MORNING WORSHIP, ST. COLUMBA'S, PONT STREET
SUNDAY 8th SEPTEMBER 2024, 11.00 A.M.
(16th SUNDAY after PENTECOST)

“But the woman answered Jesus,
‘Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.’” Mark 7:28

Both prisons and Palestine have been in the headlines this week.
The former for their overcrowding and conditions;
The latter, because of the impasse of the violence in Gaza, West Bank, Israel and Lebanon.
Prisons and Palestine found a link in a newsletter received this week
from the Friends of St Andrew’s, Jerusalem,
penned by former Moderator, Very Revd Dr Andrew McLellan.

In the missive, McLellan explains how he has received criticism
for praying for the people of Gaza - .
the accusation: He does not care about the Israeli hostages.
That is he recounts, a familiar and wearying criticism.
When he was Inspector for Her Majesty’s Prisons, calling for better conditions in prisons,
it invariably produced the response – “You don’t care about the victims of crime.”

It was, “a silly argument.”
McLellan knew he cared about victims of crime;
he also believed that better prison conditions led to lower re-offending.
But however often he argued the case,
he didn’t think he ever changed the mind of a complainer,
because that “takes more than argument.”

So, with the hostages’ complaint.
“Of course I care about the hostages. Of course I care about their families.
Of course I pray for them. Of course, I long for their release.
But that must not stop caring for Gaza.
That must not silence our lament for the children,
the bereaved, the wounded, the starving, the terrified in Gaza.
He concludes quoting Dr Martin Luther King:
“In the end we will not remember the words of our enemies,
but the silence of our friends.”

A distraught mother, sick with worry for her child, approaches Jesus.
Jesus has just come from a bruising encounter with the Pharisees, (last week’s dispute)
“Why do your disciples disrespect our ancient laws –
not performing the ritual cleansing before taking food?”
Jesus’ answer – a condemnation, of laws that hinder the working of God’s love.
Pursue compassion over code.

Aware of their hostility and hard-heartedness,
Jesus shakes the dust from his sandals and departs from his own folk.
He heads to Tyre and Sidon; modern day Lebanon.

There, instead of the anonymity or rest he seeks,
he gets another awkward encounter.
The Syrophoenician woman; member of a hostile tribe –
strange gods, ritually unclean.
Foreign and female – radioactive for any self-respecting rabbi.

Remarkably she gets her voice heard.
Her need is desperate – it is the plea of the mother for her child.
“My daughter…. I beg you – do something!””

Then, from the one we celebrate as Son of God – a shocking reply.
I am not for you, and you are not for me –
for we are not of the same tribe.
“Let the children be fed first,
for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”
The children are the lost sheep of Israel, his own folk;
the dogs are the gentiles, beyond the boundary fence.
As one commentator risks: Did Jesus just call this woman a bitch?

But the parental impulse will not be denied:
To the Jew with the growing reputation, she replies: Really?!
“Jesus, where is my Good News? My place at the table?
“Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”

And apparently, in that feisty, impulsive, defiant response the game is won.
“For saying that you may go – the demon has left your daughter”
And we are left with the impression:
The girl is made well. But it is Jesus who is healed.
From a position of privilege, Jesus takes that difficult, first step.
Humble enough to listen, he allows himself to be changed.

From beyond his terrain of familiarity, via a voice of desperation,
Jesus is schooled in his own gospel.
The distraught, foreign female teaches Jesus that God’s purposes for him
are grander than he had imagined.

According to Mark, the very next encounter proves it.
Heading for Galilee, in the region of the Ten Cities,
Jesus is brought a man whose hardness of hearing
has contributed to his impediment of speech.
Whereas the healing of the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter relies
on the cut and thrust of conversation,
here the encounter is intensely physical.
Perhaps aware of the difficulty of hearing, surrounded by crowds,
Jesus leads the man aside. Hands touch ears and tongue.

Only occasionally do the original Aramaic words appear in the gospel accounts –
indicating particular significance.
Ephphatha – is suggested as being easily lip-readable.
Illustrative of Jesus taking time and attention,
to gain the man’s confidence and trust.
However different the pathways to the two healings are –
the result is the same – a restoration, both of health and community.

Placing these two episodes back-to-back,
Mark’s highlighting of Ephphatha – Be opened –
Can also be read backwards into the previous encounter.
From preconceived idea, from previous prejudice,
the Syrophoenician woman has opened Jesus’ eyes:
(“I once was blind, but now I see.”)

Which confronts us at the start of a new academic/congregational year
with the awkward, or perhaps exciting question:
How far are we prepared to get involved? To stretch and be stretched?
If at some stage we jumped, or were lowered, into baptismal waters,
how far, and to whom, will we allow that river to carry us?

In the London Scottish Regimental Chapel,
that prayerful and intimate space, beloved by many,
among the battle honours carved into the window pillars,
appear the names both of Jerusalem and Gaza.
In the same newsletter referenced at the outset,
there is also an article about the Commonwealth War Graces Commission.
It administers two cemeteries in Gaza.
The Gaza War Cemetery contains graves of 3691 dead from over 14 countries.
The other cemetery, in the north of Deir-al-Balah has 714 British soldiers.
Known locally as the British graveyards,
and regarded as a major cultural and archaeological site in the Palestinian enclave.
In more peaceful times, the Cemeteries are tended by a small team of workers
whose dedication and expertise are so apparent.
They all come from families whose jobs have been passed down through generations.
The current head gardener is the great grandson of the person
who held that role 100 years ago.
(The team and their immediate families were evacuated, safely, to Egypt in early 2024
and are now working alongside their Egyptian colleagues for the foreseeable future.)

While the damage to those well-tended military graves bears no comparison
to the destruction of life and living space across Gaza as a whole,
for some, it may be a small doorway into thinking about complexities and challenges, principles and priorities, we would prefer to ignore.
Seeing the pictures both of the formerly well-tended cemetery,
and its current damaged reality, led me back to the poem by the late Yehuda Amichai,
considered by many, both in Israel and internationally,
as Israel's greatest modern poet.
entitled, The Place Where We Are Right

From the place where we are right
Flowers will never grow
In the spring.
The place where we are right
Is hard and trampled
Like a yard.
But doubts and loves
Dig up the world
Like a mole, a plough.
And a whisper will be heard in the place
Where the ruined
House once stood.

In the city of Tyre, Jesus found a place where he was not always right.
And in the desperation of a distressed mother,
discovered that doubts and love made for fertile ground.
Andrew McLellan concluded his message:
“There are two steps to take which make at least some response,
both to those who call out on behalf of the hostages
and to those who call out on behalf of Gaza.
One, is to demand an immediate and permanent ceasefire.
The other is to keep listening.
Listening to all those who are living in agony.
Without listening there is no learning.”

Ephphatha – Be opened – Amen.

MORNING WORSHIP, ST. COLUMBA'S, PONT STREET
SUNDAY 15^th SEPTEMBER 2024 11.00 A.M.
(17^th SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST)

Jesus asked them, “But who do you say that I am?”
Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” Mark 8:29

In the Lower Hall resides a shining prize, much sought after:
the James Black St Columba’s Annual Quiz Night trophy!
(Current holders: In the Dock.)
Aficionados will know that quiz nights, whether in church halls or pub saloons,
draw forth, both the wondrous and the woeful.
Sometimes displays of astonishing knowledge – often from surprising quarters.
Sometimes a naked competitiveness,
that will contest the Quiz Master’s decision with a ferocity
worthy of John McEnroe at Wimbledon. (“You cannot be serious!”)
Quiz nights are never short on entertainment.

In the pursuit of wisdom, I was recently introduced to the Pie of Knowledge.
Used by leadership and management trainers to give trainees, perspective.
Imagine dividing up a pie into designated slices:

Slice 1: Those things you know you know.
Slice 2: Those things you know you don’t know.
Slice 3: The things you know but have forgotten.
Slice 4: The things you don’t know you don’t know.
Slice 5: The things you think you know but really don’t.

What, ask the trainers, would be the proportions of each of your slices?
In reality, the cake consists of one slice that represents approximately 99.9% -
The things you don’t know you don’t know.
The total knowledge of our universe is so vast
that the sum of all human knowledge,
is infinitesimally small in comparison.
Leadership and management trainers bake this Pie,
because they know that people who have a large slice of,
“I think I know it all” piece,
make hasty and ill-advised decisions based on ignorance.

Today’s Gospel is Quiz Night at Caesarea Philippi,
with a break for refreshments and a slice of Knowledge Pie.
North of the Sea of Galilee, at the source of the River Jordan
lies the city of Caesarea Philippi.
In Jesus’ day, site of Roman temples, dedicated to emperor gods;
home too, to local cultic religions.
A city reeking of imposing grandeur, politics and religion,
claiming the powers of heaven and earth.
It is in the villages nearby – deliberately perhaps – that Jesus asks:
“Who do people say that I am – what’s the word on the street?”

The disciples share the latest opinion polls and the social media feed:
“John the Baptist, Elijah, one of the prophets.”
They skate over other verdicts:
“Mary’s illegitimate child; a drunkard, demon-possessed;
heretic to his religion, traitor to his nation; friend to the wrong sort.”

Jesus neither affirms nor denies their answers. 
He listens; allows the disciples to offer up what they think they know about him,
based on other people’s speculations and assumptions.

