Monday, 4 December 2017

Light where horses race





Back at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park again for my Day Off last week, we hugely enjoyed the Tony Cragg pieces (top two pictures) but were most fearfully engaged by Alfredo Jaar's work most of which was under a 'no photographs' embargo but which also included his The Garden of Good and Evil (bottom two photographs) which expresses the hidden places of detention in the world.  

He quoted Mahmoud Darwish, a Palestinian poet already important to us: I love the particles of sky that slip through the skylight - a metre of light where horses race.  I was obviously put in mind of Oscar Wilde's little tent of blue which prisoners call the sky - but also taken back to Irina Ratushinskaya's frosted window and Anne Frank's horse-chestnut tree.     

Wednesday, 29 November 2017

I'm good at this


I led Collective Worship in a couple of Primary Schools yesterday.

I used some of my very limited knowledge of British Sign Language (BSL) to teach a small selection of signs and get the entire hall to use them for a concluding prayer.  So far, so normal.

One Headteacher ran with the idea as I was finishing and asked me further questions.  I explained how little I knew, how I had helping lead worship with an interpreter for a congregation of deaf people in the past, and how the Friday Church at St James’ was learning the Lord’s Prayer in BSL clause by clause so that we could now do about half of it.

‘Reverend Mullins has told you how little he knows,’ the Headteacher said to the children, ‘but you’ve seen how much he does know - he meant to say “I’m good at this, and I’m working hard to be even better at it”.’

I thanked him afterwards (he knew the BSL sign for ‘thank you’ by then) for reinforcing the school’s ethos in the face of the constant danger of it being undermined by inadvertent external influences like mine and English self-deprecation.

The picture is part of the classic view down Haworth’s Main Street made even more classic by the sun on this year’s first dusting of snow.  I’m told that the classic Hovis advert filmed on Golden Hill in Shaftesbury is based on a 1940s poster advert depicting a delivery boy toiling up Main Street, Haworth, but I haven’t yet been able to find a copy.

Thursday, 23 November 2017

Halifax details





And, not a small detail at all, the surprising scale of the Piece Hall (originally for the sale of cloth) which rivals any major Italian piazza:

Friday, 17 November 2017

Framing and curating


Different choices of possible frames for a piece of art bring out different aspects of it.  I was reminded of this by one example this week: ‘the silver one brings out the central motif clearly while also making the piece seem colder, while the red one brings out small elements which are there in the background and by doing so makes the piece warmer’. 

And I just wondered whether that might actually be a (partial) image of preaching?  One is putting a frame around something (a passage of scripture, an experience of faith or of life) to ‘bring out’ something from it. 

There will be the obvious dangers.  Choosing a loud, large and inappropriate frame which draws attention to itself rather than the art.  An habitual choice of a favourite frame which (perhaps unconsciously) will only ever bring out a strictly limited selection of colours or features.  Or simply an unawareness of the effect ‘framing’ is having on what is being noticed.

All of which also reminded me of a different image offered over the last few years.  The image is  having responsibility for ‘curating worship’ – the responsibility for developing and leading liturgy is like the responsibility of the curator of an art exhibition.  The image is all the more compelling because all licensed clergy are ‘curates’. 

Perhaps that is also a(nother partial) image of preaching?  Choices are made about the things (scripture, experiences, reflections on them) which are included or excluded.  And, crucially, choices are made about what one chooses to exhibit side-by-side, how one labels anything, and about the order in which one leads people past things.

So, working with our 'Worship on the road to Emmaus' groups, I noticed that 'framing' our Communion liturgy with, or 'exhibiting it' alongside, Luke 24 (the Emmaus story) ‘brings out’ the way each such service situates us on the evening of Easter Day with what feels like the hardly credible first resurrection news and experiences freshly invigorating us.

And then, this week, 'framing'  exactly the same service with, or 'exhibiting it' alongside, Jeremiah 32 (the prophet investing in land in a war zone – a story which comes up once every three years in our Sunday reading cycle but with which our groups were unfamiliar) ‘brings out’ the way each Communion service is situated in desertion and in hope apparently being crushed by naked political power (it is literally ‘in the night in which he was betrayed’ after all, the covenant of hope is in this context).

