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.