After all the answers, voiced or not, the killer question:
“But who do you say that I am? What do I mean to you?”
Was there an awkward/embarrassed silence –
lowered eyes fixed on their sandals in the dust –
un-revisioned pupils, avoiding the teacher’s gaze?
What would our answer be?
Who do you/I say Jesus is? What does he mean to us?

Then, a moment of impetuous magnificence, Peter the Rock:
“You are the Messiah.”
Pie of Knowledge Slice 1: The things I know I know.
For which, rather than scoring a bonus point, there is a stern command –
don’t tell this to anyone.

Then, losing no time, Jesus begins to inform the disciples about,
the things you think you know, but really don’t.
Significantly, Jesus substitutes titles –
Son of Man/the Human One, in for Messiah.
“For Peter and most Jews, ‘Messiah’ (Christos)
refers to a militaristic, political figure who would overthrow Rome’s power
and establish a new Davidic kingdom,
which itself would inaugurate the kingdom of God.” Emerson B. Powery
Impossible to comprehend that this divinely authorized figure
could be the one who … would suffer many things … and be killed.

But this is Jesus’ direction of travel.
All this he said all this quite openly.
“The Son of Man must undergo suffering, be rejected, be killed
and after three days rise again.”
Resurrection aside, a picture so bleak, so upsetting, and so counter-intuitive,
Peter pulls him aside and tells him to knock it off.
“This is madness. You can’t mean this. It’s not what we signed up for.”

Predictions and protests.
Peter’s persuadings echo earlier trials - the temptations of the wilderness:
“If you are the Son of God, the Real Thing...
Make stones be bread. Leap from the Temple heights. Bow the knee in worship.”
Now, Peter’s version: “Be messiah; but with power.
A little self-preservation – for you, and us”.

The protest is famously rebuked: “Get behind me Satan” –
Satan, meaning accuser/adversary.
It is not an accusation of evil incarnate, but a recognition that at this moment
Peter the Rock is a roadblock, not a foundation stone;
a hindrance to the way of the cross.
Yes, I am the Messiah.  But right now, you have no idea what “Messiah” truly means. 
In reality you can’t even talk about it. 
Hear instead the ancient prophet words:
“I gave my back to those who struck me,
and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard;
I did not hide my face from insult and spitting.” Isaiah 50:6

Then, addressing not just the disciples but also the crowds,
Jesus declares: “If any want to become my followers
let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me.
C1st Palestine knew exactly what taking up the cross meant.
Imperial Rome raised crosses like billboard notices.
In 6AD/CE 2,000 Galilean insurrectionists were crucified;
Jesus, perhaps a child witness to such obscenities.
To be a disciple you must cross the bridge –
from interested to invested, from spectator to participant.
“It is in the letting go of life, that you will truly discover it.”

The scholars tell us that this moment represents the hinge of Mark’s gospel.
There is everything that has led to this point –
the beginning and establishing of Jeus and his inner circle.
Then, there is all that is to come –
which is really the journey from now on, towards Jerusalem and the cross.
This is where a door swings open.
This is the pivotal point where Jesus asks the question: “Who do you say I am?”

If that question haunts you.
If that question has, as yet, no clear answers.
Or if that question has uncomfortable answers.
Take heart.
Remember it is a question along the way – a pilgrim question.
Peter’s answer was magnificent, but not complete.
A recognition – yes.
But with much still to learn –
Caeserea Philippi pie –
Things, he thought he knew, but did not really know.
Those learnings would take a lifetime.
“You are the messiah” was just the beginning,
not its end.

In time, asked the same question Peter could answer:
You’re the one who said: “Come, walk on the water with me.” 
who caught me before I drowned. 
You’re the one who washed my feet while I resisted,
teaching me servanthood by your example. 
The one who told me I’d be a coward,
the night you needed me to be brave. 
The one I denied, to save my skin. 
The one who looked into my eyes when the cock crowed. 
You’re the one who found me on the beach in the dawn of resurrection,
a lakeside breakfast with the question,
Do you love me?
Your three-time asking, undoing my three-time denial.

Things that one day Peter would know;
answers to “Who do you say that I am?”
By the grace of God,
may they shape our own pictures of, and commitment to,
Jesus the Messiah.
May they feed us the courage, perseverance and love
to take up and bear whatever crosses life asks us to share.

MORNING WORSHIP, ST. COLUMBA'S, PONT STREET
SUNDAY 11^th AUGUST 2024 11.00 A.M.
(12^th SUNDAY after PENTECOST)

“O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom!
Would that I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!”

II Samuel 18:33

“Look at my boy! Isn’t he beautiful?”
It was an iconic, Olympic moment from London, twelve years ago.
Proudest of parents, South African, Bert le Clos, interviewed by BBC’s Claire Balding,
as they watched his swimming son, Chad, receive Gold Medal,
after defeating the incomparable Michael Phelps.
“Isn’t he beautiful!
Then, with a pat of incredulity of his middle-aged ample girth:
“How did he come from this? I mean look at me.”

Gold Medal moment for parenting - Paris 2024 - probably goes to Fred Siriex,
he of TV’s First Dates programme (possibly another sermon?)
He is the father of British Olympian diver, Andrea Spendolini-Siriex.
In the last fortnight Fred has ridden the full emotional rollercoaster;
a medal in the combined diving;
then, later solo competition, where she fared less well.
At the latter, TV captured the moment of parental consolation:
“It’s sport – some days you win and some you lose. You did brilliant.”
He shared a text he had received:
“Tell Andrea the whole country is proud of her.
My daughter wants to try diving now because of her. She’s a superhero.”
Before adding: “You did your best Andrea. Today, it wasn’t mean to be.”
Followed by a big hug.
As one journalist quipped: “She cried, he cried and the world cried with them.
And Siriex Senior comes back to London the unrivalled king of the Olympic dads.
A fine Games for the whole family.”

But what of biblical Dads? Unrivalled king, or not?
“O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom!
Would that I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!”

The Old Testament reading, set by the Lectionary, offers only selected verses.
So, a little filling in is required,
both to explain the hostility between King David and his usurping son Absalom,
and to the presence of continuing parental concern.

The tragedy of Absalom goes back eleven years earlier –
though arguably father-son falling outs always have deeper roots, real or imagined.
Amnon, was half-brother to Absalom and his sister Tamar.
Amnon was infatuated with his half-sister.
Deploying trickery over a feigned illness he gets her alone and rapes her.
The King takes no real action.
Absalom is furious and impotent.
He plots a calculated revenge, and then murders his half-brother.
His father, David sends him into exile,
further stoking Absalom’s sense of injustice.

After some years in exile, he is permitted to return to Jerusalem.
However, his father studiously avoids him,
which must have taken some doing, given the size of the city and the royal court.
So, Absalom’s end to physical exile persists;
a daily shunning/humiliation, to an already bitter mind.
David refuses to reconcile or bestow mercy upon Absalom.

[It could have been different.
Envisage the father who ran – ran - towards the returning Prodigal Son,
in the parable of that name.
Instead, David’s remains rooted on the moral high ground –
perfect in righteousness, chilly in virtue.
Or consider that other parable -
the debtor who is let off a huge debt by his master,
but then extracts without mercy,
the much smaller sum from one who owes him.]

Absalom was of course part of the problem.
He was another, beautiful boy, which bestows its own dangers.
His famously luxuriant hair wondrously tipped the scales at the annual shearing.
Vanity, a sense of entitlement and the feeling
that his father had never really appreciated him –
mixed a corrosive cocktail.

Four years of plotting unfolded until seizing his moment,
Absalom unleashed a royal coup.
If his father excluded him – let his father be excluded.
There was no shortage of takers to follow Absalom’s cause.
Once more, as in times of King Saul,
David was required to flee for his life into the wilderness.

It seems that it took the wilderness, and the status of a fugitive,
to reawaken David.
At court in Jerusalem, amidst the business of being King,
refusing intimacy to Absalom, David lost intimacy with God.
Becoming less and less a father, his own humanity diminished.
Less passionate for God; less compassionate to others.

But in the wilderness, stripped to the bare essentials, vulnerable,
the Shepherd King rediscovers humility, prayer and compassion.
So much so, that by the time he marshalled his own troops
to take on the young pretender, his primary concern was the command:
“Deal gently for my sake, with the young man Absalom.”

The command is ignored.
How often warfare makes on its own rules.
Joab knew that David wanted his son’s life spared.
But the commander felt he knew what would be better for all concerned.
He also bore a grudge for Absalom setting light to his hay field, in a previous spat.
Better “cut off the head of the snake,” , be rid of the problem, once and for all.
With terrible irony, Absalom meets his fate in the forest of Ephraim -
his beautiful hair caught in the branches of an oak,
suspended between earth and sky – lynched by his own locks.

The news is delivered by foot to the King, waiting and watching in the city gate.
When the news is broken: The king was deeply moved,
and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept.

Nicholas Wolterstorff, a Yale professor, wrote a profoundly moving book,
entitled Lament For a Son, following the death of his son, in a mountaineering accident.
In an early section he voices the anguish of the bereaved parent.

