24th December 2019

For me Advent is a (yes I am going to say it) journey, or maybe it's a pilgrimage. Each year I go through this process, each year it's different and I learn and hopefully grow- both in myself and in my relationship to God. 

It might seem quite naval gazing but on the contrary it's all about connection and how I relate to the world around me, how I am in the world and processing the bits I'm not doing brilliantly at. As a priest I'm no holier than anyone else, I'm no more loved and no more "special" but I recognise my longing for God and my wish to help other folk with that longing. 

For those of you who take time to read this- I'm amazed and thank you! I hope it's of some use, I love to share what I read and discover. Below is my Midnight Mass sermon. Have a blessed Christmastime- it's only just beginning!!

There’s a prayer that we say towards the beginning of most services called a Collect, it basically means prayer of the day or prayer of the week. There’s usually a couple to choose from but this being Midnight Mass we could have a choice of 6; those for Christmas Eve, Christmas Night or Christmas Day. One of them goes like this:

in the stillness of this night

you sent your almighty Word

to pierce the world’s darkness with the light of salvation:

give to the earth the peace that we long for

and fill our hearts with the joy of heaven

Now I don’t know if any of you have spent any time with a baby recently but they don’t really do much. How could all that promise be tied up in this no doubt hungry, wriggly, red faced bundle in a Palestinian outhouse?

I had the joy last Thursday of spending some time with 3 of my colleagues currently on maternity leave, and their 3 beautiful babies; Alex, Roman and Adele. And they were lovely! I’m not a broody person, having teenagers can put you off the whole thing, but they really were cute. 

I had lots of cuddles, helped with feeding and even had the badge of honour of Roman being sick on me, but apart from cooing and sleeping, pooping and being generally being adorable they didn’t give me any clues as to what they might become, what their might futures hold, although they were definitely 3 very distinct personalities. 

And yet there’s something very special, even powerful about a baby, especially your own. When I saw my mum for the first time after giving birth to my eldest child, Faith, who’s now nearly 16 the first thing I said to my mum was “sorry”. 

There was something so powerful about that experience of holding my daughter for the first time, of getting to know her in those first hours and feeling such an overwhelming sense of love and of wanting to protect her that I finally realised just how much my mum loved me. I realised that every emotion I was feeling for Faith my mum had and did feel for me, and in that realisation, I understood just how much pain I must have caused her over the years, especially watching me be hurt or unhappy and being powerless to help.

I think that sense of overwhelming love is what still brings so many families here for Baptisms, to thank God for the wonderful gift that their child is, there perhaps not being any secular way of doing this that feels right for them. Baptism also invites that child, that family, into a community of faith, promising to be faithful to Jesus, who at this point is a small, vulnerable newborn baby with an overwhelming destiny to fulfil. 

What did Mary think as she held him in the night? Those feelings of love and worry on top of the exhaustion of childbirth, as she looks at her son is she wondering how can it all be true? And how does Joseph feel? Knowing this is not his child but having the weight of his part to play in this. 

I always find Joseph a bit overlooked, which I guess might be the experience of many new dads. There’s an adorable child to coo over and a mother whose body has nurtured that child for 9 months and then gone through childbirth, rightly so the focus is mostly on them, but dads, and Joseph are an important part of the story too. Jesus and Mary have Josephs name and therefore his protection. With Mary, Joseph creates a home and a family in which they go on to welcome further children. 

Mary and Joseph’s wonder at their new son must have far surpassed that of each of us welcoming a new baby. Whilst we have so many dreams, expectations and hopes at what our children may become they already kind of know, through their supernatural visits 9 months earlier. 

The angel Gabriel has told Mary “He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end…the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.”

Joseph has been told “the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins”.

How could they have known what that would mean, what it would entail, and that Mary would one day have to watch her son die. I think almost all of us would find that unbearable. 

How did they bear any of it? For such a young woman to have the strength to say “yes” to what was asked of her, for Joseph to say “yes” when he was told not to abandon her, even though it would damage his own reputation. I think it all had to come down to trust. They trusted God, even when what was asked of them seemed way too much. They trusted wherever it would lead them, because of the promise of what it all meant.

