visualtheology

Imagining the Lectionary: if you want to you can cleanse me (Epiphany 6B)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 11:55:00 +0000

A leper came to him, begging on his knees, "If you want to, you can cleanse me." Deeply moved, Jesus put out his hand, touched him, and said, "I want to. Be clean. (Mark 1:40-41)

Why wouldn't he want to? The very thought of being able to help someone in such desperate need and choosing not to is abhorrent to our ethical sensibilities. We are well aware that from a Christian perspective a healthy society is defined by empathy and is reliant upon the daily expression of practical compassion towards those within it who are especially vulnerable and needy. Choosing to ignore the pleas of those who are struggling most, deliberately stereotyping them negatively and defining them as in large measure being to blame for their own predicament, is a woefully enduring characteristic of human social behaviour and one which is always pernicious in its effects and loathsome in its consequences. Not least when it forms the basis of government policy towards the poor.

In the gospel story Jesus subverts this divisive and cruel mechanism with a gesture of such simply stunning loving kindness. In one opening-out movement of heart and hand Jesus steps forward and shatters the oppresive and cynical destruction of empathy upon which such ingrained prejudice is based. He reaches out and touches the leper.

The customs, ritualised beliefs and accepted norms of society kept the leper on his knees just as much as did the illness itself. With a look in his eyes and a sweep of his hand Jesus challenged and dispelled the whole terrifying lot in one go. God's reconciling and restorative intention could not be made any clearer.

The photograph invites us to enter into this essential dynamic of empathy. The point of view is that of one who is stretching out their hand towards another - and in this it is deliberately ambiguous. Is the hand expressing a plea for help or is it reaching out in love to touch and transform the other's need? Either is possible and both are at the heart of our experience of what it is to be human.

And it is this empathetic mutual openness of giving and receiving compassion which is the currency of authentic discipleship. Each of us has the loving kindness the other needs. Do we want to express it like Jesus did or will we choose to withold it? The words on the leper's lips challenge us all: to hear them, to say them, to mean them and to respond to them in a way that allows God's love to be fully expressed and present within us and through us.

"If you want to, you can cleanse me." This single encounter shapes all other encounters. All we need is the courage and humility to reach out and touch its truth for ourselves. And to fill the empty space between us with the freeing vocabulary of empathy and compassion.

Imagining the Lectionary: it is through our brokenness that we glimpse another world (Epiphany 5B)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 19:27:00 +0000

That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons (Mark 1:32)

Right from the start of his ministry Jesus is confronted by the full and unremittingly dreadful spectrum of human anguish. Of course none of this would have been surprising to him; like all of his contemporaries he had grown up surrounded by the ever present suffering, pain, sickness, loss, torment, despair, poverty and heartache that was the daily lot of people in the first century. This world of his, without advanced medicine, healthcare or welfare systems, is almost beyond our comprehension, unless that is we belong to our world's poorest people, in which case it will be all too starkly familiar.

The harsh realities of family life beset by sickness and the tragedy of early death were commonplace, and in a way that is easily recognisable from even a casual perusal of the old weathered headstones in a church graveyard. Death was very much part of life. Paradoxically today, with ever increasing longevity, death seems somehow 'unnatural', even though, as then, for each of us it is entirely inevitable. Dying has never been a question of 'if', only of 'when and 'how'.

In such a world who wouldn't take whatever help is on offer if there was even a small chance that it might bring relief, healing or wholeness to someone they loved? That sense of urgency and desperation is readily apparent in the opening chapters of Mark's Gospel as whole villages and towns are pictured as responding to his presence in their midst. Here was a man who had the reputation of being someone in whom God's power was made manifest in very down to earth, flesh and blood ways. There was nothing abstract or theoretical about the way Jesus understood or expressed his God-given mission. Through him the Kingdom of God became a transformational experience capable of drawing in anybody and everybody. In every circumstance Jesus demonstrated the difference God makes, not least to those who trust and have faith.

What is so striking is that this all too real life as unfolded in the Gospels did not deny God, for that was never the popular mood; on the contrary it was where one naturally expected to experience God. Yet in our time the whole gamut of suffering, death and dying is often held to be a barrier to belief in God, something which fences us off from the divine. That is not the story here in Mark though. Many are healed but by no means all. Death is still an ultimate given. Rather it is within and through the brokenness, the pain and the distress that we glimpse God's presence and love's power. This is the bigger gospel beyond the individual healings and miracles. Jesus Kingdom work demonstrates where love is to be found and what love yearns to do. The transient and temporary is put into an eternal perspective.

The bringing of people to Jesus and the time they then spent in his presence is what fascinates me in this story, and more, perhaps, than the healings themselves. Because simply being present to him is what makes all the difference. It is that encounter which has within it the potential to gift wholeness and healing way beyond the presenting medical or relational issue.

This is what the image seeks to portray. The knot in the fence was a point of weakness and a flaw. At some stage it fell out leaving a gaping hole in its place. If all we focus on is the fence then we are stuck with that truth. But what if we see that hole as a window onto another world? It seems to me that Jesus enabled people to experience God's presence for themselves in such a way that they could then trust themselves to it afresh or indeed for the first time. Whatever face of suffering or despair was imprinted upon the fence panel of their experience, it was within that experience that God met them in Jesus. And that encounter was enough to transform their outlook and expectation.