“It’s so wrong, so profoundly wrong, for a child to die before its parents.
It’s hard enough to bury our parents. But that we expect.
Our parents belong to our past; our children belong to our future.
We do not visualise our future without them.
How can I bury my son, my future, one of the next in line?
He was meant to bury me!” (Lament for a Son pp16)

The death of his troubled and troublesome, beautiful boy,
draws forth that most famous lament:
“O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom!
Would that I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!”

Belfast resident, Michael Longley, author of multiple collections of poetry,
winner of numerous literary awards; professor of poetry for Ireland 2007 – 2010,
is eighty-five this year – marked by the publication of a collection of his poems
from across six decades.
Thirty of those years were the period referred to as the Troubles.

He spoke recently about the poem “The Ice-Cream Man”
composed in response to one of the many deaths caused by sectarian violence.
On the same day, that an off-duty policemen was murdered
in the family ice-cream parlour on the Lisburn Road,
Longley had been admiring, and listing in his writer’s notebook,
the wildflowers of the Burren, an area of great natural beauty in County Clare.

Following the murder, Longley’s daughter went to lay flowers at the shopfront.
The poet-father wanted to acknowledge her action and add to it.
The resulting poem is framed by two lists –
firstly, the delight of a child reciting ice-cream flavours:

Rum and raisin, vanilla, butter-scotch, walnut, peach:
You would rhyme off the flavours. That was before
They murdered the ice-cream man on the Lisburn Road
And you bought carnations to lay outside his shop.

The second list - a liturgy perhaps –
the flowers and plants recorded in his notebook on that original day:

I named for you all the wildflowers of the Burren
I had seen in one day: thyme, valerian, loosestrife,
Meadowsweet, tway blade, crowfoot, ling, angelica,
Herb robert, marjoram, cow parsley, sundew, vetch,
Mountain avens, wood sage, ragged robin, stitchwort,
Yarrow, lady’s bedstraw, bindweed, bog pimpernel.

If you hear the poem read by Longley himself,
the list is haunting, heart-rending, perhaps defiant?
Is it there to gently distract/console the child?
Or to remind of a beauty that abides, despite the world’s cruelties?
Or is it an indictment of the wastefulness of war – all that is lost?
Maybe, it is all of these things.

In time Longley received what he described as a “very sweet letter” –
thanking him for remembering her son;
it was signed: Rosetta Larmer, the ice-cream man’s mother.
Of that short parental note, Longley says:
“It’s a sacred object in my life.”

“O Absalom, Absalom my son.”
It is impossible to ignore the regret and the love in David’s lament.
Raw material, enough alone to ponder in our prayers -
aware of the continuing death of sons and daughters,
near and far.

“Would that I had died instead of you!”
David meant it:
If he could have done the boy's dying for him, he would have done it.
paid the price for the boy's betrayal of him,
he would have paid it.
given his own life to make the boy alive again,
he would have given it.
(As another preacher once said):
“But even a king can't do things like that.
As later history was to prove,
it takes the King himself. (Frederick Buechner)

“God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son,
that those who believe in him might not perish but have eternal life.”

ST COLUMBA’S, PONT STREET
SUN 16 AUG 2015

“God said to Solomon, “Because you have asked this (for wisdom),
and have not asked for yourself long life or riches, or for the life of your enemies,
but have asked for yourself understanding to discern what is right,
I now do according to your word.
Indeed I give you a wise and discerning mind…” I Kings 3:11-12

Last Sunday the Paris Olympics held their closing ceremony.
Fair to say, it was a mixed bag.
The joy of all those gathered athletes filling the stadium,
permitted a moment, to enjoy the moment,
released from the pressures of competitive sport.
This was uninterrupted joy and celebration of being Olympians.
Then the formal speeches of suited the organisation’s high heidiens.
Followed by a slightly obscure, not to say lengthy,
symbolic discovery of the buried Olympic rings
by a golden time-traveller returning to a dystopian future.

Then, something a little more accessible –
Tom Cruise – he of Mission Impossible –
abseiling spectacularly into the arena from great height, to claim the Olympic flag –
swiftly departing, by motorbike through the night streets of Paris,
mounting a transport plane, moments later to free fall (with parachute)
into California sunshine,
there, still grinning, swiftly conjuring up the Olympic circles,
on the famous Hollywood hill sign, icon of LA, the city of Angels.
This was definitely showtime –
The theatrical passing of the baton, one Olympic host city to the next;
a handover, a succession.
We ended with Snoop Dog and Dr Dre rapping on Venice Beach.
Which may whet your appetite for 2028, or not….

“Then David slept with his ancestors and was buried in the city of David. 
So, Solomon sat on the throne of his father David;
and his kingdom was firmly established.”

A royal handover/succession.
As we know, transfer of political power and authority can be rocky;
think disputed election results, or leaders that cling ever-tighter, to position and privilege.
Seemingly, our Old Testament passage gives an exemplary example.
This is how it can be done.
Solomon, worshipping at Gibeon, is visited by God.
While dreaming, the dream question.
“If I ask whatever in the world you want – what will you choose?

Solomon takes his time. First, acknowledges the blessings God towards David,
and David’s commendable qualities:
“You have shown great and steadfast love to your servant my father David,
because he walked before you in faithfulness, in righteousness,
and in uprightness of heart towards you;
and you have kept for him this great and steadfast love,
and have given him a son to sit on his throne today.”

The new king acknowledges his own need for some of that great and steadfast love:
“You have made your servant king in place of my father David,
although I am only a little child;
I do not know how to go out or come in. 
A myriad people and a mighty responsibility.
I can only do this with your help.”

This is prime-rib, biblical cuisine.
A royal, conscious of God, aware of the blessings he inherits,
modest about his own capabilities, eager to serve as best he can.
From which comes the request:
“Give your servant an understanding mind/a heart skilled to listen,
to govern your people,
able to discern between good and evil.”

Confirmation comes in God’s answer:
God says yes – and throws in wealth, honour and long life for good measure.
In time, the king's reputation for brilliance spreads across the land.
Nobles travel from distant shores to hear his shrewd sayings
and witness his wise judgments.
His wealth and power grow beyond measure.
He maintains fleets of ships; trades in luxuries, gold, silver, and ivory;
builds gorgeous temples and palaces.
He pens the greatest wisdom literature of his time;
presides over the Golden Age of his kingdom;
Finally, he hands over the throne to his son after a peaceable reign of forty years.
That is probably what we know,
or think we know, of Solomon.

Inconveniently, that is not quite the full biblical testimony.
Scripture records that following the death of David,
the prince ordered the murder of his older brother - the rightful heir –
seizing the throne with blood on his hands.
To consolidate his power, he carries out the vengeance killings
that his own father had requested before his death.
Believing himself both wise and chosen by God,
he sets out to build the kingdom of his dreams.
His appetites are unbounded.
To finance this lavish lifestyle,
he levies taxes his subjects cannot bear
and conscripts thousands of people into forced labour.
To control knowledge,
he gathers the surrounding world's wisdom traditions to himself.
To satisfy his desires,
he takes for himself seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines.
To quell his spiritual restlessness, he constructs pagan shrines
and offers worship to gods who demanded child sacrifice.
By the end of his reign, his people are mutinous,
and following the example of their own king
they can no longer differentiate between idolatry and worship.
Upon his death, civil war that would last for decades
breaks out across the land.
The kingdom splits in two;
the famed king's once-golden dream dissolves into chaos.

Solomon, and David his dad before him,
are far from paragons of piety or virtue.
On the contrary, they are bloodily ambitious, reeking with revenge,
promiscuous with their subjects and their gods.

We are left to conclude: The Solomon of the Bible – the complete Solomon –
is a very human being - a paradox;
blessed with wisdom, often choosing foolishly;
committed to service, yet shackled to his appetites;
devoted to God, but attracted to idols;
a bible royal - neither to be whitewashed, nor dismissed.

Which raises the question: Why is he there, in such prominence,
along with so many other flawed biblical celebrities?
One commentator reflects:
The Bible rarely says, “Be like this character.”
Rather it says, “You are this character.
Now, what do you propose to do about it?”

Might Solomon interrogate us about our own moments of transition?
Whether it is the taking up of responsibility, or the passing it on.
Where do we stand in life’s succession plans?
Are we intent on the glittering prizes, or aware of our own limitations?
Do we pray for a discerning, listening heart
or something that looks like less hard work?

For me, what seems helpful about Solomon’s dream encounter
is his own sense of place in the proceedings.
At his wisest, he appreciates he is part of a larger history.
He/we, rest on the shoulders of those whose labour and effort
have made our presence possible.
Though the road ahead for Solomon will evidently be a very mixed bag,
in this encounter at least, there is a truth glimpsed –
that power is not meant for permanent possession.
In the end, the throne does not belong to Solomon;
he is simply its steward for a while.

That insight has an echo with meditation, composed by Bishop Ken Untener
on the anniversary of the martyrdom of Bishop Óscar Romero on March 24, 1980,
entitled A Future Not Our Own.
You may recognise it from the Congregational Pastoral Letter sent last year.

“It helps now and then to step back and take a long view.
The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of
saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.

No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession
brings perfection, no pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the Church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives include everything.

This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one
day will grow. We water the seeds already planted
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces effects
far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of
liberation in realizing this.
This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.

It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning,
a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's
grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the
difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not
messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.”

Psalm 90:12 So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.

