Better Together

This is the text of a short reflection given at the Interfaith Panel Discussion convened by Canon Dr Anthony Cane at Chichester Cathedral as part of International Day of Peace. Further details about the event and other panelists can be found on the Cathedral website. The title for the discussion was: How can we live better together, for the well being of all?

W1A is back!

The BBC comedy sails painfully close to the truth of PC or PR-speak corporate culture with all the anxieties about Charter renewal and public service. W1A parodied what we mean by “better” by appointing of Anna Rampton as Director of Better to place betterness development at the core.

Sarah Parish as Anna Rampton: Director of Better

Series three goes one step further as Anna introduces the more of less initiative:  as she says, “identifying what we do best and finding more ways of doing less of it better”. 

Putting the words ‘better together’ into Google reveals something of our contemporary longing to live well: it’s associated with our digital lives, increased connectivity and the desire for stable personal relationships; it embraces the tension between increasing GDP  and the concern for sustainable development; it touches on climate change, the environmental and our political aspirations.  There’s talk not only of soft, hard or smooth Brexit; but a better Brexit.

The referendum revealed fault-lines within our society: home owners versus renters; millennials versus pensioners; north versus south; rural versus urban; rich versus poor; graduate versus non-graduate. We can add to this questions of identity - as fluid or sharply defined and inequalities of social and cultural capital, as well as wealth.

In the midst of this, I want to suggest some wisdom from scripture before our conversation:

A line from Psalm 118 [verse 8]: ‘It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to put confidence in mortals’. Psalms draw our entire life under the rule of God - from sorrow and lament to joy and thanksgiving. They represent a struggle for justice and yearning for peace; they express our primary orientation to God. Even in the face of upheaval and distress we are called back to discover a new way of living, rooted in God’s faithful love.

Fixing our attention on God shapes us: our priorities are transformed as we seek to live wisely moment by moment; as God’s ways become our ways. In our relationships and responsibilities we make decisions: to act selfishly or with compassion; to possess and consume or to be content with less. We’re called to seek the welfare of the widow, orphan and stranger.  As Proverbs puts it [16: 8]: Better is a little with righteousness than large income with injustice’.

Attentiveness to God and attentiveness to the needs of others is also at the heart of the Gospel. Luke draws us into the dynamics of two siblings - Mary and Martha - who welcome Jesus into the hospitality of their home. One sister is busily consumed with tasks and a grumpy irritation that she's doing it all; the other sits in rapt attention at the feet of her Lord. 

Into this tension, Jesus speaks with affection [Luke 10:41-2]: ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part…’.  Our ability to attend to the needs of others begins by loving God above all things and extends to loving our neighbour fully, even as ourselves.

Martha and Mary: He Qi

It’s this way of being with others, as God was with us in Jesus, that shapes a Christian tradition and challenges selfish ambition. In Philippians this is seen as key to living better together; enabling all to flourish; to seek the good of the communities in which we share; to be concerned for the interests of others. Concentration on the self pushes others to the margins; instead writes Paul [Philippians 2:3]: ‘Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves.’

How do we live better together, for the well-being of all?

Pay deep attention to God’s loving ways: in prayer, worship and learning. Those habits shape us - so that we might become more who we’re called to be. More loving, generous, compassionate and peaceable; more able to see the other as beloved by God, to seek her well-being. 

Like the Director of Better, we identify what we do best…

…but perhaps we should do more of it - for the sake of all - together.

This is the stuff of God’s Kingdom.

To participate fully in the practices and processes which build community, attending to what God is doing in and through others in the places where we live; strengthening networks of faith and good will. This is a rooted, social and authentic way of building trust and renewing hope; looking beyond self interest to a more sustainable and equitable future.

© Julie Gittoes 2017

Silk Roads

This is the text of a sermon preached at Evensong on Sunday 3rd September. The texts were: 2 Kings 6:24-33, 7:3-end; Acts 18:1-16. The former was particularly challenging - with its talk of sieges/starvation. As one who doesn't dodge tricky or random texts, setting Kings alongside Acts drew me back to one of the books I read over the summer: The Silk Roads. I had the pleasure of hearing Peter Frankopan speak at an event at Westminster Central Hall - on the implications of Brexit. It's humbling to think that a vibrant and cosmopolitan city like Corinth fell into decline; we so readily assume the narrative of relentless progress but Frankopan's book reminds us that that history is more complex than that. So this is beginning to reflect on where we hear the voice of God in the midst of transition and uncertainty. 