Jesus puts us in touch with the reality on the other side of the fence by enabling us to be touched and known by it on our side, in every aspect, distress and detail. It is as though the very fence of human being is itself wholly, intimately and inseparably held within the divine embrace of love too. The suffering and death of Jesus himself demonstrates this and is what the picture seeks to convey. As St Paul puts it, nothing can separate us from the love of God. Absolutely nothing. And through our brokenness this is the world and the truth we glimpse.

Whatever the outcome, the bringing of people to Jesus, and our relationship with him and our entrusting of ourselves wholly to him, is what ultimately matters.

Imagining the Lectionary: Our Cinderella Mission (Epiphany 4B)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 17:10:00 +0000

Coming across this solitary red shoe in the gutter my attention was held by the strangeness of the sight, and I wondered about the woman who had abandoned it here and the circumstances in which she came to leave it behind. As the father of two daughters I realised that this was a disquieting line of thought and as I looked at the lost shoe I just hoped and prayed that she was alright.

Unlike the fairy tale of Cinderella, the story of this particular shoe is incomplete and its ending is left uncomfortably open and unresolved. Yet the sense of concern for the wellbeing of the wearer and the hope that their story would be one of the redemptive power of love overcoming all that would drag them down and limit them, could be said to be held in common between this discarded red shoe and the fabled glass slipper.

The fairy tale charts Cinderella's escape from being an object of other's cruelty, unkindness and self-serving desires, to that of a person whose worth, dignity and selfhood is recognised and cherished. The arc of the story goes very deep into the dark places of human experience and belies its more common theatrical expression as pantomime. And within its narrative textures we find truly archetypal fears and longings, ones perhaps which the red shoe symbolises too.

And what of Cinderella's "they lived happy ever after" ending, is that statement mere hyperbole which offers false hope and puts before us an unattainable goal when set against what we know of life? Is this where the fairy tale and red shoe reality finally and irrevocably part company for good?

The Bible offers a nuanced answer to that question. Like the fairy tale we find within it all the light and dark of human experience which is all too recognisable to us. And like the picture of the red shoe, we also find there all the messy, incomplete, hard and painful evidence that life never unfolds according to a neat and trouble-free script.

And through it all we encounter God who strives to make us whole, set us free and put us at peace with one another within relationships that are honest, open and trusting, always lovingly affirming and never exploitative or demeaning. This work of redemption and reconciliation is ongoing, ceaseless and to be discovered in the red shoe details of each of our lives. Because each and every life matters to God there is never a sense in which we are merely incidental or unimportant: that red shoe and its wearer matter. A lot. To the uttermost.

This is the divine purpose which Jesus unfolds as the Kingdom of God. It is what burns within him, animates him and drives him on with such passion. It is what he communicates and makes present with every fibre of his being.

"Then they entered Capernaum. When the Sabbath arrived, Jesus lost no time in getting to the meeting place. He spent the day there teaching. They were surprised at his teaching—so forthright, so confident—not quibbling and quoting like the religion scholars. Suddenly, while still in the meeting place, he was interrupted by a man who was deeply disturbed and yelling out, "What business do you have here with us, Jesus? Nazarene! I know what you're up to! You're the Holy One of God, and you've come to destroy us!" Jesus shut him up: "Quiet! Get out of him!" The afflicting spirit threw the man into spasms, protesting loudly—and got out. Everyone there was incredulous, buzzing with curiosity. "What's going on here? A new teaching that does what it says? He shuts up defiling, demonic spirits and sends them packing!" News of this traveled fast and was soon all over Galilee." (Mark 1: 21-28)

No glass slipper or red shoe, but just as vitally here we find a person who could so easily be discarded and written off, but whom we discover is cherished by God and who in this moment experiences the freedom God's love brings as their own deepest truth and happiness. The disturbed guy in the synagogue would never be seen as someone whom God would invite to the Kingdom Ball, and yet he is the first one present to feel its liberating power. Against all contemporary expectation the glass slipper of grace fits him perfectly.

And in our red shoe world this is truly good news today. Our Cinderella Mission is to engage in God's Kingdom work and seek to bring close that "happy ever after" vision which is at the heart of God's longing. And it is a vision which fits everyone.

Imagining the Lectionary: held firm and strong (Epiphany 3B)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 17:42:00 +0000

The cross-shaped mooring bollards in the photographs convey such a real sense of hefty, unbreakable strength, fixed right deep down beneath the surface, that they look as though they can take the strain of any load that is applied to them. They are the very antithesis of flimsy and insubstantial. Whatever ties up here will be held firm and strong.

As Jesus begins his public ministry this is the sense of God he conveys too; a good-news reality that is substantial, unbreakable, fixed deep down into the nature of life; the full heft of divine love which is more than capable of taking the loading and the strain of our experience and of holding us firm and strong.

The shape of God's presence and purpose is that of the Kingdom of Love, which was grasped imaginatively by the Prophets and is now embodied and enacted in Jesus himself. He is held firm and strong in God, just as his disciples are held firm and strong in him. And it is the shape which confers the strength. And it is that Kingdom-shaped life, sunk deep down into the world's need and hurt, which he invites his disciples to make their own.

Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him. (Mark 1:14-20)

Jesus calls individuals to do as he does and to be as he is. Yet his disciples are remarkable by their ordinariness, they are not "the best, of the best, of the best" as Rob Bell puts it. Here are folk who would never expect to be chosen by a Rabbi to be his disciples, and what is significant is not their belief in God, but God's belief in them. This is what gets them up on feet and following Jesus. Because through Jesus they discover that they have what it takes to live cross-shaped, Kingdom-focussed lives too. Lives which will take and bear the strain, lives which will hold others safe and secure, lives which will hold firm and strong come what may.

Such robust and resolute faith is what Jesus seeks to engender within those he calls to follow him. This reshaping task of repentance reforges us into the solid steel of God's good news.
And our communities desperately need within them disciples who are ready to be faithful to the continuing call of Jesus to be themselves the tangible, solid, hefty, load-bearing reality of God's Kingdom. The vocation of our churches is to take the strain of the suffering, inequality and injustice which exists all around them and to hold together firm and strong to the good news of God who yearns to reforge it into life in its fullness.

Whatever ties up here will be held firm and strong. And like this bollard, such authentic faith shows all the signs of frequent use and wear, yet the structure remains solid and enduring. Following Jesus how could it be otherwise?

One thought fills immensity: peace on earth

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 09:10:00 +0000

William Blake's sublime line 'One thought fills immensity' hangs metal-sculpted in the air and heralds a new awareness as we ponder what that thought might be. Part of Jaume Plensa's work 'Silhouettes (Blake – Canetti – Valente)', it draws our gaze upwards and holds our attention.

Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace (Luke 2:14)

Well away from the closed-off limelight, out under the spacious infinity of starlight and shivering at the margins of society's cold indifference, a group of men are terrified as God's glory does just this. With upward gaze and rapt attention they become present to an experience of God which deconstructs their life-setting, reframes their world-view and self-understanding, and which voices the longing which unites heaven and earth.

The one thought which fills the immensity not just of their situation but of human being itself is God. And in their minds the singularity of this God-thought expands with all the fecund urgency of the universe in the milliseconds after the Big Bang. Through angelic declaration the primary thought develops into the fundamental particles of Christian understanding out of which everything else arises: God is, and God loves us and God's purpose is that we should shape our shared reality in the form of that love as seen in Jesus.

'Peace on Earth' is the beginning and end of divine presence and purpose. The intention of this Holy Shalom is to bring deep peace to troubled hearts and minds and make peace within the complex tear and fear soaked networks of our disordered and damaging relationships.

And from heaven the victim's choir sings its poignant beauty into the violent, disordered darkness of humanity.

One thought fills immensity. And we begin to make sense of it as we journey with the shepherds to gaze on the infant Jesus. On their journey of sense-making particle physicists seek the Higgs Boson with ever greater excitement and expectancy. Yet it is another even more fundamental reality which the shepherd's seek and one which, with one thought that fills immensity, has sought them first and seeks us still.

Peace on earth is God's signature presence.

Imagining the Lectionary: let it be with me according to your word (Advent 4)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 12:56:00 +0000

Patterns of colour dapple the old flagstone floor of this former parish church, which is now home to a visual arts centre. Where for centuries the feet of worshippers came and went the light now shines unimpeded by faith. And this timeless signifier of divine presence dances silently in the spacious absence left behind by religion's departure.

One patch of brighter yellow light stands out. It shimmers quietly as though seeking to bring the very stone to life. It looks like an annunciation in waiting; sacred energy anticipating the arrival of one who will stand here willing to receive the Spirit's special gift. God is ready to indwell and inspire the birth of love's purpose in one who will bear it into the world.

Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38)

Pregnant with meaning the lovelight beckons and captivates her awareness. Even the cold blue light of day is overcome by the glowing reality of the enlightening word being spoken personally right into the receptive stillness of her body, mind and spirit.

In the beginning was the Word. In the beginning God said "let there be light".

And in this nascent moment, in this wonderful light, in this new beginning, the fullness of divine presence conceives the word to be born into the painful chaos of life.

And in our time the same light flickers across the empty spaces of society vacated by lost religion. All around us, redolent with hope, it glows brightly. The Word waits to be made real in our faith and our flesh.

Mary's response is exactly what God asks of us today. "Let it be with me according to your Word" becomes the definitive act of radical openness to all which God desires to bring into being amongst us and for us. Anything less than this, a qualified 'may be', a hesitant 'perhaps' or a non-commital 'we'll see', cannot take us into the reality of what God proposes to do. The space vacated by lost religion cannot be filled by half-heartedness. In the story the angel did not leave Mary until she was convinced that what God promised to do God would do. Shocked by the consequences of what she was hearing, overawed by all that was now in prospect for her personally, Mary nevertheless trusts her very self to God.

The vocation of the Church is surely to do likewise. God calls us to bear love's purpose and to birth it wherever the world is dark, empty and threatening, in circumstamces of God's choosing. The light still shines in the darkness and the secular darkness has not overcome it. If we look we shall see the dappled patterns of bright presence beckoning us to our own annunciation.

Shopping Mall Nativity 4: Enticed inside Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 22:31:00 +0000

So near and yet so far; so close and yet so distant: this vibrant Christmas signage may entice shoppers to enter the store, but once inside its extravagant promise will remain unfulfilled. 'EVERYTHING you could wish for' is such a bold and confident claim to make, let alone when combined with the promise of a substantial discount and free delivery. No need even to carry anything home. Here is a shoppers dream delivered in the seasonal colours of Advent. Who could possibly resist?

Yet with a little amendment these signs ought to lead everyone right away from the doors of the department store and in the direction of the nearest church.

