The following dramatic reading is based on the story in Mark 5:21-43 and was written for the Morning Worship service this Sunday morning, with the aim of bringing the passage to life (if you'll excuse the pun!).
Words in normal type: to be read by Jairus
Words in italics: to be read by The Woman
Words in bold: to be read together
*****
It's amazing how quickly things can go downhill. One minute all seems well, you have your family, your work - life is good, and then, BAM, out of nowhere, your daughter is sick, and before you know where you are she is fighting for her life.
It's a strange thing to suddenly feel powerless when you are used to being in control. Head of the family, one of the synagogue leaders - taking charge is part of who I am and I take pride in being someone who makes sure everything is in order, one on whom others can depend. I like to think that if my name, Jairus, is known and respected, it is for good reason. But somehow, suddenly, I was out of my depth, and no matter how much I wanted to make it right for her with her sick little body, for the family in their terror, for the community reeling in shock, I couldn't. That's the thing about death I guess: it knows no prejudice. A good name, a respected family, religious standing - that which seems to hold so much sway in other matters is powerless against its grasp. It even prowls at the door of a little girl. My little girl.
They say 'time is a healer', but whoever 'they' are have obviously never had a chronic disease. Twelve long years I suffered. And suffer I did.
It wasn't just the bleeding, although that was bad enough. It was everything else that came with it. The endless doctors, one after another, prodding and poking and promising one more treatment that should do it, but never did. The first time I felt completely humiliated, exposed, but after a while you get used to the indignity of it. Not that it becomes any less degrading - its more that bit by bit the inner protest drains out of you like the blood you are losing, and you simply become resigned that this is the lot which you have been dealt and must accept.
There's the money too, of course. Treatment does not come cheap, and its not like you get a refund when something doesn't work. I spent every last penny I had, and all I had to show for it was a body more bust than when I had started.
But the worst thing about it is was the isolation. All around you life goes on, but you can't take part anymore...because you're sick. And all your identity fades away until all you are left with is that one defining factor: The woman with the issue of blood. A burden to society, an embarrassment to polite company, and contagiously unhygienic.
And so I came to Jesus.
And so I came to Jesus.
Desperate.
(Pause)
I would beg him to come.
I would hide in the crowd.
If he could just lay his hands on her...
If I could just touch his cloak...
He could make her
me
well.
(Pause)
But things didn't go to plan.
It wasn't until he turned around and asked who had touched him that the audacity of my actions had hit me. I shouldn't be here - I had no right to be in this crowd, let alone reach out to a holy man with my contaminated touch. It was almost ironic - I had spent the last 12 years wishing that someone would just see me, and now suddenly He had, and I was terrified.
Jesus might have come with me, but he didn't seem to understand my sense of urgency. And so when a sick woman touched him on the way, he stopped and spoke with her. Frustration buzzed within me - but somehow I knew he was not one to be interrupted and hurried along. And then word came, and my worst fears were realised. We were too late.
(Pause)
'Do not be afraid', he said.
'Do not be afraid', he said. 'Go on believing.'
'Go in peace and good health', he said.
And he called my daughter out from slumber.
And he called me 'Daughter'.
(Pause)
I learned a lesson that day: no matter how bad things seem, with Jesus there is always hope.
No matter how invisible you feel, with Jesus you are not alone.
With Jesus, life is restored.
Monday, 29 June 2015
Monday, 4 May 2015
In Tears (Confessions of a Weeper)
As a self-confessed weeper, there have been many times over the years when I have had to explain to concerned witnesses that they mustn't worry - that my tears were not evidence of the beginning of a break-down but often the very opposite - a needed release of tension, the beginning of a healing, a turning point. For one reason and another, tears that once flowed freely had been rather absent from my life of late. Recently however, they visited again, and I was reminded of their power...
The pressure has been building for a while now,
and finally a last straw causes the dam to break:
a thoughtless word...or a perceptive, kind one;
a problem whose solution seems beyond me;
witnessing the suffering of another;
something sad on TV that rings true.
The first droplet forms, and drops.
Perhaps only a few will follow, in silent release of that which is within.
Or many more may come, in torrents, with heavy, heaving sobs, full of anguish,
leaving my nose red and face sore, my head foggy and fragile,
and my body a tired, empty shell.
