Holy Tears

The texts of reflections from this morning's worship in Hendon. Sadly, the church wifi went down towards the end of this part of the service. 

Sinai: from creative commons

They journeyed. They entered the wilderness. There they camped. 

A place of escape; but not the destination. Open space; open skies.  Guided by cloud in the heat of the day; by fire in the cool of the night. 

And did the remember what God had promised Abraham? That they’d be blessed; that they’d be numerous than the stars; more numerous than the sand. Blessed to be a blessing. 

Sinai: wikipedia

They journeyed. They camped.  Freedom was uncomfortable in this strange land. They longed for the tastes of Egypt; of garlic and melons, fish and cucumbers. And yet, in this strange landscape, their needs were met with manna and quail. Freedom meant having enough.   

As they camped there before the mountain, did they know that that covenant would be renewed? 

Image: Yoram Raanan

Moses was one who led them: he’d demanded their freedom; he'd heard their grumbles; and still he spoke for them. He knew the wilderness. He’d learnt to turn aside once before.

In a wilderness like this, he’d dared to look; he’d stood on holy ground. Where the presence of love burned in the world and did not consume it. There in flame I AM spoke. The one who was, and is and is to come. 

Image: Rae Chichilnitsky

And I AM will touch his heart again; I AM will give voice to commandments and renew this covenant.  Obey and keep says the voice of I AM; guide these people through the wilderness that they may know a way of promise and peace.  

And will they honour the name of I AM; will they honour each other? For way back when, when Abram said ‘yes’ and Sarah laughed, a promise was made.  A people  grew like sand and stars; brothers dreamed and brothers parted; plenty turned to slavery; and yet God said, there is way of love.

Image: Richard McBee

Moses went up the mountain. The Lord called to him. I AM speaks and Moses listens. This is neither a burning bush nor an overshadowing cloud. It is just him. On this mountain. In this wilderness. Waiting. Breathing. Listening. But he must also speak.

Image: Lisa Fahey

He must speak of I AM who carried this people on eagles’ wings. I AM is like this majestic bird; carrying them from a place of bondage; preventing them from falling; drawing them home to Godself.

But fledglings must learn to fly. Before wings grow strong, the mother eagle swoops down and carries them up. Higher, this time. Until they grow accustomed to the air currents; and the beating of their own wings.  

Image: Ercole de' Roberti

The same is true for God’s people. We must listen to the voice of love, and obey it; we must adjust to the breath of love, and take flight on it this vortex of air. Keep it, this way of promise and peace.

Image: Nasa

For God loves the whole world.  This orb of life. Fragile. Diverse. Full of beauty and creativity, gifted freedom; yet consumed with the desire to acquire and control. I AM says they whole world is mine. Yet, with you I make a covenant out of all peoples; blessed to be a blessing; a light to lighten the nations. 

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More treasured than keepsakes, mementos and souvenirs; even more precious than the heirloom, or gift or childhood toy. This is how God looks on his chosen people; precious and beloved. Called to obey God’s voice and keep the covenant in order to draw others back to Godself.

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This is a holy nation: drawing near to the refining fire of God’s love; this is a kingdom of priests mediating something of God’s justice. And yes, the people embrace this call; and yet we know that for centuries the prophets continued to challenge and recall them to God’s ways of mercy and compassion.

Yet here in the wilderness there is a willingness to trust and obey; a willingness to listen and act; to receive a promise in order to bring hope; to embrace a covenant in order to bring light in darkness; to receive a blessing in order to bless.

The grace of this convent - this way of promise and peace - is a sign to the world of God’s love of humanity. 

We are heirs in faith; heirs of the promise of this kingdom. In Jesus, this promise and peace is extended to all.  So their answer is on our lips: everything that the Lord has spoken we will do. 

Will we seek after the lost sheep; will we go into the harvest?

Be bold and be brave in the way of promise and peace; bringing good news and raising others up.

Stock image

Jesus left the wilderness and came to his own. He walked amongst them. He went about in their towns and cities; we walked the land, step by step. 

He taught in synagogues: opening the scroll, declaring liberation for all held captive. He proclaimed good news: in him the kingdom of heaven drew near, touching earth and transforming lives. 

