Light in darkness: comedy, cognitive dissonance and the gospel

Following this morning's sermon, and a comment I made about the inappropriate Radio 4 'joke', I was drawn back to the way in which comedy (as a craft) shines light into the dark places of our minds. That's very different from off the cuff jokes by those in positions of power and influence. It also set me wondering why the crowd were enraged by Jesus' teaching in the synagogue.  A vision of God's Kingdom demands a practical outworking of a preference for the poor; but it also demands that we cannot silence voices naming the abuse of power. The readings were: Isaiah 55:1-11 and Luke 4:14-30

Christ Preaching in the Synagogue at Nazareth. 14th c. fresco 
Visoki Decani Monastery, Kosovo

Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee.

He was praised by everyone.

He said: ‘Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.’ 

All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth.

They were filled with rage.

They drove him out of the town

Luke’s Gospel is crafted with an artistry which paints a vivid image of God’s Kingdom and reveals the depths of human hearts.  The combination disrupts the status quo and creates space for fruitful response. 

But dynamics of acceptance and offence in this evening’s passage are intriguing: what is it that makes Jesus’ hearers so enraged?

Perhaps - in a slightly risky move - the world of comedy can offer a way in. 

The late Bill Hicks, an observational comic and satirist once said: ‘the best kind of comedy to me is when you make people laugh at things they’ve never laughed at, and also take a light into the darkened corners of people’s minds, exposing them to the light’.

This is what the gospel does too. It exposes us to the light; revealing our inner most thoughts and assumptions.

It’s what Jesus does - not through comedy but through prophetic judgement.  The dynamics between the synagogue and a comedy gig might seem far stretched. However, in both cases people gather with some sense of shared expectation - to be inspired, comforted or entertained. Some might want their ‘world view’ to be reinforced; others might expect provocation and challenge.  

When Jesus went to his home town, he went to synagogue as we might expect.  He stood up to read. He began to teach; to speak of the fulfilment of scripture in and through him.

What had the gathered community expected? An endorsement of their way of life or their values; a shared interpretation of the law?  Might he have something to say about the threat posed by the occupying Roman forces? May be they wanted to bask in the fame of a local lad ‘made good’. When Scripture is read, do they - do we - expect a light to shine in the dark corners of our minds?

In a book entitled Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes, the scholar Kenneth Bailey writes: ‘no attempt is made to shape his message along the lines of their agenda. In bold and uncompromising terms Jesus announces his ministry of proclamation, justice advocacy and compassion to be inaugurated by himself, as the anointed one of God’.  

There can be no doubt that Jesus is the Messiah: God in the midst of us declaring that this is the year of the Lord’s favour.  The good news of salvation comes into our midst - familiar words are heard afresh. 

It starts with good news for the poor. It radically de-centres our understanding of power by empowering voices from the edge. It entails the recovery of sight - seeing things how they really are. Dark corners are exposed to the light. 

A priest in Liverpool, Ryan Cook, expressed this in a Tweet: ‘The preferential option for the poor calls us to make decisions with a preference for how it affects the poor, positively or negatively’.

This turns the concept of “kingdom" into something we can live, express and quantify.  It’s a compelling vision for witness and the pursuit of justice flowing from divine compassion. It sets in train an approach to mission which relies on mutual dignity: the one who brings freedom to captives sends them sending forth to free the oppressed.

So why the angry response?

Because perhaps he does not soften the radical message for the home crowd. Justice and compassion means that we can’t cling to power and privilege; it demands authenticity and a vulnerability. This Kingdom flourishes by the grace of God, not human control, and has space for all who yearn to be fed. 

Jesus illustrates the universality of the good news he brings by setting before them the examples of a Syrian general and a widow from Sidon. Not only is Jesus expressing equality of men and women - something which echoes throughout Luke’s Gospel - but he’s also demonstrating that grace is available to all, Jew and Gentile. We, like them, are to trust and obey. 

Light has shone in the dark places of their minds and we are exposed to that same light. 

Will we seek to chase it away, rushing to a cliff edge of our own design or will we begin our own risky walk of trust and obedience for the sake of God’s Kingdom?

Here I want to return to comedy as a means of shining light into the dark places of our minds. It’s risky but necessary. In part because Today Programme ‘joke’ troubled me greatly; and we need to pay attention to the reactions it’s generated.  

