Speak Lord, your servant is listening!

A text based on the homily given at the Annual Guild of Guides Service last week. It was a reflection on Samuel and Eli - learning to recognise the voice of God calling us.

First of all, on behalf of Chapter this service is an opportunity to say thank you for all that you do as Guides: for many people you are the human face of this amazing sacred place. You welcome, inform, inspire and engage. You greet people in their curiosity, joy and sorrow; the first time visitors familiar faces and, at the moment especially, the builders and tradespeople working here. 

For all of that thank you. Thank you in particular for doing what you do in the midst of a time of transformation, which is disruptive. I hope that amidst the scaffolding and boarded floors, you and others will glimpse something of the transformed vaulting and improved access. 

This annual service often falls during Lent, when we are reminded of our journey of prayer and discipline in preparation for Holy Week and Easter; when we call to mind Jesus’ time in the wilderness captured in our opening hymn (Forty days and forty nights).  That is appropriate for us on a journey of restoration - in terms of the building and our life together. 

However, today’s readings and music capture another theme which is appropriate for us in our ministry here: that of listening to the voice of God.  In Samuel’s story we hear echoes of our own.

Samuel was Hannah’s son: she’d longed for a child and prayed with wordless urgency that she might conceive. When she did give birth she dedicated her child to the Lord. She entrusted hi into he care of Eli, that he might minister to the Lord in the Temple.

Like you, he spent his time in a sacred place: attentive to its rhythm of prayer and worship; attentive to the space itself, its story and the way in which is spoke of God. 

Like you, he was attentive to the people who came and went; attentive to their motivations and needs. To the anxious and those seeking consolation; to the familiar faces and those passing by, perhaps he was also attentive to craftspeople and builders. I like to think so any way!

The temple, like this place was set apart for attention to God. Yet we heart that the word of the Lord was rare; that visions were not widespread. Was it that the Lord no longer spoke? Or was it that in certain circumstances people had stopping listening for it? Perhaps in the midst of disruption we wonder if the word has become rare. Does the pace of transformation make us doubt the vision?

Yet the lamp of God had not yet gone out in the Temple. Nor has the lamp of God gone out for us. This building has been prayed alive. It speaks of the light and glory of God; If we look beyond the scaffolding, we see restoration; if we look beyond the lack of heating, we see a more accessible building. 

The light of God still shines beyond bricks and mortar. This place is dedicated to the glory of God still shines as a beacon on a hill. Whatever the headlines say, we are very much open! Our rhythm of worship breathes life into architecture. In our Lady Chapel a light shines. Over the aumbry it burns. It shines reminding us of the presence of God with us. In bread and wine, the body of Christ is present. And that same light shines in us, as members of his body. 

Although Eli’s eye’s had grown dim, he had not completely lost his sight. Nor had he totally lost is spiritual vision. His sons had gone astray; but here he is able to guide and teach the young Samuel how to listen, to hear, to discern and respond. Despite his short comings he offices advice - he understands who it is that is speaking. Samuel. Samuel. Samuel.

We are still called by name, but sometimes we too need to help each other to hear. God hasn’t stopped speaking - do we like Eli perceive what is going on? Can we recognise, advise, reassure and guide? Through all the challenges and disruptions we face, God continues to address us by name. Through all the new things - leaflets, resources, the interpretation and a transformed building - perhaps others will hear God’s voice afresh too.  And it’s a message which will make our ears tingle! Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.

I want to end with some words written by +George Reindorp in 1963 as he talked about this place as a house of prayer and worship and a centre of learning. He speaks of this cathedral belonging to everyone: ‘more than 2 1/4 million visitors (okay, we don’t quite hit that number!) in a steady stream are welcomed by our magnificent band of Guides and Cathedral Chaplains. The glorious Angel by day and night will beckon many more. The Garths will give them warmth and shelter as soon as they arrive”.

May we take hope and encouragement from this as we seek to invite and welcome.

Speak Lord, for your servant is listening. Speak Lord we are listening. 

© Julie Gittoes 2017

Mothering is a verb

This is the text of a 60 second sermon for BBC Radio Surrey/Sussex. In that programme I also spoke to Emily Jeffery about some of the pressures and complexities of Mothering Sunday - for those with difficult relationships or who mourn their mother; and those who aren't mothers themselves. 

As a single woman, who is also a priest, I sometimes struggle with the implicit/explicit assumptions that I'm some how less 'mature' as a Christian or as a church leader because I'm a non-parent. That said, if 'mothering' is verb; perhaps we can extend our vision of kinship throughout the year - enabling us to be more sensitive on this particular Sunday.