Image: unknown

There was something attractive and compelling about these words.  In Jesus the holy one, the great I AM had come near. He came alongside us in our suffering and sorrows; he came to the places of loneliness and despair and was in solidarity with us. 

Jesus loved. In him the heart of God spoke. In him, the love spoke and acted, living out the answer to our deepest longings. In him, this way of promise and peace is extended to all; we walk as members of Christ’s body, we are Spirit-led in making this love visible in the world. 

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And crowds were curious. They were drawn to the life and love they saw in Jesus. They were attracted to this good news of freedom and hope, of peace and healing. And yet, they were vulnerable.  They were harassed and helpless.

Icon found here

And Jesus looked on them - and we see in him emotional at the very dept of his being; a physical sensation that leads him to act. We are to look on the world as Jesus looked on the crowd: to be moved with gut-wrenching, heart-stopping, all-consuming love. We are to be jolted out of complacency or disconnection - and to see them with love.

These sheep - God’s flock - were harassed and helpless; scattered, stressed, vulnerable; crying out with hurt and longing.  In need of compassion and hope. We are to see each other differently, with the eyes of Christ; to respond differently with the love of Christ. 

There is longing and the season is ripe. Jesus responds to the crowd at the level of authentic human response; he will pour out love for them and us, going to the very depths of suffering and death to bring new life. 

Jesus sees their need and also calls others to pay attention. To see what is happening - and to listen to human cries and to obey God’s call. 

Image found here

And they followed him; and he called them.  And as we hear their names, we know that they like us are not perfect. There is humility in this list - we know some of the details of their lives: they were stubborn and argumentative; they were ambitious and misunderstood; they denied and betrayed. 

Yet these flawed human beings, like us, are capable of extending great love in our gestures - small, persistent and effective. And yet, they too are sent: they are sent to share the same space as Jesus. They too are to walk the land; they share is vulnerability and poverty; they share the journey and the resting places. They will face opposition and will raise others up.

They go and they make known a kingdom. Not only do they speak words of love and kindle hopes for justice; they bring the kingdom near. 

There are tangible signs of release as people are restored to dignity; as of healing breaks in. There are tangible signs of promise, as mercy is extended to those who have suffered; signs of hope as penitence is met with forgiveness. 

What will it take for the kingdom to come near today?

Image: The Artist's Tears - Jimmy C (James Cochran)

Do we see those holy tears? 

Tears of how racism has impacted on the identity of individuals; or how as whole we are less than we might be because of the exclusion of some. Tears of social and economic inequality - which means some bear the disproportionate impact of lockdown; which means as a society we suffer. 

Tears of repentance as we seek to learn, to listen to understand and to be better stewards of this kingdom. A kingdom which speaks, in the empty, desolate and vulnerable places of promise; a kingdom which speaks in the corridors of power and the places of plenty, of justice and peace. 

Image found here

But we have this treasure in clay jars: the frailty of our human nature demands a constant recalling to the claims of the gospel for creation; for the raising up of others to new life; and a gentleness in understanding ourselves and others. We have a gospel to proclaim; a way to walk in; a kingdom that is near to us. 

Miriam Therese Winter:

Be bold in the claiming of the gospel for the whole creation. 

Be brave in the lifting up of the life of God in every place.

Be firm in carrying the holy name of Jesus Christ into the place of worldly power.

Be gentle in the understanding of ourselves and one another. 

And may songs of the Creator sound with love in all the earth,

the tenderness of Christ Jesus cover the wounds of the people

and the truth of the Holy Spirit rise free in every age. Amen. 

© Julie Gittoes 2020

Peace behind locked doors

Our Sunday morning worship is continuing to evolve: adding in some music and images; bringing in a range of voices; and breaking down the reflection into two. The texts were Acts 2: 14a, 22-32 and John 20:19-end. Perhaps it's our local version of R4's Sunday Service! So here are two reflections - one on fear and the presence of Christ behind locked doors, speaking peace; and the other on our hands being the hands of Christ.

Reflection One

The disciples, like us, are living their lives behind locked doors: we hear of fears, doubts and words of peace. 

Perhaps we can imagine the conversations and questions: behind locked doors, they are caught between news of an empty tomb and fear of those in authority. Behind locked doors they ponder Mary’s passionate declaration “I have seen the Lord”. Behind locked doors they are held captive by their feelings of grief, shock and exhaustion; by their expectations, disappointments and guilt.