To be living occupied and oppressed, to be part of a people whose narrative history is one of continuing exile, occupation and oppression, they were offered hope, the fulfilling of a prophecy which promised peace and freedom and would allow all people to flourish to pierce the world’s darkness with the light of salvation: to give to the earth the peace that we long for

and fill our hearts with the joy of heaven.

Hope in a small bundle, swaddled in cloth and held by his mother, the same hope we long for and seek each Christmas and the same hope...the same potential of what each new life can bring into the world- that we see in each new baby. 

The life Jesus went on to live was unexpected, subversive, challenging and tragic but at the same time inspiring the hope we still have now, his story is still a spark for the marginalised, oppressed and occupied, and a mirror to our more comfortable lives about how we should treat one another in this world.

Above all his is a story of love. The old carol goes “love came down at Christmas” and that love pierced Mary’s heart as she first held her son, that love I felt when I first held my daughter and that love I realised my mum has for me, this is the love God has for us, the love God gave to us. The hope each of us has that our children live a love-filled, fulfilling life is the same hope God has for each of us.

That helpless baby who held the weight of all that promise is how God gave us hope by showing what love is, what it can be, that love is always an option if we choose it. Our lives can be love-filled and fulfilling, and it all starts tonight, in that Palestinian outhouse. 

23rd December 2019

Just heading in for a night shift. All my daily readings were amazing today, so here you are:

Northumbria Community:

The soul goes through many seasons, seasons of new life and promise, of full fruit, of loss and then of apparent deadness with hope for new life again. The secret is to appreciate the value of these changes and gain the benefits of each and not become too discouraged. 

In Murray Bodo’s story of the life of Clare of Assisi, A Light in the Garden, some of these seasons of the soul are touched upon: The lives of Francis and Clare are themselves seasons of every soul, and it has something to do with Assisi in the spring becoming summer, surrendering to the gentle mists of fall, lying seemingly dead in winter, and waiting for the poppies of another spring …You choose your vocation in life over and over again. It is not a decision made once for all time when one is young. 

As Clare grew in experience and in understanding of her commitment, she had to say yes again and again to a way of life that was not exactly the life she expected at the beginning. 

Amy Carmichael writes: 

The soul remembered how when she was a very little child she had sympathised with the grey sea. The blue sea was a happy sea. The green sea, when the waves thereof tossed themselves and roared, was a triumphant sea. But the grey sea looked anxious. So the child was sorry for the grey sea. Grey weather she abhorred. Something of this feeling was with her still. Grey weather was not among the things for which she gave thanks. Then God her Father said to her: All weathers nourish souls. 

MEDITATION

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. 

I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following Your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You. 

And I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing. 

And I know that if I do this, You will lead me by the right road although I may know nothing about it. 

Therefore will I trust You always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death, I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and will never leave me to face my perils alone. 

Thomas Merton

God said, “Consider the gentle, loving Word born in a stable while Mary was on a journey. This baby is showing you pilgrims how you should constantly be born anew in the stable of self-knowledge. There by grace you’ll find Me born within your soul. “See baby Jesus lying between animals? And so poor, Mary had nothing to cover Him with, and it was winter. So Mary kept God’s Son warm with the breath of animals and a blanket of hay. “Now look again. This baby is the fire of Love, but He chose to endure the bitterest cold in His humanity. All the while My Son lived on earth, He chose to suffer.”

Catherine of Siena

22nd December 2019

This morning's homily:

…they shall name him Emmanuel’,

which means, ‘God is with us.’

(Gospel reading for the day; Matthew 1.18-end)

God with us, you and me, and those like us spanning all the way back to that first night in Bethlehem when God was with them.

Richard Rohr, my favourite Catholic priest and Franciscan says this in the introduction to his “Preparing for Christmas” Advent book:

We Franciscans have always believed that the Incarnation was already the Redemption, because in Jesus’s birth God was already saying that it was good to be human, and God was on our side.

For me during each Advent this is the crucial point; coming once again to that realisation that The Creator of all things, the one with unimaginable power, chose, for whatever reasons, to not only live amongst us, to be with us, but to be one of us. 