Other 'frames' for the Communion service, other things which might be 'exhibited' alongside it, are a meal, the Passover, or a (wedding) banquet.  Each would ‘bring out’ something we might otherwise not spot or value or be challenged by.

And what about the way each Christian denomination is a frame which makes us notice and overlook quite different aspects of the whole Christian story and tradition?  Or what is 'brought out' of both our rapidly changed culture and our faith stories when they are exhibited next to one another?

The picture is Bridgehouse Beck at the bottom of our road.  It will flow into the Worth close by and on into the Aire in the next town, which will flow into Calder on the other side of our district and then into the Ouse on the other side of our county, emerging into the Humber estuary to flow through the edge of the parish I left behind in Grimsby nearly six months ago.

Wednesday, 8 November 2017

Developing views


I was in Lincoln Cathedral yesterday for the first time in six months and found the long planned work has been completed to furnish the area around St Hugh's shrine as a centre of worship rather than as a vast empty retro-choir space.  There are hints of a sheepfold about it.  I also found  a new willow-creation of St Hugh's swan by the shrine (look out on the left of the picture).  


Meanwhile, leaf-fall has also subtly changed the view from our shower room window in Haworth.  We can now just make out the chimneys of the former  mansion (now the Youth Hostel) on the horizon; the mill-owner would have looked down on the housing developed on the brown-field former mill site below.

Saturday, 4 November 2017

Entwine our desires


I’ve been playing with the text of an early Latin Collect which came up recently.

Dirigat corda nostra quaesumus Domine tuae miserationis operatio, quia tibi sine te placere non possumus comes out (in the word order of the modern English Collect) as something like Lord, because without you we cannot be acceptable to you, may the activity of your compassion, we ask, direct our hearts which Cranmer’s seventeenth century revisers rendered O God, forasmuch as without thee we are not able to please thee, mercifully grant that thy Holy Spirit may in all things direct and rule our hearts.

Both the translation process and the way this has been ‘improved’ by the reference to the Holy Spirit is clear thus:

Source / Prayer Book
Lord / O God
because / forasmuch as
without you / without thee
we cannot  / we are not able to
be acceptable to you  / please thee
may the activity of your compassion / mercifully
we ask  / grant that
- / thy Holy Spirit
- / may in all things
direct / direct
- / and rule
our hearts / our hearts.

Leaving that to one side, my playing has tried to create new prayers which capture what the Latin originators might have been encouraging us to feel towards:

Stir our hearts, Lord, we pray,
because we cannot come to you
without your mercy at work in us

or even

Entwine our desires
with your mercy, O Lord,
that you might delight in them.

Source / First new prayer
Lord /  Lord
because /  because
without you /  without your
we cannot  /  we cannot
be acceptable to you  /  come to you
may the activity of your compassion /  mercy at work in us
we ask  /  we pray
direct /  stir
our hearts / our hearts

Source / Second new prayer [negative ‘because without you we cannot be acceptable to you’ shifted to a positive ‘that you might delight in them’]
Lord /  O Lord
because /  that
without you /  you
we cannot  /  might
be acceptable to you  /   delight in them
may the activity of your compassion / with your mercy
we ask  /  [this is only implied]
direct /  entwine
our hearts /  our desires

Meanwhile, the largess to the poor is the feeding of the hungry as one of the corporal works of mercy in the Charlotte Bronte memorial window in St Michael's, Haworth.

Thursday, 26 October 2017

Shape of the Eucharist


We had the first of our 'Worship on the road to Emmaus' groups yesterday, a short course enabling me explore faith alongside (nineteen of ) those I'm beginning to get to know here and to re-visit themes which have meant a lot to me over the years.

The session worked its way round the apparently unremarkable fact that our Communion service is always divided into four parts: Gathering; Word; Sacrament; Dismissal.

One might have thought that Gathering and Dismissal were incidental, while attending to God’s Word and celebrating the Sacrament were the main focus.

But it is always significant to me that beginning with the people of God being greeted in God’s name and collected together in prayer, and finishing with the people of God being sent out and having to go, provides a rhythm – almost like a heart beat – almost like the whole church breathing in and breathing out.

