A Little Bit of Bread ...

A congregation have, despite having heard me preach, been kind enough to ask me back again. I'm not so full of myself as to overlook the possibility that in an interregnum and with dwindling numbers of ordained and lay preachers I'm simply better than nothing. Accordingly, I've turned to Mark Tanner's book How to Write a Good Sermon for guidance as to how I might improve.

Tanner says that only a disciple can preach, and the first thing he says he means by this is that I must live my faith. Put another way, he is saying 'practice what you preach' else, he warns, you are not a preacher but a commentator, an observer, or a critic. And as he says "we have enough of those already".

I know what he means. I have said on a number of occasions over the last year or so that it is some time since I've heard a Yellowhammer locally. Rory McGrath in his Great Bearded Tit is scornful of the mnemonic attached to this bird, but for me it's 'a-little-bit-of-bread-and-no-cheese' is very helpful as an identifier. And indeed it must be a good few years since I've heard that call along the local hedgerows.

Except that by holding forth on the subject I am falling into the human trait of implying that of course I am a fount of naturalist knowledge, a twitcher par excellence and whose opinion is worthy of note. The truth is plainer: I haven't delighted in the countryside around me to the extent that I would place myself where I might actually hear a Yellowhammer.

Today I walked up the escarpment overlooking our village, and sat and watched and listened. I heard no Yellowhammers, but since the Daffodils too are late out, perhaps that is not unusual only half-way through March.

As I sat reflecting, I recalled a meeting last week in which someone took a 'pop' at civil servants. Being an ex-civil servant I felt my hackles rise, but I kept my counsel and thought about times when perhaps I too have let slip a judgemental comment and unwittingly caused offence.

Jesus told us to love God and to love each other as ourselves. If we take exception to everything unthinkingly blurted out, perhaps even blogged, we dig ourselves a deep furrow from which it is hard to escape. Still less to enjoy God's bounty as it sings to us from the hedgerows.

Hush my Mouth

How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land (Ps 137.4)? I pray regularly "O Lord, open our lips and our mouth shall proclaim your praise" in Morning Prayer. Yet how often do I succeed in that simple aim, that whenever I speak (or write) I should reflect God's glory? For that, I believe, is what this simple verse and response is about.

It is 3 years since my bishop accepted me for training for the priesthood, but ringing in my ears as I met him that Candlemas morning were the closing words of the Communion liturgy I'd just participated in. In particular it was on my mind that even had he said no that day, "go in peace to love and serve the Lord" was quite 'heavy' enough, let alone any 'special' requirement of the priesthood.

All Christians have such a burden, though some perhaps bear it light even before they appreciate how Christ's death loosens it for them.I despair on hearing some so-called Christians bickering about others, especially their priests. The nagging thoughts that cross my mind are, firstly, how badly do I too fare in treating others with respect? Secondly, since I am slow to challenge others who behave so badly, what might I do to bring about that unity of discipleship Jesus sought for the benefit of the world (John 17.21, 23)?

Projection

From time to time someone is kind enough to compliment me on my singing. On some such occasions it crosses my mind that they haven't actually heard me, but then I'm usually thinking of solo performance whereas they perhaps are more generally referring to, say, congregational or possibly pub singing. At any rate, just before Christmas I decided that I needed to not just call myself a singer but to do all the things that might support this apparent gift. So far I've not been very good at a daily practice regime, but I have done reasonably well at breathing exercises. In a book by Gloria Rusch (The Professional Singer's Handbook) I found an exercise based on the work of E. Herbert-Caesari with respect to building lung capacity and breath control. These are foundational to good singing, but now that I'm no longer a brass musician (itself a good way of improving both), they need attention.

Currently, three times a day for 5 minutes at a time I inhale for 8 seconds, hold my breath for 8 seconds, then exhale for 8 seconds then repeat. My target is, by increasing each part of the breath by 2 seconds a week, to reach 20 seconds.