There is undoubtedly a dark side to comedy - Jimmy Carr’s work, for example.  Alongside his wordplay and silly or even whimsical jokes, he's someone who tackles taboo subjects. He’s provoked no shortage of outrage.  But he says that he’s ‘obsessed by cognitive dissonance - the idea that you can make people laugh and be disappointed in themselves for laughing at the same time. Or be disgusted at the same time’.  

Does such ‘cognitive dissonance’ become a means of revealing the scandal of any abuse of power? Does it reveal how easily we can be complicit in words and actions which dehumanise others?

Is Carr’s goal to generate a laugh despite themselves? Interestingly, no, that’s not his motivation. Or is it that as a clown he is able to expose the dark places of our minds, forcing us face the truth; making us think and act differently - somehow taking it more, not less, seriously?

The now infamous ‘clumsy joke’ reveals that when it comes to power, those who have it are often unaware of how much power they wield; or the extent of cultural collusion in what they say; or the way it silences the voices of others. Their influence can be readily co-opted to dehumanise, rather than used to challenge and transform attitudes. 

When Jesus proclaims the nearness of God’s Kingdom, may be the rage is a fearful reaction to the cognitive dissonance of light shining in the dark. May be its a failure to realise that justice and compassion is not a zero sum game - to extend the reach of God’s love does not mean there’s less of it; but it does demand that we allow it to change the status quo.

If we take the time to ask what really matters or what we could change, we catch a glimpse of the vision spelt out in Isaiah, fulfilled in Jesus and at work in our world through the Spirit. The book 200 Women by Karen Scott, previewed in today’s Observer Magazine, does just that.

The words that appear are: justice; solidarity love; respect; action; ubuntu - the dignity of every person.

Those sounds like kingdom practices. Jesus’ teaching will continue to challenge us. Let us pray that more may hear and respond to that message of justice and compassion, of freedom and preference for the poor. Responding not with rage but with imagination and faith. For God says to all, listen, come, eat and live.

May light shine in the dark places of our minds: for my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.

May we be exposed to the light of Christ: returning to the Lord who will have mercy and abundantly pardon. By the power of the Spirit, may God’s word bear fruit in and through us, for the sake of the Kingdom.

© Julie Gittoes

You. Are. Loved

Today we marked Bible Sunday at our Cathedral Eucharist. In preparing to preach - commentary in one hand, an interview with Russell Brand in the other - I pondered what is 'different' about preaching on this Sunday compared to any other. Aren't we always engaging with and preaching on Scripture, in attentiveness to the reality of our life in the world? I have a similar niggle on Trinity Sunday - why do preachers panic then, when surely we are called to explore the mystery of God as Trinity every time we step into the pulpit? Anyway, I guess in part a way of focusing on the particular so that we don't become complacent - taking Scripture for granted or neglecting its enduring impact as we read, mark learn and inwardly digest. 

At one point I thought I'd begin by reflecting on the crowds which filed past on of the only surviving copies of the Tyndale Bible in St Paul's; I was so struck by the risk and cost of translation; of God's word being read and heard in the vernacular. In the end, I was struck by the sense of uncertainty and crisis - named by Russell Brand - and the way it is met with Jesus' words of assurance. Brand is someone I find endlessly fascinating as he both names the frailty of our human nature and also seeks after something 'true'. Is he challenging us to have more confidence in the Bible in naming both vice and virtue - keeping the rumour of grace alive?  The texts were: Nehemiah 8:1-12; Colossians 3:12-17; Matthew 24:30-35

Russell Brand isn’t a conventional comedian; he’s controversial, certainly. 

He self-identifies as ‘a trickster, a joker, a playful person’; someone ‘on the edge of the community’. He’s someone extremely compulsive, drawn to fame like a moth to light. Having struggled with addictions he has found stability by following a 12-step recovery programme. 

Russell Brand: Desert Island Discs

‘Society is collapsing’, he says, ‘and people are starting to recognise that the reason they feel like they're mentally ill is that they're living in a system that's not designed to suit the human spirit’.

‘Society is collapsing’: perhaps that thought flashed through Nehemiah’s mind in exile as he grieves over the situation in Jerusalem.

Perhaps it was a concern for Paul as he wrote from his prison cell about the threat of false teaching and practices. 

Did that prospect run through the disciples’ minds as Jesus spoke to the Temple’s destruction and things passing away?

On Bible Sunday, we remember that our scriptures have always spoken into times of dissatisfaction and fear; when it seems as if familiar social order is fragmenting and the future uncertain, God’s word remains.  

The Tyndale Bible

The Bible continues to speak of the freedom, forgiveness and delight to be found in God’s love for us; of the promise of all things being made new; of a Kingdom of justice and mercy which does indeed suit the human spirit. 

