Virtual Methodist

It's strange what cocktails of things prompt the things that I write. They are frequently just word doodles. Yesterday's poem was, as I said, prompted by the death of a friend a nd colleague,  but what I didn't say was that Christy Moore's "Ride on" and the hymn "For all the saints" were also a bizarre musical mash-up in my head as I wrote.  In this case the following short reflections were stirred up not only by  Jesus' dealing with Simon Peter in John 20 from last week's lectionary,  but also  reading stories of politicians that I would bitterly disagree with, a response by a colleague to a comment I had made about a political commentator that I dislike, seeing a church notice board (not this one) on my way into work th at says "All Welcome" when I don't actually think that all would be welcome in that particular church, except on their terms, and listening to  the gospel song "People Get Ready" on my car playli...

A poem for a colleague and those who miss him, for now...  Ride on brother, ride on  You’ve had a tough climb  You can now fill your lungs  Lift your head and ride on.  From the start you set the pace Showed us what needed done  Encouraged those less able  And inspired all those around  You always cheered on others  Now your brothers and sisters  Of all generations and nations  Applaud your run for home  The victor's crown awaits you  We feebly struggle in your wake  But you never sought the glory  You just did what needed done  So now you’ve crested the hill  We’ve lost sight of you for now  But your example spurs us on And we’ll see you at the finish  So ride on brother, ride on  You’ve had a tough climb  You can now fill your lungs  Lift your head and ride on.  Shalom

Still on a bit of a Mary Oliver kick, I remembered this piece I wrote for an event I wasn't able to deliver. It's inspired by (stolen from) The Ballad of Amergin, Colossians 1, John 1, Genesis 1, Belfast’s Big Fish and the city in which it stands I am the fish: that leaps the weir, I am the river: from moor to mouth, I am the cloud: that lours above, I am the rain: the tears of the sun, I am the gull: soaring and strutting, I am the seedling: in crack and crevice, I am the hillsides: embracing the city, I am the Word: bringing all into being In whom all things hold together. I am the car: rushing on by, I am the bike: crossing the bridge, I am the lights: dictating the traffic, I am the sun: looking down on all, I am the boat: bound for abroad, I am the waves: on which it sails, I am the wind: blowing where it wills, I am the breath: bringer of life Hovering over the chaos. I am the fire; of every hearth, I am the roof: for e...

Reading Mary Oliver's "Mockingbird" this morning prompted this thought/poem, which is somewhat chastening as I had set aside this morning for some more focused "creative writing.." Of course this is not a patch on Oliver's and in itself illustrates the very point I am making in it... Ah well... The thief of other sounds the poet's description of the mockingbird could apply comfortably to me a magpie of shiny thoughts  because even when I am speaking from my true self I am only ever  a complex amalgamation of ideas, influences and inspirations a recombination of generations of genes  with only defunct or deleterious mutations likely to be remotely original and even then they  and everything else are  at source recycled stardust yet even in my unoriginality I am as the internet meme says unique just like everyone else.

The third and last of my monologues for Holy week from the perspective of Simon Peter. He was right… Everything he said would happen happened… And everything that I vowed I would do were only empty words… And I have cried myself empty in the time since… After the confusion of last’s Passover meal, it at first felt like a relief to get out of that room and head across to Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives… We’d gone there before with him this week… it’s there that he talked about the troubled times to come when the temple would be torn down… But we didn’t expect our world, our hopes and dreams to be torn down in a similar way… He went there to pray and had asked us to pray with him… but we were exhausted, and full of food and wine, and so we nodded off… three times he came to wake us up… And he was wound up in a way I had never seen him before… But the third time, while he was still speaking to us we saw a mob coming up, through the olive grove… there were temple guards among th...

The second in my short series of monologues for Holy Week, tonight looking at the events in the upper room on the night before Jesus died. ‘Do you understand what I have done for you?’ he asked.  No I do not… the more time I spend with Jesus the less I understand… He is forever turning things upside down… If it’s not the temple traders’ tables, it’s the established order of things! I mean, take tonight for example… We’d all gathered to celebrate the Passover together… The lamb had been duly prepared and we were all together remembering the old, old stories of God rescuing his people from the hands of their oppressors… sharing not only the lamb, but the unleavened bread, the bitter herbs and wine… Everything was familiar, then in the middle of it he starts talking about the bread being his body, broken for us… the wine, his blood poured out for us… Andrew and John whispered about something Jesus’ cousin, John the Baptiser had said years ago, before I met Jesus, about...

The first of 3 new monologues written for our Holy Week Services on the New South and Central Belfast Circuit in a series entitled "In the Footsteps of the Fisherman" looking at the events of Jesus' last week through the eyes of Simon Peter. This one was based on the "mini apocalypse" of Mark 13, where Jesus says that before too long the Temple will be torn down (as it was 40 years later) before going on to refer to other unsettling events...  It’s time… surely it’s time… Time to throw off the yoke of our oppressors. To take control of our own destiny again. One nation under God. Time for us to be great again, as we were in the time of David and Solomon when the temple was first built… Time for us to throw out the foreigners like they did in the time of the Maccabees when the second temple was ruined. Time to humble the ruling religious elite down here in Jerusalem… They don’t care one jot or tittle for us up in the north… They’ve worked hand in glove with...