And yet, the enormity of the resurrection is being made known every minute, literally breath by breath as they share their experience.

Jesus is present amongst them in this fearful place. His body still bore the makes of nails and wounds. This body overcame suffering and death; this body signals that love wins as he breathes out a word of peace.

Peace be with you: peace following from the heart of God; peace that took the sting out of death; peace that rested on places of hopelessness.

Our risen Lord continues to breath peace into our troubled, joyful, curious, courageous and questioning hearts. 

In our locked homes and amongst isolated friends: peace!

When anxiety, fear and uncertainty paralyse us: peace!

In the midst of all we’re doing, in lives lived at a distance: peace!

Image: William Hatherell

The one who breathes peace, sends disciples to share peace.

God so loved the world that he sent his one Son: to forgive and love, to heal and not condemn. Now, he sends others, in the power of the Spirit to share that love, to restore relationships. 

But Thomas wasn’t there. He missed it. His questions and exclamations are met with “believe us”. It’s overwhelming. No wonder he replies with  ‘unless I see’; no wonder he longs to touch the one he loves. 

He’s locked into this room with the others - talking, eating and praying. He’s locked in with those whose experience he cannot fully understand or share. He was locked into his own disappointment, perhaps; that he’s missed it; locked into his own isolation or jealously, as the days pass.

Although the doors remained shut, Jesus was there to speak words of peace. He does not rebuke Thomas. Instead he invites him to reach out and place his trust in him; to touch and to believe. At that moment fear and doubt and separation becomes worship: my Lord and my God!

Perhaps it feels as we are standing with Thomas today: not just because our lives are constrained and relationships stretched, or we fear we’re missing something; but because that’s were God meets us to: that we might receive a gift of peace. 

Image: John Granville Gregory - based on Caravaggio

We are healed by those same wounds; restored to new life; knowing that we are loved, made whole, blessed and forgiven.

We are people whose lives have been sustained and shaped by sharing in broken bread and outpoured wine; it might be that that is the thing we miss most in this season.

And yet, not only does God reach out to us in the places where we feel fearful or locked in;  in the power of the Spirit, God uses us to unlock the fears of others, to meet them with kindness and patience and peace.

Our lives are Christ’s broken bread; our love Christ’s out poured wine. 

Many across South India came to believe through the honest and faithful witness of Thomas; Peter also points people to ‘this Jesus’. Jesus who wasn’t just a wise teacher or compassionate healer; not just a inspiring or controversial celebrity. 

No, this Jesus endured the very worst harm human beings can inflict on another; he went to the depths of shame and suffering; bringing life out of death, hope out of fear. 

Our world longs for the justice that such love demands; for the dignity and compassion such love enables. We are witnesses to the power of love in this risen body, standing among us breathing peace.

Even behind our own front doors, the witness of Mary, Peter and Thomas continues in our prayer, in relationship and in our worship. 

Even in lockdown, something of that love is made known: when we use our words to inspire and encourage others; when our work continues in new ways; when we listen to those who mourn; when we share what we have with generosity; home schooling with patience; when we receive from others the care we need.

Peace be with you. 

Though the layers of fear and bewilderment, may that peace seep in: we belive, we rejoice, we hope, we love.

Reflection Two

Jesus himself stood among the disciples and said, ‘peace be with you’. 

As you breath in, imaging that you are breathing in that gift of peace.

Jesus knew that the disciples were frightened; locked in behind closed doors. 

As we breath out, we name the things we’re worried about. 

Again Jesus said, ‘peace be with you’. 

He invite them to look at his hands and feet.

Wounded in suffering with us; in loving us to the end.

This risen and glorious body is marked with love.

Look at your hands: open them, flex them, turn them over. Look at the lines; the finger tips; the joints. 

Look them: remembering the words they’ve written, the things they’ve carried; the meals they’ve prepared.

Remember the acts of love they’ve shown; the hands they’ve held; the times you’ve washed them to cleanse, protect and care.

Jesus said: look at my hands: hands that brought healing; that welcomed children; that broke bread; that wiped tears from eyes.