Prophets, poets, historians, letter writers, psalmists, evangelists: all of them address our questions and struggles. They name our deepest longings and our misdirected desires. 

They continue to whisper:

you

are

loved.  

They declare that ‘God loves us’. 

They inspire us to ‘love one another’.

Today we hear how Nehemiah invited people to hear that law of love afresh. He was practical and a well-organised leader; someone of spiritual depth. He was rooted in prayer; stood firm against intimidation; sought justice for slaves. Having overseen the rebuilding of Jerusalem, he knew the returning exiles needed to be spiritually ‘rebuilt’.

As we rejoice in a restored cathedral we, like them, are invited to pay deep attention to God’s word, distilled into the commandment to love God with all that we are and to love our neighbour as ourself.

These words set us free: sometimes we will weep when we confront our failures. But now as then we are encouraged to rejoice in the strength of God’s grace and to care for those who are in need.  The words of scripture are taken to heart; they shape the life of the community.  To hear God’s word of love was a cause for celebration and feasting.

Ezra reads the law to the people

Gustave Dore illustration of La Grande Bible de Tours

Today’s Gospel sounds like a dramatic shift in tone: there’s a sense of urgency and foreboding in Jesus’ words. He had been speaking of the dangers of false teachers and the threat of persecution; even the Temple at the heart of the city would be destroyed.  It isn’t hard for us to imagine such cosmic collapse. 

Every time we open a newspaper, watch Question Time or scroll through our Twitter feed, we are aware of situations of political volatility and tension. We see images of destruction and ruin as a result of war or environmental degradation.  We read of the concern around student mental health; we’re shocked when politicians make jokes about sexual assault. 

The sorrow stirred up by our fragile world can’t be measured in words.

And yet… and yet… Scripture reminds us that God’s word of judgement confronts us in the midst of crisis and collapse.

Jesus says: the old order will come to an end; a new thing will emerge.

Amidst dire events, we see signs of God’s Kingdom.  Jesus invites us to look at the world through a horticultural lens: first the bud, then green shoots; leaves unfurling on a tree destined to fruit.

When we worry that society is collapsing, we are called back to God’s word. Our scriptures name not only our human propensity to get things wrong; but they also name the persistent melody of God’s healing love. The words of the Bible point us to God’s Word made flesh; God is with us in Christ Jesus. His life expresses the fullness of love. His death destroys death; his risen life brings life to others. 

We live with merging horizons:  knowing that in Christ something decisive has happened, yet watching the whole creation groan with longing for the liberty of God’s Kingdom. Jesus doesn’t give us dates and details. Instead he invites us to have confidence in his words of life and love. We are to pay deep attention to where we see glimpses of God’s activity - and we are to build God’s Kingdom through our own acts of care; to seek it in our pursuit of justice. 

Society is collapsing, say Brand as he names our vices, anxieties and addictions; our experience of loneliness, disappointment or exploitation; our attempts to make ourselves feel better. He says  ‘the secularisation, the materialisation, the individualisation of the way we see the world now excludes us from a life that has meaning. And I don’t think pop culture can fill that gap any more.’ He continues, ‘people need to be able to connect with something that is essential and beautiful and valuable and true’.

Is Russell Brand unwittingly calling us back to the truth expressed in the Bible? 

Our book of books contains100s of stories of human beings grappling with hurt, fragmentation and failure; what Brand calls vice, we call sin. Scripture contains100s of stories of humanity reaching out to God; what he calls a higher power. The Bible is 100s of stories of God revealing Godself to us; what Brand calls beautiful, valuable and true.

In Scripture God breathes 100s of times: 

You.

Are. 

Loved.

Such love isn’t an abstract concept.  It is something with which we are to cloth ourselves. Something we grow into and make our own. Love is to be our appearance;  and what we see in others. 

Brand is right to name our bad moral habits, our ‘vices’. In Colossians, Paul names good moral habits, or ‘virtues’. As we put on love we cloth ourselves in these Christ-like character traits. We increase our capacity to do what is good and true: acting with compassion and kindness, practicing patience, expressing gratitude, learning to forgive. 

In You are what you love, James K A Smith reminds us that we can’t think our way into this pattern of life. We truly learn God’s commandments to love by adopting practices of imitation.  Our love is learnt in worship - it’s a process of ‘reformation' not simply ‘acquiring information'. He writes, ‘the orientation of the heart happens from the bottom up, through the  formation of our habits of desire. Learning to love (God) takes practice’.

