bonds of affection. Is this not, perhaps, an exercise in holy living in an untidy church?

Our Archbishop spoke to General Synod in 2014 about the need for a massive cultural change within the CofE - so that people could flourish together despite deeply held differences. It was he who coined the phrase about learning to live as an untidy church, learning to love those whom we disagree and seeking mutual flourishing. All this is rooted in holy grace.

I would commend Archbishop Justin's address to you for the way in which he talks about love being demonstrated and received; his expression of how trust is earned and reciprocated.^[1] CofE isn't out there it's us. We often pray that we may love others as Christ love us. That sounds so simple; yet in reality accepting those who've wounded us or with whom we disagree is tremendously hard and often painful.

Yet, accepting that they, like us, are deeply love by Christ, means that we must love them deeply too. For that love is a gift given in order to be passed on. That love is born by Jesus on the cross - with open arms and pieced side.  That is love we encounter in our worship. That is holiness. Untidy holiness or holiness in untidiness is my prayer precisely because it is hopeful and challenging. It reminds us that we need to put God's holiness at the centre of our lives: a refining fire - bringing healing and forming our character, enabling us to love, serve and witness.

This evening's readings draw us both into the awesome mystery of that holiness and into its relational outworking. Holiness of God converts us, transforms us and motivates us to be a holy people; a movement of hope in the world: that is compelling!

In Isaiah, we are caught up into an extraordinary vision of the holiness of God's presence. It is described in terms which exceeds our imagination - enthroned, high and lofty; so all-consuming that the hem of the Lord's robe fills the temple. There is smoke and the threshold shakes. Heavenly beings sing a a hymn of praise which we echo in our worship - holy, holy, holy is the Lord. The whole earth if full of his glory.

No wonder the prophet feels disorientated, overwhelmed and inadequate. The fragility of his humanity is laid bare - he and those amongst whom he lives have unclean lips. This captures something of our untidiness - what we say so often contradicts what we believe. We are eminently capable of excelling ourselves in criticism, gossip and corrosive speech. And yet. And yet our eyes too have seen the Lord.

How do we live with this contradiction? The starting point is, perhaps, that we are invited to be. We’re invited to stand still on holy ground - in our worship and in those moments when we glimpse God's grace and mercy at work in our world. If we can abide in God, it is God who reaches out to us. His holiness cleanses and refines us. In Isaiah's case, it is as if a burning coal touches his lips. Freed from guilt, sins forgiven, he can hear and respond to God's call.  Holiness is attractive. God's holiness moves and calls us. It is beautiful, humbling, fearful and liberating. 

As we like Isaiah face the holiness of God in worship, all aspects of our life are raised up to God: the contradictions and inconsistencies, the hopes and aspirations.   Worship acts like a crucible - burning away our frailties and enabling us to respond to God's call on our lives. We are, in the words of Paul to the fractious Christian community in Rome, to present our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God. Such spiritual worship is offered with hearts and voices in praise and prayer, in silence and music; in word and sacrament. It is also offered in our lives. 

Paul speaks of the renewal of our minds; of a transformation flowing from the way we pay attention to God in worship.  He speaks of being able to discern the will of God, rather than being conformed to the world. In a society where disagreement is rarely handled well, within families and institutions, part of our witness might be to living in an untidy holiness.  To live in this way is about inviting the Holy Spirit to cultivate in us the fruit of holiness: in patience, gentleness, compassion and joy. What is good, acceptable and perfect in our lives are those moments when God's holiness breaks in amidst of our untidiness; when we commit to those tiny yet decisive acts which create trust.

Sometimes that is frustrating, when we fail to do the good we long to; sometimes it is painful, when our gesture of love is brushed off. And yet, this is the way we are called to walk in. To do what we do out of a holy love is difficult and risky. Paul invites us to be humble when we look at ourselves, but to be generous in our delight in the diversity of the body of Christ.  Some of those gifts are to specific forms of ministry exercised within the church; but some of them are patterns of compassion, cheerfulness, generosity and diligence in whatever is entrusted to us in the places we live and work.  The habit of worshipping and walking together is important, 'the hour in Church on Sunday is the hour that makes sense of the rest of the week', as Richard puts it in his September letter.

