Love, anyway

Sunday Gospel	John 3:14-21

East Window Rhug Chapel

Jesus said to Nicodemus:

‘The Son of Man must be lifted up

as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert,

so that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him.

Yes, God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son,

so that everyone who believes in him may not be lost

but may have eternal life.

For God sent his Son into the world

not to condemn the world,

but so that through him the world might be saved.

No one who believes in him will be condemned;

but whoever refuses to believe is condemned already,

because he has refused to believe in the name of God’s only Son.

On these grounds is sentence pronounced:

that though the light has come into the world

men have shown they prefer darkness to the light

because their deeds were evil.

And indeed, everybody who does wrong

hates the light and avoids it,

for fear his actions should be exposed;

but the man who lives by the truth comes out into the light,

so that it may be plainly seen that what he does is done in God.’






“Everyone, and I do mean everyone, has to fight. Every single person you see struggles with addictions of some kind, private sins, being lonely, weaknesses.. Christ sees all, and loves anyway”
― Ryan Crowe


Nicodemus comes to Jesus as a learned man of faith. He knows both scripture and the Law; he has lived his life by it; a teacher himself - he is a good man. But he has questions. There is something new in what Jesus says and, although the teaching is outside Nicodemus' experience, it has truth in it and he wants to understand; desperately wants to understand.

The bronze serpent of Moses protected the Isrealites from the poisons of snakes sent by God himself. An attempt, by God,  to bring them back to him once again. 
               

It seems a bit surreal - not the actions of a God that we are used to. 

An act of God that is a punishment and a trial. 


Once bitten, there was only one way to save themselves from an agonizing death; they were saved by looking on the bronze serpent held high on a pole by Moses. It was 'tough with a taste of jealous' love that  worked; but with a cost. Where is the integrity in faith born from fear; from obeying the Law - or else?


Of course, this is still early days in the relationship between God and his people; still very much a learning process. But, as in many relationships, if you don't have the right understanding at the beginning, you are going to struggle. It becomes easier to ask for a set of rules; a measuring stick; a sense of either/or. But then it comes down to being 'good' and who can be 'good' enough?


In the Book of Malachi, the Old Testament ends with a God filled with frustration - it opens with - 

“I have loved you,” says the LORD.

   “But you ask, ‘How have you loved us?’

No wonder the Lord went quiet.

And here Nicodemus is still asking that same question.

I have met many people like Nicodemus who find this Love idea too good to be true. People whose idea of God is a judgemental father waiting to catch us out; reinforced by spiritual leaders who find the promise of damnation a little too attractive. People whose lives are tormented by the idea that in everything that they do they are found wanting; who can't go to Reconciliation because of the shame of being 'found out' or who constantly go to Confession because they cannot believe they have been forgiven. People who do not realise that the only one who stands in judgement of them - is them.  


Cannot believe Jesus' own words;

God so loved the world

That he gave his only Son

So that everyone who believes...may have eternal life

Not to condemn the world but to save it.

Along with every other piece of Lenten scripture this is a journey of transformation -  Nicodemus walks away under cover of night in confusion; this is a good thing, a very good thing - the crack in the armour of certainty  allows the Light to enter. And we know that this is only the beginning - Nicodemus appears again - a public supporter at the trial;  and again - a sorrowful witness at the foot of the Cross. 


We are asked to have faith but it cannot be a passive faith. Jesus asks us to be aware of what action our faith calls us to. We must struggle, like Nicodemus, with what we already believe; struggle with the ties that bind us to tradition and convention. 


Allow ourselves the freedom to accept the glimpse of light; the invitation of Love; the call to truth. 


Have courage to step out of the shadows and stand beside the call to love; beside the outcast. 


To have the compassion to take into our arms, into our lives,  a God who so loved the world that he gave us himself. 

“How else but through a broken heart may Lord Christ enter in?”

― Oscar Wilde




wordinthehand2012

Love for Sale

Gospel	John 2:13-25

Just before the Jewish Passover Jesus went up to Jerusalem, and in the Temple he found people selling cattle and sheep and pigeons, and the money changers sitting at their counters there. Making a whip out of some cord, he drove them all out of the Temple, cattle and sheep as well, scattered the money changers’ coins, knocked their tables over and said to the pigeon-sellers, ‘Take all this out of here and stop turning my Father’s house into a market.’ Then his disciples remembered the words of scripture: Zeal for your house will devour me. The Jews intervened and said, ‘What sign can you show us to justify what you have done?’ Jesus answered, ‘Destroy this sanctuary, and in three days I will raise it up.’ The Jews replied, ‘It has taken forty-six years to build this sanctuary: are you going to raise it up in three days?’ But he was speaking of the sanctuary that was his body, and when Jesus rose from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this, and they believed the scripture and the words he had said.