How much did Thomas want to see and hold and touch these hands; to know that healing and life was possible.

Look at your hands.

Teresa of Avila wrote this prayer: Christ has no body on earth but yours; no  hands, nor feat on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks with compassion o the world; yours are the feet with which he walks to do good; yours are the hand with which he blessed all the world. Christ has no body now on the earth but yours.

No hands, no feet on earth but yours, but ours: to care for the vulnerable.

No feet but ours: to run errands for others.

No eyes but ours: to see the anxiety and fear, and respond with love.

No ears but ours: to listen to the lonely and isolated.

No tongue but ours: to speak words of comfort and encouragement to the bereaved.

No heart but ours: to love the young, the old, the sick, the key worker, the carer, the teacher, the almost coping, the neighbour.

Yours the feet with which he walks to do good; the hands with which he blesses all the world.  Your bodies are his body; Christ has no body now one earth but yours.

He said, peace be with you.

You that are fearful, see my hands.

Look at your hands. Mark your palms with the sign of the cross.

Say: may Christ these hands; may they be healing hands for  a hurting world. 

©  Julie Gittoes 2020

After Christmas

A sermon preached on Sunday 29th December. This goes to the heart of Christmas - the messiness of the world; it's violence and misused power; and yet God is with us in this place. How can our lives walk another way - a way of peace? The texts were: Isaiah 63:7-9, Hebrews 2:10-18 and Matthew 2:13-23

Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night and went to Egypt.

The great of violence and destruction is real: the holy family flee.

As the priest-poet Malcolm Guite puts it:

We think of him as safe beneath the steeple,

Or cosy in a crib beside the font,

But he is with a million displaced people

On the long road of weariness and want.

For even as we sing our final carol

His family is up and on that road,

Fleeing the wrath of someone else’s quarrel,

Glancing behind and shouldering their load.

We live in a murky, brutal and wounded world.  It is into such a world as this that the Christ-child is born.

It is a world where children are held at borders, separated from parents; where families fleeing war and violence risk crossing the Mediterranean Sea in the hope of safety; where refugee camps become the only home a child knows; where human trafficking is still a reality; where the fear and power of tyrants and insurgents bring cruelty and destruction.  

The nativity scene at the Claremont United Methodist Church in Claremont, Calif.Credit...

David Swanson/EPA, via Shutterstock

A world where fathers get up and take the children and their mothers by night. 

Today, we’re confronted with the horror of Herod's fury; it reminds us of the way in which insecurity and power can envelop our lives.  The whole of Bethlehem was caught up in the implications of an infant's threat to stability.  

Herod snatched away his people's future in the destruction of children.  The catastrophic consequences of desire to cling to power is repeated in the lives of men and women in our own generation.  

As Malcolm’s sonnet continues:

Whilst Herod rages still from his dark tower

Christ clings to Mary, fingers tightly curled,

The lambs are slaughtered by the men of power,

And death squads spread their curse across the world.

But every Herod dies, and comes alone

To stand before the Lamb upon the throne.

What Herod did is appalling: wickedly massacring children to protect his own power.

This is the world that Jesus came to save.

The Christmas message is that God so loved the world that he sent us his Son.

It is a hopeful because there is no where where God is not; our humanity is glorified.  

It is disruptive because divine vulnerability shifts the balance of power in a fearful and war-torn world.  

The birth of the Christ-child is just the beginning.

The hope and joy of wise men contrast with Herod's fear and rage.  Their gifts reveal who this child is: our king and our God; the suffering servant who lays down his life for love of the world.  

Their journey continues along another road; they're witnesses to peace in vulnerability, power in weakness. Joseph must take his family along another road.  

They must flee and seek protection.

Herod searches and destroys; he is infuriated and kills.

There is wailing and lamentation. 

We feel silenced and helpless; we lament and cry out.  

The writer of the Hebrews reminds us that the one through whom all things exist shares our flesh and blood.

Jesus becomes like us and suffered with us; bleeding like us and dying with us us; so that through death he might destroy its power and set us free.

In Jesus, God reaches out to us - to all who suffer - in vulnerability. 

God continues to reach out to mothers crying out, to communities whose future is disrupted by the loss of children.  

God reaches out in Jesus Christ to bear the weight of pain and violence on the cross.