As far as holiday reading goes, the historian Peter Frankopan’s bestseller The Silk Roads is an epic; its subtitle declares it to be a ‘new history of the world’. The endorsements do nothing to lower our expectations of the content: it’s described as ‘brilliant and fearless’; a ‘swashbuckling history’. It’s compelling, accessible and entertaining; ambitious in scope and detail. 

For Frankopan, it all began with a large map of the world: as a child he memorised names, capitals cities, rivers, deserts, oceans. As a teenager, he questioned the narrow geographical and historical focus of his lessons. As an academic, he seeks to embolden others to study people and places long ignored by scholars. 

Forces of trade, culture, religion, ideas and politics which have shaped our world. We watch Empires rise and fall as power flows from the Indus valley to the Oxus river; from Nineveh to Nagasaki; Lhasa to Pisa. It’s a humbling corrective to our Eurocentrism.

Frankopan identifies the halfway point between east and west as running from the eastern Mediterranean and Black Sea to the Himalayas: counties such as Azerbaijan, Syria, Uzbekistan and Russia. Places we associate with human rights violations, unstable regimes, violence and concern about cyber security. And yet…

… This fertile area between the Tigris and Euphrates is the birth place of civilisation; the biblical Garden of Eden. The rulers, traders, farmers, intellectuals and lawyers of competing kingdoms make there way into our scriptures: Babylonians, Mesopotamians, Assyrians, Greeks, Persians, Egyptians, Cretans and so on. That context might help us when we are confronted with the impact of the Arameans and Corinthians.

The history of the people of Israel is told through the narratives we find in 1 and 2 Kings. Those books take us from the end of David’s reign and into the golden age of his son Solomon; we read of the architectural splendour of a new Temple and the rift between tribes resulting in two separate kingdoms, Israel and Judah. A stable society collapses; a people are exiled. 

The drama of this story is Frankopan-esque given the interplay of trade, law, religion and power. The moral is this: when a nation and its leaders obey the commandment to love God and neighbour, there is peace and prosperity. When God’s people rejects these commands, social fragmentation, exploitation, economic disaster and occupation follow.

Prophets like Elijah and Elisha emerge to call God’s people back to ways of holiness and justice.  Last week we heard how Elisha was able to secure a peace deal. Having placed his trust in God’s protection he thwarts the Aramean attack; exercising spiritual diplomacy perhaps. He even persuades his King to offer hospitality and mercy rather than exacting vengeance. But…

… Benhadad of Aram returns.  He lays siege to Samaria. The people are facing starvation. The famine was so severe that unclean food was fetching a premium price. The King of Israel blames Elisha; Elisha continues to speak of God’s deliverance. The truth emerges not from the wisdom of the powerful but from the desperation of those who’re most vulnerable. 

The lepers lived in limbo on the margins: as unclean they were cut off from all forms of religious and social association; yet they depended on the gifts of food left for them. If a city is starving, there is nothing left for them. They have nothing to lose; if they’re facing death anyway, why not take a risk on the Arameans. Perhaps they’ll show mercy. 

They find a deserted camp: food, drink, clothes and great riches. Elisha’s prediction is true - the word of the Lord spoke of barley and meal. The attackers flee as soon as they hear the sound of what they take to be an even greater army. The lepers recognise that they are breaking the laws about right conduct in battle; their integrity enables the whole city to benefit from this windfall. All that is, apart from the captain who’d not believed Elisha; he’s crushed in the surge of people seeking food. 

Kings gives us one nation’s self-understanding and history - of war, famine, negotiation, social life, rivalries, trade and economics; it is infused with a sense of God’s call. The purposes of God echo through these pages through the words of prophets who continually remind us of the limitations of human power. They speak to us of love, mercy, righteousness and peace. 

It was into such a world as this - a world shaped by international affairs - that God sent his Son. At the crucible of civilisation, he lived, died and rose again to draw all people into a kingdom of God’s new creation. In him, the prophets’ hope for redemption was fulfilled. 

