Healing... and Love

From my sermon for 16 Feb 2014. The gospel reading is Mark 1.40-45

This encounter between Jesus the nameless man is full of emotion: Mark tells us right from the start that the man came to Jesus begging him, and knelt down before Jesus to put his request. The man then puts a searching request to Jesus, in which he clearly shows the faith he has in Jesus: If you choose to, says the man, you can make me clean.

Face-to-face with this show of faith and feeling, Jesus makes his response. I do choose, says Jesus, be clean! And going against all the accepted custom and common sense of the time, Jesus does something deeply wonderful: he touches the man. Jesus reaches out both literally and emotionally, moved, as Mark tells us, with pity, with compassion. And the man is healed.

Jesus offers us here a pattern for the healing work of God's Church and all who follow Jesus: the touching of those considered untouchable; the loving of those thought unlovable; the welcoming of those thought beyond invitation. This is the work of grace and beauty that Jesus set himself to, the song that he sang in his life on earth. You and I, if we hear the call of Jesus to journey with him, are called to this work, too.

In his poem 'Love', the priest and poet George Herbert portrays the invitation, the love, the welcome that Christ offers to you, to me and all who look to him for divine healing and acceptance. I would like to end with that poem, and to invite us to consider what it might mean for us to both receive and then offer that unconditional love.

Love (III) by George Herbert

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
        Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
        From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
        If I lacked anything.

"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":
        Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
        I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
        "Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
        Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
        "My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
        So I did sit and eat.

Calling the Spring

As part of a Junior School assembly I led yesterday, I wrote a song to play to the school. We were thinking about Candlemas, and the presenting of the infant Christ in the Temple.

The song echoes the theme of Candlemas and the image of the Christ as Light to the World. But I also tried to include something of the role of Brigid and the idea of calling back the Spring to the Earth, one of the themes of the Celtic festival of Imbolc.

The lyrics of the song are below. The images in the song are deliberately ambiguous and, of course, it sounds better sung than read!

Calling Spring

In the darkness of the night
memories of warmth are far from sight.
Where have they run to?
Where do they roam?
Where is the place that they call home?

Where the mother, where the child?
Where the love that runs so free and wild?
Where have they run to?
Where do they roam?
Where is the place that they call home?

Calling, calling Spring back
to the earth again.
Calling, calling spring back
to the earth again.
Calling Spring to make her home
in every leaf and branch and stone.
Calling Spring back to the world...

In the darkness of the dawn
ancient eyes saw hope reborn.
Light to the nations,
hope for the world.Earth is the place that he calls home.

Calling, calling Spring back
to the earth again.
Calling, calling Spring back
to the earth again.
Calling Spring to make her home
in every leaf and branch and stone.
Calling Spring back to the world...

Candlemas Song

The beginning of February brings the celebration of the Celtic festival of Imbolc, Brigid's Day and the Christian festival of Candlemas. Imbolc marks the coming of Spring, the warming of the earth and the still-hidden possibility of new growth. Brigid is associated with everlasting fire, and with the abundance of the natural world at springtime. She is also said to be the mid-wife of Christ, just as the season of Imbolc is thought of as the 'mid-wifing' of the year.

Mary, the mother of Christ, is also celebrated at this point of the year. The feast of Candlemas tells the story of Mary and Joseph taking the child Jesus to the Temple in Jerusalem to dedicate him to God. They offer a sacrifice in thanksgiving for their child and Mary receives purification after the rigours of childbirth. As they enter the Temple, Mary and Joseph are approached by the wise and aged Simeon, who praises God for the child who will bring light to the whole world. Having seen the promised holy child, Simeon places himself into God’s hands knowing that the end of his life is near. But Simeon also speaks dark words to Mary: there will be opposition to her son, and suffering and sorrow will pierce Mary’s heart like a sword – the pain of motherhood.

This poem, which I wrote for Imbolc last year, reflects on Mary’s experience in the Temple, the significance of her child and the themes of light, warmth and new growth which the Imbolc season expresses.

    Candlemas Song

    I was not there.
    I did not dream my way
    up prayer-worn Temple steps
    as you did, Christ-Mother, that day.

    I was not there.
    I did not scan the gloom
    or clutch a hand for courage
    in the Temple waiting-room.

    I was not there.
    I did not hear the praise
    which ancient ones sang of your child
    at the midnight of their days.

    I was not there.
    I did not feel the sting
    which bitter-sweet horizons
    of your motherhood will bring.

    But I am here.
    And I would know a birth
    to bring Divine Light’s love
    into an aching, longing earth.

    Yes, I am here.
    And I would do my part.
    O let a rising blade of Spring
    strike fire into my heart.

Please understand me (but just don't expect me to talk about myself!)

A fascinating post on Fb this morning, from a good Fb friend. Read the article here.

I have been aware for a long time that I am a pretty strong introvert, and, for the last 11 years, I have been a pretty strong introvert in a job which probably suits extroverts better.

This article helps - at least giving me some clues that the way I often feel is not weird.
Well, not that weird.

The Cold Moon

Last night was the latest meeting of the Sacred Moon Moot, a small group of friends who meet to honour the full moon each month. We've been meeting since October 2013, on the night nearest to the full moon that we can all make.

We keep things fairly structured, using a ritual which lasts about 30-40 minutes. I have the honour of writing the ritual and also acting as ritual leader, and we share the calling of the quarters between us (there are five of us in all, so that works well!). Last night, once we had created our sacred space, and welcomed the four elements, we reflected on the meaning of the January full moon: 

This moon is a time for giving thought to those who are closest to us, our family and friends - those who help us to find our place in the world. It is a time to consider love, companionship, understanding and tenderness.