All that is needed is to delete the '30% Off' clause and replace it with the word 'Jesus' and the messages take us straight to the heart of Christmas and to the fulfilment of the promise, guaranteed.

The question we have to ask ourselves is why then will more people be enticed and excited by the sign as it is than by my proposed alternative? Why is an undeliverable sales enducement preferable to the love which has the power to transform us utterly?And why has the gift of Jesus become so detached from the prospect of everything we could wish for?

Christians should quite naturally be the the most persuasive signage possible. After all we are the ones who are able to give testimony to the truth of discovering everything we could wish for in Jesus. Only if the colours of Advent promise and Christmas expectation are vibrant in our everyday spirituality will we entice others to step inside its truth for themselves.

odd, lonely and outcast: a donkey's perspective on Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 13:46:00 +0000

As the odd one out and the solitary representative of its kind in a field occupied by a small herd of cattle, this donkey stands alone. Its presence is incongruous, unexpected and surprising. It looks out of the photograph as though acknowledging this sad and uncomfortable fact.

Looking through the Christmas narratives in the New Testament the donkey is striking not by its presence but by its absence, which comes as a surprise because we are conditioned from an early age to think that it was most definitely there as Mary and Joseph made their wearisome journey to Bethlehem. But it isn't in the texts and is left out of the composite biblical picture of Jesus' birth.

Yet these narratives are themselves marked out by the inclusion and prominence given to 'odd one out' characters and groups. Like the donkey these people are judged to be out of place and incongruous; they are God's nonconformist actors cast in an improvised drama which subverts and reframes our understanding of status and worth.

The nativity story includes those whom society so readily overlooks and deems to be lesser and places them centre stage. Rather than being populated by the good and the great, the high and the mighty, or the rich and the privileged, the gospel demands that we journey to Bethlehem from the donkey's perspective of the missed outs, left outs and forced outs amongst us. Here we join company with all the odd ones out and lonely God cherished outcasts who are gathered in together so deliberately and so lovingly in the texts.

Because God sees those we miss out of the picture. God includes them right in the foreground of our faith. And God sees us from their perpsective. Only then can we expect to find the place where Jesus is born.

Shopping Mall Nativity 3: Annunciating the Magnificat

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 08:59:00 +0000

Encounters, expectations and testimonies are the air we breathe when we walk across the Christmas GodScape of the Nativity narratives. Everywhere we look we discover God at work within the lives of ordinary people: announcing, declaring, prompting, challenging, provoking, enthusing, inspiring, comforting and affirming. The intensity and scope of God's activity is breathtaking. Working within the matrix of possibility of open minds, hearts and lives God births what God intends and discloses this fact to a world-weary and needy people.

As each of the participants in the drama share their testimonies of encounter and expectation the whole picture emerges. And its scope, purpose and method astonishes us, shocks us and takes our breath away. Never has the power of conversation seemed so evident or important or words so world changing and perception shifting.

Two women talk and their souls are transformed by divine presence into a manger of the mind within which God births what they and others need to understand, own and offer. Mary and Elizabeth are each pregnant with more than just a beloved child: they will give birth to a story of everlasting hope for all humanity.

And the text of this continuing story is annunciated afresh in everday conversations today. When two friends meet and talk, as here, God's Spirit of magnificat yearns to gift what they really need to say and hear. In this respect we are all God-bearers and hope-birthers, regardless of our gender, because each of us can bring the loving reality of Jesus alive for the other.

Shopping Mall Nativity 2: MenKind - if only

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 21:35:00 +0000

Menkind: if only it were not just the name of a store but also a gender specific collective noun expressing a universal truth about male behaviour. How different our experience of the world would be then. When the angelic voices harmonise peace on earth and goodwill to all people, and when the prophets depict the reign of God as light in the darkness and wilderness ways being made straight, is this an integral part of what is envisaged, described, entailed and yearned for?

If we look to the birth of Jesus we would have to conclude that it is. The whole narrative is surrounded and permeated by male violence, the abuse of power and by threats and coercion. This is a hostile environment and no place for dissent. The poor live downtrodden lives and women exist within the prison of patriarchal power-play dominance. And over it all the long shadow of the Roman Emperor blots out the light.

It is into this context that 'The Prince of Peace' is born and within it he lives up to the promise which that name bears. Contrary to Messianic expectation however, he is non-violent, kind, compassionate and caring. His immense strength of character is matched by the power of his convictions. He is assertive but not aggressive. He gets angry in public and he weeps in front of his friends. Fully human he shows us what it means to be made in the image of God. Kindness and not Killing is at the heart of his kingdom. MenKind, WomenKind is his message and his pathway to Peace. Generosity is his blueprint for power. Love is his meaning.

Oh to pause, look deep down, and find this truth within ourselves. A gift we cannot buy but which cost God so much to give. A gift Christmas can put into our open hands and waiting hearts, the moment we unclench our fists and let go of our fear.

Shopping Mall Nativity 1: Sitting down in Bethlehem

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 20:15:00 +0000

The empty dining chair which is the point of focus is unremarkable, just one of many set out around tables waiting for the influx of Christmas shoppers at lunchtime. Over the next few hours the chair will provide unquestioning rest for those who choose to sit down, take the weight off their feet, and have something to drink and perhaps a bite to eat. Each occupant will bring with them their own unique and particular story and set of concerns. And in its time this simple chair has no doubt held the whole range of emotions, cares and joys which make up the human condition. One chair takes the weight of all it means to be a person. Some sit here excitedly, full of joy and happiness; others grump and moan and would rather be anywhere else than spending the day shopping. And others sit here lonely, disconsolate or afraid.