This morning I found myself in mid-exercise thinking how similar to Daily Prayer this whole exercise is. Principally I had in mind the discipline. I haven't managed 3 breathing exercises every day since starting. Indeed some days I haven't done one. As with the exercises, so with my prayer which has been somewhat fitful of late.

To some people a disciplined prayer life might be anathema, but my experience is that more regular I am with my prayer life the more capable I am of extempore prayer as needed through the day.

This morning's New Testament reading was Matthew 21:18-32, including the parable of the 2 sons asked to go and work in their father's vineyard. A commentary I read afterwards somewhat confusingly described the activities of the 2 sons in reverse order (so the first-mentioned in the Bible was referred to secondly, and as the 'second' son, in the commentary).

I found this irksome and to me a sign of an ill-disciplined approach to theology. Then I recalled the suspicion I had the last time I led Evening Prayer that I'd given absolution: an error I'm quick to notice in others, but evidently not in myself. Perhaps like the second son (in the Bible's order of events), I'm quick to espouse but slow to act.

May God grant me the persistence to use all the gifts he bestows on me, and not to just talk about them.

Littorally Speaking

I tend to take things literally. If you meet me and ask how I am, you won't get a polite 'fine, thank you' but the low-down on my current state of social physical or mental health.

The other day I received an email that had me going - I just HAD to reply. The originator of it was gracious when replying to my rant in pointing out that he had liberally spread his email with irony and sarcasm, and so trying to dig myself out of the hole I suggested that at least I don't make the mistake of taking the Bible too literally. His reply was that at times we ought indeed to read the Bible so.

I wonder if that stands for the liturgy too? What I have in mind is Holy Communion.

I had the privilege yesterday of hearing the words of consecration given over the additional wine poured because I had run out while assisting (a miracle!). I don't believe in transubstantiation, so when I'm handing someone the chalice and saying 'the blood of Christ, shed for you' or some variation I am not in my mind handing my Saviour's blood around.

However I do find it a joyful act. I smile, if only inwardly, as I take part in the act. It is for me a sacrament of love, shared with people I may not know but with whom I have come together in representation of Jesus' last meal. And it represents the great gift given freely, which just makes my humble part in it so much more fantastic.

So too the Peace which precedes the sharing of the bread and wine. It is for me rather more than a quick shake of the hands and move on quickly. If I happen to have found myself thinking rather poorly of someone and they are in the congregation, then for me their's is the first and most important peace to share. Further, the down side of serving at Communion is that I seldom get to share the Peace with everyone before I have to join the priest in preparing the elements.

Love is ever present in Holy Communion. And God is Love. So maybe transubstantiation is literally true after all.

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road?

The day after the end of the 2009 Copenhagen Summit of parties to the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change, COP15, I stumbled across the end of a radio adaptation of L Frank Baum’s classic “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz”. Our heroes the lion, tin man, scarecrow, Dorothy and Toto have reached the end of the yellow brick road and found Emerald City in search of courage, heart, brains, a way home and some doggy chews respectively. Of course just as they arrive full of hope, the machinery of power begins to crumble and the wizard is discovered to be no wizard after all but worse than a politician: a humbug. His response when thus revealed is “But how can I not be a humbug, when people always want me to do things that everyone knows can’t be done?”

Of course the lion is found to have courage after all in his response; the tin man does have compassion by the bucketful; the scarecrow is endowed with reason; and Dorothy when she realizes exactly what she wants to find back home in Kansas gets there in the end. I suppose Toto finds some delight too, but my point is: just what did we ever expect COP15 to achieve?

