The 2nd

My daughter often tells me she hates silence. I love it. If I had a magic button that could do one thing (I was asked this question in a Facebook group this week) it would cause silence to fall instantly. We need to learn to find space for silence, to not find it scary but comforting; to know it's a place where we can uncover marvellous truths.

Today I found joy in sharing cappuccinos with my family, I was thankful for all four of us being together for the whole weekend and I felt helpless at knowing the busyness of life will return and be unrelenting when I return to work on Monday.

Today’s Meditation:

If I chose to hide you away, it is for a reason.
I have brought you to this place.
Drink in the silence. Seek solitude.

Listen to the silence.

It will teach you. It will build strength
Let others share it with you.
It is little to be found elsewhere.

Silence will speak more to you in a day than the world of voices can teach you in a lifetime.
Find silence. Find solitude – and having discovered her riches, bind her to your heart.

Frances J. Roberts

Scripture:

Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.
- James 1:17

The 1st

It's that time of year again where I try to blog each day. I do this for Lent and Advent as it helps me to focus each day on the spiritual preparation that leads up to Easter and Christmas.

I had all sorts of ideas of what I might do for Advent but as the simplest idea is usually the most achievable I'm using Mary Fleeson's Advent prayers and the daily readings and meditations from The Northumbria Community, probably with a bit of Richard Rohr thrown in! Ok, that sounds more complicated than it is.

The prayer card suggests that each day you write down something that makes you joyful, something which you're thankful for and something which you feel helpless about. Whatever your belief system this is a useful way to evaluate and reflect upon your day.

I've been off work all this week to try and prepare myself (both physically by sorting out stuff at home, and mentally by finding some head space) for Advent. For the rest of the world Christmas has already begun, but in my tradition of the Anglican faith, and especially for myself as a priest, it's a time (like Lent) of spiritual preparation, patience, anticipation and waiting.

Four years ago on Advent Sunday I preached my first sermon, all about the anticipation of Advent. It's a difficult balance to find between wanting to celebrate - to immerse myself in the festivities around me - and to keep it as a time of preparation. Chronicling all this in the blog helps me to hold that tension and keep that balance.

Today: I found joy in laughing with my family at the cinema (Paddington 2 - pure distilled joy), I am thankful that I was able to take leave from work this week and I feel helpless about certain unstable world political situations.

Reflection:
Hurry is an unpleasant thing in itself, but also very unpleasant for whoever is around it. Some people came into my room and rushed in and rushed out and even when they were there they were not there – they were in the moment ahead or the moment behind. Some people who came in just for a moment were all there, completely in that moment.

Live from day to day, just from day to day. If you do so, you worry less and live more richly. If you let yourself be absorbed completely, if you surrender completely to the moments as they pass, you live more richly those moments.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Scripture:
The only thing that matters is faith expressing itself in love. — Galatians 5:6

Travelling Light

Sermon based upon Isaiah 35:3-6, 2 Timothy 4:5-17 & Luke 10:1-9

It’s become something of a tradition here at St Michael’s to dedicate the Sunday closest to St Luke’s Feast Day, the 18th of October, to a service of Wholeness and Healing. The author of the Book of Acts and Luke’s gospel is responsible for over a quarter of the content of the New Testament, so he’s a bit of a big deal when it comes to the history and theology of our church.

The link between Luke and healing is because of the belief he was a Greek physician. Other opinions are available but we take this opportunity as a community to pray for wholeness and healing, whatever that means to each of us.

Today’s gospel reading from Luke speaks of risk, vulnerability and urgency. I think if I was allowed I would have actually wanted to reverse the order of today’s readings and have the Luke reading first.

In it we see the instruction to the seventy chosen disciples to go out in mission, just as they are. No money, no possessions, no suitcase or rucksack. I don’t know about you but I’m a “pack for every conceivable scenario” kind of a girl.

This usually means I have a case or indeed car full of things I never use or need. What it does bring me however is comfort, I feel a gentle reassurance in having my “just in case” items with me.

The thought of going out, like these seventy disciples, with no purse, no bag and no sandals fills me with dread- never mind sandals I also need my walking boots, wellies, trainers and something pretty just in case we go somewhere nice!