SUNDAY 7^th JULY 2024 11.00 a.m.
MORNING WORSHIP & BAPTISMS
(7^th SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST)

They said, ‘Where did this man get all this?
Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary 
and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon,
and are not his sisters here with us?’ And they took offence at him. Mark 6

Prompted by the presence of Rupert, on his baptismal Sunday,
Mindful of the symbolic walk, just undertaken down the aisle,
the smiling pews, the introduction to his new family of faith,
we might consider other infant encounters.

I think of my daughter at an early stage on London buses –
a smile from her, usually eliciting a return smile from a stranger.
Inevitably, sometimes, she would look, but the stranger would not look back.
She might try harder – but the mobile phone held a stronger lock.
At the time, as a parent, I would feel bad that the child had to learn that lesson –
not everybody will respond well to her.
Life /the world will get a whole lot more complicated.
But also, the feeling feel that the stranger had missed out;
too preoccupied for the benediction of a child’s curiosity or smile.
Smile or ignore, reciprocate or reject;
the actions or attitudes - the choices - within today’s Gospel.

Homecoming day in Nazareth; day to celebrate,
enjoy the reflected glory of a local hero.
Since Jesus began his travelling ministry things have gone rapidly,
rumours and reputation taking wing.
They have heard of the healings.
He has just raised the synagogue leader’s daughter from apparent death.
Surely, the force is with him.
Initially, all is well. On the Sabbath, in the synagogue of his youth,
people listen attentively and nod their heads in approval.
Nice words for a Nazarite – wise, profound, eloquent and true.

But here in hometown, folks have a problem.
Who changes the mood in the synagogue?
A jealous neighbour of Mary, a childhood rival of Jesus; the village gossip?
Somewhere it starts, perhaps with the classic put down: “I kent his faither.”
Actually, there is no mention of his father,
but rather a deliberate dwelling on his mother:
Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary….?
In Jesus’ day, the only reason to identify someone by their mother,
was to question their legitimacy. 
(“Sapping God’s Strength,” Barbara Brown Taylor.)
To refer to Jesus as “the son of Mary” is a calculated act,
an intended take-down, to shame Jesus into silence.
“Hey Mary’s boy; we know who you are. Just remember your place.”

Apparently, the ones who knew Jesus best, could not treasure him most.
They take offence at him.
Their imaginations could not/would not expand,
to consider a bigger possibility about him.
The gospels are full of Jesus and the miraculous,
but here is the tale of the un-miracle.
With grim finality Mark concludes: “He could do no deed of power there.”

Which interrogates us:
What things of the sacred do we miss out on,
because we can only imagine, or will only accept,
that God can speak to us in preconceived,
well-worn patterns or personalities?

Retired Church of Scotland minister, Tom Gordon
described attending a service of worship,
where to be honest, he wasn’t expecting much.
“I hadn’t been well and was still feeling out of sorts.
I knew that the worship would be OK, enough, at least, to “keep me going.”

A woman stepped to the front of the congregation.
“The second reading,” she said. 
Epistle, Gospel, I thought. Standard stuff. Heard it before. I wonder what version. Sigh … 
“is different from usual,” she continued. 
Interesting. I wonder … “… and we’ve chosen a contemporary lesson.
So, the reading is from The House at Pooh Corner, by A A Milne.”
“Now, I was all ears, fully attentive.
Halfway through, I had a tear in my eye.
It was so lovely, and different, and unexpected, and right,
and it ended with these words:

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
“Pooh?” he whispered.
“Yes, Piglet?”
“Nothing,” said Piglet, taking Pooh’s hand.
“I just wanted to be sure of you.”

Tom Gordon concluded: “I don’t know why these words affected me so much.
But they did …. They opened up a new direction for my thoughts,
(which, quite possibly, a familiar Gospel or Epistle reading would have failed to do.)
Truth was revealed in a contemporary lesson.
The Word – God’s Word, if we wish to label it as such –
refused to be confined.

Tales of/from the unexpected?
Elsewhere, much has been written about Taylor Swift, pop mega-star,
and her current Eras concert tour, described by some as a spiritual experience.
Journalist, Sarah Carson: “Seeing Taylor Swift live,
feels like we are singing along to the soundtrack to our lives, not hers.”
Peter Millar, former Warden of Iona Abbey wrote recently
about the significance of figures such as Taylor Swift,
in understanding contemporary spirituality.
“I think it may be true to say that thousands of the young people
who follow her and are moved by her songs
would know very little about traditional faith whether Christian or other.
In Edinburgh, over three days, her singing touched the lives of 165,000 people
from diverse backgrounds.
Compare that with a recent study
indicating that the total membership of the National Church of Scotland was 66,000.”

“These numbers indicate not that God is absent from our world
but that there are many different ways of understanding transcendence.
There are many authentic mentors in our world
and young people like Taylor Swift are among them.
We may not be into pop music in any way
but what is necessary for us all in our times
is to have an exploratory heart and mind
when it comes to matters of faith and institutional religion.”
(Vilayat Inayat Khan (1916-2004), a teacher of meditation and of the traditions of Sufism):
“The human spirit lives on creativity and dies in conformity and routine”.

Pooh, Piglet, Taylor Swift –
there may be some eye-brow rolling in the pews this morning –
but what voices do we sideline,
because they don’t fit our image of what God might be saying;
what unlikely candidates do we ignore as messengers of the Divine?

So, things didn’t go well on that day of homecoming;
Jesus responds in two ways.
Firstly, he is amazed at their unbelief.
Clearly, he expected different –
faith, commitment, dedication, sacrifice? He got none of these.
A reminder, not even Jesus can secure all the desired outcomes.
He experiences failure and defeat –
we have perhaps to conclude that may be/will be the lot of his disciples –
then and now.

But Jesus carries on regardless.
Rejection and disbelief in Nazareth don’t cancel/devalue the worth of the gospel.
There are other people in the surrounding villages.
Carrying his disappointment lightly,
equilibrium maintained, confidence unshaken,
He perseveres.
He does not demand ‘honour’, nor wait for it.
He moves on, healing and preaching.
And he commissions others to do the same.
Strangers at home; instead, let them be home among strangers.
He sends them in pairs; telling them to go humbly, as guests, not hosts.

One more unexpected/outside voice:
This week, in the space of a handful of days, this central space, at the heart of our sanctuary, has seen assembled school musicians, a baptism, a bride and groom
and a coffin.
Illustration of how, “All of life” is housed beneath a single broad roof.

Mortality, and our response to it,
was powerfully spoken about in a radio interview this week with Simon Boas.
An Aid Worker, part-time Samaritan, married man,
in September 2023, aged forty six, he was diagnosed with terminal throat cancer.
Over the following year, he knitted together his reflections on life into a book –
A Beginner's Guide to Dying.
The book is due for publication in October.
It will be a posthumous publication.

In response to the question: “How are you?”
Boas’ interview began: “My pain is under control and I'm terribly happy –
it sounds weird to say, but I'm as happy as I've ever been in my life.
The book is called A Beginner's Guide to Dying,
but really what I'm trying to convey
is how enjoying life to the full kind of prepares you for this.

In a week of big politics:
“You don't need to have been a politician or a mover and shaker
or an aid worker or anything in life.
All of us make a huge difference.”
He quoted George Eliot's Middlemarch:
“The effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive:
for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistorical acts;
and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been,
is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life,
and rest in unvisited tombs.”

Boas reflected: “All our tombs will be unvisited in a few years –
all our actions will mostly be unremembered –
but the smile you gave the checkout lady
or the kind words you gave to a stranger in the street
could still be rippling forward.
(Perhaps the smile to an infant on a bus)
We all have that opportunity and it's a huge power.
And I want everyone to realise how special and precious they are.”

MORNING WORSHIP, ST. COLUMBA'S, PONT STREET
SUNDAY 9th JUNE 2024 11.00 a.m.
(ST COLUMBA’S DAY)

“And looking at those who sat around him, Jesus said,
“Here are my mother and my brothers!
Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.” Mark 3:34-5

Groucho Marx famously gave us the line:
“I refuse to join a club that would have me as a member.”

Some decades ago, I attended a speculative job interview –
a prestigious company, with a long history, and wide-ranging business interests in Asia.
As the interview drew to a close, the company director asked:
“Do you have any questions?”
Summoning my most earnest eagerness, and looking him in the eye:
“Well, what sort of person is the company looking for?”
He paused, then after some consideration:
“Um, someone I suppose you could share a Mess with.”

I don’t know whether he was ex-military, but the implication appeared clear:
More important than the specific skills or talents a candidate might, or might not bring,
it was important that they fit in –
unsaid, but implied – necessary to be a “good chap – one of us, one like us.”
There is much one might unpack from that 1980’s vignette –
around entitlements and expectations of gender, social background, ethnicity and institutions.
(Maybe that is for coffee and cake, later.)
But the memory of that encounter surfaced unexpectedly this week,
because this Sunday, we mark and celebrate,
the profession of faith and formal joining of five new, congregational members.

What, do Hannah, Ruaraidh, Patterson, Arthur and Carlos,
think they have just joined? And in a sense, what happens now?
Meanwhile, the rest of us – witnesses today, many of whom are church members,
how might we reflect upon our own loyalties and commitments,
pledged in earlier times?
And those who are not church members –
perhaps just passing through – curious or indifferent - .
What is it that others are drawn towards?
What perhaps are you looking for?

