An Affirming Call to Communion

 There’s a whisper on God’s lips 

And the whisper is your name. 

Come to me…
Meet me in the place where stuff and soul are one. 
Where I am in you and you are in me. 
Come, share in this historic tradition that has been handed on, 

that calls to us through communities across millennia 

and that the Spirit reclaims and re-infuses. 

Come, join the table of friends and betrayers, of friends that are also betrayers. 
Come to the table that is not without its confrontations and pain; 

but at which we all have a seat and a name and a hand that gives to us in knowing grace. 

[Pause/Silence]

We have before this meal, a moment for confession. 

This is a moment in which we may bring before God those private things that weigh heavily on our own hearts; but it is also one of humble solidarity with each other and in our warring world, recognising our varying but shared woundedness and ability to wound; yet doing so around a table that nourishes us with its resonance of liberation and its offer of redeeming grace.

Ode to a Rainbow

Written earlier this year, for my bright and brilliant, rainbow-loving 

colleague and friend: Anne-Marie.

You’ve rainbow clothes, and rainbow kids;

All manner of rainbow bobs and bits;

Had rainbow hair, get rainbow cards, and

Made a rainbow fairy garden;

There’s rainbow art in your loo;

You’re cute as a button:

Yay! To you!

But what I’ve heard, what I’ve seen

In you, the woman opposite me?

So much more than kitsch-bitch bland -

The shit's been real that built your brand;

Dark storms that split your soul’s white light

Dark brutal storms, lightning-spiked;

But through that all your light has stayed -

Now broken into full array;

Red, orange, yellow, blue and green;

The happy hopeful bounce I’ve seen,

With righteous rage, and courage too -

A vibrant spectrum makes up you.

Thank you, beautiful, for the show;

My prayers are with you as I go. 

Capel St Non, February 2022

 

    Pressing ahead on lonely path

I make my retreat; 

make my advance.

In gusts of wind and driving rain

I face the storm 

to feel again.

Ahead some crumbling, broken walls

a Temple, not unlike mine - She calls

me in, out here;

welcomes without cheapening cheer.

We cry;

affirm each-other's worth.

She tells her tale of pain;

the holy, birthed.

Then round her cross 

painted names on stones I see;

And join them, crying out my praise

in faithful weathered community. 

A Christmas Hospital Prayer

Loving God, 

In this season we wonder again

at the story that speaks of God, 

the One who is beyond anything and everything that we can imagine,

beyond our understanding,

beyond anything we are capable of, 

choosing to be limited to the vulnerable human body

of a helpless little baby;

Entirely dependent on the care of others

and at the mercy of their willingness to respond.

And in this season 

our hearts are warmed

by a story that tells of

the readiness of human hearts to answer in love;

To give their care,

and to find a way, 

even with circumstances stacked against them.

In this season, 

In this story,

We find hope,

And wonder,

And joy.

 

Here at this hospital, we are well-familiar 

with the wonders, needs, frailties and limits of our human bodies.  

We are familiar too, with hearts that want to care,

that keep trying to find a way, 

even when resources and reserves are pushed.

 

Oh God who understands, 

Be with us here we pray.

At the beginning of lives, and at their end;

When we are strong, and when we are weak;

When our needs make us dependent on the care of others,

And as we do our best to respond. 

In this season, 

and in our hearts,

May you bring forth hope, 

And wonder,

And joy. 

 

Amen.

Photo by Isaac Quesada on Unsplash

On the Ward

I met God today.

In a whispery voice

From a failing body 

He spoke.

I couldn’t understand him.

With a twinkling eye

He smiled at me even so,

And in the only words that I DID understand 

He thanked me for showing up 

And making him laugh with my efforts.

Intimate Strangers

A ward full of bleeps,

Your weary, half-formed mumbles,

A different faith;

It was hard work to hear your soul.

AlI I heard were snatches, really -

The best we could manage.

But in that wasteland place

Even snatches count for something.

And your snatches touched my soul.

Thank you.

Rest in peace.

