Beginnings and the meaning of life

A sermon for the 2nd Sunday before Lent. Both epistle and gospel of the day are about beginnings and the meaning of life. This sermon was for a church in rural Warwickshire.

In the beginning. In the beginning – such a lovely phrase. In the beginning – such a good place to start.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. That’s how John prefaces his gospel.

Our scriptures open at the beginning. In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth

Some of you will remember Maureen Lipman’s British Telecom adverts. In one she rings her grandson to see how he got on in his exams. He goes through all the exams he failed. She asks, “did you pass anything?”. “I got pottery” – to which grandma says “that’s good, people will always need plates”. “And I got Sociology”. To which Grandma says, “you got an ology and you said you failed!”.

In the beginning was the Word. I’ve not got much in the way of an ology, but I’ve got enough of an “ology” to know that the Greek words for the Word is o-logos. O logos. It is from those two Greek words that we get all our ologies – whether sociology, psychology, geology, astrology, criminology – anyone awarded an ology can claim the credit of beginning to understand the meaning of an aspect of life

Putting aside any clever, clever ologies we may have we could all say that we have an OLOGY because the Word became flesh and dwells amongst us, with us always, to the end of time. That’s an ology that God has gifted us. He has gifted us his Word, o logos, made flesh, embodying the meaning of God from the beginning. If we want to know the meaning and purpose of God we have to look no further than Jesus.

The Word means meaning. O logos, the ology given to us, means meaning and purpose. From the beginning life has meaning and purpose. This is the viewpoint of faith, hope and trust.

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. That is such a beautiful opening for our scriptures. 

Our generations, with all our ologies, have tended to scoff at this creation story. “It can’t have happened like that” we say, as if the inspired authors of this literature ever believed it happened like that. We are not looking at God’s first diary and to-do list. Inspired fiction sits alongside inspired history in our scriptures – what matters is not what happened, but what is true. In the beginnings described by the first chapter of Genesis, the openings of John’s gospel and our reading from Colossians – in all of them we have inspired theology that conveys truth.

I am ever more conscious that our scriptures are the scriptures of the Jewish people, so frequently overpowered, conquered, enslaved, exiled, occupied, persecuted, oppressed, impoverished and hated, as well as being so often disobedient and misled (just like the rest of us). They become our scriptures as long as we open our hearts and minds to join those who suffer, redirecting the power and wealth we have for their sake, becoming poor in spirit.

When we read scripture we are always looking through the eyes of a people (like Paul writing to the Colossians from prison) who suffered so much and yet dared to wonderfully imagine that from the very beginning God is working his purpose out, that there is meaning even in the midst of tragedy.

The beginnings described in Genesis and in John’s gospel and in our reading from Colossians are profound theological reflections on the meaning of life in the midst of chaos, surrounded by so much diversity and difference, a wealth of creation – and the part we are called to play. 

The “beginnings” of Genesis and John are not the start of things. It’s not a blank page. In the beginning described by John there was stuff going on. There was darkness, and the Word became the light of the world that darkness has never been able to overcome. There was darkness going on, and on and on.

Likewise in Genesis, there was stuff going on. There was formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep. In other words, it was chaos – and the creation story imagines what God does with chaos, ordering it and making so much of it for our delight.

The beginnings described by Genesis, John and Paul are all of them in the midst of things. There is always something going on. These scriptures belong to people who are in the midst of things, and passed on to those going through so much. There has been so much love gone into them – their meaning is to inspire faith, hope and love – in us, in the midst of things.

Sometimes life doesn’t seem to have any meaning – particularly when bad things overwhelm us. Sometimes that is about discovering that life doesn’t mean what we thought and that there is a new meaning we have not yet discovered. As we lose sight of the meaning of life we can often forget the meaning of God. We may have been misled into thinking of God in a way he just isn’t. 

When we lose that sense of meaning for our lives, when we’re burnt out and exhausted by excessive busyness, or responsibility, or trauma, when we’ve lost our way in the forest, then we do need to retrace our steps, unwind to the beginning to the time when there was always meaning. 

When we lose sight of the meaning of life we need to follow the sound of music and start at the very beginning, a very good place to start, the beginning when the Word became flesh and dwelt among us – a down to earth meaning, embodied in our lives, in our times and in all we try to do.