Frankopan charts the flow of goods and ideas along the trade routes from the Pacific, Central Asia, India, the Persian Gulf and the Mediterranean. As he says, ‘among the most powerful ideas were those that concerned the divine’ [The Faith Roads]. Christianity had begun to spread eastwards as well as westwards. Paul enters into this complex world of competing philosophies and local cults. He spoke to the Athenians about what they worshipped as unknown; proclaiming Christ Jesus.

Now he settles in Corinth. It is a Roman colony and commercial centre, with command over shipping routes Once more we get a glimpse of the movement of people through arteries of trade and in the face of persecution. He shares home and work with Aquila and Priscilla; Timothy joins him fresh from his own travels. Having a place within the city marketplace offers new opportunities for witness and debate within and beyond the synagogue. 

Paul proclaims the message of the ‘life-changing and world-changing Messiah’ [Loveday Alexander on Acts] to the Jews first; when he fails to persuade the whole community, he moves on to the home of Titius Justus. His actions and words draw a line, if you like; hearers are responsible for accepting or rejecting the message he’s shared. 

God is active in this cosmopolitan and vibrant city: not only in Paul’s words but also through the power of the Spirit blowing where it wills. The assurance Paul receives in this new place echoes his own words to the Athenians: we search after God though he is not far from us. 

Even though the weight of imperial strength is encroaching, Paul’s example continues to inspire us. He reveals the importance of dialogue and building relationships; of participating in the life of our towns and cities as part of our witness. In the words of the psalmist, ensuring that our ‘talking’ might tell of God’s ‘wonderful works’ (Ps 105:2).

The Silk Roads is the sort of history which re-shapes our present perspectives. Frankopan writes that ‘the age of the west is at a crossroads, if not an end’… ‘networks and connections are quietly being knitted together across the spine of Asia; or rather they are being restored’ [Conclusion].  

Where do we find ourselves in the midst of this?

Uncertainty around Brexit and the Korean peninsula loom large; an age of transition is marked by concern around population growth, climate change, trade agreements, resource scarcity, cyber security.  The worlds of Elisha and Paul are not as remote as we think: our scriptures resource us to attend to the ways in which God’s word has echoed in the face of transition. 

We will find ourselves on our own marketplaces day by day, debating, building relationships and witnessing to Christ in the power of the Spirit. We might pray and support those called to the work of commerce, diplomacy and international affairs; and for those for whom it’s part of their discipleship. 

We are also called to pray for the work of our ecumenical partnerships and inter-faith work; that new silk roads might be shaped by a deeper religious understanding and vision of God’s Kingdom.

© Julie Gittoes 2017

He was called James

Last night I had the very great pleasure to preach at Evensong at the opening of the Endellion Summer Festival. This year it fell on the Feast of St James - so I was grappling with how we think about this example of being called by name to share good news, in the context of the a living community celebrating the gift of music.  Added to that, the texts were both complex and challenging in their different ways: first the stark warnings of a prophet (Jeremiah 26:1-15) and the immediacy of James’ response to Jesus (Mark 1:14-20).  In the end, calling and good news resonated through the text - and I managed to sneak in a reference to the other “James”… the indie rock band and their famous anthem ‘Sit Down’ releases  in 1989!

St Endellion Church

He saw James.

James, with his brother in their boat.

Sitting together mending the nets.

Mending nets demanded skill and patience: checking, untangling, knotting; nibble fingers handling needles; four hands holding the weight and tension.  It’s a scene which still plays out along our coastline. So mundane and time consuming we’d hardly notice it; we barely see.

And there Jesus saw him. 

Really saw him.

The fisherman: gazed upon;

by one who is God with us.

Guido Reni - Saint James the Great

He was called James.

James was called. 

He left his father and followed.

James listened, witnessed and asked a favour.

He questioned, doubted and was weighed down with sleep.

James believed, followed and fished for people.

Sharing life transforming good news made him apostle, martyr, saint.

If you Google “St James” you discover a boutique hotel, royal palace and a wealth management group; numerous schools, hospitals and a creative media company which, according to its website, injects a ‘thrill into a tailor made message’. St James’: a crown estate - a market like no other - food, fashion, lifestyle, art and events.

And in all these places, men, women, young and old, are engaged in tasks which demand skill and patience: planning lessons, cleaning offices, fulfilling ambitions, asking questions, making beds, welcoming diplomats, shaping campaigns, resisting sleep, cooking meals, managing wealth, suturing wounds, seeking work, creating art.

And God sees them; sees us.