Struggle/Dance/Blessing

For reference: Jacob Wrestles at Peniel Genesis 32:22-31

Libertango by Astor Piazzola, performed by Russian Philharmonic Orchestra, accompanied by dancers Inna Svechnikova, Dmitry Chernysh: https://youtu.be/kdhTodxH7Gw 

 ***

When the securities we hide in leave us, and we wait, exposed, in the terrible intimacy of 'alone';

When we find ourselves wrestling with night-time phantoms that seem to come from nowhere;

In all the clumsy rough-and-tumble of our encounters with others;

And when our tenacity in the struggle is costly, and leaves us with a limp;

Let us hold on.

Let us hear the rising swell of your rhythms of grace

in the dance that IS the struggle

Let us hold on 'til the daybreak

That when the light comes and the struggle is done 

Even limping, we may continue on

with new revelations of ourselves,

new revelations of God,

and new revelations of how we are blessed

Into the next chapter,

Into the next dance,

Into the next struggle, 

Into the next blessing.

Bubble

In all that I have witnessed as a hospital chaplain during the Coronavirus pandemic, somehow it is the image of this one man’s grief that sticks most poignantly in my mind. I offer it in tribute to all who have died over this last year or so, and all who grieve. 

**

She was fine

It was you “at risk”. 

But somehow here you are

And she is gone.

And trapped inside a plastic hood

Your anguish drips, unwiped, from your nose

Out of the reach of even your very own hands.

In Memoriam

We give you thanks

For life.

Yes - 

We give you thanks

for this unlikely,

miraculous,

fragile,

persistent,

re-generating,

finite,

wondrous, holy mix

of cells and breath and soul.

Yes,

For life

We give you thanks.

And we remember: [Read names]

We give you thanks

For these lives.

Yes - 

for these lives:

unique,

and common,

and individual,

and connected,

and ordinary

and rich,

and beautiful,

and flawed,

and graced,

and hard,

and blessed,

and holy,

and lived. 

Yes,

For these lives

We give you thanks. 

And we remember: [Read names]

We give you thanks

For these lives' legacies.

Yes - 

For these lives' legacies:

for tender moments shared,

and lifelong habits modelled;

for memories that raise a smile,

and conflicts that helped us grow;

for kindnesses that were offered,

and those that were received;

for the service that stands recognised,

and that which went unseen;

for Kingdom-values lived,

and for all the sins forgiven;

for scattered, holy seeds 

of faith and hope and love.

Yes,

For the legacy of these lives

We give you thanks.

And we remember: [Read names]

We give you thanks 

For love.

Yes -

We give you thanks

for the love that now seems ended,

and for the love that carries on;

for love that faltered and falters,

that tries and fails,

and fails and tries;

and for the love which is

patient and kind,

and self-effacing and generous,

and truthful and ever-hopeful,

and holy,

and eternal.

Yes,

For their love,

For our love,

For your love,

We give you thanks.

And we remember: [Read names]

And we give you thanks

that all these are held in your hands -

life, and these lives, and their legacies -

held in love,

held by you:

Alpha and Omega, beginning and end,

Our source and our completion,

The author and perfecter of our faith,

God who lived, and died, and rose again,

The Holy One. 

Yes,

We give you thanks

that we are all, 

all we are,

held in your hands,

held in love.

And we remember: [Read names]

Amen

Acknowledging Human Violence: A Good Friday Confession

On this day 

We are reminded

Of the violence that emerges

Even in the very closest of relationships -

Of brutal kisses.

On this day

We are reminded

Of the violence instigated, ordered, permitted,

By those given responsibility,

Abusing the power and authority 

Which they have been granted.

On this day

We are reminded 

Of the violence inherent

In standing by and saying nothing.

On this day

We see these violences

All around us

And within us. 

And we pray,

Lord, have mercy. 

"Unconditional Love"

This is safe space. 
You can say anything to me and I will reserve judgement 
whilst I listen closely

and carefully 

and consistently 

to your soul.  

Unless you say those things.

I am here for you.
I will walk with you on this path of life,
wherever it takes you. 

Unless it takes you there.

My love for you is unconditional.

Except when it's not.