In this Eucharist we are clothed anew. We read, mark and learn the words of Scripture which unfold the story of God’s love for us. Here we practice love in community.  We received forgiveness and share peace.  We inwardly digest God’s Word in bread and wine, receiving what we are; becoming Christ’s body in and for the world.

When we worry that society is collapsing, here our vision of God’s Kingdom is renewed. And in the power of the Spirit we are sent out in peace to love and serve. May we see green shoots appearing; may we be to others hopeful signs of new life.

© Julie Gittoes

A melody of love!

This afternoon Guildford Cathedral hosted the South East Region's Handbell Ringers of Great Britain service In Celebration marking their 50th anniversary. The readings were Psalm 150 and John 2:1-11; and the poem was A Melody of Stars by Carol O'Neil.

Living with the Gods has been lauded as among last week’s best radio and rightly so.  Neil MacGregor, the man who chronicles history through objects, is exploring the themes of faith and belief, ritual and ceremony.  It’s compelling, insightful, fascinating and humbling. 

Beginning with a sculpture of  the lion man, MacGregor looks at how different societies have sought to make sense of their place within the cosmos and in community through story and symbol.

The poem we’ve heard today talks about  the way ‘a patch work of twinkling stars / fill the sky’.  Provoking a sense of awe and wonder which is at work within us as we try to connect our place in the world with a sense of the eternal.  MacGregor explores the place of fire and water, light and the seasons; he reflects on life and death, the intimacy and protection of mother and infant; the ways we mark adulthood;  the power of song and the place of prayer. 

There are 30 episodes in this series, and part of me wonders if a bell might be one of the objects used to explore and understand the daily practice of faith.  Bells have long been a call to worship. From the first missionaries to this land who used small handbells to call people to prayer to the complexity and beauty of melodies we celebrate today.   

The ringing of bells draws us into a pattern of praise which has resounded throughout the generations.  Psalm 150 draws heaven and earth together as the sound of praise echoes in earthly sanctuaries and heavenly firmaments; trumpets, lutes, harps; tambourines, stings and pipes. And yes, cymbals too; or perhaps bells! The vibrant sounds of clapper striking metal in a co-ordinated, melodic peal of praise. 

One scholar [Walter Bruggemann] describes this psalm as an ‘extravagant summons to praise, which seeks to mobilise all creation with a spontaneous and unreserved act of adoration, praise, gratitude and awe’.  It speaks of the fulfilment of what it is to be human; it celebrates the purpose and destiny of the whole created order: ‘let everything that has breath, praise the Lord’.

In our acts of praise, we are drawn into harmony with the ‘melody of love’ which is at the heart of God. That love was poured out in abundance in creation - which even now echoes the silent music of God’s praise. That gift of love includes the risk of creaturely freedom - and in our lives that music sometimes becomes the ‘skipped beat’ of an unkept promise or the ‘misplaced note’ of an unkind word. 

But the love of God is not just a ‘perfect harmony’ which fills outer space. It is a love that is made perfect in human weakness; it is love revealed in Jesus Christ, the one who is God with us. It’s a love which ‘vibrates God’s grace’ reaching out to us in sorrow and despair; which brings hope and forgiveness. 

Day by day in churches and cathedrals across our land, it’s a bell ringing out the Angelus which reminds us of the mystery of the incarnation.   The angel of the Lord announced this good news to Mary: she conceived by the Holy Spirit; the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.  It’s the bell which calls us to pray for God’s grace to be poured into our hearts; that through Christ’s passion and cross, we might be brought to the glory of resurrection.

The story of what flows from that angelic annunciation is retold in the melody of bells and the songs on our lips today.  We lent our voices to Mary’s song of praise - counting unnumbered blessings and longing for justice to be done as the hungry are fed and the humble lifted high.  In singing ‘Come down, O love divine’ our praise becomes a longing for the Holy Spirit to dwell within us, marking our craft and art and lives with ‘holy charity’.

Today our praises draw us more deeply into ‘love divine, all loves excelling’. In Jesus we see love that is compassionate and unbounded. Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord: it reaches to the very heights of delight and inspiration and to the very depths of grief and bewilderment; it extends into the fragile intimacy of our human relationships and the most mundane aspects of our daily tasks. 

Today we hear in particular of that love made present in the midst of a wedding feast.  In the midst of joy and celebration there’s a creeping sense of anxiety. Unbeknownst to the couple and their guests, Mary and the servants are waiting; they’re concerned lest the wine runs out.  What Jesus does is more than avoiding a moment of acute social embarrassment. 