And it’s not just the realisation of that fact but what that meant and still means now. So much of our history as an institution has been spent elevating spirit and soul above the flesh, and concentrating on the supposed sinfulness, the badness of our bodies, that we overlook the most important thing; God chose the flesh. God chose to be embodied, chose to be what we are, with all it’s problems, with all it’s fallibility and frailty.

I don’t know what your relationship is with your body but mine has been mixed. It’s only now as I’m getting older that I appreciate what my body is, what it can do, even as it starts to let me down more than maybe it used to.

Maybe it’s the transient nature of our bodies which causes us to overlook them, Spirit and soul are permanent whilst our bodies are just for a time, our bodies can also be the cause of anger and frustration as they let us down or are subject to acute or chronic illnesses which effect the quality of our lives and ability to live the abundant life.

The church has at times, and I don’t know whether we feel this more as women, led us to be ashamed of our bodies, but this for me directly goes against God’s message to us. By choosing a human fleshy, fallible body God is saying “this is good; this is Holy, this is part of me”.

Today is the Sunday in Advent set aside for Mary and Kaitlin Hardy Shetler put a poem on her social media platforms this week which spoke of what Mary’s body went through in bringing Jesus into the world, how she felt to hold him close, to try and breast feed him, an inexperienced young mum in an outhouse. It made such a change from our basic Christmas Carol understanding of that first Christmas, or theology filtered though a white, male, middleclass perspective though hundreds of years. It’s a visceral, beautiful poem. The more prominent inclusion of women’s voices in our church gives us a whole new perspective on the incarnation and Jesus’ birth.

Through the God who has chosen our messy, imperfect world and our messy imperfect bodies we have, unique amongst faith traditions, the God who is with us. When I’m with a patient, whether as a nurse or a chaplain, I have no explanation for them as to why they have an illness, or why we sometimes have to suffer in the ways that we do, but I do have the certainty of the God who is with us, has suffered as we sometimes suffer, and is Emmanuel. 

21st December 2019

I have very sparse offerings this evening! It was one of my favourite events of the Christmas season and usually happens closer to new year- our wonderful friends came round with their kids (same age as our 2) and we had food, beer, silliness and karaoke. It was ace, but now it's late and I'm on the 8am service.

I'm not good at making space for the fun stuff, and Christmas is so busy I need lots of time to recharge my batteries (introvert). So this evening was an absolute joy, with people I love being around.

20th December 2019

Those who want to be able to listen well to God’s speaking must enclose themselves in great silence. 

Umiltà of Faenza

My 20 minute candles are forcing me to pause and spend time in silence each day of Advent. As Christmas Day gets nearer it's tempting to push harder and forgo my little ritual, to fill every inch of the day with something, but I haven't yet. 

Since my stay with the Northumbria Community last May silence, contemplation and meditation have become an almost daily part of my life. When I've fallen away from it I've felt it, and when I've made it a more regular practice I've felt it change me, most definitely for the better. I feel more often a congruence between my inner self and what I project outwardly. A contentment. Not all the time...but more than I used to.

Many years ago, whilst discussing the detrimental effects of being nursed in isolation (as is the case on my unit) I was recommended the film Into Great Silence for a glimpse into the transformative power of silence, prayer and to some degree isolation. I would urge people to seek out this stunning work of cinema.

Zeitgeist Films writes;

Nestled deep in the postcard-perfect French Alps, the Grande Chartreuse is considered one of the world’s most ascetic monasteries. In 1984, German filmmaker Philip Gröning wrote to the Carthusian order for permission to make a documentary about them. They said they would get back to him. Sixteen years later, they were ready. Gröning, sans crew or artificial lighting, lived in the monks’ quarters for six months—filming their daily prayers, tasks, rituals and rare outdoor excursions. This transcendent, closely observed film seeks to embody a monastery, rather than simply depict one—it has no score, no voiceover and no archival footage. What remains is stunningly elemental: time, space and light. One of the most mesmerizing and poetic chronicles of spirituality ever created, INTO GREAT SILENCE dissolves the border between screen and audience with a total immersion into the hush of monastic life. More meditation than documentary, it’s a rare, transformative theatrical experience for all.