But Jesus was preparing the disciples for a particular mission, preparing the way, in towns he would later go to himself. He was also asking a group of Jewish people to eat whatever was placed before them, whether it abided by the strict Jewish food laws or not. These people are being put right out of their comfort zone.

Finally, he tells them to cure the sick. It doesn’t elaborate whether this is through prayer or physical care, but the disciples have their instructions and are to get to it ASAP. No time for small talk. Off you go.

How scared, vulnerable and maybe even a little excited would they have been? It’s the beginning of an adventure but one where they risk losing everything.

So, if I were reversing the order of today’s readings I’d still put Paul’s second letter to Timothy in the middle. He reinforces our need to be missional people, Jesus has given us a ministry which we must carry out in full; God gives us strength for this.

Paul also serves as a reminder of the risks we take by following God’s will for our lives, and to be honest it’d probably put most of us off! He’s banged up in jail at this point, but crucially he’s still full of hope, happy in the knowledge that he’s followed the path set out for him. Paul’s very much a “bigger picture” sort of chap.

Finally, I’d have the Isaiah reading at the end as it shows us what’s possible when we follow where Jesus is leading or go where he sends us. It’s so poetically joyful!

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
   and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
then the lame shall leap like a deer,
   and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.
For waters shall break forth in the wilderness,
   and streams in the desert

If this were to happen, as the disciples go about the land, what truer sign would there be of the kingdom of God truly being near?

For many of us the words from Isaiah reflect a kind of healing, an idea of what wholeness in our relationship with God and indeed our lives and the world might look like. It’s something we long for but may never expect to experience.

I mentioned earlier that healing means something different to each of us, but I believe that central to it is the idea of the completeness of our relationship with God. There’s tiny glimpses in these readings of how we might be able to actually achieve this.

It’s important to remember that the instructions in our gospel reading aren’t being given to us but to a particular group of people, with a particular mission, two thousand years ago. That doesn’t mean there isn’t something we can’t learn, particularly about vulnerability and baggage.

There’s a quotation from Dorothee Soelle I’d like to share with you:

He who takes the most with him and leaves little behind, and therefore remains much the same as he was before, has little chance of finding what he seeks…he who does not give up anything cannot find anything…

We’re each carrying things with us which prevent us from moving forward, stops us from finding our true purpose and from being in a more complete relationship with God.

It might be stuff that like me with my holiday packing we hold on to for comfort. When our lives are so filled up with stuff we often lose sight of what really matters- we can’t hear over the noise of activity or see the spaces between the clutter.

We can also take baggage with us that we feel chained to, that we can’t shake off- whether the emotional baggage of a past we feel we can’t escape from or the obligations we feel locked in to.

Jesus advises to travel light because only then can we discern what’s of real value; only then do we create space in our lives to be filled up by God.

Healing is about transformation and we’re transformed when we set aside things which don’t really matter and give space to the things which do.

This can be scary, transition often is. We like comfort and we fear transition and change. Take away the familiar and the comforting and we’re vulnerable, but this is the model of being that Jesus has left us with; strength through weakness, life through death.

If we’re brave enough to model gaining strength through vulnerability others will see it and be less scared to do it themselves. Through this the words of Isaiah become more than just beautiful poetry, they become a fulfilment of prophecy and of God’s will for our lives.

We can achieve healing and completeness in our relationships, we can make peace with ourselves and with the world around us.
We can be a sign of hope, reconciliation and healing,
we can be water bursting forth in a desert.

It’s risky and it’s scary, to step forward and go out just as we are, and I don’t know how far down that path I am myself, but for a chance to live a healed, more complete, reconciled life it’s got to be a chance worth taking; to ask ourselves what do I need to let go of? What’s my baggage?

Because if we do this, dump the baggage and make that space for God, not only do we make ourselves more complete but we become God’s instruments of healing and reconciliation in the lives of others, and that’s got to be worth taking some risks.

Strengthen the weak hands,
   and make firm the feeble knees.
Say to those who are of a fearful heart,
   ‘Be strong, do not fear!

Sometimes we need to hear that ourselves and sometimes we need to be the ones saying it.

