Virtual Methodist

Whilst in the midst of a "poor me" period over the weekend I across the word "weltschmerz" being applied to one of my favourite literary characters John Rebus. World weariness. I love the word but hate the idea, and particularly hate my tendency towards it at times, in all its manifestations. Indeed just reading the word was part of what forced me to re-evaluate my mindset, and yesterday and today's posts are part of that... From sneering cynicism, soul-crushing scepticism,  and patronising pessimism, expecting the worst in others and frequently,  disappointingly, not being disappointed; From Celtic gloom And Anglo-Saxon sensibility; From casual acceptance of a theology of total and utter irredeemable  depravity,  Good Lord Deliver me. Selah  

The result of a bit of a "pity party" over the past few days, ironically prompted by feeling that others were being self-centred, and reading 2 pieces: one by a colleague reflecting on the importance of forgiveness for breaking the legacy-logjam here in Northern Ireland and another noting the important place of confession and the declaration of forgiveness in public worship. Of course the two are interlinked just as the awareness of our need for forgiveness and our need to forgive are linked. Too often we see ourselves as wronged without recognizing our own shortcomings... Although occasionally we can beat ourselves up without recognizing that our failures are partly what marks us out as no different from every other fallible human being. Father, forgive them,  for they don’t know what they are doing. They don’t see the full picture. They judge me, and others By their standards, Assuming the worst, Resulting in the worst. Father, forgive them,  for I don’t know wh

Reading again the story of Joshua and the walls of Jericho in preparation for our current Bible Study on "Whole Life Worship" and I am struck again by the difficulty, and importance, of connecting such stories with the everyday experience of people... and indeed myself. Years ago a friend wrote a poem that said "Oh to be in shining armour at the photocopier..." More that a quarter of a century later those words still resonate with me... Ask me clearly  To do the impossible  And I will happily attempt it. Separate waters  With a walking stick To escape pursuing foes. Blow my trumpet  To demolish the impregnable Despite mocking from the ramparts. Face a fearsome giant With a few pebbles, faith And not so youthful arrogance. Sit amongst lions Rather than desert you, Anticipating our enemies’ demise. Let me be a hero Striding across scripture Your words in my ears and mouth. Yes Lord, please Deliver me, not from evil But the undifferentiated mundane; The daily demands 

Today is the International Day of Peace 2020. This year the theme is "Shaping Peace Together" and we are encouraged to mark it by spreading compassion, kindness and hope in the face of the COVID-19 pandemic, standing together against attempts to use the virus to promote discrimination or hatred. It chimes well with a number of initiatives I have been involved with over the years, not least the 4 Corners Festival, and a number of my colleagues involved in that will be blogging and taking part in various events today. This being Monday it is my "day off" but in the shaping of peace together I suppose there should be no "days off". In thinking about today my mind was filled not only withe this year's theme, but also 4 Corners Festival themes past and future and especially the words of Oscar Romero that I have quoted previously: "Peace is not the product of terror or fear. Peace is not the silence of cemeteries. Peace is not the silent result of vio

It's typical. you wait around for ages for a camel and then two come along at once. It's enough to give you the hump... It's OK I'll stop now... Today's ramble is prompted by tomorrow's lectionary reading from the gospel and the tendency by many a preacher and commentator to "explain away" Jesus' proverbial camel/eye of the needle conjunction in not entirely convincing ways, including the idea the "eye of the needle" was a small gate in the wall of Jerusalem (which has no historic or archaeological substance I am told) or that the word Greek word for "camel" is a misreading of the Greek for "cable", which makes literary sense, and makes the image more understandable if less memorable... But then some of the more memorable things I have said and done are "mistakes..." Camels, cables…  Always on the lookout  For a loophole  Through which we can thread  An entire caravan  Of distractions  To Christ’s call  To di

Too many people I know are at this point at present. Let's try to be or provide "oases" for each other. #BeKind. (ps. The attached photo is by George Steinmetz. It is actually an overhead view of shadows cast by camels in the desert.) It’s not really that single stalk  of desiccated grass That brings a dromedary down, But what went before: Maintaining the mirage; Majestically sailing across The shifting, searing sands  Of a dry and dusty desert Devoid of oases. Shalom

A piece that is prompted by the title of the upcoming festival of ideas partly hosted by the Hay on Wye Festival team (in turn stolen from Leonard Cohen), and the oft told, doubtless apocryphal, tale of a parent explaining what the different parts of a church are for or mean, including the stained glass, with that child in their RE class at school subsequently defining a saint as "someone that the light shines through..." Stained glass saints  Let the light in Telling the story To those who have Not yet encountered  The Word. But even stained glass Gets stained with  The accumulated grime Of everyday existence  Obscuring the light  Of life. No building can ever Effectively contain All the glory of creation  Never mind the Creator  Who speaks the story To be. No sanctified sinner Can effectively express All the grace and mercy Extended to them And through them To all. Selah