  During his stay in Jerusalem for the Passover many believed in his name when they saw the signs that he gave, but Jesus knew them all and did not trust himself to them; he never needed evidence about any man; he could tell what a man had in him.

What if I should discover that the poorest of the beggars and the most impudent of offenders are all within me, and that I stand in need of the alms of my own kindness; that I myself am the enemy who must be loved-- what then?
- Carl Jung 

Odd thing about this part of the Gospel - this incident when Jesus (Jesus!) seemingly loses it - human maybe but hardly divine - is how very vindicated we can feel about it - 

that if Jesus can lose his temper then it is ok to lose mine...

that there are people who deserve Jesus' anger...

that we are not one of those people...

or, that we are.

Vindication is a sharply honed, two edged sword that we imagine divides the right from the wrong; the swing of this event manages to divide Jesus from pretty well everyone. But who would believe that they were in the wrong?

It is permissable for the market sellers and moneychangers to trade in the Temple. People are required to make sacrifice; to pay tithes and offerings. Sacrifices and tithes have to meet the customs of the community; the purity laws; the tradition. The traders are breaking no laws; it is simply supply and demand. How better to do this than within the Temple itself? There may be some profit involved and money does 'talk' - even 'pray' - but it is for the common good. 

The 'good' ... even as Christians we often talk about the need to protect and to consider the common good. It sidles its way into conversations about social justice and just societies. The common good protects the interests of the many; of the majority; it makes the most of things; it supports the status quo. 

Jesus does not believe in the common good; it is not for the common good that he forgives the woman caught in adultery; heals the lepers or makes  disciples out of tax collectors, prostitutes and widows. It is not for the common good that he blesses the meek, the grieving and the merciful; it is not why he stands at the margins with those who have been rejected - for the common good - and abdicates the throne of power that the entry into Jerusalem had promised. 

It is not for the common good - it is for the Good that is his Father.

His Father who desires that nothing will stand between him and his children. So much so that, in a few days, the sacrifice of his own Son will crack open the Curtain that keeps them apart; so that the Father's heart, held deep within the Holy of Holies may bleed into the world and never again been contained within walls of either stone or Law.

It must have been a heartbreaking scene for Jesus - a microcosm of a world that is not interested in what a person has in them except to see their 'market value' - as status; as usefulness; as entertainment; as distraction; as exploitation; as profit. A world that offers salvation based on what you have to offer. The very people he had come to Jerusalem to redeem, bartering away their integrity.


Hardly loving your neighbour as yourself; hardly loving God with all your heart.


What a temptation it must be to walk away; to let the signs and portents fade; the words of prophecy fail.

And yet Love stayed in Jerusalem; stayed whilst the demand increased; until the market forces set the price. 


Thirty pieces of silver.


Love for sale?




“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” 
― C.S. Lewis




wordinthehand2012

No more fear

Gospel	Mark 9:2-10

Jesus took with him Peter and James and John and led them up a high mountain where they could be alone by themselves. There in their presence he was transfigured: his clothes became dazzlingly white, whiter than any earthly bleacher could make them. Elijah appeared to them with Moses; and they were talking with Jesus. Then Peter spoke to Jesus: ‘Rabbi,’ he said ‘it is wonderful for us to be here; so let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.’ He did not know what to say; they were so frightened. And a cloud came, covering them in shadow; and there came a voice from the cloud, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him.’ Then suddenly, when they looked round, they saw no one with them any more but only Jesus.

  As they came down from the mountain he warned them to tell no one what they had seen, until after the Son of Man had risen from the dead. They observed the warning faithfully, though among themselves they discussed what ‘rising from the dead’ could mean.




“Scared and sacred are spelled with the same letters. Awful proceeds from the same root word as awesome. Terrify and terrific. Every negative experience holds the seed of transformation.”
― Alan Cohen


Strange; the memories that Scripture finds  - and as far away from a high mountain as you can get. 


My earliest experience of transformation was when my dad decided to teach me how to swim in that time honoured method of 'throwing me in the deep end'. In the echoing chambers of the Victorian public swimming pool I can still remember falling into deep, cold nothingness then flailing against the ceramic tiles until I got a purchase of the lip of the gully that drained away the water. I hung on, coughing on the burning sensation of the chlorinated water and retching as little dead bugs floated by, legs and wings akimbo, rocking in the tidal currents caused by panicking children and resolute 'laners'. 


I had really wanted to learn to swim; I had felt the water calling for a long time and had persuaded my mum and dad that the fact that we were 4 children under five should not stop us from going. The 'sink or swim' methodology was a disaster. One brother remained afraid of water for years to come. I persevered, although the riotous melee of public swimming baths was not what I had envisioned and I would never, ever, take a stroke that would put me out of my depth. The very thought that I might put my foot down into blank, unsupporting coldness filled me with dread - the idea of being able to float, to relax in this foreign but desired atmosphere was outside the imagination of the big, clumsy, awkward me that I was. Eventually I gave up.