One answer: consider the promises that were taken:
To join regularly with fellow Christians in worship on the Lord’s Day.
To be faithful in reading the Bible and in prayer.
To give a fitting proportion of your time, talents, and money
for the Church’s work in the world?
And, depending on the grace of God,
to profess publicly your loyalty to Jesus Christ,
to serve him in your daily work,
and to walk in his ways all the days of your life.
Good promises to make – a clear set of disciplines;
ways to train and maintain the muscles of faith – keep us spiritually, in shape;
ways to build resilience, for when times get tough,
or the lamp burns low.

These are the guidelines to of faith – tested over time –
not exactly club “rules”, more “best practise.”
But “rules” only convey so much.
They don’t capture the essence/culture of our association.
For that, we might pay attention to today’s Gospel –
but with a warning - it may prove disconcerting.

Nazareth. The prodigal son, Jesus returns home, after inaugurating his ministry.
Judging by the size and frenzy of the crowds pressing around him,
his reputation runs ahead.
Much has happened since the carpenter's son first left home.
Baptism at the hands of his kinsman John;
retreat into the wilderness – 40 days, holy time.
Already, he has driven out unclean spirits, healed the sick,
broken bread with the wrong sort;
chosen his disciples and declared himself the Lord of the Sabbath.

Alarm bells start ringing –
for his family, fearful that disturbing the status quo cannot go unchecked;
the spotlight he has attracted cannot remain benign – they are right.
The family verdict: “He’s lost his mind. He must be rescued.”

More dangerously, the religious authorities;
the scribes/legalists from Jerusalem –
sent to check out what type of trouble the provincial rabbi
may, or may not, be provoking.
Their verdict/accusation: “He is in league with the Devil!”
That is the mother of all cancellations.

Jesus does not take it lying down:
“If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand.
If a house is divided against itself, that too will fall.
If Satan is engaged in some kind of civil war – his end has come.”
Do you really think I am defeating the darkness of the world,
at the same time as being the darkness of the world?

He doesn’t stop there:
Jesus compares himself to a burglar breaking into the house of a strong man;
the “house” represents the territory of Satan.
To plunder it, will require strength sufficient, to overcome the householder.
John the Baptist has already predicted the coming of one stronger than himself (Mark 1:7);
while in the synagogue of Capernaum, the cry of the exposed demon:
“Jesus of Nazareth? Are you come to destroy us?” - witnesses to Jesus’ power:
This is not an entirely Sunday School version of Jesus.

While he refutes accusations of being in league with the forces of evil,
Jesus in no way denies or diminishes, their reality.
Instead - he will battle them, and promises to overcome.
Finally, those who accuse Jesus of having an unclean spirit,
he condemns in the strongest of terms.
If we are respectable, law-abiding, religiously orthodox – as I suspect most of us are –
is Jesus really the sort of chap we want to share a Mess with?

At that moment a message comes through.
Your mother and brothers are outside.
Jesus surveys the gathering of walking wounded,
the misfits and the needy; tax gatherers, sex workers, children, “newbie” disciples –
the disparate and the desperate.
They are not interested in dogma or piety;
They just hunger - for acceptance and forgiveness, for healing and love.
And it seems that that in the presence of this one, they have found it.
Jesus sees it and with an inclusive wave of his hand, announces:
This is my family.
When you wake up to what God is doing – what God is asking of you -
Then you are my mother and my brothers.

Jesus is not anti-family.
That he prayed to God, using Abba (Dad/Daddy)
surely speaks something about his own family life.
One of the final actions from the Cross was the placing of his own mother,
into the care of the beloved disciple. “Here is your mother.”
From that time on, the disciple took her into his home.” John 19:27

But in this unsettling encounter and seeming rebuff of his own kin
Jesus is establishing in real time,
a sense of widening responsibility and community.
Space and room for all sorts, not just the right sort.
The liberating understanding that his friendship group
is not confined to the respectable and sorted –
but to the flawed and the frail, the genuinely human,
who have made mistakes, and, most likely, will do so again -
lives in a mess, not necessarily in, the Mess.

“Yes, Jesus divides the house, and that process hurts.
But he doesn’t divide it to make us homeless. He divides it to rebuild.”
(Debie Thomas, Journey with Jesus)
To widen the circle;
reaffirm where we belong, who we belong to;
reimagine, who we are connected to.
And there discover, perhaps to our surprise,
we have found a place in a club that always longed for us to join.

MORNING WORSHIP, ST. COLUMBA'S, PONT STREET
SUNDAY 16^th JUNE 2024 11.00 A.M.
(4^th SUNDAY after PENTECOST)

“The kingdom of God is like someone who scatters seed on the ground,
sleeps and rises, night and day; the seed sprouts and grows,
but he does not know how.” Mark 4:26-27

Tucked away in West London’s, Acton,
hidden behind residential streets,
accessible only by a narrow pathway, lies a hidden gem.
It goes by the name of the St Columba’s Tennis Club.
For members with longer memories,
it holds happy reminiscences of seasonal tennis outings –
part of the complete package of London, Kirk life – spiritual and social -
for young Scots making their way in the Metropolis.

Surrounded on three sides by houses,
the courts are enclosed on the fourth side, by allotments.
As one member explained to me this week –
during the war, the courts, (in those days, grass courts),
were dug up and repurposed for additional growing –
part of the food production efforts necessitated by war.

Allotments, I know are the source of great significance for some church members -
hard graft and authentic satisfaction, a place of peace and perspective.
A contemporary voice, musing on today’s parables,
recalled her father working on summer nights on his allotment.
The steady labour required to raise his neat and proud vegetable patch.
The abundance in August, shared with their neighbours.
Yet the harvest that gave most pleasure, proved most memorable -
what he referred to as, volunteer tomatoes.
Those that had seeded in quite unexpected places, beyond the tidy rows,
unforeseen gifts - just as tasty, a variety of agricultural grace.

“The kingdom of God is … like the sower who labours,
rests and rises, night and day; the seed grows, he knows not how.”

In the first of our pair of parables Jesus reminds his listeners:
while farmers can be attentive, conscientious, skilful,
ultimately, the profound mystery of growth remains beyond them.
The farmer trusts a process that is ancient, mysterious, cyclical, and sure;
seeds, soil, sun, shade, clouds and rain.
Yes, he/she participates in the process by planting and harvesting;
pays attention to the seasons, and gets to work when the time is ripe.
But never harbours the illusion that they are in charge;
knows that they operate in a realm of mystery.
Just so, says Jesus, the kingdom of God;
it is ultimately God’s work, God’s growth.
As Paul wrote to the Christians at Corinth:
“I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow.”

There is a meditation attributed to Archbishop Oscar Romero,
but which was actually written by an American Roman Catholic bishop
for a memorial mass for priests:
“It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of
the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete,
which is another way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.

No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No programme accomplishes the church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces effects far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything,
and there is a sense of liberation in realising that.
This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own. Amen

Jesus’ second parable is the famous mustard seed.
We deploy it all the time to encourage small beginnings –
the significance of the first step, the encouragement to embark;
classic Sunday School landscaping.

Many of you will be aware that amongst the most regular users of this building
are the weekly Support Groups – Alcoholics Anonymous and others.
Often a meeting begins with a member of the group reading the Just for Today card,
A series of prompts/resolutions.
It opens: “Just for Today I will try to live through this day only,
and not tackle my whole life problem at once.
I can do things for twelve hours
that would appal me, if I had to keep them up for a lifetime.”
Reminder of the small, immediate next step,
whether it is Day1 or year 35 of recovery.

Or from the realm of the Church’s Benevolence Committee.
An update on a individual who received some financial assistance, to help buy some bedding.
“They did get several things for him with the money we sent, <
but the good news is that he got the chance of a job,
so some of the money was used to buy him a safety hat and boots.
He got the job, so is now in process of turning his life around
from just a week or two ago!
Nice to know what a little bit of help does.”

Yet, maybe this planting is meant for less settled gardens,
wilder volunteer tomatoes.
According to some, people of Jesus’ day did not plant mustard seeds –
wouldn’t dream of it.
It was a rapid growing weed that would overwhelm other choice plantings.
So, what is Jesus suggesting,
by comparing the kingdom of God with an invasive weed?
And the flocks of birds?
The image of the burgeoning bush offering shelter to the birds of the air is beautiful –
personally, I love it.
But like sowing mustard seeds, is it another kind of instructive joke?
Birds eat seeds and fruit; cause havoc in cornfields.
They are the reason farmers erect scarecrows.
“But Jesus isn't a scarecrow kind of gardener.” Debie Thomas

Is the kingdom of God the place where the unwelcome find a home?
Where the unwanted, untamed – unlike us – are sheltered.
Is the kingdom of God, by its very nature,
a sprawling, spontaneous, un-neat planting of radical inclusion?
And if a congregation – any congregation – is an allotment for God –
can we combine both the hard-worked, well planned rows,
but also notice and delight in the volunteer tomatoes?

Henry Thoreau, he of Walden Pond, who went to live in the woods,
with the determination to live deliberately:
“I have great faith in a seed.
Convince me you have a seed there and I am prepared to expect wonders.”