We are seen with all our questions, passions, exhaustion and potential 

Like James, we are called by name.

By name we are called. 

Called to follow and listen, believe and share good news.

To see others as we are seen; and to see lives transformed by love. 

This is good news.

This news is, in the words of Rowan Williams, ‘a message about something that altered the climate in which people live, changing the politics and the possibilities; it transforms the landscape of social life’.  

Mark’s Gospel expresses possibility and transformation by with urgency: moments of amazement and ordinariness punctuated by the words kai euthys  ‘and immediately’. The universal scope of this good news is told in a series of intimate encounters. Today we glimpse James at the beginning of a journey. He spent the next days, months, years enfolded by good news. Good news he proclaimed. 

Good news that God’s beloved Son stood came to us in the midst of our longing, frailty and need for forgiveness. He taught with authority - revealing scope of God’s love in parables about sowers, seeds, lamps and yeast. He sought solitude as he prayed in a deserted place; he fed thousands on a hillside and taught thousands more on seashores and synagogues.  

Eugene Delacroix: Christ Calming the storm

Jesus stilled the storm and brought peace to the troubled mind.  Lepers, paralytics, the deaf, the blind and a woman with haemorrhages knew his healing power; he restored a little girl to life.  Fishermen, religious leaders, children, a tax collector and a Gentile women followed him in faith. 

He showed how God’s law of sabbath rest enabled human kind to flourish; he challenged the rich and ambitious, to serve God’s Kingdom; and treasured the widow’s mite. Jesus radically extended our understanding of kinship - all who love mercy are his mother, sister and brother.  

In him, love divine plumbs the depths of humanity.  

A close companion betrayed him; another denied him; a woman poured out lavish oil to anoint him. Bread is broken and wine is poured; tears, sleep, arrest and trial. Hosanna becomes crucify. At a moment of utter forsakenness a centurion sees God’s Son. And at an empty tomb risen life bursts forth. 

This is good news: God’s Kingdom breaks in, transforms and empowers; in our daily tasks, our journeys and our resting places. In all this is the love of God sees us as we are. Like James we are addressed by name and invited to turn and respond. Follow me!

New possibilities lie ahead; we are co-workers in this Kingdom. Transformation unfolds as we love God with all that we are; with every fibre of our being; voices, gestures, heart and mind; loving neighbour as ourself.  

The speed of James’ response is remarkable: can we imagine letting go of the equivalent of nets, family, boat and crew?  What could be so compelling that we leave familiar rhythms behind? 

And yet, we are here - we’ve stepped aside from our regular round of commitments and responsibilities to join with this living, festival community.

Do we recognise in the pull of this place of pilgrimage, something that James might have seen in Jesus? A longing for the opportunity to reconnect and reflect;  for encouragement, joy, renewed relationship and spiritual refreshment? 

Richard Hickox described the spirit of this place as something on which ‘we all feed’. He called it a ‘magnet’ as well as a ‘refuge’.  There is something magnetic and irresistible about Jesus too - but it’s not always easy or comfortable.  James found himself re-deploying his trade - a fisherman becoming a fisher of men. 

To be caught by the love of God - to draw others into that abundance - is to find our refuge, our place and our purpose. In creation God gave us freedom to follow or reject love; in Christ that rift is overcome; by the power of the Spirit’s guidance we bear the witness to the good news of that love, bringing healing and wholeness.  

To ‘catch’ people for this Kingdom is joyful and demanding. It means seeing people as they are - being with them as God was with us in Jesus. To take words from another “James”, this time the indie rock band, we are to ‘sit down’; to sit down ‘in sympathy’ with those ‘who feel the breath of sadness’, those ‘touched by madness’ or who ‘find themselves ridiculous’.

When we sit down in love: in the face of fear, or hate or tears, heaven touches earth.  To sit alongside others - to see them as God does - is prophetic. It makes hope and consolation known in the present. 

It’s not easy.

Some days, we’ll sympathise with the reluctant prophet Jeremiah. At a time of political and social upheaval he carries the lonely weight of continuing to speak of the demands of God’s love. Although he was shunned and ill-treated, he was not a defeatist. 

He was persistent in speaking truth to those in positions of authority; calling them to return to listen to God; to avoid the impending disaster by walking in the way of his law of love. 