The meaning of God is the meaning of life. In our first reading, the letter to the Colossians, we have the phrase He is the beginning. Christ is the beginning for God. 

The letter continues: “in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross”.

This is the meaning of God and the meaning of life.

We are all “in the beginning” – we are part of the body of Christ who is the beginning. He is the beginning of the work of reconciliation ………. He is the beginning of the repair of broken and exploitative relationships. That is his work, his meaning and purpose. We are all “in the beginning”, in the beginning of a new creation, in the beginning of something new, in the beginning of something better as long as we listen to his word and love his meaning.

In the midst of things, a lot of which we’d rather not be in the midst of, in the midst of things we have the beginnings of life, its meaning and purpose, and the beginnings of God, his meaning and purpose – to find our way where we might lose our way. In our beginning is the Word to inspire our faith, hope and love, the ology which means the world to us.

Colossians 1:15-20

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers – all things have been created through him and for him. He himself is before all things, and in all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross. 

John 1:1-14
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

Calling, names and insults – a homily on Matthew 5

I learned a lot doing this homily. The Gospel for the day was Matthew 5:20-26. The text that attracted me was:

You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, “You shall not murder”, and “whoever murders shall be liable to judgement.” But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or  sister, you will be liable to judgement, and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council, and if you say “you fool” you will be liable to the hell of fire.

The homily follows:

Jesus says to us: that if we are angry with a brother or sister, or if we insult a brother or sister, or if we say “you fool” we will be liable to judgement and the hell of fire. Jesus speaks these words in the same breath as he repeats the commandment that we should not murder.

Being part of the kingdom of heaven depends on us following Jesus’ teaching on how we relate to one another, how we manage the anger which is at the heart of us, turning that to the purposes of righteousness, and how we manage our name calling.

If we say “you fool” or anything like it we are liable to judgement. The question that will be asked in court is what possible justification is there for such harsh judgements? 

What we say to people to their face matters. We know that. What we say to people behind their backs matters. We know that. What we call people under our breath matters. We’re inclined to forget that.

What we say to their face can be extremely hurtful and can leave scars that may never heal over. Those words can be premeditated or spoken in the heat of the moment – but they often go to the heart and cause great hurt. 

What we say behind people’s backs can damage a person’s reputation and will draw others into conspiracy and prejudice. We talk about getting “stabbed in the back” so maybe Jesus isn’t so far off the mark when he puts murder together with insults and name calling in the same sentence.

It matters greatly what we say to others, what we say to their face, and what we say behind their backs, and what we say under our breath – just as what has been said to us and about us through our lives has the effect of building or destroying confidence and self-esteem.

Some people can’t hear the voice of God above all the names they are being called. 

Imagine being hemmed in one of our hotels as an asylum seeker and listening to the angry name calling and abuse of protesters. Yet there is the still, small voice of God calling their blessing, even in the midst of the hatred they are facing.

In the story of creation, of all creatures we are the name-callers. Right from Eden God has wondered what we would call others.

The Lord God had formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds in the sky. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them, and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds in the sky and all the wild animals.
But for Adam no suitable helper was found. So the Lord God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep, and while he was sleeping he took one of the man’s ribs and then closed up the place with flesh. Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.
The man said, “This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called ‘woman’, for she was taken out of man.” Genesis 2:19-23

What was true in that first relationship and the first human experience has become true for all relationships and all human experience. We wouldn’t be able to communicate, have conversation or live together without calling one another names. It is how we make sense of one another. It is how we love one another.

But it is also what divides us and forces us apart – the careless word and the barbed insult, they fester and go viral. The abusive word reverberates in people’s lives, sometimes for generations and often hardening into enmity and breakdown.

How we name others, what we call them, reflects what’s going on in our hearts, the state of our own minds (which in turn are affected by what and how we are called and named). With humble and thankful hearts we call others with love. “Ah, he’s the one who sings” or “she’s the one we turn to” or “they’ve been through so much”. These are names of appreciation. Whereas the names we come up with when feeling afraid, tired or resentful are often demeaning and insulting.

God has a real stake in what we call one another and the name calling in our relationships. The naming he leaves to us, and the repairing of the damage of our naming he also leaves to us though he promises to be with us in our work of reconciliation. 