The ideal is that people of God spend most of their time as God’s disciples in the world.  Then, very briefly, they are called together, almost to be re-oxygenated by Word and Sacrament, and sent out again.

Next week we'll link this, as I always do in my mind, with a sense that every Eucharist could takes us back to the evening of Easter Day.  Not just gathering - but Christ almost slipping in to walk alongside us.  Not just exploring the Word - but our hearts burning within us as it is applied.  Not just celebrating the Sacrament - but recognising Christ in the breaking of bread.  No just going out - but being impelled back to the place from which we have come with new purpose.

The alabaster figures are Jesus and the two unnamed followers on the journey to Emmaus and they are on the pulpit in St Michael's.

Friday, 20 October 2017

Taking God for a ride



It was as if Jesus drove his point home by saying the way God wants things is like the time a bride’s mother reminded bridesmaids about the rehearsal but they refused to come.  She sent people straight round to point out how long she had planned, how hard she had worked and how much she had spent to create the perfect day.  They were offhand.  One said she couldn’t swop her shifts.  Another said she had had a better offer and was about to fly to Ibiza with her boyfriend.  It got nasty: hands were caught in slammed doors, people fell off pavements as they were jostled in the street; someone could have been killed.  The bride’s mother was livid.  She had paint stripper poured on one of their cars, and that wasn’t the least of it.  ‘I’m not going to waste time on worthless so-called friends,’ she said, ‘go and find people who have never dreamt of being asked to be a bridesmaid; try the woman who begs with her child on the High Street, the home for the severely disabled, the women’s refuge’.  Soon the reception was full.  But the brides’ mother spotted a bridesmaid not wearing the dress she had had made; she was stuffing herself and slouching around in jeans.  ‘You must be having a laugh, darling’, she said.  The bridesmaid was stunned.  ‘You can get straight back to the godforsaken place where you belong,’ the bride’s mother said, ‘I’m open to anyone on my daughter’s special day , but don’t try taking me for a ride’.

This is my attempt to interpret the Gospel reading set for last Sunday (Matthew 22.1-14) using almost exactly the same number of words as one of the standard translations.

once more Jesus spoke to them in parables
it was as if Jesus drove his point home

saying
by saying

the kingdom of heaven may be compared to
the way God wants things is like

a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son
a bride’s mother   

he sent his slaves to call those
who had been invited to the wedding banquet
reminded bridesmaids about the rehearsal

but they would not come. 
but they refused to come 

again he sent other slaves, saying,
tell those who have been invited
she sent people straight round

look
to point out

I have prepared my dinner
how long she had planned

my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered
how hard she had worked

and everything is ready
and how much she spent

come to the wedding banquet
to create the perfect day 

but they made light of it
they were offhand 

and went away, one to his business
one said she couldn’t swop her shifts  

another to his farm
another said she had had a better offer
and was about to fly to Ibiza with her boyfriend. 

while the rest seized his slaves,
it got nasty: people’s hands were caught
in slammed doors

maltreated them,
people fell off pavements
as they were jostled in the street;

and killed them
someone could have been killed

the king was enraged.  
the bride’s mother was livid

he sent his troops, destroyed those murderers
she had paint stripper poured on one of their cars

and burned their city
and that wasn’t the least of it 

then he said to his slaves,
she said

the wedding is ready,
but those invited were not worthy. 
I’m not going to waste time
on worthless so-called friends

go therefore into the main streets
and invite everyone you find
go and find people

to the wedding banquet
who have never dreamt of being asked to be a bridesmaid

those slaves went out into the streets
try the woman who begs with her child on the High Street

and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad
the home for the severely disabled, the women’s refuge

so the wedding hall was filled with guests
soon the reception was full

but when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed
but the brides’ mother spotted

a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe,
a bridesmaid not wearing the dress she had had made;
she was stuffing herself and slouching around in jeans
[But commentaries alert me to the fact that there is no evidence from this period that the host supplied wedding garments for the guests]  

and he said to him,
she said

how did you get in here without a wedding robe, friend?
you must being having a laugh, darling
[Commentaries alert me to the fact that 'friend' is only ever used in this way in Matthew with a negative edge] 

and he was speechless
the bridesmaid was stunned

then the king said to the attendants,
the bride’s mother said

bind him hand and foot,
you get straight back

and throw him into the outer darkness
where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth
to the godforsaken place where you belong 

for many are called
I’m open to anyone on my daughter’s special day

but few are chosen.
but don’t try taking me for a ride. 