19th December 2019

This morning was our annual work Christmas brunch (best meal for meet ups in my opinion!) It was an utter delight to see some of my colleagues who're on maternity leave and one who has had health issues (as well as those I've seen more recently). I also got to meet three lovely babies. There may have been snuggling. 

The meet up found it's way into my sermon writing this afternoon as I contemplated this Sunday's gospel and it's focus on Mary as well as the Nativity narrative for Midnight Mass. 

The following poem was posted on Facebook this week by Kaitlin Hardy Shelter and has very much been on my mind this afternoon:

sometimes I wonder 

if Mary breastfed Jesus.

if she cried out when he bit her

or if she sobbed when he would not latch.

and sometimes I wonder 

if this is all too vulgar

to ask in a church 

full of men 

without milk stains on their shirts

or coconut oil on their breasts

preaching from pulpits off limits to the Mother of God.

but then i think of feeding Jesus, 

birthing Jesus, 

the expulsion of blood 

and smell of sweat,

the salt of a mother’s tears 

onto the soft head of the Salt of the Earth,

feeling lonely 

and tired

hungry

annoyed

overwhelmed

loving 

and i think,

if the vulgarity of birth is not 

honestly preached 

by men who carry power but not burden,

who carry privilege but not labor,

who carry authority but not submission,

then it should not be preached at all. 

because the real scandal of the Birth of God

lies in the cracked nipples of a 

14 year old 

and not in the sermons of ministers 

who say women

are too delicate 

to lead.

18th December 2019

I'm at that point in Advent when I'm getting a little twitched about what needs to be done before "the big day", although it's all relative because I'm still much more chilled than I have been in the past.

There's a fair amount of space over the next few days, and there's even some fun stuff pencilled in. I need to choose how I spend my time wisely, making sure everything is balanced, and making sure I'm on it with the sermons I need to write for Sunday 8am and for Midnight Mass.

Through an odd turn of events I have a patient who started discussing Richard Rohr this morning- anyone who knows my homilies will know I often mention him and it reminded me that I've followed his Advent book in the past. Incidentally my daughter and myself were chatting (like you do) about what it means for Jesus to be fully human and fully divine; the introduction to Rohr's Advent book says this:

We Franciscans have always believed that the Incarnation was already the Redemption, because in Jesus’s birth God was already saying that it was good to be human, and God was on our side.

It's a timely reminder that whatever state of readiness I'm on by this point in Advent, whatever will and won't be done that I deem important, God chose to be born into this messiness, into this imperfection, into this often chaotic life. We weren't ready for him then either!

17th December 2019

Something beautiful, my favourite Advent hymn;

Into this world, this demented inn
in which there is absolutely no room for him at all,
Christ comes uninvited.

But because he cannot be at home in it,
because he is out of place in it,
and yet he must be in it,
His place is with the others for whom
there is no room.

His place is with those who do not belong,
who are rejected by power, because
they are regarded as weak,
those who are discredited,
who are denied status of persons,
who are tortured, bombed and exterminated.

With those for whom there is no room,
Christ is present in this world.
- Thomas Merton

16th December 2019

1st day that I've not posted before midnight but night shifts this week have thrown things off a bit. Been thinking about the time I spent on placement with the chaplaincy team at Manchester university and in particular this John Bell hymn which I came across whilst there;

If my name was Mary 
(Just sixteen with a child) 
Forced to flee my country 
(failing state turning wild) 
Would you find a place for me?

If the town I came from 
once had been occupied 
By your nations soldiers 
At whose hands my dad died
Would you find a place for me?

If your nations air force 
Dropped their bombs on my street 
On the wrong presumption
That was where rebels meet 
Would you find a place for me?

If I'd learned that your country 
Saw and heard our plight
But remained persuaded
We were wrong, you were right 
Would you find a place for me?

If the boat I paid for 
Was unfit to set sail 
And that seeking refuge 
was now certain to fail
would you find a place for me 
Would you find a place for me?

If my name was Mary 
(Just sixteen with a child) 
If his name was Jesus...