We're well acquainted, these tears and I;
From the day of my birth they have given expression
to my neediness, my frustrations, my joys, my disappointments,
and much more.
Lately though, a vague notion that
crying isn't for grown-ups/professionals/the British
has encouraged me to pursue 'holding it together'
over letting them fall.
Even so, eventually and inevitably they come,
and when they do, I remember that strangely, these tears are a gift.
Like the make-up that they wash away,
they strip back the protective layers of that 'brave face'
that I have been putting on to the world and myself,
obliging me to remember who I really am:
Vulnerable.
Tender-hearted.
Resilient in my fragility.
Human.
But it is not just myself with whom I am reacquainted in this moment,
for my tears cause me to reach out to another -
One who draws near to the broken hearted,
who hears the cries of His people,
who comforts those that mourn.
As He answers my call, I remember again:
He chose the path of vulnerability,
was fragile even to death,
yet was resilient beyond it.
And He, too, was One who wept.
This is my weeper's confession:
God is to be found in tears.
The pressure has been building for a while now,
and finally a last straw causes the dam to break:
a thoughtless word...or a perceptive, kind one;
a problem whose solution seems beyond me;
witnessing the suffering of another;
something sad on TV that rings true.
The first droplet forms, and drops.
Perhaps only a few will follow, in silent release of that which is within.
Or many more may come, in torrents, with heavy, heaving sobs, full of anguish,
leaving my nose red and face sore, my head foggy and fragile,
and my body a tired, empty shell.
We're well acquainted, these tears and I;
From the day of my birth they have given expression
to my neediness, my frustrations, my joys, my disappointments,
and much more.
Lately though, a vague notion that
crying isn't for grown-ups/professionals/the British
has encouraged me to pursue 'holding it together'
over letting them fall.
Even so, eventually and inevitably they come,
and when they do, I remember that strangely, these tears are a gift.
Like the make-up that they wash away,
they strip back the protective layers of that 'brave face'
that I have been putting on to the world and myself,
obliging me to remember who I really am:
Vulnerable.
Tender-hearted.
Resilient in my fragility.
Human.
But it is not just myself with whom I am reacquainted in this moment,
for my tears cause me to reach out to another -
One who draws near to the broken hearted,
who hears the cries of His people,
who comforts those that mourn.
As He answers my call, I remember again:
He chose the path of vulnerability,
was fragile even to death,
yet was resilient beyond it.
And He, too, was One who wept.
This is my weeper's confession:
God is to be found in tears.
Sunday, 8 February 2015
The Ballad of the Unjust Judge
Based on Luke 18:1-8
Gathered friends, lend me
your ears
I have a tale to tell;
Blesséd is the one who
hears
And learns its message
well.
My tale is of a certain
judge
Who judged a certain city;
A judge who knew no fear
of God,
Nor for his neighbour,
pity.
Now in that city also was
A widow, weak and poor.
With no-one else to fight
her cause,
She banged upon his door.
"Oh help me please, please
help me, Sir!
Yes, help me,
please," she cried.
"For every day I've
suffered much
Since my husband died.
"No food have I, nor
means to farm;
On hand-outs I depend -
Yet still there's one who
steals from me
- Only you can make it
end!
"Take up my cause,
and make him stop,
Avenge me - make it right!
Make him pay back all he
owes.
Please save me from my
plight!"
But the judge's heart was
hard;
He cared not what was just.
And so he sent her on her way
To languish in the dust.
The widow, though, was not
put off
And back she came, ' next
day
To bang and plead and beg
and cry
Until she got her way.
"Oh help me please,
please help me, Sir!
Yes, help me,
please," she cried.
"For every day I've
suffered much
Since my husband died.
"Take up my cause,
and make him stop,
Avenge me - make it right!
Make him pay back all he
owes.
Please save me from my
plight!"
Still unmoved, the judge
but sighed,
And told her to be gone.
But soon enough, again she
tried
And so the scene went on:
"Oh help me please,
please help me, Sir!
Yes, help me,
please," she cried.
"For every day I've
suffered much
Since my husband died.
"Take up my cause,
and make him stop,
Avenge me - make it right!
Make him pay back all he
owes.