You are already living out that holy grace in the inevitable untidiness that you confront in Wokingham. In the churches of this benefice, as well as this Deanery, your worship reflects both catholic tradition and informality; you work with ecumenical partners to offer a welcome that is inclusive; you do not attach conditions to being part of the life of worship, save that of a desire to be open to the love of God. All of that is to pay attention to the holiness of God.

Encounter with God's holiness shapes your lives as you deepen your faith in learning together in discussion groups; you find refreshment in holiness in the oasis you offer of midweek worship; the witness of MU to families.  You grapple with how to respond to the untidiness of our world out of the holy grace at work in you - in practical support of refugees and in seeking to understand and shape the debate about how we live and die well.

In seeking to be the church you are called to be, you are listening to each other as well as to God. In hearing the stories of this place and your community, you will discern how to welcome in worship and serve in community. Holiness is encounter with God. Holiness is a way of being in relationship. Holiness counteracts fear and cultivates love. Holiness is less a list of dos and don'ts it is about character in Paul.  Living in holiness gives us assurance; it enables us to take risks with patience and generosity. If our attention is focused on the light and glory of God, filling the temple, then the potential of our human lives is opened up. Holy grace enables us to radiate the light of God in an untidy world.

In the power of the Spirit, we are called to witness to the love of God made manifest in Jesus Christ. Paul's words serve as an encouragement: let love be genuine. Hate what is evil. Hold fast to what is good. Love with mutual affection. Rejoice in hope. Be patient in suffering. Persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of your brothers and sisters. Extend hospitality to the stranger.

Rooted in prayer, that sounds like a pretty pragmatic and ambitious plan for living with a holy grace in an untidy church. Holiness is a closer walk with God. 

© Julie Gittoes

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^[1] http://www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/articles.php/5251/archbishop-justins-presidential-address-to-general-synod

Barbara Pym: still holding up a mirror to the CofE!

I've never given an after dinner speech. Nor had my friend and colleague Dr Clare Coombe.  However, we are both fans of Barbara Pym and when we were invited to give a joint speech at the dinner of the annual Pym Society Conference entitled Partners in Pym, we said "yes" with barely a moment's hesitation. After some re-reading of Excellent Women and A Glass of Blessings we embarked on our task. Why do we find Pym so compelling? What might a classicist and a theologian have to say to a groups of academics and fans?


Clare Coombe - Thank you for inviting us to give this year's after dinner speech and thank you for your welcome. We hope that you have enjoyed the dinner and that you all have plenty to drink.  It is a pleasure to be here and to share some of our delight in the novels of Barbara Pym with you.

Julie Gittoes  - As friends, we have more than a Pym connection.  Two women under a certain age; both with doctorates; we both work for the Church of England, specifically in relation to Cathedrals and education; we're both lovers of gin and shoes.  And, as we discovered a few years ago, we share an enthusiasm for the novels of Barbara Pym.

CC - Yet, we are different, too.  Slightly different ages; born in different parts of the country; she single, I married; she is ordained, I am not; she has a cat, I have rabbits.

JG - As we planned for this evening, we wondered what we – non-experts in Barbara Pym’s work – might possibly say on the subject of ‘Partners in Pym’ that would interest or entertain you. We realized that perhaps the only thing we might be qualified to speak about would be what it is that makes us delight in Pym, and how our own personal circumstances, as young women in the Church, inform our reading and response to her novels.  So why would women like us read Barbara Pym?

CC - A very close friend of mine had always spoken very highly of Pym’s novels, yet I did not actually read one until, working my way through a list of recommended reading for those wanting to learn more about the Church of England, I encountered, beneath the weighty introductions to theology and ecclesiastical history, a few novels, which included Iris Murdoch’s The Bell and Pym’s A Glass of Blessings.  Naturally, I leapt upon it, possibly partly in avoidance of some of the other options on the list, and was, of course, rewarded with one of the most honest, witty, and endearing books I have read.

Over the years, I have come back again and again to A Glass of Blessings, as well as reading Pym’s other novels, and I find something new in it every time.  As I have grown older and especially as I have become more involved in the Church, I also find it, in particular, a more and more challenging novel, and, of all the works of Pym’s that I have read, it is the one which I find holds up an uncomfortable mirror in front of me, before which I simultaneously joy and sorrow, just a little.  Certainly, for me, it is very far from the ‘comfortable little world in which [readers] can relax’, as A S Byatt once claimed!