15th December 2019

A long (but lovely) shift today at the end of a long but lovely week, so I'm just going to leave you with today's Northumbria Community reflection, which is another of of their best;

Be open to the night…

Pray with open hand, not with clenched fist…

Shapes loom out of the darkness, uncertain and unclear: but the hooded stranger on horseback emerging from the mist need not be assumed to be the bearer of ill…

The night is large and full of wonders…

Lord Dunsany

10 days to go!!

14th December 2019

It's been a crazy 48 hours, I've not had much time to process the aftermath of the election because of last night's sleep-in (I think I had 5 hours sleep, but we're nearly at our £500 target!!) then this morning we made 100 Christingles for tomorrow's service. The rest of the day has been sorting out the aftermath of last night.

I guess I had a little time yesterday morning, before leading the chaplaincy eucharist, to think about how I wanted to respond to our current political situation. The gospel reading was Matthew 11.16-19 and my reflection upon it was this; we often reject what we can't understand rather than try to figure out what it does or could mean. I hope in light of the election and continuing tensions we can be people who try to understand the things that it might be our instinct to reject and turn away from, to be an example of how we may try and understand those we might be tempted to "other" and where disagreement exists may this be done with compassion, knowing each of us is equally loved by the God who created us and who longs for us to thrive alongside each other.

13th December 2019

The photo at the bottom of the page is my current view, lying in my sleeping bag on the floor of St Michael's church, Flixton. It's been quite a day, I didn't really sleep last night having seen the exit poll before going to bed. I'm currently trying to convince a bunch of teenagers that they really want to go to sleep...that's not going so well as yet so there may not be much sleep tonight either.

Whatever your politics tonight has been a wonderful experience for all of us; food, fellowship, Muppets Christmas Carol; and all to do our best, although it's really not much at all, to do something that will help those in our city who are vulnerable and marginalised as we raise money to support The Booth Centre.

A line from today's reflection is Safe in the deepening darkness, uncover a heart that sings (Andy Raine), and that's what each of  us needs to do. Whatever darkness we may be experiencing stop, listen and wait. Eventually, somehow, we will uncover a heart that sings.

12th December 2019

Today is polling day, the general election. I've just seen the exit poll and let's just say things don't appear to be leaning the way I'd like. And yet...there's so much that has delighted me today from the unusual number of people I encountered at the polling station and #youthquake trending on Twitter to, of course, the fabulous photos of dogs outside polling booths. 

Whoever is in government tomorrow I'll continue to live my life by the princles that govern how I cast my vote; compassion for those I share this world with, a desire for the marginalised to be seen and included, a will to steward creation and a wish for peace. 

Advent is a very odd time for an election in the UK, but we're living in extraordinary times. My wish is that whoever we are and whatever our differences the joy of the approaching festive season will serve to bring us together.

Tomorrow night I'm sleeping over in our church to raise money for The Booth Centre, a charity supporting those who are homeless or at risk of becoming homeless in Manchester. We're joining together as a community to support other members of our community, we're joining together because of a shared compassion and a will to want to do something, however small. 

11th December 2019

Christmas cards are written- oh miracle of miracles! I don't do many but it's always the most gruelling Christmas task, which it shouldn't be because it's a lovely excuse for a sit down.

Today's Northumbria Community meditation is another favourite, and perfect for this Advent season of spiritual preparation;

Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart,
and try to love the questions themselves
as if they were locked rooms
or books written in a very foreign language.

Do not search for the answers, which could not be given to you now,
because you would not be able to live them.
And the point is to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps then, someday far in the future,
you will gradually,
without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.

Rainer Maria Rilke

At this time of year it can feel like normal life is on hold, we push certain things away and that can include our need for answers, depending upon what's going on in our lives. The meditation reminds us that answers can come not necessarily from our own searching but from the gradual passage of time; simply living our lives in the present can lead to a slowly unfurling answer to those unresolved things.

10th December 2019

We’re all in winter’s grip, 

but even more caught is the person who loves 

because they’re held by Love’s power. 

If anyone is bold enough and strong enough to risk everything in an adventure— welcome the sweet and the bitter— 

they should send Love an invoice. 

Then they’ll touch Love with total tenderness. 