As an American pastor advised some years ago:
“Take a look around your congregation and your community
to see where life is springing up.
Get close enough to marvel at what God is already doing without your help.
And then try to catch up to it. (Janet Hunt)
That will be the beginning of all that comes next.

As the AA, Just for Today card concludes:
“Just for today I will be unafraid.
I will enjoy what is beautiful and believe that as I give to the world,
so the world will give to me.”
Prophets of a future not our own. Just for today.

[Now to him who by the power at work within us
is able to accomplish abundantly
far more than all we can ask or imagine,
to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus
to all generations, for ever and ever. Amen.]

MORNING WORSHIP, ST. COLUMBA'S, PONT STREET
SUNDAY 5th MAY 2024 11.00 A.M.
(6th SUNDAY OF EASTER)

“While Peter was still speaking, the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word.
The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astounded
that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles,
for they heard them speaking in tongues and extolling God.” Acts 10:44-45

Thursday morning this week; a tube stop in West London, on the District Line.
Boarding and having found a seat, the train Tanoy burst into life.
“Good morning, good morning, wonderful people.
I hope you are having a beautiful day.”
Commuters, momentarily ignoring their phones, looked up;
eyebrows quizzical; hesitant smiles.
A rich, sing-song Caribbean accent continued:
“Whether you are going to work, or a job interview, or going to school,
look out for the pregnant lady, or the elderly, or the visually impaired;
Look out for the mummy with a buggy – or the daddy with a buggy.
Na leave nobody. (No one left behind.)
Have a beautiful day, you’re worth it. Mind the doors.”
Unexpected.

On Wednesday, a sanctuary full of school children, teachers and some parents –
the weekly assembly for Hill House School.
For a change, a guest speaker.
Bob Kikuyu – Global Theology Advisor for Christian Aid.
Bob preached for us a year ago at the start of Christian Aid Week.
Educator and full-time pastor for many years,
working with schools and communities in some of the poorest parts of Nairobi, his home city.
In honesty, I was a little anxious about how things would go.
Five hundred school children – ranging from wriggly five-year-olds,
to trying-ever-so-hard to be bored, thirteen-year-olds – is not an easy gig.

As so often with the Wednesday assembly there was music.
There was also choir in the loft, plus a fanfare from the brass section.
Two eleven-year-old girls played the first movement of a Mozart concerto.
It was pretty special.
When Bob got up to speak, rather wonderfully,
he started by saying how much he appreciated the music,
and how many memories the music brought back to him.
His own children, now young adults:
“But my two sons used to play the trumpet at their school. Thank you to the brass section.
And my daughter – she played the violin.
Thank you for the wonderful playing this morning.
So many memories stirred by your music this morning. Thank you.”

From there, Bob’s theme was about “opportunities.”
He told us how the decision by his own parents to move from rural Kenya to the city,
had increased his own opportunities.
The education he received had been a stepping stone,
for so much else that unfolded in his life.

He also told the story of his father-in-law.
Born into the Masai tribe – traditionally, pastoralists, in rural Kenya.
His father-in-law was born a twin.
Within the culture of his time and place, twins could not be kept together.
One, would have to be sent to a distant relative.
As Bob explained, the twin retained,
would be the child of greatest economic worth.
The family raised cattle – so the child that was best at looking after the cows,
was the most beneficial to keep.

Bob’s father-in-law was hopeless.
Apparently, he lacked the focus and attention required.
Cattle would wander off and end up in neighbouring plantations etc.
So, his father-in-law, as a child was sent away to the city.
He attended school. He got into university. In time he became a government official.
Eventually, he became a government minister.
His responsibility? (Pause.) Minister for Agriculture & Livestock.
Unexpected.
Christian Aid Week Bob explained, was about increasing opportunities,
for those whose opportunities are sometimes so limited – the focus this year, in Burundi..

After the Assembly, one more unexpected note.
I said how glad I was that the music had resonated with Bob,
and that the children had had the opportunity to hear from him –
we never know what horizons or impact his presence might have
on those in the sanctuary that morning.
Then we spoke a little bit about the challenges that face the Church in the developed West –
a contrast to the apparent vibrancy of growing congregations in places elsewhere.
Bob’s reply came as a surprise – and an encouragement.

He told me that when he returns home,
he will tell others about a school where music is created and shared,
and the choice to engage with a local church on a regular basis is made.
And he will tell of people working quietly behind the scenes,
to make things happen for Christian Aid Week.
In his own words: “Stories of hope I will return to Kenya with.”
Unexpected.

One of the Lectionary readings is definitely a Tale of the Unexpected –
though it only gives a peek.
From the Book of Acts, what is sometimes referred to as the Gentile Pentecost:
the fulfilment of Isaiah 49:6, “I will also make you a light for the Gentiles,
that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.”
The full version occupies both chapters 10 and 11 of the Book of Acts:
According to the scholars: “…the heart of the book of Acts…
the pivot around which turns not only this book, but the entire New Testament Church.”
Worthy therefore of a little attention.

It’s the story of two men - in one sense, only a few miles apart;
in another, a universe between them.
Cornelius, centurion of the Italian Cohort, posted to Caeserea,
the Roman Head Quarters in these territories.
A god-fearer, devout, known for his charitable giving.

Down the coast at Joppa, Peter,
post Easter, post Pentecost, post the martyrdom of Stephen.
Living in these early months and years,
trying to make sense of what he has seen and what he must do with such things.
Driven now beyond Jerusalem by the persecution there,
and moving in an ever-widening world of diverse and competing voices.

Two men, separated by distance, but summoned by the dreams of God.
For Cornelius, the vision is to seek out and invite the unknown Peter,
to hear what he has to say.
For Peter, stranger still – the vision of the great blanket lowered from the heavens,
brimming with the beasts of creation.
A delivered to your door barbecue
that no observant Jew (or Jewish Christian) could possibly stomach.

In the dream, the summons to take and eat;
like all the most important things said to Peter – repeated three times.
Once awake, the vision, the prompting,
somehow relating to the invitation from the unknown Centurion.
What sort of invitation was that?
Come! To the home of a commander,
one of that brutal occupation force who had so recently, so callously
smashed Jesus onto his cross.
Yet Peter went – his explanation:
“The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us.”

Cornelius and Peter; Joppa to Caesarea;
the risk to invite, and the risk to respond.
Destination reached, Peter, ever ready to blurt things out introduces himself:
“You know it is unlawful for me, a Jew, to associate with you, a Gentile.”
But (and somewhere the trumpets sound.)
“But God has shown me that I should not call any man impure or unclean.
So, when I was sent for, I came without raising any objection.
May I ask why you sent for me?”

From there, the conversation and insight flows:
“I now realise how true it is that God does not show favouritism,
but accepts men from every nation who fear him and do what is right.”
And from there springs forth friendship and faith and food.
The latter not mentioned at the time,
but the issue over which the Jerusalem Christians
are ready to haul Peter over the coals, sometime later.
The accusation – You, an insider, are guilty of eating with the outsiders.

You can see why the early Christians of Jerusalem are horrified.
Peter, without consultation, has recklessly ripped up the rule book.
He has dismantled one of the key defining features of who they are as a group.
What right has he to do this?
It is an offence to them and all they honour who have gone before.

Peter doesn’t seek to persuade them with argument
he simply tells them what happened.
“As I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them
just as it had upon us at the beginning.
…
If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us
when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ,
who was I that I could hinder God?”

It took courage for Cornelius to ask;
it took courage for Peter to respond.
But in the willingness of one to cross a border
and in the willingness of another to allow a border to be crossed,
a rock is rolled away and the church door swings open a little wider.

Peter, perhaps to his own surprise,
discovers that that the Gospel is not about preserving a tradition,
even a tradition that has served validly and well.
The Spirit will not be constrained.
And if a tradition or attitude or understanding or person
has become an obstacle to bringing people into relationship with God,
the Spirit will bypass it.

Peter’s surprise is that in the letting go of something precious,
God replaces it with something more profound, more enriching.
Put another way: Peter didn’t sell out - he traded up.

We might ask: Who was the real convert in this story?
The Gentile soldier of an occupying sate?
Or one of Jesus’ inner circle, church leader, established insider,
who discovers an unguessed wideness to God’s mercy?

Story of hope -
for people who think they don’t deserve inclusion;
Tale of the unexpected,
for people who think others don’t deserve to be included.
As an Underground messenger would say:
“Mind the doors. Na leave nobody.”

MORNING WORSHIP, ST. COLUMBA'S, PONT STREET
SUNDAY 26th MAY2024 11.00 A.M.
(TRINITY SUNDAY)

“In the year that King Uzziah died,
I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty;
and the hem of his robe filled the temple.” Isaiah 6:1

A story for God’s Sunday – or, as we more commonly call it, Trinity Sunday:

St Augustine of Hippo is most famous for his Confessions –
written from the end of the fourth century, thirteen books in Latin;
an autobiographical work outlining his sinful youth and conversion to Christianity.
He also wrote, On the Trinity.
Unlike much of his writing this, wasn’t written as a defence of Christianity,
in the face of heresies,
but out of his own conviction, of the importance of the doctrine.
That uniquely Christian expression of One God: Three Persons –
Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

According to legend, one day St Augustine walked along the seashore,
wrestling with ways to logically explain the Trinity.
As his thoughts searched for clarity, he came across a young child –
solitary, on the beach.
As Augustine watched, the child made a hole in the sand,
ran to the sea with a little cup, filled it at water’s edge,
returned to the hole and poured the contents of the cup into the hole.
Augustine watched, as the action was repeated several times.