Please save me from my
plight!"
For weeks the widow, day
by day,
Continued with her riot
Until at last the judge,
he snapped
"Oh what I'd give for
quiet!"
"Fear of God, nor
care for man
could tempt me to comply.
But help I not, this
woman, I fear,
Might punch me in the
eye!"
And so, at last, the judge
did yield -
The rest I hardly need
tell:
The persistent widow won
her appeal,
Was avenged and all was well.
In this tale there is, of
course,
A lesson for us here -
For when we think our
cries to God
Have fallen on deaf ears.
Think of that judge: a
cruel man
Lacking good intent,
Yet even he, when asked
and asked
Was prompted to relent.
Our God is not cruel, but
just,
And loves us - that is
plain;
Thus it seems, it can't be
that
Our prayers are made in
vain.
When weak and poor we call
to him;
When this earthly life is tough;
When others question - don't
give up!
He'll answer soon enough!
If He seems slow, then we
can trust
He has good cause to stall;
That judgement paused is
done for grace,
That more may hear his
call.
And since we cannot know
the hour,
Let this be our concern:
Will he find faith within
our hearts
That day when he returns?
Sunday, 2 November 2014
Because I love you
"I am persuaded, that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God. " Romans 8:38-39
An unborn baby came to God in prayer:
Her words were unformed, her body still a handful of cells,
but her maker understood her silent, unspoken question:
"What is happening to me?"
God breathed life into her tiny body.
Because I love you,
God said,
You are alive.
A growing child came to God in prayer:
"Who are you?" the child asked, curious and inquisitive, ready and open to learn.
And God surrounded him with people who would help him discover the answer:
Parents and siblings,
Nannys and Grandpa's,
Aunts and Uncles,
Teachers and Scout leaders,
friends,
and enemies,
and a church family.
Because I love you,
God said
I will teach you.
A nervous bridegroom came to God in prayer:
"I can't believe we're really doing this," he whispered, astonished,
as he pondered the significance of what they were about to do,
awareness and mystery knotting themselves together into a ball of nerves and energy in his belly.
And God saw all that was to come -
The thrill of intimacy and the joy of companionship,
the making of memories and the living nightmares,
the blazing rows, the working it out, the lessons learned,
the losses mourned and the blessings celebrated -
And, smiling, God blessed their union.
Because I love you,
God said,
You will know the richness of loving, and the richness of being loved.
A busy family forgot to come to God in prayer:
"So much to do!", they exclaimed,
as they dashed and darted between things to do, places to be, and people to see.
And God missed their company.
But still,
Because I love you,
God said,
I will send you many blessings to enjoy,
and even though you do not see they are from me now,
I will give them anyway,
and perhaps one day you will look back in thanks, and know.
A doubting disciple came to God in prayer:
"How could you let this happen?" she half challenged, half lamented,
as she tried to make sense of what didn't make sense,
and suffered the mindless explanations offered by the well-meaning
but not-understanding people around her.
"It isn't right, it isn't fair. Aren't you supposed to be good?"
And in loving mercy, God listened to every question and every objection.
Because I love you,
God said,
You can be honest with me. I can take it.
A grieving widow came to God in prayer:
At first there were no words, just a stunned numbness, as she waited for reality to kick back in.
And then it hit her - a tsunami of sadness and loneliness and fear and regret,
Wave after wave taking her by surprise
just as the previous one subsided, and she had thought it was over.
"How can I go on?" she sobbed, desperate for something to cling onto.
And God held her.
Because I love you,
God said,
You will be hard pressed but not destroyed.
A dying man came to God in prayer:
"Living God, have mercy on me!" he begged.
"For my days are numbered, and my sins are many".
And God pointed to the cross, where Christ had paid the ultimate price of love,
so that all who believed might not perish,
but have eternal life.
Because I love you,
God said,
You can rest in peace.
A congregation came to God in prayer, as they remembered those whom they had loved and lost.
They sang, and they remembered, they lit candles and they wept.
And God saw them, and had compassion on them.
Comfort, comfort, my people.
God said.
Because I love you,
You are never alone, for I am with you.
Because I love you.
An unborn baby came to God in prayer:
Her words were unformed, her body still a handful of cells,
but her maker understood her silent, unspoken question:
"What is happening to me?"