God reaches out in the resurrection to demonstrate that human wrath does not extinguish love.

God reaches out in the power of the Spirit to call us to live in the light of that hope. 

Trusting in Jesus, God with us, is not an escape from world; nor is it an attempt to conquer it in our own strength.  Rather, in him we seek the transformation of all that is by acts of compassion and justice which resist abuses of power.

The Gospel makes manifest the power of love in birth and death and in risen life; in a human family, in a complex world, in the midst of agony and grief.  

Such love shifts our horizons away from control and manipulation.  The change of heart wrought by God's reconciling love disrupts our tribalism; it seeks a kingdom of justice and equity which challenges the human tendency to control or oppress.

The promise of Isaiah - of mercy and the abundance of steadfast love - if fulfilled in God with us.

K. Latimore - Refugees, La Sagrada Familia

Mercy and the abundance of love is revealed in the speechless dependency of an infant; revealed alongside all who flee for safety, we see strength in weakness.

In time, Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel.

We are to pray that our lives will frustrate the evil designs of others; that we might be agents of hope and reconciliation.  Hope that is rooted in a love that liberates, transforms and forgives. 

The promise and challenge of that is held in our Eucharist. Here God continues to give himself to us in the ordinary stuff of bread and wine; a sign of abundance and hope in a broken and fragile world.  Here we find assurance forgiveness, faithful love and renewed hope; here we learn to walk another way, the way of peace.

Jesus doesn't merely show us love or validate our human expressions of love.  Rather he demonstrates redemptive power of love.  Only he can forgive us, recall us, draw us into abundant life; he enables us to be agents of resistance, compassion and reconciliation.  

Let us pray [from S. Shakespeare, Prayers for an Inclusive Church]:

Weeping God

whose heart is pierced 

by the cry of the innocent:

receive into your arms

the waste of our violent;

confront the powers of fear

by the confidence of love;

and help us stand with all creatures

who bear the weights of cruelty and greed;

through Jesus Christ, Rachel’s child. Amen.

© Julie Gittoes 2019

Forces for change

I'm not a reader of Vogue. I don't think I've ever bought a copy. However, I did come across the September issue for £2; and was intrigued to know how the Duchess of Sussex had got on as a guest editor.  The readings were: Jeremiah 23:23-9; Hebrews 11:29-12:2; Luke 12:49-56

The September issue British Vogue has attracted more attention than usual because of its guest editor: HRH The Duchess of Sussex.

The Duchess writes that she and the editorial team have aimed to go a bit deeper to produce an issue ‘of both substance and levity’. So amongst the glossy, high end advertising there are pages on ethical and sustainable brands; features on heritage and history. 

Meghan’s vision was to focus is on “forces of change”: on women who’ve made an impact or who are, in her words, ‘set to re-shape society in radical and positive ways’. Among them are activists, actors, advocates indulging Michelle Obama, Greta Thunberg and Jameela Jamil.

These diverse change-makers are aged from 16 to 81.

The faces on the cover of Vogue span the generations.

Yet so often news headlines speak of generations at war; of stolen futures or neglected responsibilities. 

Whether its around housing, pensions or job security; culture, technology or how we vote; the cost of tuition fees or social care: it’s all too easy to pit Baby Boomers against Millennials; to treat successes, failures and struggles as a zero-sum game.

One writer talks about the multiplying effect of rapid change: globalisation, the digitisation, housing bubbles and urban transience. He says ‘many older people have deep roots in their communities but few connections, while many young people have hundreds of connections but no roots in communities’ [Alex Smith on the generation gap].

Such generational divides contribute to loneliness and fragmentation. Add to that the multiplying effects of the tensions and uncertainties around Brexit, and irrespective of party politics or conviction, we face a challenging future. Uncertainty of that sort is the hardest thing to deal with. 

Our scriptures present us with challenging words about divisions; and also words of encouragement. 

We are called afresh to live by faith.

Elsewhere, the prophet Jeremiah has rebuked those who cry ‘peace, peace’ where there is none. Today we hear further words of rebuke when prophets fail guide people to seek justice and mercy.

Jeremiah is riled by the vague and seductive of ‘dreams’ which doesn’t touch the needs of the poorest; ‘dreams’ which don’t demand anything of the powerful. Dreams which entice people forget their God; to forget the commandments to love.