And because there are three chairs arranged around this particular table it seems obvious that there is a designed in assumption of hospitality. This is not meant to be a solitary or isolated space; it is a place of gathering and refreshment in the company of others. A place to be not alone.

And just now the chair is a welcome place to take stock of how well the day is going, of what still remains to be found and bought on the Christmas present list, or to just have a few moments of comparative stillness in the midst of a frenetic outing.

And soon enough it becomes a space of departure, as the shoppers get up and move on, making way for the next little group who are desperately looking around through the crowded throng for somewhere to sit down and have their lunch too. As the dining space becomes even more overcrowded the chair is now at a premium and does not remain empty for more than the few seconds it takes for its occupant to get up, gather up their gift-laden bags and step aside for the person who is clearly ready to move straight in.

In more ways than one this is now a chair for the fortunate few. But in an age of austerity and financial hardship, of increasing inequality and of social cohesion under strain, what sort of space does this chair occupy? As the weather gets bitterly cold will the Mall become a refuge for those who primary concern is not buying presents at all but simply keeping warm and getting enough to eat? Are we looking at a shelter from the worst of the weather and a stage upon which the unjust realities of economic recession become apparent? And if so, how bitter must the experience be of sitting here and being surrounded by so much that is beyond one's financial reach?

These innocuous chairs and tables in the shopping mall are the place where this human drama of plenty and barreness, of wellbeing and woe is played out. The Nativity story in the gospels is like this too; it is where anyone can enter in and sit down and is the place where the whole range of human emotion and experience is to be found. Like the chair, we find in the Christmas narratives a space in which to rest, take stock, find comfort and be refreshed.

As a place of arrival we enter in from a wide range of starting points: some come full of wonder and excitement, others burdened with worry, some step in reluctantly and would rather be anywhere else than here. Many experience the anxiety of fearing that there will not be a place for them, and that they will be left out. And then there are those who are suprised to meet unexpected companions. Those who are cold find warmth, the hungry are fed, the loveless are cherished. Here we are challenged to see the whole picture from the divine perspective of love, justice and peace and thereby to notice the range of humanity which is gathered within the texts and the particular sets of concerns which are addressed there. For those who prepared to stop and pause for a while within the mangerspace of encounter and promise which these sacred texts shape for us, the birth of Jesus changes everything.

Sitting down in Bethlehem in this way we are encouraged to depart with our arms bearing gifts, the gifts the world truly needs.

Word, life-space and enlightenment (Advent 3B)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 11:37:00 +0000

To Christian eyes the work of Spanish artist Jaume Plensa, on display at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, provides a wonderful insight into the sheer expectant joy which Advent promises. The shapes of being he crafts deliberately speak into the body and soul of humanity. This intention is apparent as we look at and through the mesh 'portraits' of the two girls Nuria and Irma who live near his home, or in the close-up photographs of one 'person-space' in the dual figure work 'Spiegel', which is formed from the letters of eight different alphabets.

These remarkable artworks display the contours of our being and becoming; they invite us to see the meanings which define us and which shape our day to day experience of being alive. The interior space of our personhood is revealed and becomes accessible. Light, space and meaning show us who we are, and in the act of understanding we connect with our deepest longings and our darkest fears.

And as we do this in Advent, God's word in Christ becomes the open life-space of love which enlightens our being, just as the warmly vibrant colours of sunset seem to bring Plensa's rooftop children into a cherishing focus of pure wonderment. Born from stardust, the light enlightens the truth that our transient lives are suffused by and eternally held within the love-light of God's presence, the one who is, as we see here, closer to us than our own breathing. The true light gifts this intimate life-giving truth that the love which is at the heart of the universe invites us to inhabit the life-space of grace shaped by love's meaning.

And the joy of Advent arises from God's enlightening word which became flesh in Christ Jesus, the one who beckons us to enter within the freeing Godspace of humanity which his life defines. Plensa's 'Spiegel' speaks to me of how the word embodied in Jesus uniquely reveals to us the image of an authentically God-shaped life. The gospel alphabet of forgiveness and compassion graces us with the promise that everyone can enter into this precious experience of Christ-likeness and make it their own. Jesus was born into our humanity; Advent promises us that we will be reborn into his divinity, and there become really and truly human in nothing less than the image of God.

As night took hold Spiegel was illuminated from within and began to draw a steady stream of fascinated visitors. Some stood outside and beyond and gazed. Others were more adventurous and entered within the enlightened life-shapes. With the eyes of faith this was such a beautiful sight to behold. All the expectation of Advent is held for me in this one image. Standing within the tangible promise of the word's beautifully enfolding truth and love, our intangible yearnings are illuminated and transformed by a gift-space we neither expect or deserve.

Imagining the Lectionary: Advent begins where we are (Advent 2B)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 11:38:00 +0000

The Polish sculptor Igor Mitoraj takes the idioms of classical Graeco-Roman sculpture and gives them a thoroughly postmodern twist by emphasising the fragile, damaged nature of our humanity as opposed to its idealised perfection. As such his representations invite self-recognition, acceptance and empathy in the mind of the viewer. Mitoraj's imperfect marble figures draw us into an awareness of the solidarity of our collective brokenness as individuals. His magnificent Héros de Lumière (Hero of Light), currently on display at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, exemplifies this artistic trait to the full.