The pictures are from Hawkhurst church which we also visited as part of our ancestor hunting on our way back from Belgium.

Wednesday, 18 October 2017

Betherinden Chantry



On our way back from the Channel Tunnel we found the grave slab of Anne Hilder, one of my fourteen great-great-great-grandmothers.  Her grave is in what at the time of her death was still the private chapel of the owners of Sandhurst’s Old Place within the Parish Church.  (This is the Kent village, not the Berkshire town of the same name and military academy.)

The first picture shows that what was a pre-Reformation Chantry Chapel continues to be recognisably distinct part of the building.  The second picture shows the deeply worn path which runs down from the church to what was the medieval manor site and is still Old Place Farm today.

Anne married a cousin and had a daughter who then married a second cousin once removed - by which complicated configuration I end up being descended not only from Anne’s father but also from two of his brothers (that is, from each of three Hilder brothers, who lived ten miles away in Rye in the middle of the eighteenth century).

Below is a beautiful piece of pre-Reformation glass from elsewhere in the church and Bodiam Castle two miles down the road.




Tuesday, 17 October 2017

Godshuis Belle





These are just some of the details we enjoyed at an Ypres Almshouse.  

'Belle' was the surname of the Thirteenth Century founder.  

'Godshuis' is a reminder that a whole chunk of Flemish and English is the same language give or take some spelling and pronunciation - simply 'God's house' in this case (which I remember appears in the form 'Godess hus' in the opening lines of the Ormulum, written in England at roughly the same time as the Belle Almshouse was founded).   

Monday, 16 October 2017

Menin Gate Lions



The top picture is a relatively recent memorial to 130 000 men from the Indian armed forces who died in France and Flanders during the First World War; it is on the rampart walk close to the Menin Gate.

The bottom picture is one of the lions which stood at the gate destroyed in the First World War and which have since given to Australia to be part of a national War Memorial there; it is on loan back to Ypres for a few months as the time of the Passchendaele centenary.

Sunday, 15 October 2017

Gunner A H Woodcraft





I once assembled some information about a few of those commemorated by the Little Coates War Memorials.  The last of those listed was Albert Woodcraft, a fifteen year old Errand Boy from Gilbey Road at the time of the 1911 census.  He signed up in the opening days of the First World War and was dead within less than a year.

I illustrated a sheet about him with an image I had found  of the cemetery in which he was eventually reburied; it shows the layout of the graves before the standard Commonwealth War Grave Commission headstone were in use and his grave is almost at the back on the right hand side.

We were in Ypres last week.  We took a mile and a half walk out from the centre into what is almost still the neighbouring village of St Jean to find the cemetery.  A large modern hospital stands in what is otherwise still fields beyond it.  We were glad to have one specific grave to locate among the hundreds of thousands in the Ypres area. 

Saturday, 7 October 2017

Worth commemorating


I was shown the Cross Road's War Memorial for the first time last week.  It is enclosed in the Park Pavilion which means it is not as accessible as a roadside memorial but also means it is unweathered despite being a hundred years ago.  The  local surnames Ackroyd, Feather, Murgatroyd and Robershaw which I've noted before are among those listed in the middle panel as having been killed.


This week, we have also see the recovery capsule in which Tim Peake returned to earth, which is on display in Bradford at the moment.  It looks more like a piece of early twentieth-century  science fiction than a genuine piece of early twenty-first-century technology.


On Michaelmas Day at the end of September, Friday Church at St James', Cross Roads added this 'Superman' portrait of St Michael to the wall of saints (and now angels) being built up at the back of church...


... and St Francis (whose day it was this week) joined them yesterday.