We then spent time reflecting on an aspect of our lives, using the light and energy of the moon as inspiration: 

At this point in her journey the Moon is full, whole and complete. She is at her most powerful. The full moon expresses the Mother nature of the Goddess, bringer of change, revelation, emotion and energy. May her energy inspire us to look within ourselves and to speak from our heart this night.   

Last night we considered this question:

To whom do I feel closely connected in this season? 

There was then space and time for reflection, before coming back to the circle to share something that we had learnt, if desired.

There is a lovely honesty in our gathering, and support - it feels good to have the space to be so open with one another, or to have the freedom to keep silence. It's fun, and we're getting to know each other more through our meeting together.

We ended with words which honour both the Divine Feminine and Christ, who is part of the path which each member of the group is walking. We're not all going at the same speed, nor discovering the same things, but Christ is dear to each one of us:

May the Divine Mother enfold us in her gaze as this cycle of moon-season turns, and may the peaceful Christ watch over us and walk with us until we gather again by light of moon.

So may it be!

The Seed: Symbol & Mystery - Thoughts for Lammas

A seed is a mystery. It is both beginning and end, life and death, nothing and everything. A seed sits easily in the palm of the hand, and yet grows into a living structure which can be twice the size of house. It is a single grain, yet it is the source of a thousand grains. It can be stored for many years, and then be stirred into life in days. A seed is the whole universe in a grain of sand.

And so a seed is a rich symbol of the process of living and dying. It is no surprise that the seed is often used in faith traditions to illustrate the spiritual journey, and the moving from one season to another. In the Christian tradition, Jesus often used the imagery of agriculture, the language of the land. He spoke about crops and weeds, good and bad soil, sowing and harvesting. Jesus wisely rooted his teaching in the things people could understand, and he used the symbol of the seed to illustrate a profound message about what it means to be human, and to live a life of the Spirit.

At the harvest, which is celebrated in the Christian festival of Lammas, the crop is gathered in and enjoyed, but the seed from which it came is nowhere to be seen. The seed does its work secretly, and through its death others are given a life-giving gift.

The Pagan season of Lughnasadh also centres around the mysterious and wonderful work of the seed. It is a time for the celebration of the grain harvest when thanks are given to the Harvest Mother - she who is the Seed, the Womb and the Soil. The harvested grain represents both food to sustain us through the coming winter months, and also the promise of hope contained in the seed to be sown in Spring.

To read the whole of this article, visit: Mystic Christ

Losing my religion..?

The latest blog post from Jim Palmer has got me thinking. My first thought was: Well, I'm clearly not the only one... Which quickly led to the thought: So I'm not going insane, then..!

Now, I ought to explain that I don't think I'm leaving Christianity, though there are many parts of that religion which drive me mad. But I certainly think I'm on a journey away from the Church. So much of it just doesn't speak to me any more. It seems to spend so much of its time looking around anxiously, patting its pockets to check that everything is still in place. However, I still love the people - probably more than ever. It's the people that are important, and their needs, fears, joys and hopes. After all, they're the things that Jesus cared about...

So, here's Jim's blog post. And a few very short reflections from me along the way.

16 things people report about their shedding religion journey:

1. You’re losing your religion but gaining your sanity.

2. Maybe you left church because it wasn’t helping you know God or grow spiritually.

3. You know you are on the right path but trying to explain that path to others is like nailing Jello to a wall, and you often feel misunderstood.

Ah, yes! Probably a path blending Jesus, Druidry, Celtic Spirituality and other eclectic elements of Paganism (if such a thing exists!). Hard to explain to most of my colleagues...

4. Your new life beyond religion isn’t quite as defined as things used to be.

5. You have twice as many questions as you do answers but strangely you’re okay with this.

6. Sometimes you doubt yourself, and crave a religious fix to make you feel better.

Oh yes - I still often crave a Choral Evensong.

7. You desperately wish someone (anyone!) would just accept you where you are right now.

8. Oh, for just a couple of people you could sit down with face-to-face and talk with about all this stuff without the threat of judgment and condemnation!

Thankfully, there are some good friends with whom I can do this. Bless you!

9. On Monday you feel free, and on Tuesday you wonder if you are going crazy.

10. Christ without Christianity, truth without theology, and community without church makes complete sense to you but it also makes you a heretic among some of your former friends who avoid you in the grocery store.

Yes, I think this describes my thinking pretty well...

11. You don’t know how to answer the question, “Are you a Christian?”

12. You refuse to divulge the books you are currently reading because you know it’s going to alarm the people who already think you’ve gone off the deep end.

Glennie Kindred, Emma Restall-Orr, Philip Carr-Gomm, Donna Farhi, Cassandra Eason, Tess Ward, Erich Schiffmann... Wonderful authors!

13. You get nauseated when you hear Christanese.

Well, some modern hymns are getting harder and harder to sing...


14. You’re not sure where your Bible is.

No, I do know the answer to this one..!

15. Suddenly you’re liking the people who were previously classified as “them.”

Erm, yes...


16. Prayer is more an authentic and powerful desire for the liberation of others and contributing to it, rather than a magic God-wand to save the day.

Jim ends the post by asking: Does any of this sound familiar? Well, yes, Jim, it does. And thank you.