Last week, an email arrived from a well known 'fruity' tech company inviting me to ‘Celebrate mum’ with their branded gifts’. 

The commercial world sets expectations for Mothering Sunday based on chocolates, flowers, gifts and promotions for afternoon tea or Sunday lunch.

The reality is more complex. By their presence or absence, mothers shape us. Whether or not we are mothers, we face spoken and unspoken assumptions, pressures and judgements. 

Today honours those who have nurtured and supported us - mothers perhaps, but not exclusively so; perhaps we now care for them in frailty and age.

Today we remember that mothering is a verb: it’s part of the character of God which we can reflect in our love of others, regardless of age/gender. 

The biblical narrative helps us understand that: with stories of Moses’ adoption, Hannah’s longing and Rachel’s tears; with tributes to the teaching and encouragement of Lois, Eunice and Barnabas. 

We are a family in Jesus Christ: who said to Mary and the beloved disciple: Behold your mother; behold your Son.  May the Spirit strengthen our corporate mothering in love, wisdom, encouragement and care.

© Julie Gittoes 2017

Water, love and witness

This is the text of a sermon preached at Guildford Cathedral on Sunday 19th March: the texts were Exodus 17:1-7, Romans 5:1-11; John 4:5-42. The narrative about the Samaritan woman at the well is one of my favourite stories - full of intrigue and vulnerability.  Approaching it in the light of "The Woman of Lockerbie" added another dimension - particularly when set alongside Moses' leadership and Paul's vision of redemption. Water, love and witness flowed through the texts.

Water flows through today’s readings.

Water and love.

Love that reconciles.

Water that witnesses.

Witnesses to a love that heals. 

Our first reading gives us a glimpse into what that looks like in a gritty way: it’s an all too human scenario. People are tired, thirsty, irritable and quick to pick a quarrel. 

They’d been journeying by stages: a familiar routine of walking for many miles, pitching camp; some lighting fires, others seeking a water source. 

On this occasion, patience was wearing thin; the people wanted water immediately and their complaints escalate.  

Quarrelling over practicalities quickly became an expression of testing God’s faithfulness. 

As a leader, Moses cries out to the Lord with brutal honesty. 

He names the rising tensions which made him feel threatened; and in the face of his frustrations he takes responsibility - what am I to do with this people? And all this is couched in prayer.

Moses was a reluctant leader: perhaps that heightens his sense of dependance on God and on others in the fulfilment of the task entrusted to him. 

The answer to Moses’ lament is full of assurance: he’s reminded of God’s faithfulness from the flight from Egypt onwards. God will be with him - and will act through him.  

This time, he isn’t enabling escape through water, but the provision of water. And in all this he does not ‘go it alone’; he goes with the elders, with a company of wise and trusted people. 

Water flows. 

Water witnesses to God’s faithful love.

Love which heals tensions.

But the naming of place doesn’t gloss over the difficulties. 

Massah and Meribah:  Is the Lord among us or not?

That question takes us to the heart of human suffering. Last night’s performance of “The Women of Lockerbie” at Christ Church gave voice to that cry. A cry into the void created by atrocity. 

The grieving father, Bill Livingstone says: ‘If there is a God… and sometimes when I lie in bed at night I think that there isn’t… but if there is, he is absent from the world and pays no attention to the needs of men’.

This is a wilderness of a different sort: set 7 years after the Pan Am Flight 103 was brought down by a terrorist bomb, we’re drawn into the lives of those most immediately affected. 

The text encompasses the emotional, physical and physic trauma of grief; to see it enacted means taking time to hear cries of hope, despair, agony and determination. 

We wait with them for one night on a Scottish hillside when:

‘faith is hanging by a thread

again

ready to break

How easily faith is broken’.

Any yet water flows here too.

Those words were spoken by Olive, the leader of the laundry project; a project that sought the release of the clothes found at the crash site with a fierce patience. The washed, ironed and folded clothes and returned them to relatives whose grief filled the air. Why? 

So that they could: 

‘… give love to those who have suffered. 

So evil will not triumph’. 

Water flows in love.

Love that witnesses.

A witness that turns evil into love.

A love in which they could trust. 

Love was their answer to the ‘hate that had exploded over their town’, wreaking havoc their lives with wreckage. Water flowed into suffering. Resilience flowed from the release of emotions. Hate is turned to healing; grief to witness; darkness to light.  

Water flows. 

‘Let the washing begin…’ they say.

‘Hatred will not have the last word in Lockerbie.’

Water witnesses.

Love that reconciles. 

Water wells up.

At an ancient well, in the glare of the midday sun, we hear of living water.