The Book of Genesis was written at a time when exiled Israel’s own yellow brick road seemed to have led them nowhere. The allegory of Adam’s fall is surely not about pinning blame on wayward woman or slippery serpent, but to peg out for all to see that sin is ever before us and we are always having forbidden fruit handed to us. We cannot blame others, be they politicians or wizards, for turning out to be snake-oil salesmen. The way home is there for all of us, and courage heart and brains enough to see us through the journey. But it is our journey, for we not them are stewards of creation. The dark satanic mills of some remote industrial wasteland are not the cause of climate change: our desire for their shiny plastic output is to blame. Just click your heals together …

Chestnut Roasting

Two pieces of paper caught my eye today, bundled as they were in periodicals. The first was a parish magazine in which it was observed among other things that two years ago the UK Post Office’s Christmas stamps didn’t portray a biblical theme. A litany of actions to take included not buying un-Biblical stamps and asking the Archbishop of Canterbury to show some leadership. The second paper was wrapped up in that old faithful HBR (Harvard Business Review) and carried an article called ‘Let the Response Fit the Scandal: A step-by-step guide to tailoring your crisis response’.

Normally I groan at the old chestnut that the Post Office is deliberately avoiding Christian themes, as for many years their well published policy has been to alternate Christian and secular designs. But since this year’s offering includes stained glass windows, one from nearby Upavon, I thought I’d check (the wonder of the Internet). Lo and behold, the theme two years ago was angels: Biblical enough, I’d say.

Tybout and Roehm’s HBR article, which also frankly tends to make a mountain out of a molehill-sized idea, is as follows. One-size-fits-all responses will not work on a scandal, the dimensions to which may be manifold. Therefore you must tailor your response according to what it is you’re actually marketing – the brand. They suggest: look at the issue from the outside; recognize the problem, rather than lurching straight to solutions; decide a proportional response, looking at the cost to the brand; and then get on with treating the customers as adults.

What if the ‘scandal’ of non-Christian Christmas stamps was true: what ought we to do about it? Looking at it from the outside, I’d say fewer than half (a lot fewer!) of the cards I send at Christmas go to believers. Believers or not, probably 1 in 50 notice the stamp and then only because for the overseas recipients the design may be unfamiliar and therefore interesting. Actually, I guess more recipients would notice if I used an ordinary stamp, so maybe not buying Christmas stamps would make a point after all. I think the problem is, if our response to Christmas, as Christians, is to drag a Christmas tree and its pagan baubles into church, have candle-lit services to remind people of the good old days before electricity and concern for people’s eyesight, and offer crib services that mangle the Gospel reportage, then we’ve already devalued the brand. If we turn an angry face to the secular world, we betray the blood of Christ who died so that we could learn to love not hate.

I don’t mean we should meekly steal away from problems. But we are as imperfect as the world at large, and maybe we ought to care first about how we reflect the light of Christ in it before complaining of the taste a few stamps leave in our mouths.

Fitted for Shoes

I used to be a bellringer, and one church I visited used to practice on a Saturday night before adjourning to the local pub. Once I was so late that I decided to go straight to the pub, the lounge bar of which was in darkness 'set aside' for the ringers. The landlady didn't recognize me so only grudgingly did she turn the lights on and serve me a pint. When I turned and sat in 'Frank's chair', however, she positively glared at me. Clearly I would never measure up to Frank, still less ever step into his shoes, chair or whatever.

A group I've recently left have, bless them, missed me. It was not long however before someone else was found by the establishment and foisted on the group, some of which thought it insensitive that this had happened. Weren't they still grieving, after all?

My own impression was that it was a very sensitive decision, indeed one with more than a whiff of putting the orphan lamb with a barren ewe. Who better to look after a new arrival than a group smarting and struggling to understand the empty place?

Another perspective on such group dynamics is reported in Scientific American Mind, quoting a paper by Katherine Philips et al in the journal Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin. The upshot is that the effect on the group is disturbing, so they go out of their way to understand the different perspectives the newcomer brings. This effect is evidently most beneficial when the newcomer disagrees with part of the group's 'wisdom'. So a stranger in the pack can be most beneficial.

We are called to be disciples. We won't always be welcomed as such. Yet by daring to don a fresh pair of shoes we and the group to which we minister put ourselves in the best place from which to grow.

When the landlady scowls, however, be prepared to shake the dust off ...