Pym provides a mirror on the Church of England, and especially the high church Anglicanism that I favour, which remains resonant more than fifty years on, and for those of us working and living within those frameworks today, this explains the continuing appeal of books like A Glass of Blessings.  However, I also believe that her portrayals of people, and human relationships, are really what make her works both attractive and important for readers in 2015, and not only readers who lived through the 1950s or read the novels ‘the first time round’, but also for people of our own generation, not because they provide access to an earlier time, or a nostalgic break from a 21st century reality, but because they contain universal truths about human nature which are as important now as they were then and in the years before that.

JG - I encountered Barbara Pym quite by chance when a member of my book group suggested that we read Excellent Women.  Within a few lines I was captivated by her style and the characters  themselves. The decades between her writing and my reading collapsed.  In fact preaching on the first Sunday of Lent a couple of years ago was an opportune moment to quote Mrs Bonner saying: 'A very interesting sermon, but what a lot of talk about sin. I suppose it's only to be expected at the beginning of Lent, but it's all so miserable, don't you think?'. At which point several Pym fans made themselves known - among them Clare & our Canon Precentor.

There were parallels between Mildred's situation and my own: I was an unmarried women, over 30, living alone.   There are differences too: she's the child of a vicarage, I'm a plumber's daughter; she wondered if she'd marry a vicar, I am one.

Since the advent of civil partnerships, the word spinster no longer appears in the calling of banns or marriage certificate; and nor does the word bachelor. Those who've never been married are 'single'.  Those relational markers still shape our lives and interactions, explicitly or implicitly.  Within the life of the church, the exercise of leadership (a buzz word for ministry perhaps unknown to Pym) is often related to being married; marriage and 2.4 children is sometimes seen as the model for Christian life and discipleship. As a Bishop once said to a Vicar: 'Don't worry I was unmarried for the first five years of my ministry.'

As an institution the CofE is facing new challenges: Synods are discussing a reform and renewal agenda; clergy and parishes  are encouraged to pursue what our Bishop calls ‘discipleship multiplication’; in the midst of disagreement we seek mutual flourishing –  as Archbishop Justin puts it, we need holy grace in an untidy church.

And yet with Ladies Clubs, flower arrangers, jumbles sales, incense, good looking curates and the tea urn: in seems as if little has changed. What I find compelling about Pym's novels is her perception of the expectations about men and women, lay and ordained in relation to both marriage and singleness.  She throws open questions about what it is to belong within community, what it means to live life to the full; she doesn't shy away from the choices we make, our longing for dignity and purpose.  There is the vulnerability, laughter, ordinariness, joy and gritty reality.

CC - From the perspective of the Church and my own life, in particular, the universality and endurance of Pym’s novels, and especially A Glass of Blessings, is epitomized by a very particular theme:  tea.  Or, in fact, food and drink in general!  (I wonder, after all, whether we are really all here tonight for the dinner…)  I often find that I judge a parish by whether its coffee is filter or instant, fair trade, served in paper or polystyrene, or, better still, replaced by a glass of wine or sherry, and ‘Church tea’, much like the cup that Wilmet tries and quickly puts down, is something that my husband and I classify as a very particular drink, not really related at all to any other sort of tea.

The centrality of such things to the functioning of the Church in this country on a daily basis is, in my experience, very much like in the novels:  thus, for the past month our Heads of Departments meetings at work have focused almost exclusively on the new tea and coffee arrangements for staff and volunteers now that our refectory is being run by an external partner, and in a single week, I have had more people visit the Cathedral Library than in my entire time working there, now that they have all been told it is their new station for accessing morning coffee!  Again, in my experience, in that peculiarly British way, much pastoral care in the Church still revolves around the provision of tea at the right moment.

At the other end of the spectrum, even (or perhaps especially!) at high church services, there is always a feeling that important events in the Church calendar should be marked as much by the provision of wine and cheese straws as with the correct liturgy and behaviour.  The tensions that arise from these dynamics, such as the balance between refraining from meat when fasting and the temptation to replace it with the most sophisticated fish dishes, are, for me, presented in an amusing, tender, and compassionate way by Pym, but one which does not shy away from presenting a genuine critique.

JG - In  Excellent Women social and relational questions are played out in the structures and patterns of church  life.  Ritual and seasons offer a particular rhythm to the narrative.   In Mildred we have a knowing narrator – whose reflections, hopes and disappointments helps us think about marriage and singleness; working life and social interactions; attitudes to church and expectations of clergy; loneliness and concern for others.  Mildred's conversations, observations and self-reflection might help us pick up on contemporary resonances.