Water offered, received and welling up.

John draws us into an encounter which is full of depth and intensity; vulnerability and disclosure. 

The Samaritan woman is part of a minority group. She was seen as spiritually ‘other,  politically powerless, and socially marginalised. Her identity was marked by fragmented relationships; by rejection, failure and fragile self-image. Alone, she goes to the well.

She needs water.

She longs for love.

She becomes a witness. 

‘Give me a drink’, say Jesus. He thirsts. He thirsts for God’s people to come together. He reaches out across the multiple divisions named by the woman herself. 

He asks for water.

He embodies love.

He brings reconciliation. 

We hear a conversation unfold: a relationship is created which restores trust, goodness and esteem. Perhaps as Jesus holds her gaze, shame becomes dignity. 

The Water of Life - Stephen Broadbent

Water drawn with a bucket. Thirst is quenched in practical compassion.

This is not enough: out attention shifts towards a deeper well. The wellspring of living water. Water with the power to sustain us. It’s an expression of everlasting life. It cannot be contained. Through the power of the Spirit it wells up in us. 

Jesus reveals that if we drink from the fountain of God’s love and compassion, we too become a source of love and compassion. He offers living water. He reveals himself as God with us: ‘I am he’ he says; I am the one is was and is and is to come. I am: the creator of all things, the Word made flesh, the life giving Spirit. 

The moment is disrupted by the disciples blundering in with their own preoccupations and questions. The moment breaks into a fresh movement of witness. ‘Come and see’ says the woman.

Her empty water jar is left behind because she is already living out of the deep well of living water. Her heart is full. She is desperate to share with others what she has received.

Water flows.

Love is revealed.

Witness wells up.

And what of us?

Like the people of Israel, we live with our own narratives of complaint: when projects take longer; when solutions aren’t obvious; when we lose sight of the original vision, or passion or motivation, when it feels as if disaster has struck. 

Yet like Moses, love must be expressed in personal prayer the wise leadership of a community.

Like the women of Lockerbie, we struggle with faith in suffering world: when grief makes its home with us; when the sudden disruption of death makes us howl; when hopelessness is met with kindness; when our love is wounded; when the intimate act of washing begins - of muddy kit, a soiled vest a much loved jumper. 

Yet for us too, hatred is denied the final word in creative and determined acts of trust and care.

Like the woman at the well, we experience hopes and concerns: when we feel excluded and ignored; when relationships are broken; when we get chance to explore the meaning of life and faith; when we discover our calling to love and witness. 

Yet each of us, as witnesses, become agents of reconciliation speaking joyfully of the life and forgiveness we’ve received. 

Water. Love. Witness. 

Like Paul, we are to speak of grace and faith; peace and glory. He speaks of suffering, endurance, character and hope - not to justify any form of human cruelty, hatred or violence, but to remind us that these to no have the last word. Love is the last word. Love revealed in Jesus’ life, death and resurrection; love which restores us, restores broken and sinful humanity.

Just as this sacred place is being transformed, may our lives also be transformed by the holy and healing Spirit. May we who’ve received new life in waters of baptism, witness to God restoring all things in Christ. May God bless our labours at home, amongst colleagues, in our communities.

Water flows through our readings today.

Water and love.

Reconciling love.

Loving witness.

© Julie Gittoes 2017

Ten or 10,000 reasons

Matt Redman's song 10,000 Reasons occasionally becomes a bit of an ear worm for me: singing out words of blessing in response to God's love and goodness. Even on that day when our strength is failing - still our souls sings out ten thousand reasons to worship God's holy name.

Over recent weeks I've been pondering what makes the place where I worship day by day somewhere that speaks of blessing and song, goodness and love. This blog is 'a view from Stag Hill'; a view from a cathedral which looks out over a town; a cathedral on the level with The Mount; a cathedral looked down upon by the Surrey Hills.


It's a place rooted in the rhythm of daily prayer. The architect Sir Edward Maufe's design means that those prayers offered in a place of light and space, without ornamentation. Breath taking and awe inspiring; still generating a 'wow' factor despite the temporary scaffolding (which is itself a beautiful engineering feat!).  It is more than a light space; it is hub of activity. It's a place of prayer which hosts fosters relationship.

In 1963, the then Bishop of Guildford, George Reindorp, gave thanks that the newly consecrated cathedral had been 'prayed alive'; he gave thanks for the dignity, music and beauty of the worship. He also gave thanks because his hope for a cathedral as a lively centre of learning was being fulfilled. He talked about commuters and lectures, organ recitals and small group discussions.