—Hadewijch

As much as I love Christmas there's often a slight tinge of melancholy at remembering the sweetness of past Christmas celebrations with those we loved and who have died. The depth of the love we've felt for someone usually directly correlates to the depth of grief we feel without them. No matter how far away we are from the bereavement Christmas can be a time when you feel the ache of grief a little more strongly.

I love remembering the traditions I shared with my grandparents and great aunts, and my husband and I take time to remember his mum and how they celebrated Christmas. We also see how we've built new traditions with our family, such as the Advent tree I prepare for the kids or having all the family come to us on Boxing day. We carry the sweetness and the bitterness in our hearts, remembering those we love whilst making memories for our own children to look back on.

9th December 2019

Today was one of those days that renews my love of my job. Everyone I've encountered today - colleagues, patients and visitors - have been a reminder of why I still work as a ward nurse after nearly 20 years. 

Most people I work with have no idea how special they are, what a difference they make, and I often wish some of them who lack confidence in their abilities could see themselves as others see them. 

Today's Northumbria Community reflection spoke of our inability to see ourselves as God sees us;

God sees a true picture of me with all my faults and limitations, but more than this He sees a picture of all the possibilities and potential I hold...in the end it is all about becoming God’s picture of me.

8th December 2019

Homily from this morning's 8am service. The readings were Isaiah 11.1-10 and Matthew 3.1-12.

We’re well and truly into Advent now aren’t we? There’s no going back folks! It’s full steam ahead. And we get one of my favourite Advent happenings today- John the Baptist calling the Pharisees and Sadducees- those coming for baptism without actually feeling they need to change in any way- a brood of vipers. If you’re playing Advent bingo it’s right up there. 

What John is telling us is that the only way we’re going to bear the fruit which leads to the wonderful vision we hear in the reading from Isaiah is if we change in some way. Being a baptised, and maybe also in our tradition confirmed, Christian should lead us to having the kind of relationship with Jesus that changes us for the better, that makes us long for and work towards the vision of Isaiah’s prophecy.

The line “and a little child shall lead them” inspired the whole of the communion service at the 2016 Greenbelt festival. Andrew Greystone wrote a song for the service and I’d like to share it with you this morning as a poem. As we continue our Advent journey and are so aware of the problems and divisions of our world and our own communities, it may help us as it brings alive the vision of what our world could be if every one was completely open to letting God’s vision for our world be born into our hearts this Christmas;

One day, one day, perhaps it will be Sunday

One day we will live in peace and a little child will lead us.

One day wolves will live in the same field as little lambs, and the wolves will look after the lambs and the lams will teach the wolves how to sing. 

One day tasty calves and hungry young lions will share the same feeding trough. One day cats will offer to take dogs out for walkies and dogs will learn to scratch cats behind the ears.

One day, one day, perhaps it will be Saturday

One day we will live in peace and a little child will lead us.

One day Tom will make friends with Jerry, and Sylvester will stop chasing Tweety Pie. One day He-Man will shake hands with Skeletor, and Batman and the Joker will join forces to clean up Gotham City. 

One day the Montagues will invite the Capulets over for tea and say how nice it will be to be one big happy family. 

One day the Beales and the Mitchells will sit down for Christmas dinner together in Albert Square and nobody will throw anything or call anyone else a Muppet.

One day, one day, perhaps it will be Friday

One day we will live in peace and a little child will lead us.

One day the fans of Manchester United and Manchester City, Chelsea and Arsenal, Liverpool and Everton will sit side by side on the same terrace and cheer when each other’s teams score.

One day the biggest bully in the school will walk home hand in hand with the smallest kid and the smallest kid will help the bully do his homework. 

One day brothers and sisters will share their toys, and not argue over who has to go to bed first or what they want to watch on TV. One day kids will laugh at their dads’ jokes – without even trying.

One day, one day, perhaps it will be Thursday

One day we will live in peace and a little child will lead us.

One day women will be able to walk home at night, and if they hear footsteps behind them it will only make them feel safer.

One day men and women, gay and straight, will share everything from changing rooms to churches. 

One day no-one will be interested in what kind of school you went to, or whether you went to university, or what your father did for a living. 

One day prison doors will be flung open, and prisoners and the people they have hurt will throw their arms around each other.