So I want to say to you “be strong and do not fear”, and you can say it back to me later if you like! We live in God’s love, he guides or steps, let’s see if we can take the risks he’s asking of us.

Amen.

The F Word

Sermon based upon Matthew 18:21-35

I feel like poor Peter has come in for a bashing recently on Sunday mornings! So many of the gospel stories we’ve heard have centred on his ability to get things wrong, and that’s the case again today.

Peter thinks he’s being super generous, abundantly merciful, with his suggestion of offering forgiveness 7 times. The thing is, in the Jewish tradition and wisdom teaching God forgave 3 times and punished at the 4^th offence, which I think comes from Amos where God forgives Israel’s enemies 3 times. Because humans could never be more gracious than God they could only forgive 3 times and no more, so Peter with his suggestion of 7 times, more than double what his culture taught, must have thought Jesus was going to be blown away by his answer.

Cue another instance of Jesus giving Peter a friendly pat on the shoulder as he shows that yet again his assumptions are very wrong, and states a figure of 77 times. This isn’t a literal 77, Jesus is using hyperbole and a playing on the words used in a verse from Genesis, referred to as the law of vengeance: If Cain is avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech seventy-sevenfold (Gen 4:24). Instead of extreme vengeance Jesus is calling us to extreme mercy and forgiveness.

To illustrate his point Jesus tells the parable of the unforgiving servant. The sum of money he owes, 10,000 talents is deliberately extravagant. It’d be millions today, this illustrates the extreme generosity, mercy and forgiveness he’s shown. The amount owed the servant, in which he shows no mercy, is just a few quid in comparison.

Jesus is illustrating that as God shows us radical forgiveness, we must respond to that by showing radical forgiveness to others.

I’ve been wondering this week what was it about the servant, after being shown such mercy and compassion, that failed to stir up the same mercy and compassion within him? What was is about his culture and background, his life experiences, that meant despite the extreme nature of the forgiveness he received, he was unable to show that, on a much smaller scale, to another?

I’ve probably mentioned it before but I’m a huge admirer of Desmond Tutu. His theology, his wisdom, the life he’s led, I admire him a great deal. A few weeks ago, I read some extracts from an article he’d written about forgiveness at our Thursday morning service, so apologies to anyone who was there when I repeat myself today.

His work regarding radical forgiveness, especially heading the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in post-apartheid South Africa is well known. During that process victims of human rights violations shared their stories, and perpetrators of those acts were granted amnesty. What might not be as well-known are the personal struggles he faced, particularly growing up with an alcoholic and abusive father.

He recounts witnessing his father abusing his mother and says this: When I recall this story, I realise how difficult the process of forgiving truly is. Intellectually, I know my father caused pain because he himself was in pain. Spiritually, I know my faith tells me my father deserves to be forgiven as God forgives us all. But it is still difficult. The traumas we have witnessed or experienced live on in our memories. Even years later they can cause us fresh pain each time we recall them.

Intellectually and from a position of people who belong to Christ we know forgiveness, radical and unconditional, is what we’re called to, but when the hurts run so deep our emotions blind us to what our logic or intellect might be telling us. The article continues:

I know [forgiveness] is the only way to heal the pain in my boyhood heart. Forgiveness is not dependent on the actions of others. Yes, it is certainly easier to offer forgiveness when the perpetrator expresses remorse and offers some sort of reparation or restitution. Then, you can feel as if you have been paid back in some way. You can say: "I am willing to forgive you for stealing my pen, and after you give me my pen back, I shall forgive you." This is the most familiar pattern of forgiveness. We don't forgive to help the other person. We don't forgive for others. We forgive for ourselves. Forgiveness, in other words, is the best form of self-interest.

Forgiveness takes practice, honesty, open-mindedness and a willingness (even if it is a weary willingness) to try. It isn't easy. Perhaps you have already tried to forgive someone and just couldn't do it. Perhaps you have forgiven and the person did not show remorse or change his or her behaviour or own up to his or her offences – and you find yourself unforgiving all over again.