“What are you doing child?” the philosopher enquired.
“I am emptying the sea into this hole.”
“Do you think you can pour this immense ocean
into this tiny hole, with this tiny cup?”
The child returned the adult gaze:
“And you, do you think that with your small head,
you can comprehend the immensity of God?”
With that - according to legend - the child disappeared.

The American episcopalian priest and writer, Robert Farrar Capon,
vividly echoed the fabled child,
suggesting that when human beings try to describe God,
“We are like a bunch of oysters trying to describe a ballerina!”
Maybe humility is the starting point for God’s Sunday;
a recognition we will never have sufficient language or perspective,
to pin down the deity, like a glass-case butterfly, however delicate its design.

So, what do we know/sense – at least, through a glass darkly?
“In the year that King Uzziah died,
I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty;
and the hem of his robe filled the temple.
Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings:
with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet,
and with two they flew. And one called to another and said:
‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;
the whole earth is full of his glory.’
The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called,
and the house filled with smoke. And the prophet said: “Woe is me!”
This is the Almighty – not the all-matey - God.

In the C.S. Lewis classic, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,
Lucy, one of the children who has stepped through the wardrobe,
into the magical kingdom of Narnia, converses with Mr. Beaver,
about Aslan (who will come to represent the Christ figure):

“Is he a man?” asked Lucy.
“Aslan a man!” said Mr Beaver sternly. “Certainly not.
I tell you he is King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea.
Don’t you know who is the King of the Beasts?
Aslan is a lion – the Lion, the great lion.”
“Ooh!” said Susan, “I’d thought he was a man.
Is he – quite safe?
I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”

“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs Beaver;
“if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking,
they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”
“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.
“Safe?” said Mr Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs Beaver tells you?
Who said anything about safe?
‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.
He’s the King, I tell you.”"

Another American writer, Annie Dillard conjures vivid images,
of what church attendance might look like,
if we really grasped the wildness, the un-tamedness of God.
Comparing worshippers to cheerful, brainless tourists on packaged tour of the Absolute? …
Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we blithely invoke?
Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it?
The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets,
mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning.
It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church;
we should all be wearing crash helmets.
(Elders) should issue life preservers and signal flares;
they should lash us to our pews.
For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense,
or the waking god may draw us to where we can never return.”
(Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters”, pp. 40-41.

Draw us to a place of no return?
God Sunday is reminder of the unpredictable God:
who says “follow me” – follow me into worlds
we would never go to on our own.
who says that to truly find life, we must loose it, for him.
Who asks, out of that smoke-filled, shaking temple,
the question to each new generation: Whom shall I send?

Incomprehensible, unpredictable, unsafe – that’s quite a trinity.
Is that our best for God Sunday?
Perhaps we need ground a little steadier?

The formula of Father, Son and Holy Spirit appears very early in Christian writings –
so, it was important to the first generation. Why?
Because, before the Trinity became a doctrine, it was an experience.

The disciples and their followers did not doubt the existence of God the Creator –
they imbibed that with their mothers’ milk.
Raised on Isaiah or Psalm 29 (set for today)
with its the voice of the Lord thundering over the mighty waters
and splitting the cedars of Lebanon.
The awesome power, the otherness of God was familiar, if fearsome territory.

But then they met and were magnetised by a teacher from Nazareth,
Mary and Joseph’s boy.
Such a life, such a death,
such an intimacy with the One he dared call upon as Father/Abba –
in time, the disciples could only conclude that this was God come down,
God with them, Immanuel;
Could only conclude he was the image of the invisible God, a post card from heaven.

And, as if that were not enough, the further experience,
that though they had seen their friend murdered by state execution,
though they had seen him placed in his tomb
as lifeless and cold as any whose breath is stopped –
in time, and especially after Pentecost
they came to discover that Jesus/God was still alive/more alive
still available to them – in myriad places and surprising circumstances.
That true to his promise, they had not been left as orphans.
Or in Paul’s phraseology: “… children of God, and if children, then heirs,
heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.” Romans 8:17

Trinity: God of Creation, the Ancient of Days,
Jesus their companion, his beautiful, haunting life;
the Spirit, warm among them, leading them in and towards truth.
Before it was a doctrine, Trinity, an experience;
or as my former professor used to say:
“The verdict - once all the evidence had been gathered in.”

Trinity Sunday, God’s Sunday reminds us
God will always be bigger, more diverse and more surprising
than we can get our head around.

Yet, the search for God’s truth is on-going.
Yes, it requires modesty in our claims, humility in our seeking.
Yet the search is the thing – the yearning for God, the hankering for home.
Twelve years ago, a wise woman said to me before coming to St Columba’s:
“Everyone at St Columba’s will be homesick for something.”
Perhaps that is why we are drawn back here time and again.

A C19th minister of the Church of Scotland when asked to sum up in a single sentence,
what religion meant to him, gave his own Trinitarian response:
“There is a Father in heaven who loves us;
a Brother Saviour who died for us;
a Spirit who helps us to be good
and a Home where we shall all meet at last.”
Norman MacLeod of the Barony.

MORNING WORSHIP & BAPTISMS, ST. COLUMBA'S, PONT STREET
SUNDAY 7th APRIL 2024 11.00 A.M. (SECOND SUNDAY OF EASTER)

Collect: Almighty and Eternal God,
the strength of those who believe and the hope of those who doubt,
may we, who have not seen, have faith,
and receive the fullness of Christ’s blessing,
who is alive and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and forever. Amen.

This week, in the space of a very few minutes,
I heard two different people describe a glimpse of pure joy – an ecstasy.
The way they described it, it had the feel of a religious moment.
Curious?
I hope it will not be too disappointing to hear, it was football.
Specifically, it was being at this week’s dramatic,
Chelsea v Manchester United, 4-3 thriller, at nearby Stamford Bridge.
For the uninitiated, what made it so glorious for some – gutting for others –
home team Chelsea were losing 3-2 with time almost up.
Some “loyal” fans were already heading for the exit.
Incredibly, in the last two minutes of the game Chelsea not only equalised,
but then scored the winner.
Cue – pandemonium and joy among the home faithful.
One man described: “I was just hugging my mate for about ten seconds –
bouncing up and down. It was ridiculous. It was wonderful.”
Another recounted much the same – only more poignantly this was a father-son combo –
made even more special, because in a difficult relationship over the years,
the father realised how many other potential moments of closeness
had been squandered along the way.
Happily, not on this occasion.

I wasn’t there – and Chelsea are not my team.
So, could I/could you, possibly understand how special that moment had been?
A little, perhaps.
Yet, at one level, to really understand, in some senses - I guess you had to be there.

“Have you believed because you have seen me?
Jesus asked Thomas; then added:
“Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have come to believe.”

Every year on this Sunday – the second Sunday of Easter,
the Lectionary (the scriptures selected for reading)
give us the story of the disciple Thomas - Thomas the Twin/Doubting Thomas.
Some refer to today as Low Sunday,
and after the fanfares of Easter, it can hold a sense of come-down, anti-climax.
As a visiting Moderator of the General Assembly preached at St Columba’s:
“Coming to Church this Sunday, is a bit like showing up to a party,
after most of the guests have left.
Those who remain, tell you what a great time they’ve had, you’ve missed out by coming late.
Could it really have been that great?”  “I guess you had to be there?”
“I guess you had to be there” is a primary theme to Thomas’ tale.
But worth remembering, there is more to Thomas than his famous doubting.
Thomas appears three times in John’s Gospel.
Firstly, when Jesus is on his way to raise Lazarus from the dead.
The other disciples urging Jesus not to go,
because his opponents have recently tried to stone him (John 11:8).
Thomas declares that they should go,
that “we might die with him” (John 11:16).

The second time, Jesus, in the hours before his death,
is talking about his Father’s house,in which there are many mansions;
that he is going to prepare a place for them, and that they know the way.
While others keep silent, Thomas bursts out:
“Lord, we do not know where you are going.
How can we know the way?” (John 14:5).
Without Thomas’ courage to ask the awkward question,
we might never have heard Jesus’ answer:
“I am the way, and the truth and the life.”

Thirdly, the drama of the first week of resurrection.
The first day – empty tombs and familiar strangers in the garden;
Mary, called by name, bearing, breaking news to the disciples.
Then on the evening of that first day
behind closed doors, dreading fates, comparable to that of their Master;
Jesus comes to that justifiably frightened company.
Into their confusion - suddenly, jaw-droppingly, quietly – he is there.

And his first words? After death. After resurrection.
Neither stony silence; nor anger that they went AWOL on the eve of battle.
Instead, “Peace be with you.”
A bridge - from guilt to mercy, despair to hope, fear to courage.
Peace be with you – greeting and gift, restoration and command.

Re-formed, the disciples are swiftly commissioned:
As the Father has sent me, so I send you.
“A boat is safe in the harbour, but that’s not what boats are for.”

Readied for sending, they are resourced.
“When he had said this he breathed on them saying,
Receive the Holy Spirit.”
For John, resurrection is also Pentecost; new life and immediate Spirit.
So, the Church is midwifed into being,
delivered and welcomed into the light
by the forgiveness and breath of the resurrected Jesus.