The offer of consoling falsehoods is damaging to the fabric of society; claiming the nearness of God yet not responding faithfully. Instead they collude with the lies and deceits of the heart.

God is as near to us as our every breath; and yet, also ‘far off’. God’s nearness can’t be treated as a veneer to our social life; the one who fills the heavens and the earth can’t be contained by our agendas. 

The God of whom Jeremiah speaks is close to those who are far off. This God is with the widow, the orphan and the stranger. 

Jeremiah rebukes to prophets for dreams which lead to forgetfulness and a failure to love God and neighbour. Such forgetfulness divides the generations and fragments society.

Instead, the one who has God’s word speak it faithfully.

This word is a force for change.

Like fire, it burns aware impurities; refining and purifying our hearts.

Like a hammer, it breaks down in justices; strengthening communities across generations.

This word comes to dwell with us in Jesus.

In him is radical nearness, intimacy or proximity: he is with the poor and marginalised and influential; the abused and lonely and the advocate. He is with the child and the widow and the politician; the sex worker and the tax collector and the journalist. He is with the despised and the powerful; the carer and the cared for.

He is with us, saying: the kingdom is near.

He is asking, do you love me?

He is with us, looking on us with compassion.

He is asking, who is the neighbour.

Jesus is God with us yet not contained by us: in our households, workplaces and schools; in our streets, within our political institutions and woven into our social fabric.

Jesus is with us as a force for change.

It isn’t comfortable.

This peace does not imply an absence of division: because it does oppose the injustices and self-interests of this present age.

As Jeremiah expressed, there is a difference between God’s peace and false peace; between the peace which seeks the common good, harnessing the hopes and wisdom across generations; and the peace which colludes with worldly values, deceitfully turning fear into a zero-sum game.

Jesus speaks of his death as a baptism; of the pain, struggle and stress which will be born by his body. For the peace that he brings comes through the shedding of his blood.

He dies to defeat death; he lives to bring new life.

Jesus endured shame for the sake of the joy of God’s Kingdom.

By the cross, heaven and earth are reconciled: God’s love is with us to the end and for ever.

This brings the world to a point of decision: to be seduced by dreams or embrace the Kingdom?

Jesus expresses the choice through the lens of the family.

Family values get interpreted and shaped by wider political and social trends: the hard-working family; the family business; the nuclear family; the family inheritance.

The Kingdom values that Jesus speaks about go beyond biological ties to a vision of kinship where we see others as our brothers and sisters.

Conflicts arise when we witness to that Kingdom because its values challenge personal dreams and deceitful hearts.

This Kingdom is good news for the poor, oppressed and captive; it is at odds with narrow visions of self-interest; it invites us to be forces of change; to advocates and activists for justice, freedom and healing; allowing light to shine in our fragmented world. 

Just as we become adept at reading the signs clear skies and storm clouds, we are discern the signs of this Kingdom in our midst.

We do that by faith.

We do that in the company of clouds of witnesses.

By faith we are to be people of peace; and to be just and compassionate.

By faith, we show strength in weakness; being faithful to the promise of life.

By faith, we are to be with the prisoner, the fearful, the lonely, the grieving.

Jesus proclaimed the nearness of the Kingdom in words of rebuke, encouraging and warning.

He also embodied it: in gestures of acceptance and healing; in acts of hospitality and in being with others.

Among the 15 strong women on the cover of Vogue is a mirror: space to see ourselves as part of this collective.

In this Eucharist there is space to be one with Christ: members of his body, agents of his Kingdom. 

We are to be forces for change.

Today’s collect reminds us what that looks like: our hearts are to be open to the richness of grace; our lives enlivened and enlightened by the Spirit.

We are to be forces for change: loving, joyful, peaceful; holy, strong and faithful.

Our nation needs courageous Christian witness at a time of at best uncertainty at worst crisis. 

As forces for change in every part of our city, how can we make connections and strengthen communities?

Come to this table where the living Christ offers us bread for our journey, for our joys or our tears.

Share this meal together: be the living Christ this week, bringing hope out of despair and truth out of deceit.

Christ calls you by name: in the Spirit, be a force for change.

© Julie Gittoes 2019