He expressed a deep longing that the cathedral should belong to young and old, ordinand and bishop. He spoke of a mother church that was 'loving, warm, friendly and welcoming'. In the midst of his hopes fulfilled hopes and answered prayers, he spoke of not only human engagement, but also of being moved or touched by the Holy Spirit.

 

So, what of my hopes, prayers and aspiration? What are the things about my work here on Stag Hill which give me ten - or 10000 - reasons to praise God? Where are the blessings which reflect something of the love and goodness of God - both when our hearts are full of joy and when our strength is failing?


One: as a parish priest, I was moved by the way in which we gathered at times of celebration, grief and remembrance. My story was woven into the local stories, all held in the story of God's love for the world. At a cathedral, the same is true - albeit on a different scale. The cathedral is a place of commemoration on occasions such as the  WWI Vigil in 2014 as well as place where transition at achievement is rejoiced in - from university graduations to young enterprise awards.

Two: I am privileged to work with a team of exceptional musicians - our organists are amongst the best in the country - who teach and inspire young people. The choir has a repertoire which include the best of the choral tradition - from Bryd and Tallis to Herbert Howells and Tarik O'Regan.

Three: the cathedral stands next to the A3 - which might be a modern pilgrimage route! For some, it is a tourist destination as coaches turn off on route from London to Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight; visitors enjoy tea, cake (a refreshment break!) and explore the building (and building restoration). For others, its a place of particular heritage interest - textiles, local history, archives and oral history.

Four: it is great fun to welcome hundreds of school children over the course of the year. Some will be taking part in season workshops during Advent/Christmas or Lent/Easter - crafts, prayer and story telling. Others come for Sixth Form Question Time - to hear a panel of experts and leaders respond to their questions about ethics, politics and faith, and, in true QT style, to continue the conversation with their own views.

Five: cathedrals are places of solace; places where we can explore our curiosity. Guildford is no different. It's open every day: candles are lit; prayers offered; messages left. Some might want to sit quietly - valuing the serenity and anonymity; others might want to ask questions of the guides or join in the worship.

 
Six: The view from Stag Hill is a wonderful vantage point; the view from the tower (on a clear day) gives us a glimpse of London!  As I drive up the A31, walk up the hill or step off the train, the cathedral - with its golden angel - is also a marker of returning home. Perhaps I'm not alone in that - appreciating a regional 'marker' and a place of 'belonging'.

Seven:  Since arriving five years ago, the cathedral has embraced the arts. It's hosted an amazing range of concerts: from local choral societies to male voice choirs; orchestral work which has raised the roof;  children taking part in Surrey Get Vocal. The bright space and clear sight lines enables the cathedral to be an unique place to exhibit large scale art exhibitions. Chris Gollon told the story of the incarnation and women in the Bible afresh; or the bold canvases of Catherine Clancy took us on an spiritual journey from the dark night to resurrection hope. Local artists exhibiting their work here is a celebration of human creativity.

 
Eight: Cathedrals contribute to the local economy as an employer and by hosting a range of commercial events. That's true in Guildford too - from festivals to open air cinema, conferences and vintage fayres. It offers opportunities for volunteering as a guide or shop assistant for example. However, its contribution to social capital is also extensive - through a range of civic gatherings involving those of all faiths and beliefs.

Nine: Bishop Reindorp's vision of a cathedral as a place of learning is still true. That does include Lent Talks - this year's series is on 'Creation and New Creation' - but it also involves offering space for debate and learning on a range of issues in the public square. Over recent years, I've had the pleasure of hosting lectures on surveillance, human rights and freedom of speech; sustainable development, ethical decision making and care for farmed animals. 

Ten: The events that take place here whether in the Cathedral or in our marquee (aka 'canvas cathedral'), enable us to extend a welcome to all generations. Those in residential and nursing care come to enjoy a rich programme of coffee concerts; listening to jazz, arias, songs from musicals, classical music or rock choirs. Those who care for younger children enjoy family activity days - such as the forthcoming 'Mothering Saturday' event with the opportunity for crafts and creativity, card making and spiritual reflection. 

 
As the Theos Report Spiritual Capital puts it:

The present and future of English cathedrals lies particularly in their ability to enable and sustain a range of connections – between the tourist and the pilgrim; between people and the traditions from which modern life cuts them off; between the diverse organisations and communities that share the same social and physical space and infrastructure yet never meet; and between a people who may be less Christian than their parents but are no less spiritual, and the God who made, sustains, loves and hopes for them to join Him at His table [p. 62]. 

So, that's my 10 (or 10,000) reasons: what are yours?

© Julie Gittoes 2017