Growing up in Herefordshire, jumble sales were a regular feature of parish life – a fundraiser, social gathering, a way of passing on cloths, books, bric-a-brac you no longer wanted. As Rocky puts it: 'you’d think 'churches existed for jumble sales alone'.  Pym takes this element of parish life, and uses it to ask a poignant question about aging and mortality; loneliness and isolation. As she picks up discarded photographs still in their frames, Winifrend says:  'I think it's dreadful when people send their relations to jumble sales... how can they do it?'   In a society where increasing numbers of adults report that they feel lonely, feeing unwanted is not limited to the unmarried.  Rocky assumes that everyone has someone to turn to.  Mildred challenges him:   '"Not everybody," I said, thinking of the many rejected ones who lived in  lonely  bed sitting rooms with nobody to talk to them or prepare meals.'

There's a deep pastoral concern at the heart of Pym’s novels: what kind of relationships do we establish and what judgements do we make about others?  As a priest, I’m also intrigued by the way the church is perceived and engaged with by those on the boundaries. Rocky says 'Why should the Church want to get anywhere?' said Rocky. 'I think it's much more comforting to think of it as staying just where it is.' That notion of comfort takes on a much more tangible expression. As he confronts difficulties in his relationship we get that glimpse of support as Rocky goes to the pub with Julian.

Helena is perhaps sharper and more brutal in her critique. As an anthropologist, as she reflects on the tribes and cultures which are the object of her study, she applauds their virtue regarding them much better than many so-called good people who go to Church.  The relationships between male clergy and the women of the parish are the subject of Mildred’s consideration, something she has to negotiate for herself despite the judgement of others. They are also the subject of a scathing reproach by Helena: 'All those old women swooning over good-looking curates won't get it anywhere.'

Should the church be trying to get somewhere? The language might be different, but the concerns are the same. Opening any copy of the Church Times reveals aspirations for churches to be committed to growth, making disciples, shaped by God.  All this is important in building up the Church and seeking God's Kingdom. Good preaching and pastoral care; making room for academics like Everard and the cultivation of virtue as Mildred tries to like him a little more. Pym is honest about the struggles of spiritual life – kneeling, uncomfortably, expecting something that never came; or finding that, as women walking at the head of a group on the way to the abbey,  'even the priests had accepted our leadership. This seemed a solemn and wonderful thing'.

CC – In addition to exploring personal spirituality and gender roles in the Church, I have found that, by returning to my theme of food and drink in A Glass of Blessings, we can also consider the theme of class in the novel.  This is one which I also find ultimately very challenging, and which raises further questions about how we might make better room in the Church.

Working in a place like St Albans, I am often made acutely aware that the task of someone running adult education and working for the Church is, in both aspects, made far easier because of the St Albans demographic:  my ready audience of well-heeled, well-educated, Radio 4 listeners.  A Glass of Blessings provides, for me, an excellent set of reminders to reflect on the ease with which one might slip into the ‘right kind of people’ mentality, those whom Wilmet separates into the classes of smoked salmon as opposed to tinned salmon; we are challenged to remember that Fr Bode, with his preference for tinned salmon connected inextricably for Wilmet with his ‘slightly common voice’ and the fact that he ‘had once read the wrong lesson at a carol service’, is also the one who provides the best pastoral care for Mary on the death of her mother.

JG – Another challenging, yet compelling, element of Pym’s writing is the way in which she draws us into moments of introspection in the lives of her characters. Mildred reveals both vulnerability and defiance when she says: 'I suppose an unmarried woman just over 30, who lives alone and who has no apparent ties, must expect to find herself involved or interested in other people's business... I don't know whether spinsters are really more inquisitive than married women, though I believe they are thought to be because of the emptiness of their lives.'  Mildred’s responses to questions about her marital status are fascinating and inconsistent, which is perhaps refreshingly honest for a heroine: she tells William that Julian 'isn't the kind of person I should want to marry'. Sometimes she imagines herself married.   Elsewhere she says, 'I don’t want anyone.' Is it an assertion of independence, a denial of unexpected feelings?  Certainly anyone exposed to that sort of teasing and speculation about love is bound to be defensive.