One day, one day, perhaps it will be Wednesday

One day we will live in peace and a little child will lead us. 

One day politicians from every party will sit around in a circle and work together to bring about justice. 

One day the people of America will embrace the people of Russia, the people of Britain will swap recipe tips with the people of Europe and the children of Syria will work together to rebuild their country. 

One day Protestants and Catholics will worship side by side in a language they don’t even understand, and no-one in the church will feel the need to talk about gender and sexuality any more. 

One day there will be a black James Bond – or even Jamelia Bond for that matter.

One day, one day, perhaps it will be Tuesday

One day we will live in peace and a little child will lead us.

One day Democrats and Republicans will listen to each other to choose a leader they can all respect and trust. 

One day all the passport booths at ports and airports will be replaced by welcome desks where someone with a smiley face will tell you how glad he is that you’re here. One day the fact that you are black or white, Hutu or Tutsi, Sunni or Shia will be nothing more than an interesting topic of conversation. 

One day the wall between Israel and Palestine will be torn down, and the children of Abraham will live side by side in peace.

One day, one day, perhaps it will be Monday

One day we will live in peace and a little child will lead us.

One day, one day, perhaps it will be Sunday … Saturday … Friday … Thursday …Wednesday … Tuesday … Monday

One day we will live in peace and a little child will lead us. 

7th December 2019

It's been a really full day today of sorting, tidying, clearing and cleaning; I've just nearly fallen asleep on the sofa. When the day is so full like this you never think you'll be able to set time aside for silence and reflection but I'm now sat in bed with my 20 min candle lit, catching up on today's readings. It's been a reminder that even one minute set aside, to breathe and to be,  can make all the difference;

Do you have only one minute? Hem it with quietness. Do not spend it in thinking how little time you have. I can give you much in one minute.

Amy Carmichael 

6th December 2019

Each day within their prayer cycle the Northumbria Community has a non-biblical meditation. These repeat on a monthly cycle and today is one of my favourites. 

When I look at the blood
all I see is love, love, love.
When I stop at the cross
I can see the love of God.

But I can’t see competition.
I can’t see hierarchy.
I can’t see pride or prejudice
or the abuse of authority.
I can’t see lust for power.
I can’t see manipulation.
I can’t see rage or anger
or selfish ambition.

I can’t see unforgiveness.
I can’t see hate or envy.
I can’t see stupid fighting
or bitterness, or jealousy.
I can’t see empire building.
I can’t see self-importance.
I can’t see back-stabbing
or vanity or arrogance.

I see surrender, sacrifice, salvation,
humility, righteousness, faithfulness, grace, forgiveness,
love! Love … love…

When I stop! … at the cross
I can see the love of God.

Godfrey Birtill

5th December 2019

Well that flooring is finally laid, 11 years on, and I'm getting there with my jam and chutney making. Advent is well under way. 

The new flooring is really making us look at the space in a new way- the old carpet was down for probably 30 or more years, from when my parents owned the house, and the space in our hallway is something I've been looking at for over 35 years, but changing a room- and this is also the case with rearranging the dining room- makes you see it differently, no matter how many years you've known that space. 

When we're so familiar with something it's hard to imagine it any other way or look at it from a new angle. Our rituals and traditions at this time of year can be a bit like that- I know in the past I've always bought particular foods for Christmas, and yet they may hardly get touched. I've tried to stop that more recently, to look at the things I do during Advent and Christmas out of tradition or habit and reassess if they're important or not, knowing what's ok to let go of. We've done this with our church services at St Michael's too, giving ourselves the freedom to experiment and try new things, and giving ourselves permission to fail. It can take a lot to change something familiar and comforting, especially change that may not go as hoped, but that's how we grow.

4th December 2019

Another Advent practice I'm undertaking this year happened purely by accident. I usually journal each evening throughout Advent, and try to at other times of the year, but often take time off too. My lovely friend Katya has a monthly stationary subscription but not so long ago ended up with a double delivery. I was surprised and delighted when a package arrived though my door from Kat containing amongst other things a happiness journal. Rather than fill out my usual journal, though Advent I'm completing the happiness journal. It gives me the opportunity to reflect on the day behind me but also look forward to the one ahead and includes planning joyful things, which anyone who's had a look at my colour-coded Google Calendar always remarks are a bit missing from my schedule!