Tuesday, 3 October 2017

Sunday School crockery



I once bought a random piece of Sunday School crockery as a curiosity.  It was a side plate, part of a mass produced set of ‘vitrified hotel ware’ manufactured by a firm in the Potteries.  In the same way that any basic cafe, club or train buffet would have had its own badged crockery, so ‘The Good Shepherd Sunday Schools of Leeds Parish Church’ (in this case) had what we would now call its logo on its crockery.

I am newly in what is now the diocese of Leeds and I can begin to see that I was wrong to have been surprised that the pupils in a Sunday School should have warranted distinctive crockery of their own.  Some Sunday Schools round here (and, I assume, elsewhere) turn out not to have been a group of individuals but rather substantial institutions in huge buildings. 

Our new house is a short distance from a Primitive Methodist Chapel disused in the 1960s and the only modern housing development amidst the local terraced houses is one which has been built on the large site of its former Sunday School.  Nearby, the Brontë Parsonage Car Park next to St Michael’s, Haworth also occupies a large cleared site on which the Parish Church’s substantial late-Victorian Sunday School used to stand.

And this all came home to me when I was served refreshments at ‘my’ other Parish Church the other day – on a plate badged for ‘St James’ Sunday School’ with the letters ‘CR’ entwined as a logo to represent the name of the village Cross Roads.  The new housing on the south of the church (on the right in the photograph) was, I’m now told, built on part of the Sunday School site, the sale of which raised a lot of the money needed to build the hall now attached to the church (in the middle of the photograph)  – in which surviving pieces of the Sunday School’s crockery are not treated as curiosities but are still being used to serve refreshments.

Wednesday, 27 September 2017

Hospitable cultures


It has to be recognised that some cultures are more hospitable to the Gospel than others, that Gospel possibilities spoken into them are more likely to resonate in some than others. 

It is something I remember talking about at my interview for coming here. 

The example was late Victorian and early twentieth century Anglo-Catholic mission in parts of the Pacific and in Japan (the latter including service by one of my father’s aunts, but that isn’t relevant). 
The personnel, churchmanship and approach was roughly the same.  But in one place the queues of those coming for Baptism sometimes spread towards the river down the whole side of a valley.  In the other the impact was comparatively negligible. 

And a (possibly superficial) explanation is that the communal assumptions of one culture and the ‘honour’ culture of the other was the most significant factor in the different levels of engagement and impact.

It seemed relevant at interview because it is worth exploring at least the possibilty that post-war cultural shifts in England are one factor in the decline of mainstream Christianity; we would simply expect the church to be smaller in the culture which has emerged.  If so, some far from superficial analysis of this is urgently needed.

I’ve thought of all this again this month because of one hint given on the ‘faithful neighbours’ training all clergy new to the diocese of Leeds are asked to undertake to equip them for appropriate ministry in what are often multi-faith settings. 

The hint was that conversion to Christianity from Shia Islam is a greater possibility than from Sunni Islam.  It is certainly true that there are Anglican churches which find they need to read the Gospel in Farsi at services (that is, churches which have a significant number of members who originate in Iran), including one down the road from us in Keighley.   

The tentative suggestion was that minority and frequently persecuted Shia may know more within themselves about ‘passion’, while the majority dominant  Sunni may be more habituated to a triumphalist religious experience; in certain contexts the first might encounter the Gospel as speaking into their situation while the other might be much more likely to find it alien.

Meanwhile, a little ahead of myself, I’ve been looking for illustrations for Advent orders of service and have been touched by the grasped hand and held gaze in this encounter between young Mary pregnant with Jesus and her cousin older Elizabeth pregnant with John the Baptist (perhaps the moment John leapt in her womb at hearing Mary’s news) in a window at St Michael’s, Haworth.

Wednesday, 20 September 2017

Ten lepers


Updated 22nd September

I’ve been exploring the 132 words (in one translation) of Luke 17.11-19 with eight members of a long established but lapsed Bible Study Group from St Michael’s, Haworth.  It is the Gospel reading which we’ll be using at Harvest services in our three churches early next month.

We used a simple technique I’d picked up from Christian Aid last year designed to make sure we pay real attention to every detail.  This involves writing out as much of the story as people could remember before looking at the passage.  What impression had many past readings, studies and sermons left?  What details had we got wrong or had missed, and what are the particular significances of these?