Marriage at Cana by Giotto, 14th century

He is the one who brings plenty when our own resources run out. He gives us hope in our waiting; in the face of lack and limitation, he invites us to abide in God’s love and restores us to fullness of life. When he transforms water into wine, he gives us a new symbol of what love looks like. He takes us from scarcity to abundance. God want to pour our to more and more life, love, joy, companionship. We are to live in that love which makes us more honest, patient, kind, forgiving and hopeful.

The glory that the disciples see in Cana is magnified on the cross, when Jesus’ love brings life out of death. This is salvation: when we are drawn so fully into the melody of God’s love that the whole world is vibrates with grace. We are to pray and praise God without ceasing in gestures of love and in tangible signs of hope.

Living with the Gods will conclude with a contemporary symbol of such love and hope: MacGregor will focus on the Lampedusa cross. It was made in 2013 by an Italian carpenter Fanncisco Tuccio out of pieces from a boat wrecked off the Italian coast.  That boat carried refugees crossing from Libya to Europe, many of whom drowned. When he met a group of Eritrean Christians who’d survived, Tuccio was moved by their story yet felt frustrated at his helplessness. So he made them crosses out of the wreckage.

One such cross is now in the British Museum. It is a sign of salvation and hope for the ship wrecked. It is a sign of the kindness of a small community in the face of the refugee crisis. It is a sign of our capacity to go beyond self-interest and to offer solace. It is a sign of God’s love which moves us from scarcity to abundance, from fear to hope, from death to life.

In the power of the Spirit, may our handbells and our hands express the love of God revealed in Jesus. 

For love in creation, for heaven restored, for grace of salvation, O praise ye the Lord! 

© Julie Gittoes

The Booker and the Book

It was a delight to preach at the Evening Service at Royal Holloway (University of London) last night.  Their Co-ordinating Chaplain, Cate Irvine, is exploring signs and symbols this term - and in anticipation of Bible Sunday, I was speaking on 'The Book'. 

I loved English Lit at A-level - and despite not being a very good linguist, studied French and German for the sake of the literature. My love of books started somewhat earlier. I loved stories from Mr Men and Fairy Tales to reading Black Beauty, Watership Down and Tarka the Otter (although my primary schools didn't believe me!). I loved Ann of Green Gables and remember reading Jane Eyre with my mum (out loud, a chapter each; discovering the meaning of words like 'ubiquitous'). 

I discovered D H Lawrence as a 6th former; and Tolstoy during my PhD. Fiction continues to offer the kind of escape which draws us more deeply into what it is to be human. Thinking about the value of books - and the celebration of The Man Booker Prize - made me think afresh about our imaginative engagement with Scripture - revealing the depths of love and wisdom human and divine. 

The anthem was 'O where shall wisdom be found' by Boyce; the psalm was 119:89-104 and the text Colossians 3:12-17.

There’s a shelf in my living room containing the ‘great unread’: the stack of novels including recommendations, gifts, spontaneous purchases; things I ‘ought’ to read.

Admittedly, long train journeys, looming book group meetings and holidays are opportunities to make rapid progress. And however many books there are, it’s guaranteed that the winner of The Man Booker Prize will be making it’s way to that pile!

Last week it was announced that George Saunders had won with Lincoln in the Bardo. Since the prize was launched, it has aimed to promote the finest fiction writing by rewarding the ‘best novel’ of the year written in English. The words used to describe Saunder’s work certainly fulfil that criterion. 

The Man Booker Prize 2017: The Telegraph

Baroness Young, the Chair of Judges, said: it’s ‘utterly original’ in form and style; witty, intelligent and deeply moving. She continues, it’s a ‘tale of haunting and haunted souls’; a book which is ‘both rooted in, and plays with history’. which ‘explores the meaning and experience of empathy’.

For the author, it is career transforming: the award bring recognition, rewards and readership. For book sellers and those in the publishing, demand for the shortlisted and winning novels, gives the industry a much needed boost.

But there is more to books than personal acclaim and economic benefit: we read because ideas form us and inspire us. Other worlds and characters enable us to think about our own identity and values. Novels give a frame of reference to explore possibilities and to critique the misuse of power. 

One critic, the author Hari Kunzru, described Saunders as a writer who is ‘expanding his universes outwards’. That’s a wonderful description of fiction writing: something expansive and outward looking; something which makes think afresh about our responsibilities and mortality. 