The next transformation came when I started to travel abroad - in Britain we may be surrounded by sea but it has a quality all of it's own - a quality called 'cold'. Off the Greek islands or the shores of Portugal, this was a different matter. This was nearer to what I had imagined; although I still never swam any further than my feet would reach.


Until one day when I swam out on a beach where the bottom fell away quite dramatically only a few yards from shore. As my feet relaxed down and didn't find either rock or sand  It was another sink or swim moment. In seconds, every physical and emotional memory of the first encounter with the 'deep' returned; foolish or not - I panicked.


Then something made me stop panicking; something made me stop. It was virtually a surrender; a submission. And, for the first time in my life I floated. It was amazing that doing nothing could feel so free. That 'doing nothing' made me part of everything - the mixture of temperatures as I was wrapped in the warm and cold currents of seawater; the taste of the wind; the heat of the sun; the hum of nature's silence (which isn't silence at all); the holding and the belonging and the timelessness. I was captivated, held in the palm of the Creator God; captured by the gentle awesomeness of a loving parent.

It's an experience I love; although it never quite surpasses that first time when I realised that  all my fears; all my fears were unfounded. And, even out of the water, I have become someone who tries not to let fear live too easily within me.

And so to the mountain.


Part of the Lenten journey is to grapple with our fears. Jesus tells us not be afraid over and over again. But at this time in his journey, in his humanity, was this a mantra he was also saying to himself?


The thing about mountains is that once you are up you have to come down; so this is a step away from the path towards Jerusalem - a detour. 

Could it have been the place where the devil tempted him, not that many years before, to use his divinity to save his life?  Was this an acknowledgment of his human frailty; his need of his Father; of the One who lives in him? The need of friends; on both side of the darkened mirror. Even in his frailty, perhaps because of it, his Father is delighted; exclaims his pride and his joy.


Einstein made a remark that you cannot solve a problem with the same consciousness that created it - you must learn to see anew. 

Fear is much the same; we are changed more by fear than by lack of it - and for the better if we want to be. But we need to change our mindset; we need to see with new eyes; we need to become more than we were. And we cannot do that by ourselves; we need to find the high place; we need to move, like Jesus, closer and closer to the Father.


Then we, also, will become transfigured.

wordinthehand2012





A vision is not just a picture of what could be; it is an appeal to our better selves, a call to become something more. 

- Rosabeth Moss Kanter

Do you know where you're going to?

Sunday Gospel Reflection

	Mark 1:12-15

The Spirit drove Jesus out into the wilderness and he remained there for forty days, and was tempted by Satan. He was with the wild beasts, and the angels looked after him.

  After John had been arrested, Jesus went into Galilee. There he proclaimed the Good News from God. ‘The time has come’ he said ‘and the kingdom of God is close at hand. Repent, and believe the Good News.’

There are two primary choices in life; to accept conditions as they exist, or accept the responsibility for changing them.      Denis Waitley


One of my Lenten practices is to turn off the radio or cd player and drive to and from work in silence - giving me a 40 minute space each way to let God be my passenger - a bit of 'us' time.  In fact this is such a favourite practice that I generally carry it on all year; except for times when I use this as an opportunity to listen to recorded talks and lectures in peace. 


Just before the 'off' switch was pressed this year I was listening to Ron Rolheiser and he made a comment that whenever you are given any piece of scripture it is the first few words that say everything you need to know - an alternative approach to Lectio Divina - and a need for some real mindfulness. 


How much we anticipate the beginning of something; especially if we have completed preparations and developed expectations? So much so that we launch into it full throttle - racing through the first lesson, the first chapter,  the first day - our eyes already set on the finishing line when the smoke hasn't even cleared from the starter's gun.


This Gospel is just days from the beginning of Lent - ashes if not smoke - and a pivotal moment in the Church's year. This flamboyant tradition of Ash Wednesday is one of the most public statements of faith that modern Catholics make - with websites and blogs that celebrate 'How big is your ash?'. And that's fine - that's what community does - why not? 


But now, these few days later, as the discomforts of the denials are starting to bite, we wonder how we are going to gather the willpower to make it through the routine of the next 30 odd days and is there really any point?  What have we  missed in our eagerness?


Our Lenten journey is intended to remind us of how Jesus prepared himself for his ministry so that we may be better prepared to reaffirm our willingness to carry out our own. So how should this journey begin?


'The Spirit drove Jesus out into the wilderness'. 