Between us, we remembered that a journey had been taking place when ten lepers living in isolation from their communities asked Jesus for healing and were granted it.  Jesus told them to show themselves to the religious authorities to demonstrate that they were healed and could be reintegrated into society.  Only one of the ten came back praising God and saying ‘thank you’.  (One person had a feeling that a cave had something to do with it, which isn’t in the Bible passage but which is here.)

So what did we then really notice when we read the passage?  There were three things in particular.

One was how noisy it was.  The lepers lifted up their voices from a distance to call for Jesus’ mercy.  The one leper who returned used a great voice to praise. 

So, if Jesus intended passing as unnoticed as possible through potentially hostile territory towards a dangerous destination (which is what we shall notice in a moment) then this noisy attention would not have helped much.

Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, we’d totally forgotten that a Samaritan was involved.  Jesus was journeying to Jerusalem and along the edge of Samaritan territory (both of which indicated the risks alluded to in the previous paragraph).  The one who came back to give thanks was a Samaritan, and Jesus’ comment was that it was only ‘this foreigner’ (I’ve now looked it up – allo-genes which is literally ‘other-bred’ and may be somewhere between ‘mis-begotten’ and ‘people not like us’) who did so. 

So, the impression left by the way we’d been told the story so often was simply the pious message that we should remember to be thankful, but we’d not been marked by the real bite of the passage at this point that is the despised other who did so.

Finally, and most movingly for some, we noticed that they found that were cleansed in going on their way.  It wasn’t that they were cleansed and then sent to the priests.  It was in going to the priests that they found themselves cleansed. 

So, Jesus’ final words to the one who came back was ‘your faith has healed you’ (I’ve now looked it up and it is ‘you’ in the singular) and it felt to us that it was the act of calling out to Jesus’ as master and trusting him to go straight away to do as he said which is where he found healing.

Meanwhile, the picture is simply a face I’ve enjoyed finding carved into the choir stalls at St James’, Cross Roads.

Paragraphs added 22nd September:

This whole process is potentially a really significant help in developing an indigenous preaching ministry: knowing how a representative sample of the congregation relate to a biblical passage before preaching about it.  If so, I should be engaging in it much more often.

My prompted sermon-preparation reflection so far this time is that the ‘remember to be thankful’ use of the passage has been either preached or heard so well because it ties in with Victorian and twentieth century middle class culture: people like me and respectable church-goers more generally resonate with this message.

But there is clearly another message Luke has for us which is something like ‘those whose religion we are tempted to despise (whose versions of Christianity are least attractive to us, or those who are ‘other-bred’ culturally or literally) can be where we find both examples of trust in God and some specific human qualities which we sometime lack ourselves’. 

And (although, of course, there are plenty of Christian people who embrace this second message without flinching) this has either not been preached or not been heard so well because it sits less easily alongside the habitual Victorian and twentieth century middle class instincts of many people like me in the culture from which respectable church-goers are largely drawn?

Thursday, 14 September 2017

From Haworth Church Tower






My first trip up.  Almost all of Cross Roads village appears in the penultimate picture.  The Bronte Parsonage, albeit next door to the church, wasn't visible through the trees; I look forward to going up again in the winter.

Wednesday, 6 September 2017

Marks of the Cross


An ecumenical neighbour has been in touch about exploring the Anglican Communion’s ‘Five Marks of Mission’. 

I suppose, at its best, these would be intended as the equivalent of a ‘Bird Spotter's Guide’: if you see a church with these markings then you can be sure the species you are observing is a missional one.

Here is the official list:
to proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom;
to teach, baptise and nurture new believers;
to respond to human need by loving service;
to transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation;
to strive to safeguard the integrity of creation, and sustain and renew the life of the earth.

All mainstream and worthy, although getting a bit clunky and a bit more like a Committee product as one works through the list.

I’ve always assumed that the structure of the five ‘translates’ something like
we want to attract more people to God's ways
and we want Christians to grow
so that they make a difference to their neighbours,
to society,
and to the world.