In the kingdom of heaven, in the rule of God, it matters what and how we call others, and it matters that we seek reconciliation with any brother or sister who may have something against us for how we may have dealt with them, including anything we may have done to give them a bad name.

In Matthew’s gospel, a fool is one who hears the call of Jesus but doesn’t put it into practice and becomes the one not prepared for the kingdom of heaven. So the one who doesn’t leave their gift before the altar while they make peace with the brother or sister who has something against them becomes “the fool” – so-called by God in his loving judgement, so-called by God who is far slower in condemning others than we are, so-called by God whose judgement is merciful.

Kintsugi, the art of scars and the value of repair

kintsugi2Things break. We break things. We break. But what do we do with the pieces?

When I have broken things I have sometimes pretended it’s never happened (playing the innocent) or I have hidden the evidence. When I’ve broken I have pretended it’s never happened, or I have hidden the shame. This is shocking dishonesty.

The prophet Jeremiah knew a thing or two about brokenness and shame. The broken thing he had his eye on was the nation itself. He came to see hope in brokenness – not shame – by studying the work of a potter. The potter was making a vessel of clay and it was spoiled in the making. Instead the potter reworked it into another vessel “as seemed good to him”. He heard God say, “can I not do as this potter has done?”

There is another school of pottery which makes something of broken pieces. This is Kintsugi. Kintsugi is known as “golden joinery” because of the method of using gold dust to mend the broken pieces. The repairs themselves become the work of art. While we might be tempted to use superglue to mend a broken ornament and then turn the damage to the wall, Kintsugi works in a different way. The repair is brazen and flaunted. The breakage gives the object a story and the object becomes more valuable than it ever was before.

The Japanese art of Kintsugi has given rise to a philosophy and metaphor for life. Also known as the “art of scars” it signals a way for us to value what is broken in our lives and to celebrate what has re-paired us.

We can look at the broken pieces of our society. Those broken pieces all have labels to identify one piece from another, and we continue to break into new pieces. We’ve got new labels, more broken pieces with Leavers/Remainers. They go along with more worn labels such as Workers/Shirkers, Gay/Straight, Black/White, North/South, Red/Blue etc etc. I like the suggestion that prayer is like the gold dust of Kintsugi – when we pray we seek to make a-mends and pray for repair and reconciliation. The putting together of the pieces is the answer to that prayer.

Kintsugi is one art of scars. Writing this as we come into Holy Week I am conscious that Christianity too is the art of scars – though crimson rather than gold. Brokenness is taken with utmost seriousness. All the repair work and the reconciliations stand proud as witnesses. Repaired brokenness makes us more precious and valuable than ever.

PS. Here’s more about the spirituality of mending by Laura Everett

PPS. #Visiblemending is trending on Twitter

PPPS. Mending is seen as practice for “tikkun olam” – for the “mending of the world”

Bloodthirsty

News of Arab Springs
reverberate down the ages
through times of austerity.
Green shoots through desert sand.

For that Arab Spring
we don’t ride with Josephs & Sons
into an Egypt promising sanctuary
dragging chains in an Egypt of plague,
with a Pharoah begging
“Moses, go.  Get me a blessing.”

For that Arab Spring
hope and moonshine
for a people on the run from oppression.
An uprising thirsty
for the blood of  lambs,
and Egyptian oppressors.

For another Arab Spring
we ride with Joseph’s son
into a full moon of another garden.
This time a lamb questions,
“do you thirst for this blood shed?”
“Is there a blessing for Pharoah?”

This Arab Spring,
an uprising for tormentors
of chalice shed for them. Cheers,
a kiss, and the strange taste of freedom.

The Bigger Picture

Photo of Kilham “tunnel” with permission. http://www.yocc.co.uk
David Hockney certainly provides the Bigger Picture at the Royal Academy of Arts. Increasingly he has rejected the viewfinder of the camera. The viewfinder of his most recent work is his own eyes and the imagination of his mind’s eye.

What Hockney sees is amazing the rest of us who haven’t practiced the art of seeing. The colours he sees in a field, a tree trunk or a forest floor are not far-fetched but are already hinted at in the subject. Many of the subjects are from his own homeland of East Yorkshire, including “the tunnel” near Kilham. The tunnel is an ordinary farm track with trees, hedgerow and tractor track, with the tunnel being formed by the trees that overarch the track.