It is therefore a perfect image with which to begin Advent. It is into this sorry state, this brutal reality, this damaged, broken and fractured sense of self and of the other that our Advent promises speak. Because it is from this place of abject truth that the Advent journey has to begin. Not from some errant and skewed sense of perfection, or from an idealised image of who we are, as individuals, societies or nations. Hero of Light depicts neither fantasy nor illusion, rather it says here is where you are. It is only from here that you can journey to Bethlehem. Depart from anywhere else and your travelling will be in vain; a futile exercise in vanity.

The biblical texts could not be clearer on this point: "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness" (Mark 1:3) and "A voice cries out: 'In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord'" (Isaiah 40:3) both direct us to the startpoint of our Advent pilgrimage. The wilderness and wildness of the human condition in all its fragile, imperfect beauty is where love speaks to us by name. And as God's beloved we are invited to make the promises our own; to take them to heart and believe them. Like this, as this, nothing less than this; from this sacred place of grace we set out again, or maybe for the first time, to discover Christ, the light of the world.

Advent as a mirror of possibility and expectation

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 16:37:00 +0000

Anish Kapoor's Sky Mirror outside the Nottingham Playhouse Theatre offers a strikingly attention-grabbing perspective on what is an otherwise unremarkable and fairly mundane space. It is as though the artist has designed the mirror to take this straightforward reality and imaginatively pour out its essence across the polished surface in a completely alternative representation of the context in which the viewer stands.

This perception-shifting piece of highly polished stainless steel reminds me of the mirror-like qualities of the texts, truths and promises which shape our experience of Advent. These take contexts which appear to be numbingly familiar, dispiritingly hopeless or unchangingly life-sapping and transforms our perception of them on the sparkling surface of possibility and expectation which God inspires within us and amongst us.

Advent challenges us to hold up this mirror of alternative realties and to feel the surge of transformational energy which flows when we see life from God's perspective. Like the reflection in my image of Anish Kapoor's sky mirror, the divine viewpoint revealed through Advent is anything but dull or monochromatic; it is colourful, vivid and stunning to behold, full of possibility and expectation. Even in the darkness. Then it is as though the mirrors gathers in all the available light and intensifies it into a freshly meaningful picture of the most brilliant colours and liquid shapes.

In today's edition of The Guardian the renowned photographer Annie Leibovitz writes of the adventurous expectation which is essential to her creativity as a photographer. Needing to fill herself up again with all that she cared about she set off on a photographic pilgrimage and discovered renewed inspiration and reinvigorated her way of seeing.

In Christian Spirituality Advent serves a similar purpose. We journey to fill ourselves up with all that God cares about, and in so doing find ourselves brought back to the essence of our humanity. Advent is a mirror of possibility and expectation which liberates our seeing and inspires our discipleship afresh.

Through the sheer brilliance of God's pure primary colours of grace our monochrome world becomes vivid with hope.

This post is part of the Advent Synchroblog 'Jesus is coming: what do you expect?'

ron cole at the weary pilgrim – advent: reimagining everything
liz dyer at grace rules – expect the unexpected
sarah styles bessey at emerging mummy – in which i’m expecting something from advent
miz melly at perchance to dream – parousia
kathy escobar at the carnival in my head – present, humble, vulnerable
David Perry at Visual Theology – Advent As A Mirror of Possibility
Christine Sine at Godspace – Jesus Is Coming What Do We Expect?
Liz VerHage at Living Theology
Sally Coleman at Sally’s Journey – Come Spirit of Advent
Jeremy Myers at Till He Comes – Jesus Is Returning Today
Glenn Hager – Antithetical Advent
Tammy Carter at Blessing The Beloved – His Gift … the way of escape!
Ellen Haroutunian – Remember Our Story
Carol Kuniholm at Words Half Heard – What I’m Waiting For
Mihee Kim-Kort – Advent Expectations: Keep Awake
Wendy McCaig – We’re Expecting A Baby
John Reid at Blog One Another – Undiscovered Advent: The Second Coming of Christ
Dave Wainscott – For Advent I’m Expecting What I Desire and What I Deserve
David Henson – Reflections on the Second Sunday of Advent

Imagining the Lectionary: Come Advent Spirit and enlighten our imaginations (Advent 1B)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 20:19:00 +0000

"Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come" (Mark 13:33)

As night falls in the centre of Nottingham a street performer entertains the crowds of shoppers with a hoop of fire, whilst her colleague takes a break from juggling flaming torches. Her dexterity with this whirling ring of six flames attracts a circle of fascinated onlookers and holds their rapt attention. She moves quickly with such practised ease that her body and the fiery hoop appear as one. The dancing flames form a revolving circular blur of bright light in the darkness which is enveloping the city centre's neon heart. And her expression conveys a mixture of excitement, delight and expectation.

To me this is an image of the Holy Spirit's work during the season of Advent. Intensely bright biblical patterns of hope and promise whirl around us in the darkness of our faithlessness and fear and draw our gaze in wonderment. When we least expect it we turn the corner and encounter a dazzling display of love's limitless virtuosity illuminating our darkness.