Famously, like a father caught in traffic, Thomas is late for the birth; misses it.
He hears about these extraordinary things
but demands more than make believe, to make believe.
Thomas, who didn’t yet believe in the resurrection,
intuits that if there is to be a resurrection, it must be linked to the wounds.
It won’t be the real Jesus if the wounds are not there.
“Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, I will not believe.”

This is the embodied Gospel. As the Anglican priest-poet Malcolm Guite writes:
“Oh doubting Thomas, father of my faith,
You put your finger on the nub of things
We cannot love some disembodied wraith,
But flesh and blood must be our king of kings.
… … …
Your teaching is to touch, embrace, anoint,
Feel after Him and find Him in the flesh.”

Touch, embrace, anoint:
There is no better reminder of the flesh, than the presence of a baby –
Today, Edward, here for his baptism.
(Others too, who have made that same journey in recent times.)
Any parent of a newborn is utterly familiar with the embodied basics of humanity;
birth itself, hunger and feeding, bathtime, warmth, comfort, distress, touch, sleep, rest.

There is a scriptural suggestion/link between this embodied Gospel,
and our baptismal gathering.
On Good Friday, we read the Passion Story/account, according to John’s Gospel.
Towards the end of that account there is the description of the request
to remove the crucified bodies from their crosses, before the Day of Passover.
Gruesome noting, that the way to speed up the dying –
break the legs of the prisoners - in effect to cause them suffocation.
“But when they came to Jesus and found that he was already dead,
they did not break his legs.
Instead, one of the soldiers pierced Jesus’ side with a spear,
bringing a sudden flow of blood and water. (John 19:33-35)

Edward, as yet knows nothing of this - the blood and the water –
threads so woven into our faith – sacrifice and washing – communion and baptism.
In time, with the help of his parents, godparents, faith community – he may learn more.
The blood and the water:
The love of God poured out for him –
not because he has earnt it, passed an exam, achieved great things.
But because he is his own unique, never-to-be-repeated life.
Precious, fragile, human. Welcomed.

Welcomed into a community of the followers of Jesus –
a community that knew/knows fear and failure, expressed doubt and disbelief.
But from time to time, discovers, that like Thomas,
God can accept honest doubt,
and bless and multiply the witness of a disciple who struggles to trust,
yearns for God but finds the path of faith rocky and hard.
Jesus says: Put your hand into the heart of who I am.
Then carry on/share such things - touch, embrace, anoint.
To follow into the humanity, the whole broken, beautiful mess of it –
To follow: “I guess we have to be there.”

MORNING WORSHIP, ST. COLUMBA'S, PONT STREET
SUNDAY 21st APRIL 2024 11.00 A.M.
(4th SUNDAY OF EASTER)

“I am the good shepherd.
The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.
(In contrast): The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep.
I am the good shepherd.” John 10: various

“Where’s your coat?”
“I don’t need it.”
“I think you do. It looks like it’s going to rain.”
“It won’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”

Depending on the level of parental resolve,
a child goes to school either with, or without the contentious coat-in-question.
As was once remarked:
“Why do I have to wear a coat because you’re feeling cold?”
Which makes me think of the quote:
“There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.”
That is from the pen of contemporary writer and hill farmer, James Rebanks,
author of, The Shepherd's Life: A People's History of the Lake District.

Rebanks writes with authority, about the toughness, the wildness,
the reality of sheep and shepherding, even in the Lake Districts of today.
That is echoed by Scottish poet, Kenneth Steven, in his piece, entitled, Lamb.
One day, amid wintry conditions on Scotland’s west coast,
he stumbles upon a new-born lamb

“I found a lamb,
tugged by the guyropes of the wind,
trying so hard to get up.

It was no more than a trembling bundle –
a bag of bones and wet wool,
a voice made of crying, like a child’s.

(He reflects):
What a beginning, what a fall,
to be born here on the edge of the world
between the sea and America.”

We know from our Christmas tales – the birth at Bethlehem –
shepherds inhabited the edge of society;
untamed places, beyond the respectable.
Yet the image of a shepherd tending the flock was deeply ingrained
in the religious imaginations of the Israelites;
they had a long history with shepherds.
Rachel was a shepherd.
Moses too, before God commissioned him to lead the Israelites out of slavery;
and of course, King David started out as a shepherd,
famously and unexpectedly called in from the fields,
to partake with his brothers in a royal beauty pageant.
(“You’re hired!”)

The prophet Ezekiel (Ezekiel 34:15-16) records the Lord God as declaring:
“I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep.
I will seek the lost,
and I will bring back the strayed,
and I will bind up the crippled,
and I will strengthen the weak,
and the fat and the strong I will watch over;
I will feed them in justice.”

So, to Jesus’ declaration: “I am the Good Shepherd.”
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus has just healed a blind man on the Sabbath,
and the religious elite are less than chuffed.
Moreover, it is the Feast of the Dedication (the holiday we know as Hanukkah),
celebration of the rededication of the Temple,
after the victory of Judas Maccabeus in 2nd century BCE.
Jesus is in the Temple itself – location, par excellence,
that venerates the unique, covenantal relationship with God.

It is apparently, there and then,
that Jesus equates himself with God, the Good Shepherd.
Just when the religious authorities are celebrating the centrality/supremacy of the Temple,
Jesus suggests that God's presence is actually better found elsewhere?
Elsewhere, being the wilderness, where the wolves and thieves roam,
along with hireling shepherds and straying sheep?
In other words, among the outcasts, the irreligious, the ritually unclean,
and the politically suspect?
What, or who am I about? Asks Jesus.
Am I museum curator of the splendid sanctuaries, noble as they are –
or mountain rescue, search-team leader, beyond the corridors of power?
As one contemporary writer questions awkwardly:
“Where is my Temple? Where is my wilderness?
Where are the places I assume God doesn’t dwell?”

“I am the good shepherd.
The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.

When Jesus identifies with the shepherd at the periphery –
he also draws attention to the cost of shepherding.
“The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”
Jesus says it five times in this passage.
Echoed in John's epistle: “Jesus Christ laid down his life for us.”

Threatened by predators, the shepherd’s life, involved danger.
Jesus spells out the contrast between the committed shepherd
and the hireling shepherd.
The hireling will scarper at the first sign of danger,
the genuine shepherd, like the sentry on duty, stands to.
“Because he's in it for the long haul,
he not only frolics with lambs, but wrestles with wolves.
He not only tends the wounds of his beloved rams and ewes;
he buries them when their time comes.” Debie Thomas, Journey with Jesus

The life that Jesus lived; the life that he gave up, allows John’s Epistle to assess:
“We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us …”
Then concludes: “We ought to lay down our lives for one another.
Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.” 1 John 3

Where might we be encouraged for truth and action?

Last Sunday we heard a little of the work of ReStart Lives the charity that organises the weekly, Friday Night drop-in meal for sometimes up to a hundred guests –  some homeless, some simply seeking a warm meal and some companionship.

The Newsletter this week also highlights the ongoing work of Glass Door,  the charity that co-ordinates the winter season schedule of Night Shelters –  which thanks to staff and volunteers from within and beyond St Columba’s, has offered food and floor space overnight on Sundays, throughout the winter.
Practical help – offered by ordinary people –  of various traditions of prayer, and none –  finding common cause – giving, yes –  but also, often bearing witness to what they receive.

One example more: This week we received a letter of thanks from Firefly International, the Scottish-based charity working with young people living with the consequences of war –  charity chosen for this year’s Lent Appeal.

The Appeal money will go towards the work of a multi-faith youth project in Bosnia:
In the charity’s letter of thanks:

“We live in terribly dangerous times,
and I am sorry to say that children and young people in the Balkans,
almost completely forgotten these days, face danger too.
Your investment in our peace-keeping work,
led by young people in Brcko for the benefit of their own community,
is not only generous but also thoughtful and insightful.

The money raised via the Appeal will go towards a summer camp, off-site, for the teenagers.
Giving young people the chance to get out of Brcko,
to spend a week together making art and music together,
and simply enjoying each other's company in a beautiful rural setting,
is a great gift to them.
It rewards them for bucking the trend,
in being prepared to meet and socialise with 'the other'.
It reinforces the message that it is safe and normal
for young people from different faith backgrounds
to leave their home and neighbourhood and travel away together,
have fun and build strong bonds of friendship.
Jane Critchley Salmonson, Director, Firefly International

Is it fanciful to think of Balkan teenagers –
Muslim, Orthodox, Roman Catholic, other –
enjoying the freedom of new spaces and experiences –
fanciful to think of them recognising their differences,
but also discovering their commonalities – the ties that bind,
the underlying unities of a single human flock?
Is that too much to hope for, to pray for – to work for?

We began with a desolate lamb struggling to rise, buffeted by the wind,
“…born here on the edge of the world
Between the sea and America.”
But Kenneth Steven’s poem finishes with a promise –
“Lamb, out of this island of stone
yellow is coming, golden promises,
the buttery sunlight of spring.”

That is Easter’s promise – the Good Shepherd always rising, always returning:
To seek the lost,
bring back the strayed,
bind up the wounded,
strengthen the weak,
watch over the flock and feed them in justice.”