Written 11th August 2019

and found this morning in some old notes on my phone!

Daffodils

They said it on the radio:
Thousands of pounds worth of daffodils 
left unpicked in Cornwall;
Fields of potential
losing their bloom
to the rotting stench of missed opportunity.
The harvest is ready, he said
But the workers too few. 

Meanwhile, 
Brenda sits at her dining table
Reeling with shock at how quickly 

Jack's cough became his permanent absence

The added twist of the Mothers' Day knife

in her husbandless, childless gut.

Yet gratitude

as well as grief

catches in her throat:

There are flowers and a note and love on the table

delivered by the lady from church

who has been doing this kind of thing for years,

but much more systematically 

since getting recognition

from the new minister

who has a good eye for systems 

and is flourishing in this role

she never would have explored

if not encouraged by a deacon back home

who was so inspired 

by the prophetic vision

of the speaker at that event

who was surprised 

but pleased 

to be invited by her regional minister

who has felt humbled

by the quality of support

he's received from his colleague

who was that tired of all the 

malevolent and

"benevolent" and

systemic

sexism 

everywhere

that she almost quit,

if not for her mentor

who for many years was unsure of her own voice 

and worked hard to find it and share it

and help others find theirs, 

and each other's

and God's

and delights in what she hears 

from these folk coming through

and prays 

and hopes 

and speaks out for change

that they might not be trampled

but helped to bloom.

And so it is

that a vase of the daffodils 

that did get picked

now sits on Brenda's table;

bright and bold and defiant

heralding golden glimmers

of a harvest of hope.

Solitude

On some days
When the fog sets in 
It can seem I am all alone -

A solitary, bare-branched tree by the water’s edge
A sketchy shadow
Lost in the undefined blur.

There have been days 
when the fog 
and the loneliness 
have frightened me.

But not today. 

Today I shall revel in this sensory hush
Today I shall ponder my undisturbed reflection
Today I shall cherish this fleeting moment
Before it’s misty veil lifts. 

A Personal Take on a Classic Prayer*

Nurturing, caring God,

Whose 'location' is something of a mystery

    but whose dwelling place is surrounded by wholeness and thriving;

Who you are is holy.

May the signs of your perfect stewardship flourish into reality,

May your loving purposes be enacted,

Here and now,

In this place and time,

As well as in the visions we glimpse and the future we hope for.

We reach to you in trust for the sustenance we need for today.

Lift the burden of our brokenness and the lacking in our limits

    with your kindness and grace

Teaching us by your example to do the same.

Call us away from the harm we are enticed by and fall into -

Deliver us from ruin.

In you is the destination, 

              the key,

              all beauty and truth.

              Always.

                        AMEN.

*Cf. 'The Lord's Prayer' - if you hadn't picked that up by now!

Digital Unity

Musings on Unity

From the Congregational Saying of The Lord's Prayer

On Zoom

In a Time of COVID

Let us say together the prayer that Jesus taught us to pray...

It won't be slick

It's out of sync

        But never mind.

Now we know

It's less 'the show'

        More willing commitment.

Prayers in a COVID Winter

"Roll on Spring", we say.

I say.

Roll on lockdown liberation

And the nation's vaccination

Actual corporeal congregation

Even taking vacation!

And in our desperation 

"End this, God!" we pray;

"Get us back to normal"

Our petitionary oblation.

Oh! 

How we need your grace for our prayers

As well as our hearts and hospitals and homes.

May they hold more truth and wisdom and life

Than simple grass is greener tropes.

Yes, Lord! We long for relief

For the ebbing of this tide of grief

And it's in fervent, hopeful belief,

    That we seek the green blade rising.

Yet as we do, let us hear your asserting:

Your re-greening will be more than re-vert-ing,

For true nourishing hope draws up the hurting

    In its holy metabolising. 

Written with input from my colleague, Rev Sarah Crane, Lead Chaplain at Milton Keynes University Hospital

 For the Fallen of Creation: A Remembrance Litany

An ecological take on the well-known Litany of Remembrance by Rabbis Sylvan Kamens and Jack Reimer, in light of some shocking data on biodiversity loss shared by Andy Lester of A Rocha UK in April 2020:

• In 2019, the global extinction rate of plant, insect, bird and mammals was 200 species in every 24 hours. This is the highest rate in 65 million years, and accelerating. 