The Spirit's enlightening artistry commands our attention. Her grace and skill amazes us. Just like God's people down the ages we too are taken by surprise and stopped in our tracks by such an extraordinary sight. We are astonished.

And we are rendered receptive to the meanings which the Spirit draws out so insistently with the unquenchably hopeful light of God's love.

Confronted with such startling novelty our perceptions and expectations shift into a Spirit-crafted Godspace of fresh possibility. It is here, in this improvised manger-space of imagination, that the Christ-child will be born.

Imagining the Lectionary: Sheepish (Christ the King/Reign of Christ A)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 10:49:00 +0000

When it comes to getting the point across in a way that anyone can understand Jesus inhabits the tried and tested tradition of his prophetic predecessors in the faith. By choosing familiar aspects of common life as vivid illustrations of God's relational activity and desire Biblical metaphors seem remarkably resilient to the passage of time and the semiotic attrition of cultural development. Likening God to a shepherd and us to sheep conveys meaning even within today's predominantly urban and techno-centric worldview.

The story Jesus tells of the sheep and goats (Matthew 25:31-46) builds further on the everyday rural imagery which Ezekiel deploys to such good effect. There God is likened to a shepherd whose primary concern is to find and rescue the sheep. This picture presents a simple, straightforward and timeless insight: God loves us all so much that God never ceases from trying to bring us home to the fold of grace and that life-changing relationship of love in which we truly belong. So we are challenged to consider whether we too are lost in some way and of how we might in fact be far from where it is good for us to be. This question addresses us spiritually, psychologically, socially and spatially across the entirety of our being as individuals and of course collectively too as communities and societies.

Needing to be found and brought back to a better place of belonging and safety is a subversive thought which undermines all that is false and damaging and arrogant. It says that life isn't sorted, that all is not in fact well and that estrangement, angst and lostness are close companions of the human condition. The metaphor gets right inside us to that private place of knowing, to the real self, where our most uncomfortable truths reside. And there its power is not at all diminished with the passage of time. It speaks with startling freshness into our fundamental unease, disquiet and longing.

God knows this is how it is for us and God yearns to rescue us from it. God wants to find us at the heart of our uncomfortable truths and bring us home to fullness of life.

And this involves judgement. The judgement to see and accept ourselves as God sees us, as cherished, precious and fallible. The judgement to realise that this love is the same for everyone. And then to let that inclusive truth judge our behaviour towards one another.

Ezekiel is uncompromising when it comes to the implication of this: God judges between the fat sheep and the scrawny sheep. In other words God always and insistently challenges our ways of injustice, exclusion and inequality which favour the few over the many. As we condemn others to lostness we lose ourselves. And God's truth finds us (out), judges us and offers us a way back to ourselves and each other.

The photo of the shepherds in the act of assessing their sheep is therefore really uncomfortable. And notice how one of their sheepdogs is rushing in from the right of frame to bring an errant animal back into line. Yes the sheep are found and 'rescued' and yes they are being brought through the gate into the fold. And yes, the truth of their condition is being pointed out.

And these are the truths which Jesus represents and reinforces in his ethical tour de force: "just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me" (Matthew 25:40) In one sentence Jesus transforms our moral seeing and ethical insight and reframes it from the point of view of the shepherd. The one who is God with us opens our eyes to God in us. For God is always there, right at the heart of our lostness, so close, seeking to bring us back through the love and concern we have for each other.

"I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me." (Matthew 25:35-36) This is what the Kingdom of Love looks like and this is the way God finds the sheep and rescues them.

Fat sheep take notice. Scrawny sheep be hopeful.

Bonfire of the Insanities

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 18:54:00 +0000

On Saturday night the whole family joined hundreds of people gathered around the communal bonfire on the Westwood at Beverley to watch the annual November 5th fireworks display. All around us parents hoisted their young children up onto their shoulders to get a better view. Here you have a couple of photographs of just one such child silhouetted against the flames of the huge bonfire.

The death of a failed revolutionary and the elimination of his core group of compatriots is a strange pretext for a good night out, especially when the events in question are so very far beyond the living memory of anyone present. The historical reason for our contemporary custom of fireworks and bonfires is now utterly irrelevant as their undisputed purpose today is the great fun that is to be had through simply enjoying them together. I guess that we simply don't see the need to spoil our evening by associating the activity of 'Bonfire Night' with the gruesome realities of the appalling religious and political intolerance from which it first arose.

So often we do what we do without once questioning the symbolism and motifs of our collective action from a point of view different to that of our own. Consequently we act from within an unquestioning mindset. And History is littered with the consequences of behaving in this tunnel-vision fashion. Slavery was OK unless you were a slave. Empire was OK unless you were subjugated. Patriarchy was OK unless you were a woman. A Protestant Parliament was OK unless you were a Catholic. And what of today? Are the excesses of the financial sector OK unless you are poor? Is the proposed bombing of Iran's nuclear capability OK unless you are Iranian? Is homophobically driven discrimination acceptable unless you are gay, lesbian or transgendered? Certainly not. Activists in every generation challenge the injustices which others tolerate or fail to see as such. And humanity becomes a little more humane.

Those impressionable young minds hoisted above the heads of an older generation are learning to see through and beyond the worn-out stereotypes, political onesidednessess and cultural demonisations to which we were once blind and with which we once colluded. Postmodernism encourages us to deconstruct the grand narratives and stories that those in power, or those that seek power, choose to tell. When presented with their black and white arguments we question their motives and veracity. We distrust the messages and doubt the messengers.