It is a track which most of would take for granted, which we would pass by without noticing it. But Hockney treats us to his own views which he lays out on canvases that fill the room. Each view is different. He steps to one side and then another to give himself yet another point of view. He steps forward and he steps backwards. He sees it in the morning light and the evening light, when wet and when dry, in spring through to winter. He sees it in relaxed mood and when stressed and tired. There is the one scene, but so many views. There is one pair of eyes, but so many perspectives.  There is the partiality of personal insight but still such wonder. Even Hockney “only sees dimly”, because that is the human condition (1 Cor 13).

There is only so much that can go into one exhibition room. The exhibition is a sell out, even though it is open till midnight on some evenings. The rooms are crowded with people who have come to see. We are given a bigger picture which we see with our own eyes. Excitedly, many take the time to try to share what they see but it is each to their own. There is the one scene, and through one pair of eyes so many views. There is one room and so many pairs of eyes, each drawing their own conclusions.

Realising the many perspectives gives us the bigger picture. Is this the prescription that helps us see better? It is, so long as we can reconcile our views. In any room full of people there is a whole variety of views. But no bigger picture emerges if those views can’t be reconciled to each other. If our views are diametrically opposed to each other we become uncomfortable and we don’t know where to look.

Do you see me? Or are you just looking?

We are drawing to the end of Prisons Week (Nov 20th-26th) – something organised to promote prayer for all those involved in the nation’s prisons. The theme of the week this year is “Do you see me? Or are you just looking?”. This draws attention to the fact that prisoners are constantly watched and under surveillance, they are rarely seen. It is indeed very difficult to “see” someone in prison. There is a real security rigmarole involved in visiting and visiting rights are severely limited (part of the punishment). But the most fundamental obstacle preventing the prisoner being seen is that in being locked up they are locked out of society.

Guard Tower and Prison Walls

Guard Tower & Walls of Robben Island
which locked Nelson Mandela out for
18 years but which didn’t prevent him
from being brother through
walls of prejudice and hatred.

(photoby Joe Barbosa)

I have often invited prayer for prisoners (there are currently 87,652 men and women in UK prisons – a rise of 2424 from 12 months ago). I am usually met with the hostility of a few who insist we should be only praying for the victims of crime. They follow the sight line of the secular media: the prisoner should not be seen and his or her cry should not be echoed in our prayer.

This week, someone was telling me of her pre-ordination placement experience in a “category A” women’s prison. She recalls her feelings of consternation after her first Communion in the chapel with a congregation of about eight when she was introduced to her table companions – including a much villified serial killer. This group of women have been seen by God. They have heard good news and a certain freedom even though they now they must be locked out of a society that wishes for them only to have bad news for a harsh and punishing sentence.

This is profoundly challenging because we share the same bread, and we drink from the same cup. We have been called companions (companions are friends who particularly share bread) and brothers and sisters. It is usually hard to imagine sitting at a table with people who aren’t our friends but God’s choice challenges these preconceptions. Instead we are challenged to see and recognise brothers, sisters and companions on the far side of dividing walls.

Replacing repairs

Untitled
Cobblers used to be in high demand

Oh dear. “The car’s knackered, we’re going to have to walk”. That was the response of someone whose car had broken down near to us yesterday. He put a brave face on the diagnosis from the RAC man (diagnosis took ten seconds!). I would have at least kicked the tyres. We had our own breakdown the other week. Our two year old washing machine was going to cost £290 to repair – the exact cost of a new replacement. It seems that everything is getting very complicated, and it becomes increasingly difficult to see what’s gone wrong. The problem with our washing machine was the electronic control board, as is the case with most broken equipment these days. Replacing is replacing repair. I used to be a regular visitor to the TV repair man with our Ferguson TX. Where is the TV repair man now?

One of the features of childhood evenings was watching my Mum darning holes in socks, referred to as “doing the mending”. Is it a lost art? Have repairs been replaced? Repairs are easier when you can see how pipes and wires have come apart and how they can be re-paired.

mendingThis quote from Dag Hammarskjold captures the wonder of mending and repair.

Forgiveness is the answer to the child’s dream of a miracle by which what is broken is made whole again, what is soiled is again made clean.