It is perfectly normal to want to hurt back when you have been hurt. But hurting back rarely satisfies. We think it will, but it doesn't. If I slap you after you slap me, it does not lessen the sting I feel on my own face, nor does it diminish my sadness over the fact that you have struck me. Retaliation gives, at best, only momentary respite from our pain. The only way to experience healing and peace is to forgive. Until we can forgive, we remain locked in our pain and locked out of the possibility of experiencing healing and freedom, locked out of the possibility of being at peace.

This belief, of forgiveness bringing us Peace and Healing, was central to the Truth and Reconciliation commission. The acts requiring forgiveness would be to us inhuman, barbaric, and yet forgiveness, radical and Christ-like was offered.

These principals have been carried over into a UK based project backed by Desmond Tutu called the Forgiveness Project. It’s a charity that uses the stories of both victims and perpetrators of crime and violence to explore how ideas around forgiveness, reconciliation and conflict resolution can be used to impact positively on people’s lives. It’s non-partisan and non-religious but many Christian organisations have been involved as it so closely reflects Christ’s teaching.

It’s an encouragement to debate, not holding up forgiveness as an all-healing magic bullet, but rather an examination of forgiveness as a means to finding resolution, and hopefully, eventually, transformation. I really recommend exploring the project, reading some of the stories, because it’s a glimpse of the possible, and I believe a glimpse of Kingdom living.

I’ve used a lot of Desmond Tutu’s words today, and I’m going to use some more, because his lived experiences mean he puts this better that I ever could:

A human life is a great mixture of goodness, beauty, cruelty, heartbreak, indifference, love and so much more. All of us share the core qualities of our human nature and so sometimes we are generous and sometimes selfish. Sometimes we are thoughtful and other times thoughtless; sometimes we are kind and sometimes cruel. This is not a belief. This is a fact.

No one is born a liar or a rapist or a terrorist. No one is born full of hatred. No one is born full of violence. No one is born in any less glory or goodness than you or me. But on any given day, in any given situation, in any painful life experience, this glory and goodness can be forgotten, obscured or lost. We can easily be hurt and broken, and it is good to remember that we can just as easily be the ones who have done the hurting and the breaking.

The simple truth is, we all make mistakes, and we all need forgiveness. There is no magic wand we can wave to go back in time and change what has happened or undo the harm that has been done, but we can do everything in our power to set right what has been made wrong. We can endeavour to make sure the harm never happens again.

There are times when all of us have been thoughtless, selfish or cruel. But no act is unforgivable; no person is beyond redemption. Yet, it is not easy to admit one's wrongdoing and ask for forgiveness. "I am sorry" are perhaps the three hardest words to say.

We can come up with all manner of justifications to excuse what we have done. When we are willing to let down our defences and look honestly at our actions, we find there is a great freedom in asking for forgiveness and great strength in admitting the wrong. It is how we free ourselves from our past errors. It is how we are able to move forward into our future, unfettered by the mistakes we have made.

The parable of the ungrateful servant is both a parable of seeking forgiveness and of forgiving. It shows us how much can be forgiven when we know we’re wrong and we ask for forgiveness, and it also shows us how much hurt can come when we don’t give forgiveness when people ask it of us.

I don’t know what it was within the servant that meant he couldn’t find a way into forgiveness, but that inability led to the continuing suffering of both himself and the man asking for forgiveness. God requires us to be as generous in our forgiveness as he is with us, which we know is infinite. It’s a big ask, and it’s not easy at all, but it does contain the power to transform lives. 

Love thy white supremacist neighbour?

Sermon based upon Romans 12:1-8 and Matthew 16:13-20

Simon “Rocky to his friends” Johnson, the hot-headed fisherman of Capernaum. Peter to us, but I kind of like the nickname Rocky. It fits. He’s hot-headed and punchy, not really one for thinking before he speaks or acts.

We know more about Peter than any other of the 12, which means that we, as they must have done, can wonder “him?!!” when Jesus declares Simon to be Peter, his rock, and promises him the keys to the kingdom. 

A better nickname might have been “Sandy” because he shifts about so much; unstable, tactless and impetuous. We might think this is evidence of Jesus’ sense of humour, his eyes giving a playful twinkle as he says it, the other 11 smirking.