I’m certainly less fond of the official habit of summarising the ‘Five Marks’ as
tell,
teach,
tend,
transform,
treasure,
because ‘tell’ and ‘teach’ as isolated words seem pretty instructional compared with discovering and being enthused by Good News and by the Kingdom possibilities, ‘tend’ doesn’t sound sacrificial enough, ‘transform’ on its own has a touch of hubris, and ‘treasure’ on its own a touch of self satisfaction.

Attention to what the New Testament encourages might instead mean pulling out from the ‘Five Marks’ something more like:
seek Kingdom,
grow disciples,
love neighbour,
pursue justice,
protect creation.

1.  Seek Kingdom
Proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom; tell the stories which so enrapture us we are impelled to go on searching them out; we want other people to be as attracted to God's ways.

2.  Grow disciples
Teach, baptise and nurture believers; teach the ways to which God beckons us; we want to grow alongside all Christian people.

3.  Love neighbour
Respond to human need by loving service; tend the hurts all around us; we want to make a difference to our neighbours.

4.  Pursue justice
To transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation; change the places where we live; we want to make a difference to society.

5.  Protect creation
To strive to safeguard the integrity of creation, and sustain and renew the life of the earth; treasure the spoilt environment which God entrusts to us; we want to make a difference to our world.

But even a summary like that doesn’t do proper justice to the Gospel passage we read on Sunday:
take up your cross every day.  It would be striking if a church ever adopted that as its public 'mission statement'.

Friday, 1 September 2017

Master Gardener



There was a striking moment at a recent London Livery Company event when ‘the Master Carpenter’ was called forward - striking at least for those familiar with and fond of the prayer (either produced by or at least popularised by the Iona Community):

O Christ, the Master Carpenter,
who at the last, through wood and nails,
purchased our whole salvation;
wield well your tools in the workshop of your world,
so that we, who come rough-hewn to your bench,
may here be fashioned to a truer beauty of your hand.

We thought of it again the other day when a visitor mentioned the theme of her church’s summer Holiday Club as being ‘the Master Gardener’, so I had a first go at rewriting the prayer for my own benefit:

Risen Christ, first taken for a gardener,
who had by then, through tears and sweat,
tilled our whole salvation;
wield well your tools in the wastes of your world,
so that we, who are sown in rough ground,
may here be nurtured to a fruitful beauty by your hand.

So much depends on context.

The Iona Community began in the 1930s with trainee Scots Presbyterian Ministers working alongside unemployed Glasgow craftsmen, just as Anglican Industrial Mission began in the 1940s in Sheffield factories from which the Church of England felt fatally disconnected, and the Catholic Church established a feast of Joseph the Worker in the 1950s (on May Day, which was being widely celebrated as International Workers’ Day).  So the fresh and pressing images included God as craftman, Christ as master carpenter, the world as a workshop, and our Christian living as being forged.

Meanwhile, most of a century later, it is ‘master gardener’ which caught our attention; my wife recalled a recent radio item which suggested precisely that that the job of parents is more like being a gardener than a carpenter, and I recalled a recent article suggesting that images for training wild horses has shifted from those involving things like ‘breaking in’ to those involving things like ‘horse whispering’.  Our sympathy moves towards images of nurture and fostering growth.  We know the biblical image of God as potter re-shaping at will, but we prefer the more common New Testament image of God as sower and patient farmer.

The pictures are the details from my new favourite window which I’ve used on a recent service sheet (which is why they are in black and white).

Added 3rd September:

I’ve now seen reviews of Alison Gopnik’s The Gardener and the Carpenter which is clearly what was being discussed on the radio recently.

A better written version of this post might well have had the same title.

It would have highlighted her plea that bringing up children should be a form of love rather than a form of work, a form of care rather than a form of goal-orientated labour.

It would have been clearer that this seems to be closer to how God works with us (and might have gone on to suggest that church ‘mission statements’ and ‘growth strategies’ ought to be closer to this too).

It would have been clearer that there is an vital and separate point about the way the cultural assumptions around us seduce us (the dominance of narrow targets is one side of this coin, and the possibility that future generations will see an emphasis on growth through playful exploration and messy results as being equally cultural conditioned might be the other side of the same coin).

Tuesday, 29 August 2017