God breathed life into her tiny body.
Because I love you,
God said,
You are alive.
A growing child came to God in prayer:
"Who are you?" the child asked, curious and inquisitive, ready and open to learn.
And God surrounded him with people who would help him discover the answer:
Parents and siblings,
Nannys and Grandpa's,
Aunts and Uncles,
Teachers and Scout leaders,
friends,
and enemies,
and a church family.
Because I love you,
God said
I will teach you.
A nervous bridegroom came to God in prayer:
"I can't believe we're really doing this," he whispered, astonished,
as he pondered the significance of what they were about to do,
awareness and mystery knotting themselves together into a ball of nerves and energy in his belly.
And God saw all that was to come -
The thrill of intimacy and the joy of companionship,
the making of memories and the living nightmares,
the blazing rows, the working it out, the lessons learned,
the losses mourned and the blessings celebrated -
And, smiling, God blessed their union.
Because I love you,
God said,
You will know the richness of loving, and the richness of being loved.
A busy family forgot to come to God in prayer:
"So much to do!", they exclaimed,
as they dashed and darted between things to do, places to be, and people to see.
And God missed their company.
But still,
Because I love you,
God said,
I will send you many blessings to enjoy,
and even though you do not see they are from me now,
I will give them anyway,
and perhaps one day you will look back in thanks, and know.
A doubting disciple came to God in prayer:
"How could you let this happen?" she half challenged, half lamented,
as she tried to make sense of what didn't make sense,
and suffered the mindless explanations offered by the well-meaning
but not-understanding people around her.
"It isn't right, it isn't fair. Aren't you supposed to be good?"
And in loving mercy, God listened to every question and every objection.
Because I love you,
God said,
You can be honest with me. I can take it.
A grieving widow came to God in prayer:
At first there were no words, just a stunned numbness, as she waited for reality to kick back in.
And then it hit her - a tsunami of sadness and loneliness and fear and regret,
Wave after wave taking her by surprise
just as the previous one subsided, and she had thought it was over.
"How can I go on?" she sobbed, desperate for something to cling onto.
And God held her.
Because I love you,
God said,
You will be hard pressed but not destroyed.
A dying man came to God in prayer:
"Living God, have mercy on me!" he begged.
"For my days are numbered, and my sins are many".
And God pointed to the cross, where Christ had paid the ultimate price of love,
so that all who believed might not perish,
but have eternal life.
Because I love you,
God said,
You can rest in peace.
A congregation came to God in prayer, as they remembered those whom they had loved and lost.
They sang, and they remembered, they lit candles and they wept.
And God saw them, and had compassion on them.
Comfort, comfort, my people.
God said.
Because I love you,
You are never alone, for I am with you.
Because I love you.
Wednesday, 24 September 2014
Prayer of the Blessed
Over these few weeks at church we are focusing on the book of Ephesians. The following prayer was written for use in a service, and is based on the content of Ephesians 1:3-14, and 2:1-10.
We
bring our worship to you,
Holy
God,
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
For
in your goodness you have blessed us with every spiritual blessing.
You
have chosen us,
made
us your children,
redeemed
and forgiven us through Christ,
shared
with us your cosmic rescue plan,
and
have marked us as yours by your placing your Holy Spirit within us.
It
is by your grace that we here.
For
though it is tempting to make distinctions which put ourselves in generous
light,
we
know that we too share in the wayward and deadening tendencies we so easily
condemn in others.
But
we also know this:
You are rich in mercy, and your love for us is great.
So
great that even at our very worst -
tarnished, empty, lifeless -
you have not
turned us aside
but saved us through Christ,
promised
us the riches of your eternal kindness,
and
called us to participate in your works of goodness.
We
are blessed indeed,
and
for this we glorify you.
Monday, 15 September 2014
Lord of Hosts
Over the last ten days I have been on a college placement trip to Romania. I travelled with a group of other ministerial students; our hosts and guides were contacts from the Baptist Union of Romania and a Baptist Seminary in Bucharest with whom our college has long-term links. Before going I didn't really know what to expect, but from the first day to the last I have been overwhelmed with the welcome we received and the experiences we were given. Indeed, the wonderful hospitality of our Romanian hosts led me to reflect again on the unceasing goodness and generosity of God - 'The Lord of Hosts'!