Yet Peter, for all his blundering, has said something that no one else up to this point has said or recognised; Peter in his complexity and paradoxical simplicity just comes out with it: “You are the Messiah”.

Because of Peter’s knack of saying, unfiltered, whatever comes into his head he’s actually the 1 disciple not only to recognise the activity of God when he sees it, but to blurt it out, not thinking of the implications. Peter acts on instinct, rightly or wrongly, a lot of the time, and that includes here.

Jesus then basically names Peter first amongst equals, and we recognise the importance of that in the early church. Jesus gives him permission to bind or loose- forbid or permit. 

He was the first to be called, the first named in lists of apostles and the one from whom Paul, even though they have disagreements, seeks approval from as he sets out on his own mission. 

For all his paradoxes and contradictions Peter becomes a unifying figure, at the centre of the vision of a community of faith, central to Paul’s vision of the one body, the perfect example of how it takes people of every kind to build that community.

The body image is the illustration of the perfect inclusive church where no one is ex-cluded, we all fit in somewhere. Both the person of Peter and the vision of Paul serve to give us hope that no matter what our faults or differences, God has a place for us.

I get so disheartened by reports of faith communities which are built up on a premise of exclusion rather than inclusion, a reading of scripture which I whole-heartedly disagree with.

The idea that you must have a particular view of scripture, faith, gender roles, politics, sexuality or style of worship to be acceptable to God I believe goes against the vision of the body of Christ and both the teachings and ministry of Jesus. To hear of faith communities rejecting and excluding those who don’t fit their own view of Christianity is heart-breaking.

We’re all guilty at times of making God too small, trying to make him fit our own world view, me included. 

Paul is reminding us that God is so big as to be able to accommodate each and every one of us. If Jesus excluded his disciples each time they tried to make God small, or acted in a way which didn’t fit Jesus’ own teachings, He would have been very alone very quickly.

This past fortnight, to see people marching in God’s name, in the churches name, with an ideology of white supremacy, has been something which I think our little community here might have found difficult to believe or imagine. Those of you who use Social Media may have seen or even used the phrases “not all Christians” or “not in my name”, as we try and distance ourselves from those who share our faith bur not our ideologies.

We can condemn violence and acts of hatred done in Christ’s name, for there is no excusing it, yet it’s a reminder of a past we also want to distance ourselves from, the role of our church in Empire Christianity, of conquer and conquest, a past of believing God gave us a mission and a right to overthrow, oppress and white-wash other cultures and faiths.

Peter’s life, as the first, unifying head of the church, is a good metaphor for the history of the church and of Christianity. We’ve got things wrong, we’ve rejected Christ for our own interests; we’ve got things right and recognised the activity of God when we’ve seen it. The church has at times been unstable, tactless and impetuous, at times been faithful and filled with love and life-giving.

Peter’s life also gives me hope for the church- and for myself. 

It took many years and many mistakes for him to become who he became. We share his faults and failings, so we can also share in his successes and ability to see Jesus for exactly who he is. 

The way Jesus never rejects him despite his actions gives me a template on how I should respond to my brothers and sisters who may share my religion but not me beliefs or world view; a way of confronting racist rhetoric dressed up as Christianity, because if I believe in Paul’s vision of the Body of Christ and full inclusion of each and every person, I must find a way to accept that those with views of ex-clusion, views we may find detestable, those who take part in marches to promote a white supremacist world view, are still somehow part of the Body of Christ.

Now this is uncomfortable stuff, how is this even possible? How can we be part of the same community of faith as those whose views seem to come from a place of such hate? I should imagine the majority of us would feel about these groups the same way our Muslim Brothers and sisters do when they’re thought to belong to the same group of people who commit atrocities in the name of their faith.

But the only way I know to drive out hate is with love, to fight exclusion with inclusion, to keep our hearts, our minds and our doors open. 

Only by showing the love of Christ can we open up the hearts and minds of others to what’s possible when we stop trying to divide and separate our communities, when we stop excluding and punishing in Jesus’ name, and when we become the living embodiment of loving in Jesus’ name. We show them with our every action that intolerance is not welcome in our church.

When we model what it can look like to truly live out the love which pours from God there’s a chance we can effect change in others, to include them even if we disagree with them.