Today has also involved making Christmas chutney. As a response to my issues with the commercial, consumerist side of Christmas I make up bags of homemade goodies for my dear ones. The preparation of the contents is like a mindfulness exercise. Each chop, stir and taste is an action of love, or a prayer. 

3rd December 2019

Today's Adventword is Time. 

I've spent my day creating an office space in my dining room- something we've been planning for six years, since I began training for ministry. The catalyst for doing it now has been the need to replace the hall carpet (thank you dogs). We've had the flooring we're going to lay for eleven years! 

The thing is, those six years since I began training and even the eleven years since we planned to replace the carpet have passed us by pretty quickly. A lot has happened in those years; my kids have turned from toddlers to teenagers, I've become a priest and completed curacy an my husband changed jobs three times. 

Our lives are so full we often don't realise how much time is passing but Advent is a time to slow the pace and to purposefully have moments of space and quiet. For me it's a time to reflect upon what really matters, what I value and what I want to let go of.

2nd December 2019

Advent has started in the way it usually does for me with a week off work, the plan being the get the house and myself organised. There's more to do than usual as the hall carpet needs replacing, meaning major furniture shifting.

Through all the disruption and disorganisation I try to keep my Advent focus. My beautiful friend Tracy gave me a little kit to help me through Advent- it's a tiny brass candle holder and 25 tiny beeswax candles which burn for 20 mins each, giving me 20 mins to set aside for silence and contemplation. 

My other Advent practice this year is following the Northumbria Community pattern of prayer with the December reflections focusing on our inner life. I'm also participating in the Society for St John the Evangelist (SSJE) Adventword- a daily living advent calendar on social media platforms where you post a picture with the hashtag #adventword and the word of the day. Today's word is "visit" and we've had a marvellous time this evening with a pre-Christmas meet up at the rectory with the rest of the ministry team...although after that game of charades I might not be able to look some of them in the eye again!

1st December 2019

It's Advent...going to attempt daily blogging again. I led the 8am service today, proud of my congregation battling through the frosty Flixton plains. My very brief homily was based upon Isaiah 2.1-5 Romans 13.11-end and Matthew 24.36-44

So we find ourselves at the beginning of another church year as Advent begins. Out in our communities we see trees and twinkling lights going up, we hear familiar carols and see the idealised Christmas adverts, but inside the church we hear readings which are contemplating death, judgement, heaven and hell. It’s quite a paradox as to most folk Advent is just a type of calendar, for most people it’s Christmas now. The presents and feasting on Christmas day are the culmination of the celebrations, not their beginning. 

I preached my first sermon on this day 6 years ago, on these readings, so I had a little look back to see if much had changed in those 6 years. The theme of my sermon was anticipation and we heard a lot of things being anticipated in our readings.

The anticipation of the coming of the Kingdom, and a time of unprecedented peace from Isaiah, Paul’s advice to put on the armour of light and the anticipation of salvation, finally we hear Jesus advising the apostles to be ever watchful, to continually anticipate his returning at a time when it will least be expected.

I spoke about anticipation which leads to anxiety or disappointment, particularly as we try to plan that John Lewis advert style perfect Christmas, especially for anyone struggling with debt, illness or loneliness.

I guess the main way I’ve changed in those 6 years is being ok with advent being two different things; that it’s a time for celebrations AND time for prayerful reflection. That’s amazing for us- we get the best of both! We don’t just get to anticipate what I hope for each of us will be a joyful Christmas, we also get to anticipate what that means for us as Christians, what Christmas means as people of Christ. The Advent focus upon the end of all things may make for uncomfortable hearing in between the twinkling lights and tinsel but that’s part of who we are and part of what it means to live our lives as people of Advent Hope. 

The season of Advent draws us in to contemplate the mystery and wonder of the Incarnation, of a God who loves us so much God chose to live our lives and die our death but also to reflect upon how our entire lives as Christians are an Advent, as we live in that place of Hope and Anticipation, urging us to live lives true to the values of Jesus’ teaching, in the knowledge that one day we’ll be at his side.