The Lord is my Host
The Lord is my host, I shall not want.
He welcomes me with warmth and enthusiasm,
And He sets me at ease so I can be myself.
He offers me a rich tapestry of new experiences
And he honours me with His lavish generosity.
He leads me to new places beyond my imagination
Joyfully sharing the best He has to offer.
Even though the road may be scary and steep
Your assurance subsides my alarm,
And I entrust myself to You as You take the wheel;
The views are worth it.
You lay out feasts before me
Always providing more than I could possibly need.
The programme you have for me is demanding,
But you build me up in the strength that I require:
My plate is always full.
Surely your invitation will call out to me all the days of my life
And I will return to you again and again.
The Lord is my Host
The Lord is my host, I shall not want.
He welcomes me with warmth and enthusiasm,
And He sets me at ease so I can be myself.
He offers me a rich tapestry of new experiences
And he honours me with His lavish generosity.
He leads me to new places beyond my imagination
Joyfully sharing the best He has to offer.
Even though the road may be scary and steep
Your assurance subsides my alarm,
And I entrust myself to You as You take the wheel;
The views are worth it.
You lay out feasts before me
Always providing more than I could possibly need.
The programme you have for me is demanding,
But you build me up in the strength that I require:
My plate is always full.
Surely your invitation will call out to me all the days of my life
And I will return to you again and again.
Tuesday, 8 July 2014
The Sea
Having lived at the coast for many years, for the past ten months I have lived decidedly inland - pretty much the farthest you can get in this country from the sea. And so, having made a trip to the coast for the ordination of a friend at the weekend, it was with great relish that I took the opportunity to steal an hour getting reacquainted with this majestic beauty that never fails to point me to another, even greater majesty...
Even before you come into view, my heart quickens with anticipation as I approach;
I am on the verge of adventure and discovery and coming home, all at once.
My heart catches with that first, satisfying glimpse.
But one glimpse is never enough;
And instinctively I am drawn closer
and closer
and closer
until I am as near as I can get,
enveloped within your reality
and captivated with wonder
as I gaze upon your majestic vastness.
I know I cannot comprehend your limits.
Nevertheless, as I look out onto your horizon
the normal confines of my daily reality are blown apart.
Stagnant air is chased away
and my lungs are refreshingly filled
with your powerful, invigorating wind.
I am not alone here.
Your mysterious call draws many -
some cautious, some with joyful abandon -
strangers spanning the spectrum of humanity
united by our common enchantment.
Even still, this is an intimate moment.
There is something about being here
seemingly engulfed in your unfathomable magnitude
that awakens within me a deeper sense of myself;
Lost in you, I am refound.
When it is time to go, I do not want to leave.
I could spend eternity here, never tiring of your mesmerising beauty.
But, for now, life inland demands my return.
As I pull myself away, I feel the power of this encounter still at work within me.
I do not leave unchanged.
I feel alive.
Even before you come into view, my heart quickens with anticipation as I approach;
I am on the verge of adventure and discovery and coming home, all at once.
My heart catches with that first, satisfying glimpse.
But one glimpse is never enough;
And instinctively I am drawn closer
and closer
and closer
until I am as near as I can get,
enveloped within your reality
and captivated with wonder
as I gaze upon your majestic vastness.
I know I cannot comprehend your limits.
Nevertheless, as I look out onto your horizon
the normal confines of my daily reality are blown apart.
Stagnant air is chased away
and my lungs are refreshingly filled
with your powerful, invigorating wind.
I am not alone here.
Your mysterious call draws many -
some cautious, some with joyful abandon -
strangers spanning the spectrum of humanity
united by our common enchantment.
Even still, this is an intimate moment.
There is something about being here
seemingly engulfed in your unfathomable magnitude
that awakens within me a deeper sense of myself;
Lost in you, I am refound.
When it is time to go, I do not want to leave.
I could spend eternity here, never tiring of your mesmerising beauty.
But, for now, life inland demands my return.
As I pull myself away, I feel the power of this encounter still at work within me.
I do not leave unchanged.
I feel alive.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)