To go back to where we started, with Peter, our rock, some of his views could now be considered racist. He discriminated against the gentiles and Paul called him out for it. We can all get things wrong, and we can all be redeemed. No one, not one single person is beyond that love which flows unending from God, to us, and is intended to be shared out in all places, to all people, at all times.

We're on a mission. From God.

Sermon preached this morning, based upon Matthew 9:35-10:8

We’re on a mission. From God”
Any of you familiar with the film The Blues Brothers, which just so happens to be my husband’s favourite, will be familiar with that line. For those of you who haven’t seen it I’ll set the scene:

Elwood Blues arrives at Joliet prison on the day of his brother (Jake’s) release. They visit the Roman Catholic orphanage they grew up in, only to find out it’ll be closed if they can’t raise $5000. The brothers then visit a Baptist church where Jake has a divine epiphany; if they reform their old band, The Blues Brothers, they can raise the money to save the orphanage.

As they meet up with former band mates and other folk along the way they tell them “we’re on a mission. From God.” This mission often finds them on the wrong side of the law, and various other groups along the way.

Eventually, and I’m sorry if this is a spoiler but this film is almost as old as me, they raise $10,000 which saves the orphanage, as well as paying for instruments they’ve borrowed along the way. However, just after they hand over the money and save the orphanage the police catch up with them and the film ends where it started, in Joliet prison, with the band performing Jailhouse Rock for their fellow inmates.
They may have ended up as convicted felons but they did complete the mission they believed God had challenged them with.

In today’s gospel we see the 12 apostles being given their mission from God. They’re each named; Simon Peter, Andrew, James son of Zebedee, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, Thaddaeus, Simon the Cananaean and Judas.
This is the only place Matthew uses the word “apostle”, meaning one who is sent. I often tell baptism families that there’s very few examples of Jesus saying “do this” or “do that”, but here it’s very clear what he’s sending the 12 to do, clear what their mission is.

He’s sending the 12 to be a reflection of himself; cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons- this is the stuff the gospel writers have told us Jesus did, and yet he’s sending them to do this in a place he never ministered in; Galilee. As Paul will later become the apostle to the gentiles, this 12, one to represent each tribe of Israel, are being sent to preach and minister to Israel. Jesus is very clear; don’t go anywhere near the gentiles or Samaritans.

They’re to declare the gospel to those who should have it already written in their hearts; this mission is a mission to reclaim God’s chosen people, to remind them of their place as a consecrated nation and their calling to a universal priesthood- a kingdom of priests.

But who are these 12 men, what do we really know about them? Might they have more in common with Jake and Elwood Blues than with their saintly images decorating our church?

Churches are filled with images of the 12 as saintly- we have Thomas in the corner of our main window; Matthew, Mark, Luke and John hiding in the corners of the ascension window. If you look closely- as I sometimes get our family praise children to do- you can see some of the other 12 depicted around the church. And don’t they look holy? Any human imperfections hidden by the glow of their halos.

Is this how you imagine the 12? The wise and saintly founding fathers of our faith? Or do you like your Holy men a little more human and earthly?

We know Judas’ flaws and fete, and yet Jesus still chose him. Matthew was a reviled tax collector- although a changed man from meeting Jesus. These men were from such varied backgrounds- rough and uneducated fishermen, a political zealot- but Jesus changed all that? Taught them, trained them, and transformed them- or did he?

The 12 keep getting stuff wrong- Thomas doubts, Peter denies Jesus- in fact Peter gets loads of stuff wrong. He’s blunt and bumbling- emotion always getting the better of him. We know they squabble about who’s the greatest, and we know they hide in fear until the Spirit comes to shove them out of the door and into actually acting upon Jesus’ instructions.

We have in the apostles an imperfect bunch, from all walks of life, who aren’t made perfect even after 3 years in Jesus’ company. And they need a direct and transformational experience of the Holy Spirit before they go out and actually begin the mission Jesus has directly given them.

Jesus calls them, delights in them and sends them inspite of who they are, not because of who they are.