Fiction sometimes confronts us with the truth of human agency - it’s potential to bring hope or perpetuate despair. It is an attempt to grapple with the questions which confronted Job - distilled in today’s anthem: where shall wisdom be found? And where is the place of understanding?

In last week’s speech, Saunder’s acknowledges that ‘we live in a strange time’. He says, ‘the question at the heart of the matter is pretty simple, do we respond to fear with exclusion and negative projection and violence? Or do we take that ancient great leap of faith and do our best to respond with love?’. 

William Blake (c. 1803)

Job confessing his presumption to God who answers from the whirlwind 

Taking that ancient leap of faith and responding to love, is at the very heart of book of books which we know as the Bible. Job takes that leap of faith; finding wisdom in the love of God.

Saunder’s celebrates the international culture of The Man Booker Prize - calling it compassionate and activist.  In the biblical language of the poets, prophets, chroniclers and gospel writers, such compassion and activism is the stuff of God’s Kingdom. 

In Scripture we rejoice in the diversity of creation - in the opportunities for companionship. We name injustice and self-interest. We are repeatedly called back to the needs of the orphan, widow, and stranger; to the most vulnerable. 

It is the stuff of the psalmist: remembering God’s precepts, ordinances and commandments of love. To meditate on love is to orientate our lives in such a way that we  bring life to others. God’s words are sweeter than honey - not just because they satisfy us, but because they shape a more equitable world. 

Our love of words of love delight us and shape our vision for the common good.

In his acceptance speech - addressed to the glittering illuminati of the world of literature - Saunders addresses them as a ‘room full of believers in the word, in beauty and in ambiguity and in trying to see the other person’s point of view, even when that is hard’.

This is not just an attribute of writers - it is the calling of all God’s people. We believe not only in the power of words, but in the gift of the Word. God with us. In  the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, we see love made perfect in human weakness.

We believe not only in beauty, but in the beauty of holiness: seeing God’s light and love refracted in our world in art and music, biological science and law, in ingenuity and entrepreneurship; in the pursuit of wisdom to which the university is committed from geography to classics, languages and economics.

To be committed to that task is also to deal with ambiguity and debate; with history and empathy; with resources and sustainability; with conversation and seeing the point of view of the other person, even when that is hard.  

Such concerns also run through Paul’s letter to the Colossians. He is seeking to encourage the community in two ways: in their worship and daily living. 

In worship, they are to mediate on the wisdom of God revealed in Scripture; they are to praise God in the beauty of holiness. We too participate in that this evening. In the power of the Spirit, we worship Christ who embodies the fullness of God’s love.

In daily life, we are to reflect that Christ-like-ness. our habits of worship shape our habits of living. Whatever dilemmas and choice we face - whatever our contribution to the life of this University and the wider community of which we are part - God’s Holy Spirit is at work in us. Breath by breath, gesture by gesture, word by word.  God’s Word made flesh shapes our thinking, and is embodied in us afresh, for the sake of God’s Kingdom.

Paul describes this as be ‘clothed’ with virtues or characteristics of God’s love. The Bible speaks of God’s desire to bless all nations through the faithfulness of Abraham and Sarah. Through Christ, we too become heirs of that lineage: chosen, holy and beloved.

Through us, God’s blessing and love continues to reach to the ends of the earth. Much of this won’t be through attaining glittering literary prizes, but through the ordinary face to face encounters of our personal relationships. 

Compassion and kindness extends God’s love and mercy: to the aged and infirm, to the lonely and vulnerable. It raises the bar on human behaviour calling us to resist and name actions which are cruel, demeaning or abusive. 

To be self-controlled challenges us to consider when our anger is justified at harm done to others.  To be patience is the wisdom to resist despair and cynicism. Given our human propensity to mess things up, how do we reflect God’s patience to keep loving? How do we entrust others with responsibility that they might learn and flourish? When do we need to set firm boundaries to protect others from harm?

Humility reminds us of the essential ‘creatureliness’ of humanity: there can be no room for arrogance; there can be no exploitation of the created order. How do we live wisely and sustainably knowing that our planet is a precious and finite gift of God?

We are members of one body: a body which lives and moves in our world. 

A body which gets stressed and anxious. 

A body which is held together in fellowship through the love and peace of Christ. 

A body which is rooted in the words which testify to the Word made flesh. 

We seek wisdom in scripture, psalms, hymns and spiritual songs; and whatever we do in word or deed, we do in the name of Jesus. 

In the power of the Spirit, may we expand the universe outwards; may we build God’s Kingdom moment by moment. Amen. 

©  Julie Gittoes 2017