Brokenness featured in conversation yesterday. Relationships are easily broken. Fortunately we get well used to re-pairing ourselves from our temporary separations and breaks. But occasionally, the hurt is profound and the damage irreparable, and the longer it persists the more difficult the repair becomes. It’s as if the broken ligaments of the relationship wither till there is nothing to be re-paired. A stitch in time saves nine.

We may be able to forgive, but that may not be enough to re-pair. Surely a re-pair is impossible without something to throw a line to, something to hold on to – whether that be a word, a gesture, or understanding and remorse?

(Feigned) Remorse
There’s remorse, and then there’s remorse!

A local headteacher was telling me about a small child in his school who had kicked one of the older children. “He showed no remorse” was the head’s comment. That is a problem that child is going to have to overcome. If he doesn’t become remorseful how can those he hurts ever forgive him. What a tragic life he has in front of him unless he can learn remorsefulness. Remorse is what we can get hold of when we want to forgive and be re-paired. Instead of reparation, remorselessness brings separation.

It may be that life is too complicated for us to see how it is broken. It may be that things have become a lot more reliable. It may be that in a blame culture we have to insist that we don’t break, that we are reliable, and not liable. It may be that our business in a consumer culture has lost the hard work and deep satisfaction of repair. It may be that we can’t see how we are broken.

The Long Walk to Freedom – still

>

20 years ago ended a remarkable stretch as political prisoner for Nelson Mandela. The next stage of the journey is remembered with awe as Nelson continued his Long Walk to Freedom with such incredible resilience, commitment and dignity. He has been world leader for a generation leading the movement of South Africa from the dark ages of apartheid to freedom.

Astell Collins posted this tribute entitled “The Age of Grace and Timeless Wisdom”

Have you ever observed a lion bound?
Or witnessed the ants freely running around
Did you ever stop to ponder your destiny?
Journeying beyond your daily responsibility
What is the purpose of tomorrow?
If there is no comfort in times of sorrow
Could you clarify the functionality of masculinity?
And explain the multiplicity of femininity
Nelson Mandela, you have given us a proud legacy
Thus to future generations you are legendary
You have thought us your people to forgive
And have shown us that only in love can we live
Your life displayed the fundamentals of greatness
And uncovered the power of selflessness

We thank you for giving us back our home
A paradise where all of mankind has made their own
You have suffered inconceivable cruelty
To ensure the preservation of our humanity
As a people, our coming together in celebration
Demonstrates to you our sincere love and appreciation
We recognize the relevance and power of spirituality
While experiencing the beauty of our freedom in unity
Your life has become the essence of the human story
One of love and resolve, equality and destiny
You are a hero internationally and not only in Africa
So the world pauses to pay its respect to you, Madiba

And today’s prayer picks up the diversity theme:
Almighty God you have created the heavens and the earth and made us in your own image: teach us to discern your hand in all your works and your likeness in all your children ……

>Neighbours

>What do you do if you want to change something? You ask permission.
What do you do if you live next door to somebody who wants to change their house, or if a builder proposes developing land opposite? You complain and you object. ‘Twas ever thus in Nimbyland.
And the way through? Thank goodness for our planning authorities so that when we want to make changes we have to ask for permission, and those who are our neighbours should realise that, make their objections and then leave it to those who are a lawful lot better than us at these things and accept the judgement – “permission granted” or otherwise.
I feel sorry for friends Jane and Bob asking for permission to change/demolish/rebuild. Suddenly they find themselves on page 2 of the local paper with friend Mark flying the preservation flag – no doubt supported by friends and neighbours around – Janet, Bob, Jo, Alice, Tom, Dick, Harry and Jemima. What a difficult situation – all have their legitimate concerns – to be weighed in the scales of justice. And through it all they continue to meet in the waiting room of the Friends’ Meeting House for Kingdom come and Peace on Earth. Meeting together, waiting together makes it so much better than avoiding one another and makes the church a Friends Meeting House – if not now, then – working/praying out how to come to terms with our differences.
That’s what we’ve been doing with our project for St Peter’s. We have been asking for permission and we will see how many people have objected, and how the Chancellor weighs the difference of opinion. Then we will be told whether we have a faculty – aka permission – or if we’ve lost. Whatever way it goes we have to then get on with our neighbours – loving them – which we have to sometimes do before we can ever like them.