When I was on placement at St Peter’s House, the church and chaplaincy at Manchester University, their readings didn’t end with “this is the word of the Lord”, but “what does this mean for us today”? And that’s the question I’m asking myself about the mission Jesus sets out for our flawed, very human apostles.

I’ve had no choice recently but to think about the nature of calling, mission and being sent as I prepare to be priested next Saturday and stand before you next Sunday to preside over the Eucharist for the first time.

At times like this we’re confronted with our own flaws, with all the things that are a barrier to our mission rather than the things that make us fit for purpose.
We’re the only ones who know our own inner life, apart from God. We know all the darkest aspects of ourselves, the things which stand in the way of our feeling like a reflection of Jesus in the places where we find ourselves.

But, like the apostles, we’re called inspite of who we are, not because of who we are. We’re flawed, we’re human, and because of that we relate to the flaws we see in others. The amazing thing is that despite our imperfections we still reflect Christ, and are made in God’s image.

Each one of us has a mission, and it won’t be the same as that given to the 12. It may be that some of us will be agents for healing, but that was their mission, for their context- a very culturally specific set of instructions for a group of men in 1st century Palestine.

We minister to our own time, in our own context, and take responsibility for our own mission. Our call is to look forwards to where God is leading us.

Jesus was very clear with the 12- don’t look over there, at other people and other places, look here, look at your people. Your mission is your people. Maybe this, in part, is our mission too. Sometimes we don’t have to look far to see where we’re needed, where we can reflect Christ and bring God’s love.

Like Jake and Elwood Blues finding their purpose we must find ours. As members of the church we are, like Israel, a consecrated people, claimed as God’s own and called to the universal priesthood.

We don’t have to look very hard to see examples recently within our communities of the gospel being lived out- as tragedy has struck time and time again in recent weeks I’m constantly overwhelmed by the goodness of people- the helpers, those who contribute- physically, financially, practically, organisationally; those who seek justice for people unable to do so themselves.

We have a mission as a church community to serve the people of this parish, and yet we each have an individual path to tread as well. For me, that inexplicably led to this pulpit- who knows where it might lead any one of you.

Embrace your flaws, they make us human and give us parity with the apostles. Know that God will use them and use us, whatever those flaws may be, if we trust him and the plans he has for us. We’re all on a mission. From God.

The light shines in the darkness

I wrote a short article for the church newsletter:

I sit writing this in the aftermath of the horrifying events in Manchester this week, where people who went on a night out never came home, or returned home changed forever. When talking to my children about what had happened I encouraged them to focus on the response; the first responders, the helpers, those who draw together to provide a message of hope, love and unity. Our own cathedral staff, locked out of their building, took to the street to offer prayer and support- a visible sign of faith in a city which refuses to be a victim. 

The last twelve months since I was ordained as deacon, to serve here at St. Michaels, have had their ups and downs; moments of joy and of sadness. Our strength has come through how we’ve come together- both at times of joyful celebration and through grief and mourning. This is what being a community of faith is, this is how we reflect the light of Christ to the world around us. 

As I reflect upon what it means to be ordained as a priest on the 24th June, to serve this parish alongside my work at Christie Hospital, what I feel more than ever is the gospel we must proclaim is of Christ's inclusivity, of his drawing to himself the marginalised and outcast, broken and bereaved. 

We must also recognise the face in God in those who are different from us, those whose actions, motives and beliefs we can never understand, because we are all, without exception, made in the image of God and that can be uncomfortable reading when we know someone has committed an unspeakable act of violence. 

The bible verse I have seen more than any other this week is John 1:5

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

There’s light within each and every one of us but there is, I’m sure, darkness too. As we begin June with Pentecost it’s a reminder that whatever our struggles, both internal and external, God as Holy Spirit dwells within. The Chinese Christian teacher and leader Watchman Nee wrote:

Many saints cannot distinguish inspiration from emotion. Actually these two can be defined readily. Emotion always enters from man’s outside, whereas inspiration originates with the Holy Spirit in man’s spirit.

Whilst sometimes our emotions overpower us and lead our response, as Christians we must listen to the inspiration of the Spirit, placed within us to guide and to counsel, to lead and to teach. I pray the Spirit leads each of us to a place where we are a united body of Christ, moving forwards in hope.