• In the UK, since 1970 there has been a recorded loss of:
• 97% of wildflowers
• 57% of butterflies
• 50% of birds
• 41% of insects*

***

In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them.

In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them.

In the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them.

In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we remember them. 

In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them.

In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them. 

In the burning of our fuels, we remember them. 

In the clearing of our forests, we remember them.

In the discarding of our waste, we remember them. 

Because of the lives we live, they no longer live. 

They are a lost part of us, so we remember them.

In our homes and habits, we remember them.

In our worship and witness, we remember them.

In our politics and protests, we remember them. 

When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them.

And when we are enthused and full of joy, we remember them.

So long as we live, they too shall live; 

The Spirit of Life, in whom we have our being, is irrepressible.

In trust and in active hope then, 

We remember them.

***

*For more info see the 'State of Nature Report 2019' at https://nbn.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/State-of-Nature-2019-UK-full-report.pdf

The Gardener

He’s a steady sort, the gardener. 
Life has its demands, of course, 
And, as much as he would like to be - 
He can’t be there all the time. 
But year on year, season by season, 
Without reminder or fanfare,
He proves with faithful dependability 
That giving his watchful care 
Is not so much something that he does
As simply who he is.

Attentus Fidelis

Attentive and Faithful. 

He’s wise too.
He loves the growing seasons,
Glorying in their flourishing abundance,
Finding humble satisfaction in witnessing the fruits of his care. 
But he does understand
That this is a seasonal gig;
That deaths and die-backs are part of the deal. 
Will he panic when they come?
Of course not. 
Will he give up? 
Unthinkable! 
He’ll just do what he can to help
And wait, 
With a calm but sure hope,
That spring will come again.

Lucky for me, 
Gardeners make great Dads. 

               ___
Fathers' Day, 2019

Picnic in the hills

Based on John 6:1-17

Nathanael looked longingly down the hillside to the lake below. The day was drawing on and the hills on the far side were a little hazy through the afternoon sun, but the water sparkled blue, bright, and enticing under the clear spring sky.

It was hot – at least for spring – and Nathanael didn’t like the heat – always looking out for a shady spot, under the broad leaves of a nice fig tree perhaps – if he could. Of course, you couldn’t beat being out on a boat with a breeze off the lake for keeping cool.

But today the need to get away somewhere quiet, somewhere away from the large and growing crowd of people with one desperate disease or another that seemed to permanently accompany them these days had prompted Jesus to bring them up here to the hills on the East of the Galilean Sea. It was certainly quieter up here – the hilltop countryside littered with only a few sparse settlements; the prominent residents cattle rather than people. And, even though he truly was most comfortable down on the water, Nathanael was grateful for the break – he really was. These last few months had been rather a whirlwind. Trying to get to grips with the things Jesus said was mind-blowing enough – let alone the miracles – but with more and more people following them wherever they went, getting a moment to themselves like this to begin to digest and process some of it was a rare treat. And though this palm he was leaning up against wasn’t quite up to its fig counterpart, in his humble opinion, he had to admit this place certainly did have its appeal: that clean, fresh smell of the mountain air, the cheery blobs of red, yellow and pink wildflowers against the vivid green of the seasonally lush grass, the intermittent screeches of the eagles soaring overhead, and the somehow soul-stilling silhouette of a snow-capped Mount Hermon off to the North.

Some of the others were deep in conversation with Jesus nearby, and the murmur of gravelly voices was gently soothing as Nathanael allowed his eyes to rest shut. How did that Psalm go? He makes me lie down in quiet pastures.

And then, suddenly, the voices stopped. Nathanael opened his eyes and looked over to the group of men – who were no longer sitting but standing and looking down the hillside. James caught his eye and nodded him over. “Looks like we’ve got company”, he said, not even trying to hide his annoyance. Sure enough, as Nathanael followed his friend’s gaze, there, making their way up the mountainside, apparently towards them, were throngs and throngs and throngs of people.