OK I've posted this dialogue numerous times... the last one last year when the theme for the 4 Corners Festival was "Scandalous Forgiveness" and as before I note that it owes its form and substance to John L. Bell and the late, great and gracious, Graham Maule, a soupcon of Riding Lights but mostly the Gospels and specifically Jesus, with his seemingly frustrating obsession with the subject of forgiveness... I'm posting this today because it chimes with tomorrow's gospel reading in the lectionary, so if anyone wants to use is feel free... Peter:        Eh... Jesus...? Jesus:       Yes, Peter? Peter:        How many times did you say I should forgive my brother? Jesus:       Have you and Andrew been fighting again, Peter? Peter:        Oh, you know what he’s like... I know you want us to forgive each other, but I really am ready to deck him... And I can’t remember, are we supposed to forgive others 77 times or is it 70 times 7? Jesus:       Who’s counting? Peter:  

One of our lockdown finds has been the US sitcom "Community" which has been around for years now but as usual we were late to the party. It's about a highly diverse if not disparate and at times desperate group of students at a community college who form an unlikely study/support group. It has a really catchy, earworm (even if the lyrics are indecipherable) and it has been the soundtrack to my mid-night musings of recent  days, together with the Charles Wesley hymn I allude to below. One of my problems with the word community as it is applied to church, and its relation to other people, is not only the fact that it isn't an explicitly Biblical term or metaphor, but also, as it is used in Northern Ireland it is largely an exclusionary term. We talk glibly of "2 communities" (or more) here, with those communities defined by who is not part of them. I am loathe to include that mindset within the lexicon of the church... I find it difficult enough within the con

OK... before you start saying "We're bored with this now..." I have to say that these reflections, like this blog as a whole, are more about me sorting out my own thoughts rather than being primarily for an audience (and clearly at the moment my mind is a somewhat pre-creative chaos at present). However, if my musings are of any help or prompt the thinking of someone else then that is a bonus... Today my thinking has shifted, like the wind, to the 3rd "person" of the Trinity... Hovering over chaotic waters, Calming or causing the storm? Breathing life into cold clay  Spark of consciousness and conscience. Reinvigorating the sun bleached bones Of disastrous defeat. The insubstantial essence  Tethering us together More surely than sinew, Knitting limb to torso, Binding body to head. The communicator. The strengthener. Standing with us. Bringing profound peace And deep disturbance But never glib comfort. Untameable gale. Indiscriminate giver of gifts  Spectacular a

This one has been ruminating for a while. For those not versed in the niceties of Methodism, we refer to the Methodist church as the "Connexion" using an 18th century spelling of the word (now beloved of various telecoms companies) that would have been familiar to John Wesley, and we make great play of our "connectedness" not only in terms of church government, but also as an overarching spirituality... But we are as infected by the spirit of the age as every other institution and person and can veer into individualism and division as easily as everyone else... The final nudge, prompting me to write this was immersing myself in some of John Donne's prayers and poems, including the one alluded to here... And apologies to any Latin scholars... (Pug would shake his head in despair...) Connexion.  An archaic spelling. An antiquated notion Where the individual is all?  Each person their own prince.  Each congregation their own principality.  Reformed we proclaim to t

A prayer/poem in some ways following on from the other pieces this week and a couple of personal experiences and partly prompted by today's hard hitting reading from the Matthew 18: 15-20 in today's Lectionary. Incarnate Immanuel, God come near, Make yourself known In these unsocially  distanced days, Across the ether, Through the masks, In the unfamiliar offerings, In familiar places. You who risked all for others, Forgive us where we risk others For very little. You who turned the word love Into nail pierced flesh, Forgive us where we turn it back Into mere words. You who emptied yourself  Into our frail clay, Forgive us our lack of forgiveness  For the frailties and failures  Of others And ourselves; Flagellating offenders With our tongues Pointing them out  “Ecce homo," Or too often “Ecce mulier" The source of our sorrow  And scapegoat for our sins. But you were done with that Millennia ago. We just find it hard To give up the habit. So where two or th

A stream of consciousness partner piece to yesterday's offering. “As we come into your presence...” The worship leader lazily begins... But we never left your presence We simply were blind and deaf to it To you. You are not locked away  In a sanctified, sterile, space That we enter once a week; Nor a socially distanced deity Keeping well-removed from Your sin-infected creature; Nor a Thor-like super-hero Crossing the rainbow bridge From time to time to save the day. You are not tied to the tangible But neither are you eternally  On the top shelf Perpetually out of reach  Unless we are granted the knowledge, Shared only with a few, Of where the secret, sacred  Ladder is to be found. The curtain has been torn in two As if it ever could contain you. You are not up there, nor out there Nor even in here, But everywhere And everywhen. In the sacred and the scurrilous, In the stillness and the busy-ness, In the incense and the scent Of unwashed bodies Pressed uncomfortably clo

A short poem/reflection that is a product of some of my current reading on the nature of Christian worship and the, at times, artificial polarities we place on transcendence and immanence, theology and anthropology... Or maybe it's just me? If we truly believe In the sheer otherness of God How can we not  Be open  To God in the other?  Other people,  Other perspectives?  Otherwise  We are surely saying  God is our private possession,  Entirely comprehended  By our feebly finite  Embrace. Selah