Mark makes it clear this is not a voluntary act, not an invitation, not a promise to something more. The Spirit 'takes' Jesus where She wants him. This is a beginning - this rush of power; this gift of recognition; the handing over from John - but Jesus has to know what it means. We have to be prepared to  be  lifted up in the Spirit's hands -  we also have to learn what our discipleship means.


In these past few days have we given ourselves over to God's will or have we been focused on pursuing our own aims; what we decided was the right choice; the right action?


If we have been 'Spirit driven'  we will find ourselves, like Jesus, in the wilderness; the place beyond control; the place of encounter; the place of finding out. 


Our first reaction to losing control is to withdraw; to mistrust; to fear - the ideal territory for the devil's work. The suggestion comes to take care of yourself first; to decide it's too difficult and then justify our change of mind; to snatch at any opportunity to exert power - to deny rather than to submit. 


But the invitation is to submit; to become part of the wilderness; to encounter the wild beasts; the untamed truths of who we are; where we have come from; what hurts us and what feeds us. To know ourselves in God's eyes.


And so to know that all gifts; all grace comes from God - through the ministry of angels -  the love of friends. That no matter what the hardships; challenges and sacrifices, if it was God who put you there then  you will not walk out of the wilderness without a purpose; you will not walk out of the wilderness alone.

Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced - James Baldwin




wordinthehand2012

The end of ourselves

“The reason why many are still troubled, still seeking, still making little forward progress is because they haven't yet come to the end of themselves.

We're still trying to give orders, and interfering with God's work within us. ”
― A.W. Tozer

Today is a day to stop giving orders

wordinthehand2012

The family you choose

Gospel	Mark 2:1-12

When Jesus returned to Capernaum, word went round that he was back; and so many people collected that there was no room left, even in front of the door. He was preaching the word to them when some people came bringing him a paralytic carried by four men, but as the crowd made it impossible to get the man to him, they stripped the roof over the place where Jesus was; and when they had made an opening, they lowered the stretcher on which the paralytic lay. Seeing their faith, Jesus said to the paralytic, ‘My child, your sins are forgiven.’ Now some scribes were sitting there, and they thought to themselves, ‘How can this man talk like that? He is blaspheming. Who can forgive sins but God?’ Jesus, inwardly aware that this was what they were thinking, said to them, ‘Why do you have these thoughts in your hearts? Which of these is easier: to say to the paralytic, “Your sins are forgiven” or to say, “Get up, pick up your stretcher and walk”? But to prove to you that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins,’ – he turned to the paralytic – ‘I order you: get up, pick up your stretcher, and go off home.’ And the man got up, picked up his stretcher at once and walked out in front of everyone, so that they were all astounded and praised God saying, ‘We have never seen anything like this.’

“Sometimes  walls are there not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.” Anon

 This miracle is one that is particularly close to my heart.

I - more so my husband - have a friend who was paralysed following  an accident about thirty years ago now. From a young man; with all the imaginings and ambitions of youth he became encased in a wheelchair, all medical, personal - all care - needing to be done for him.  There have been efforts from the authorities to support his care and the necessities of living are in place. There have been dark times along the way and people who talk about 'quality of life' and 'lives worth living' may wonder what, in the end, this medical intervention has achieved. 

I would say that what this intervention has allowed is the grace of friendship. 

The friends that knew him before, supported him during and accompany him now are as incredible and as loyal as the friends of the paralytic man. Through them and sometimes despite him, life has gone on - real life. Through the way they speak to him, argue about football or politics - no quarter given or expected. Through the invitations and the practicalities of invitations to all and any parties and get-togethers. Through experiences of being pushed through boggy ground at race meetings, lifted into the back of vans to get to a concert, of racing through busy streets on match days; of the casual acts of holding a pint or cutting up a pie. 

In a time when disabilities still cause some embarrassment and when no-one wants to be reminded of 'what if ' these fifty-something men see their friend as no more and no less than that - their friend. And if they thought Jesus was in town they'd be there with their saws and hammers and not taking 'no' for an answer. 

And just like the four here - who they were; what their own concerns might have been; what Jesus could have done for them wouldn't have mattered as long as Jesus said 'yes' to their friend.

The prayerful truth is that Jesus has already said 'yes' to this man - for, despite whatever else he may have chosen to confess, what would have been the real sin? 


Surely that he might have chosen to exist in a life filled with regret; refusing to acknowledge that there were people who cared about him; finding no place in a community.  Believing that no-one would love him; that no-one could love him.


And there were times, I know, when that was how he felt.


That there was no way that God's grace could reach him.


Except he had friends.

The friend who can be silent with us, who can stay with us in an hour of grief , who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares.”  

Henri Nouwen

wordinthehand2012

Reflection on Psalm 89