That leads me to themes which I think make Pym’s world so intriguing, encouraging and recognizable. It’s her concern for choice and dignity; the way in which she opens up the question of what it means to lead a full life.  Marriage, making a career, living alone, becoming indispensable to the parish, or indeed the vicar, as an ‘excellent woman’ even joining a religious community. All these are examined and commented upon as being dreary or unnatural, liberating or fulfilling,  or in the case of the Napiers’ pattern of life as being disturbed. Mildred ponders all these things as she washes up and as she makes the tea; as she buys lipstick or sips a drink in the pub.

If marriage is a source of blessing or unhappiness amongst many, then Mildred is indeed liberated to reject the unkind moniker of ‘chief of the rejected ones’ or ‘fussy spinster’ and find a way of living a full life.  Love in its rich variety is part of that tapestry. She talks to Rocky of different sorts of love 'neither weaker nor stronger than the first, perhaps not to be compared at all.'

The most hopeful legacy for me is that if Mildred can step away from being defined as a spinster or a pragmatic vicar’s daughter, then I can also have the assurance that being a single vicar isn’t the most interesting or defining thing about me either. If she can determine what a full life balancing responsibilities with choices and a sense of assurance or calling, then so can I.  Interesting work, incremental shifts in virtue, and incomparable ways of loving: leading a full-life is open-ended and generative.

All that for me, remains to be worked out in the church and in the world: where we are all juggling the demands of family life, marriage and the reality of being single for at least some part of our life. Perhaps the sitcom Rev is part of that Pym legacy – the factions, pressures, the relationships and joys; prayer, fundraising, worship and mission.  Perhaps we can also add to the list of stereotypes and expectations the issues around being a vicar’s husband. Or indeed a vicar, whose husband or wife might be a bishop.

CC - I would also add one further point about why I think a woman like me, or indeed anyone in the modern day, but perhaps those who particularly find themselves juggling the world of church tea with the personal preference for new dresses and gin martinis, would, and should, continue to read books like A Glass of Blessings, and what we might learn from them.  For, or perhaps because of, the many frustrations of Wilmet’s flawed character, it is she, in particular, who brings me back again and again to this novel, for in her I see so much of myself.  She, like me, would perhaps have been worrying about what to wear for tonight’s talk before worrying about not having written the content!

With members of the Barbara Pym Society Committee

She is a woman of her time, in a way, or indeed of even earlier, yet, in her, like in many of Pym’s characters, I see traits of a very modern woman, with the same frustrations, vanities, egocentricity, grass-is-greener attitude, and unfounded superiority with which many of us struggle, arguably even more so in the 2010s than ever before.  And, here, I return again to the connection with the Church of England that, for those of us working for her and worshipping within her, is particularly poignant within this novel. Our vanity, attitude, and superiority continues to divide us from what we are truly called to be, yet they are also, as Pym recognizes and portrays so compellingly in her novels, a fundamental part of the struggle of being human.

© Julie Gittoes and Clare Coombe

Called to be present

Flicking through today's Observer Magazine, the headline Holy Rollers emblazoned across a casino table barely registered. On turning the page, it was the photo that grabbed my attention. I flipped back and read the byline:  Could gamblers do with a little help from God? Would a rich spiritual life improve a rugby team. And does faith have a place in the theatre?

The article was about chaplains - those who offer religious and spiritual care within an organizational setting. The  photograph was of my friend and colleague, Lindsay, dressed in clericals, standing in the Apollo Theatre. Her ministry there involves supporting all of those who ensure the 'show' goes on, backstage and front of house.  She is there when actors grapple with insecurity, ambition and disappointment; she's there when a member of the audience falls ill; she was there in the aftermath of the roof collapse.

In Lindsay's words: we need to go out and meet people where they are, where they literally are.

Chaplains serve in hospitals, schools, rugby clubs and with the armed forces; in theatres, dockyards, prisons and cruise-ships. They were present at the Olympic Park and serve at the heart of Canary Wharf. We have town centre chaplains in Guildford and pray regularly for Canon Andrew and his colleagues in the University chaplaincy.

Perhaps chaplaincy helps us discern more clearly the calling of the whole people of God: we are all called to pay attention to our context - at home, at work, on holiday or whilst pursuing our interests. It's not so much about bringing God into a place, but discerning him it it. It's not about having an answer to everything or occupying a moral high ground; but it is about living and acting in such a way that reflects the love of God.