Even in the darkest times of rebuke, mockery and condemnation, Jeremiah holds on to the hope that God will not abandon him. Nor would God abandon his people - but would touch every human heart. James saw that prophecy come to fulfilment - as Jesus brings a new covenant in his blood; as the Spirit brings new life to the law. 

Jesus saw James.

Like James we are called by name.

By name we are called.

Called to follow and listen, believe and share good news.

To see others as we are seen; and to see lives transformed by love. 

Your music gives voice to that vision with joyful song.

Over the coming days, may you glimpse a new heaven and a new earth. 

May you hear and respond to the heavenly voice declaring that God dwells with us.

Over the coming days, may you find refuge, encouragement, joy and delight.

May the Holy Spirit equip you return home embracing new possibilities.

This is good news.

© Julie Gittoes 2017

Prayer and Rage?

Recently it seems as if the lectionary is bowling me some challenging text: it's just the way the preaching rota falls, of course! Yet, combined with the undercurrents of protest, political uncertainty and powerful acts of compassion within communities, the complexity of Scripture in speaking into that is accurately evident. Today's readings at the Eucharist were: Jeremiah 20:7-13; Romans 6:1-11; Matthew 10:24-39.  As human beings, events provoke strong reactions in us - including anger at injustice and events which are cataclysmic. How do we pay attention to that rage in prayer, action and deeper engagement with our communities and structures. After all, there is no 'us' and 'them' but only us. 

This is a personal grappling - it's not a definitive homiletic answer. As I wrestle with this, I am very grateful to a post by Mike Higton which named the discomfort around prayer versus rage.

One of the things which puzzled me was Jesus talk of proclaiming what we hear whispered and telling things in the light. At the back of my mind as I wrote this sermon as a series of Facebook threads in response to posts by Linda Woodhead about the report 'An Abuses of Faith', produced by the Independent Peter Ball Review. It painfully sets out how far short we have fallen in our institutional faithfulness to the Gospel. When authority colludes with the abuser, we have failed to hear the cries of the most vulnerable. Prayer and rage are responses which become the impetus for change.

On Wednesday, the hottest day of the year, hundreds of protestors marched from west London to Downing Street to protest in support of Grenfell Tower survivors: an event billed as a ‘day of rage’.

On Wednesday, the hottest day of the year, an impromptu prayer meeting was held at Kensington Temple to intercede for a city rocked by terror attacks and fire: an event billed as a ‘day of prayer’.

Both events were motivated by the devastating consequences of a ravaging fire, by anger and compassion.

Both events expressed fierce emotions in cries of lament, cries for justice, for change, and yes, of rage. 

In discussions on social media - and face to face - there was much discussion about the relationship between the two - and the appropriateness of ‘rage’. Some Christians came down on the side of ‘day of prayer’.  Others felt that we should be angry - and that now was time of going beyond heavenward piety towards practicing righteous or prophetic anger 

Is it such a stark dichotomy - directing our emotions to God, perhaps, rather than expressing them in a march along our streets?  Or is it a delicate balancing of both/and - of us learning to lament well, learning to acknowledge, and harness, the depth of anger without tipping into hatred?

Do we channel our emotions into prayer, express them in protest or explore how they go together? 

As Christians we need to pay deep attention to our emotions and reaction, to that which is provoked in us. 

When we face heart-break and grief, we might cry in despair: we express those things before God - but we also seek to console and be consoled.

When we receive wonderful news, something wells up within us; we want to talk about it, celebrate it, relish it; but we also give thanks to God. 

When we are elated, hurting, exhausted, fearful or joyful, we do something with those emotions: we act on them - and as Christians we bring them to God in prayer. 

Our prayer is a response to tragedy, part of our public witness; it also enables us to align our actions with God’s  will and purposes for us and for creation.  

If our faith has everything to do with justice - and the structuring of our society - then there is more for us to do in exploring how prayer relates to anger, prophecy to action.  As a friend of mine put it: ‘it’s complex. Anger is not the opposite of peace or love’. 

Each of us will know that we fight against things which hurt those we love. Today’s readings invite us to grapple with what that might mean.  They are honest and raw; hopeful and inspiring; demanding and reassuring. They are difficult. But they are also about love - in prayer and protest.

The laments of the psalms reveal brutal honesty before God; the passionate voices of the prophets cry name abuse and neglect. Those voices teach us to challenge the ways of the world - and to seek a kingdom of peace and mercy for widow, refugee and orphan. Those voices are full of love, prayer and rage -  they name oppression, self-seeking and the neglect of the commandments.  