Nathanael’s heart sank. There were thousands of them! Could they not just leave them alone for one single day…

***

It wasn’t until several hours later, after the threat of a darkening sky had finally convinced the crowds to head home, or somewhere to shelter for the night, at least, that Nathanael found himself alone with his thoughts once more. They were back on the water, he and the other lads - Jesus had told them to go on ahead and was still somewhere behind them – and as they rhythmically rowed into the gently lapping waves, the sky above them bright with stars, he found himself going over the incredible events that had unfolded since that moment that the crowds had caught up with them high on the hillside.

If it had been up to him, or indeed most of the others in their little group, they would have sent the crowds away from the start. After all, Jesus had clearly recognised that they needed a bit of space – otherwise what was the point of trekking all the way up there in the first place? But Jesus had an annoying habit of making compassion his basic rule when dealing with others, and true to form, the question he had opted for had not been “Right, lads, any ideas on how we can lose these harassers, haranguers and hangers on?” but “Any ideas on where we can get this lot lunch?”

It was a ridiculous question, of course. Yahweh only knows knows where they were supposed to find a market up there, and even if they had, and even if that market had been even approaching well-stocked enough for the amount they would need, as Philip been quick to point out, they could never afford to provide even a morsel for so many. Well, not for 6 months at least…

Nathanael had laughed at Andrew when he had produced 5 poor-man’s barley baps and 2 very sorry-looking pickled fish, courtesy of one apparently slightly more forward-thinking young man from the crowd. In fact, they would probably still get some mileage out of a bit of gentle ribbing over that look on Andrew’s face as he had offered it, which sort of combined desperation to make some kind of effort for Jesus, whilst accepting with a depressed defeat that such a pathetic offering was nothing short of ridiculous given the situation.

But in the end, Nathanael now mused, perhaps it was Andrew who by rights, would get the last laugh. After all, it was that meagre offering that Andrew had brought forward in spite of all logical sense, that Jesus had indeed used to feed all those scores of people, perched on the rocky hillside amongst the cowpats on that particular sunny spring afternoon, overlooking the glinting lake below. With leftovers, no less. Leftovers!

 The LORD your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among you, from your fellow Israelites, the scriptures said. You must listen to him. That is what God had said when another great assembly of people had come before him in the shadow of a different mountain – unable in their human frailty to cope with the direct voice of God and his fiery presence in their midst. So they had asked for a person, a mediator who would speak God’s words and show them God mediated through a human face and voice. That, they seemed to think, would be easier to cope with.

Nathanael thought of Jesus. Human – he definitely was that. And he spoke the words of God, better than anyone Nathanael had ever come across, he was certain.

But easy to cope with? Nathanael wasn’t so sure. 

Coming of Age

This month I celebrated my 32nd birthday. Celebrating my birthday has, for the last few years, come with some perilous emotions. But this year was truly different. Indeed, as I discovered (and admittedly pulled out!) a greatly symbolic white hair just the day before my birthday, I was reminded of that wonderful verse in Proverbs 16:31: "Grey hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life." Whether or not my life can be judged as righteous I must leave to God to decide - but what I can say with certainty is that while this last year has been a hard one, I count the life lessons it has taught me as hard-won and precious treasure that I would not be without, and that I pray do help me to glorify God a little more than I did before. In fact, as I recently reflected with someone about those lessons learned, they said to me, 'It feels like this is the beginning of the rest of your life'. So this little poem is my 'Amen' to that! 

Goodbye blissful complacency of eating whatever I want and 'getting away with it'.
Goodbye ability to kneel on the floor without discomfort.
Goodbye watertight bladder that never fails - even when I sneeze.

Hello white and wiry hair number 2.
Hello belly tyre. And bum wobble. And rear thigh bulge.
Hello strange dance required for donning my tights.

Goodbye "young woman",
   and all the related neuroses of holding that title.

Hello prime of my womanhood,
   and all the reward of life lessons learned in getting here.

Hello the beginning of the rest of my life.

I'm ready.