It is perhaps a relief to know that we are resourced for that pattern of life by God! We are called to more than social niceness or usefulness; but this doesn't meant that we are we called to fulfil a heroic ethic in our own strength.  This evening's readings help us get to the heart of the matter; to see our calling as rooted in Christ, to appreciate the gifts of others and receive them as blessings.

Matthew gives us a snap shot of Jesus's ministry: he has been teaching and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom. The sick, afflicted and marginalized have been brought to him; and in him they have found healing, forgiveness and restoration. Unsurprisingly his fame has spread; great crowds are following him.

At this point it feels as if a pause button has been pressed.   What does all this mean?

Jesus saw the crowds. He saw their demands, longing, curiosity and admiration.  He went up a mountain. He ascends to a place associated with the awesomeness of God's presence in cloud, thunder and lightning; a place of encounter and revelation.

He sat down with his disciples. He had called them by name; they had the courage to join him.  Just as Moses taught the people of Israel, so Jesus teaches his disciples. Jesus fulfils both the law and the prophets. We are drawn into that learning community, that we might be a holy people.  That learning is rooted in God.

For Moses this is born out of personal experience - despite protesting about his hesitant speech, he has the courage to go to Pharaoh time and time again.  His assurance rests in God's solidarity with an oppressed people giving him hope and determination.  For the people of Israel, holiness is rooted in obedience to God. As they journey towards the promised land they receive the law and commandments.

When they reach that place, they are to keep the Passover. Remembering recalls God's nature in the present; recollection shapes the present and future. It is rooted in worship.  In times of power and periods of exile, the prophets remind them of the signs of God's kingdom: justice, mercy and compassion. This is holiness.

For us too, the call to be a holy people is rooted in the nature of God. The words of the Sermon on the Mount are so familiar to us; so familiar that there's a risk that they sound legalistic, guilt inducing or impossible. However, because they're spoken by Jesus, we are to hear them not as hard sayings or platitudes. On his lips, blessings and promise reflects our character, our community and our God. These are words of hope and encouragement because Jesus fulfils the law and prophets in all righteousness.

The one who utters the words: blessed be the poor in spirit, the peacemaker, the meek, those who thirst for righteousness...  is non-other than the Son of God. The one who promises mercy, who fulfills our longings, who brings comfort and draws us into the kingdom as God's children is the one who is God with us.   If that is not true, the words are just ideals. If that is true, then by the power of God's Spirit we are caught up in a new reality.  For in Jesus, God reconciles the world to himself; in him there is forgiveness and peace. As Christians, this conviction is as central as fellowship and belonging. Worship the hub of all that: a place of encounter with God and with other; a place where we are refined by God's holiness.

Jesus addresses a group of disciples who've had the courage to say with him and to risk taking the time to pay attention. His words address us too, within our community. We cannot live up to the demands of discipleship alone. Not only do we rely on God, but we also depend on one another. To be blessed is to share in the love of God; to be blessed is to be a blessing to others. The range of those whom Jesus calls blessed indicates that the world is in the process of being transformed. God's Kingdom embraces all people and it is breaking in upon us.

The diversity of those Jesus calls blessed also reflects the diversity of the company we keep as God's pilgrim people. To be part of this learning community, to be disciples, is to depend on others. We depend on those who reveal to us the gifts of the kingdom in their humility, gentleness, mercy or passion for justice; we depend on those who help us seek consensus, who endure hardship or have the gift of joy. These gifts are the fruit of Spirit. At Guildford Cathedral, our dedication to the Holy Spirit focuses our attention. What gifts are being ignited? Where is wisdom being pursued? What relationships are being fostered? How is the Spirit leading us  in worship and leading us into the world.

Mercy, peace and righteousness describes the nature of life lived in relation to Jesus, in the power of his Spirit.   We are to be salt and light. We are to be visible; we are to be signs of hope. It is important that we gather as God's people in praise and prayer. In worship we encounter God's loving holiness. But we are also called to put ourselves into everyday life.  The chaplain, the volunteer, the manager, the scientist, the musician, the parent, the journalist, the friend and the scholar are all called to be present. For being present is everything. In conversation, care, making connections, offering assurance.  By being present with others, we bless and receive blessings. The kingdom draws near.

©  Julie Gittoes