When Jeremiah laments, he is angry with God - he’s become a laughing stock; he’s derided and mocked for the cries of his rage against those who exploit the poor and needy. It’s not popular. Even his close friends seem to be waiting for him to stumble.

The Prophet Jeremiah is a painting by Michelangelo

Yet he perseveres knowing that those who are against will not prevail; that the unrighteous will face shame not success. He hands over judgement to God - who knows our hearts and minds. His rage becomes a prayer of praise to the Lord: ‘For he has delivered the life of the needed from the hands of the evildoers.’

In Jesus Christ, God reaches out our broken and fragile world by dwelling with us. What we see in him is a refusal of revenge and the breaking of cycles of violence. And yet, we must be wary of smoothing out the challenge - the one who cast out the money changes and turned over tables - a radical and disruptive act - also breathed on his disciples at his resurrection, saying ‘peace be with you’.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus describes the cost of our witness to the love of God: a love which brings healing, and stands against injustice. It takes us to the heart of prayer and rage. We hear of fractured families, the reality of persecution and the challenge of being ‘like’ Christ Jesus our teacher in hostile conditions. And yet, in the midst of this prophetic lament, Jesus defuses our fear, saying: So have no fear of them; Do not fear; So do not be afraid.

Grappling with the text again this morning during our weekly time of Lectio Divina, drew out the complexity of a text full of challenge and paradox. What is it that we are called to proclaim and make known in the light? What does Jesus mean when he says, ‘I did not come to bring peace by a sword’?

Dietrich Bonhoeffer answers this by saying: ‘The cross is God’s sword on this earth. It creates division… all for the sake of God’s kingdom and its peace - that is the work of Christ on earth!’  Or as our opening hymn puts it:

Let in the light; all sin expose

to Christ, who life no darkness knows.

Before his cross for guidance kneel;

his light will judge and, judging heal.

On the cross, God’s love for people goes to the very depth of weakness, despair, sin and abandonment. Naming division, it destroys it; the challenge of the cross is that such peace demands a bigger vision.  

It is a love that shifts our focus from the priority of biological kinship to a more radical concern for the created order.  The Kingdom that has come near in Christ Jesus is one which challenges violence, abuse and exploitation - within church and society. 

It will cost us to love those who are broken-hearted, dispossessed and vulnerable as we work for a Kingdom where there is equity and dignity.  

It will cost us to love those who are in positions of power as we bring to the light abuses of authority; we proclaim a message of repentance, a radical change of heart and practice. 

It will cost us to articulate a vision for the NHS, taxation, Brexit and social care which protects the weak, fosters interdependence, encourages enterprise and condemns greed.

Prayer and rage can express this love: God’s love for all people is reflected in the cross and resurrection; it summons us to discipleship and life in its fullness - life not as possession, but as gift for our world.

Here in this Eucharist we are invited to name the things which assail us in the present, focusing our prayers and shaping our actions. Here we are drawn back to the memory of God’s faithfulness - recalling that we die and rise with Christ; knowing that we are no longer enslaved to sin - that we are to live in him.

When Paul writes to the Roman Christians in this way, this is both a powerful vision of the world being reconciled to Godself though his Son; it is also a compelling challenge to walk in newness of life.  Here in this Eucharist we glimpse God’s Kingdom and allow our future to be reimagined.

Do we stop praying and raging? No. For God’s love makes possible a confidence that drives out fear: the God who loves the sparrows - counts the hairs of our head. Sometimes confession our faith in Jesus will make us stand out; sometimes responding to the good news will disrupt our life.

Flock of birds flying over Wesselburen

The theologian Bill Cavanaugh writes: The church, as the body of Christ, is called to be an alternative to the atomisation of [US] society promoted by individualism, the market, and the state. As an alternative social body, the church realises the eucharistic imperative to be what we receive, to become the body of Christ and allow others to feed on us.’  

We are to be faithful to the task that God has given us - in prayers of raw lament, in acts of compassion, in understanding our rage and, in the power of the Spirit, directing it to build God’s Kingdom.

Awake and rise, like people renewed,

and with the Spirit’s power endued,

the light of life in us will glow,

and fruits of truth and goodness show.

© Julie Gittoes 2017