Virtual Methodist

Boats and ships of all kinds can be powerful metaphors and symbols. The three word slogan “Stop the boats” on the previous UK Prime Minister's podium was about much more than simply stopping the flimsy dingies being used to transport undocumented migrants across the English Channel at great expense financially and in terms of lives lost. The "little boats" of Dunkirk evoke all kinds of emotions with those familiar with that story from the early days of World War Two (even if their role has been somewhat exaggerated). The story of the Armada is another where the facts play second fiddle to the patriotic legend. Stories of the coffin ships of the Irish famine era and the slave ships that crossed the same stretch of water in the centuries before are all redolent with meaning. W hilst during the recent pandemic some said we were all in the same boat, only to be told, we were in many many different boats, of different sizes and degrees of seaworthiness, but we were...

A poetic lectio of the entire book of Genesis, in part prompted by some of the poetry and reflections in my current Lent devotional "The Word in the Wilderness" by Malcolm Guite, reflecting on the nature of prayer. Instead of a twilight conversation Whilst walking together in the garden, I’m still hiding in the bushes, ashamed, In my crudely fashioned vegan loincloth. Rather than learning from my young brother I am murderously jealous of him, And deny responsibility when Asked of his whereabouts and wellbeing. Rescued from the coming cataclysm, Without any attempt to intercede, After the noisome lifeboat runs aground, I lie dead drunk beneath the rainbow’s arc When told the world was my inheritance I choose to take shortcuts believing Time is short and I know better and can Abuse and dispose of people at will. When I run from the consequences of My duplicity, and angels descend On my uncomfortable, wayside bed, I awake to continue the same way. I wrestle throu...

Last week a well known Facebook friend posted that they had recently been experiencing the effects of burnout and that they were taking action to look after their mental health. I'm glad and wish them well. Almost exactly 15 years ago I started to go through the same thing. I had run out of energy and things that I previously took on my stride were starting to cause me real anxiety. Throughout my adult life I had struggled with periodic low mood/borderline depression, but, on the advice of a helpful doctor I had never gone down the route of medication, but simply “watched the gauges” and when the tank was verging on empty I eased off until I could get a break. However that year, I had experienced a number of physical injuries that disturbed the rhythm of my week and my mental heath, and after the busyness of Lent and Holy Week, we took our customary week away in Scotland, but on my return there was no “lift off” and I limped my way to our summer break in France. We had ...

Based on today's Gospel reading from Luke 4:1-13 for the first Sunday in Lent. What might my trials be? What tempting shortcuts  might Satan offer instead of the Spirit-led way  through the wilderness? Some pharmacological magic to win my war with weight, without tiresome exercise, or turning away from tasty bread, made from stones, or not? The benefits of power and fame without the responsibilities? Shout outs from the cool-kids; Selfies with the star of the show, before their fall from grace? Miraculous protection from the laws of gravity, and other limitations of earthly existence, that means I get hurt by my own and others missteps? I doubt that angels will act as catchers, or even as post-fight, or flight, paramedics, but I know their luminous  fallen friend will return soon. Selah

This is a piece that has been percolating for a few months now, from the time of the L.A. wildfires, and some startling images, including the attached one, of tall palm trees remaining standing amongst the destroyed homes of celebrities, millionaires and ordinary people. Of course there were those who used those same images to fuel conspiracy theories about the fires being caused, not by our calamitous attitude to climate change, but laser beams and other "heat attack" weapons being used to destroy the American way of life and force people into socialist 15 minute cities. If the original stories didn't make me weep, those conspiracies did.  But the images stuck with me until this morning with my Lenten reading of Malcolm Guite's "The Word in the Wilderness" where his own meticulously crafted sonnet for Ash Wednesday touches on similar themes from a broader perspective. His commentary provided the phrase "the detritus of destruction" whi...

I am not a linguist and have failed to learn, in any functional way, numerous "foreign" languages, relying shamelessly on my wife, who isn't daunted by such things, or, with one health related conversation on a recent trip, Google Translate, to keep me alive in places that don't speak English. But over the past couple of days I have realised again that there is a deeper translation issue at play in the world, that Google Translate or Duolingo will not solve... There’s a certain type of person, who, If they ever venture out Into the big bad world Beyond the bounds of the familiar, Do not try to learn or use, The language of those whose Land they are trampling over. Instead, they simply speak Slower and more loudly In their own language, that Has served them adequately Until encountering such rude Individuals who have not learned, Or will not use, their visitors’ tongue. The volume increases and the gestures become more frenetic, Until, t...