As the Northern Ireland Peace Process demonstrates, we have learned to see things from the other side of the mirror and to hear voices from the underside of the argument.

We want to know whose interests are actually being served by a given course of action, especially when that action is to be taken in our name. The political ambiguities of the Iraq war and its appalling human cost have left a permanent stain on our collective conscience and give us good reason to be wary when the neocon warmongers start to fix Iran in their sights. Seeking to see and speak from the viewpoint of the exploited poor, protest movements worldwide now challenge the orthodoxy that global capitalism and the freedom of markets are the best way we have of organising our common economic life.

If the bonfires our children's children see are not to be the funeral pyres of war, and if the fireworks which light up their night sky are not to be the 'shock and awe munitions' of resource-driven geo-political conflict, then we simply have no alternative other than to disinhabit the old political dogmatisms and divisions of the past and seek new ways of collectively envisioning peace from the perpective of the excluded and demonised 'other'.

If you believe the accepted narrative, Guido Fawkes was hung, drawn and quartered for attempting to blow up Parliament. His political opponents were just as savage as he was. Rather than engaging in Conflict, the challenge of the 21st Century is to build on the new and just ways of seeing, speaking and listening which are becoming normative in our younger generations, and to engage wholeheartedly in Conflict Transformation instead. Anything less would be to risk putting the match to a global 'Bonfire of the Insanities'.

Remembrance Sunday: when fresh hostility is wrapped around old enmities

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 14:10:00 +0000

Freshly placed barbed wire curls menacingly around the rusted remnant of a much older blood stained, hate ingrained, sorrow encrusted coil. Such malicious intertwining of fresh hostility around old enmities reinforces the animosity, renews the hatred and reinvigorates the conflict which this cruelly barbed fence represents. The poppies' silent, grief-laded, proxy witness challenges those for whom this is an acceptable political outcome.

Because they did not die for this. Pristine barbs of ill-intent besmirch their name and dishonour their sacrifice. Such newly overlain coils of wire symbolise our contemporary failure to engage courageously with the root causes of the enmities which divide us; they signify nothing more than a cheap illusion of peace. It is not absence of conflict for which they gave their lives, but that no lives would ever need to be lost again because peace was to be deep, sustainable and life-giving.

New wire is a stark warning that politicians need to up their game and peace-makers re-double their efforts; the red poppy flowers are a chilling reminder of the consequences if they do not.

Imagining the Lectionary: The majesty of God in majestic perspective (Proper 27A; Ordinary 32A)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 14:29:00 +0000

"Say an unqualified Yes to God, the God of Israel." (Joshua 24:23)

A couple of quick grab shots with my iPhone of the site of the old Majestic Cinema on the corner of Oswald Road and Mary Street in Scunthorpe lead me into the heart of the passage from Joshua, and the choice God asks the faithful to make. The text challenges us to put the majesty of God into majestic perspective if we are to avoid the self-evident fate of the cinema in the photographs.

Built in the heyday of cinema in the 1920's, the Majestic closed down in 2003 when its business was taken away by a brand new seven screen multiplex in the town centre. And just a little further down Oswald Road you can see a former church which is now a nightclub. It is clear enough that once the effects of competing attractions became overwhelming neither building was sustainable in terms of their primary purpose. The Majestic's former interior decoration remains as an ad hoc mural to now faded glory, and the remnants of its name in mosaic floor tiles is testimony to the tastes and culture of a bygone age.

Doing whatever it takes to keep up, stay fresh and relevant, focussed and meaningful, wholeheartedly fit for purpose and at the forefront of change is the gauntlet God throws down to Joshua's people. Right here, right now, fully present to the majesty of God, they have to choose. Is their faith majestic or minimalist? What is the depth of their trust and delight in God? Is it shallow and fickle, or deep and reliable?

In other words are they in or out? Does God's majesty mean everything to them, or does it mean nothing? There are to be no half-measures or half-hearted faith. God pushes them hard on this one: do they mean what they say and is their faith as resolute as they profess? Or here at Shechem, in this decisive moment, are they still hedging their bets and holding back, still in thrall to foreign gods and other less demanding and more overtly attractive propositions?

Are they willing to let God be God or not?

So Joshua is wonderfully, uncompromisingly blunt, direct and to the point. Because God wants their yes to be a wholehearted yes, an unqualified yes, a passionate and determined yes. The sort of yes which is life-shaping and life-giving. And his question is wholly framed in reference to God's majesty as experienced by God's faithful few throughout history. This is the majestic perspective which puts all other god's and attractions into the shade.

The sad remains of the Majestic cinema are the visual equivalent of what Joshua fears will befall his people if they lose their grip on the majestic perspective on God's presence and purpose in their lives which is vital to faith. And how does Joshua's stark demand sound to us? "Say an unqualified Yes to God, the God of Israel." Are we willing to let God be God or not? Or does the story come far too close to home for comfort?

Imagining the Lectionary: stay alert (Proper 27A; Ordinary 32A)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 11:43:00 +0000

So stay alert. You have no idea when he might arrive (Matthew 25:13)

This living statue mime artist was making a valiant effort on the cheap to mimic the look and demeanour of the very best exponents of this street art form. I really admired him for having a go in public like this and for enduring the complete disinterest of the majority of passers-by, when down on the pavement his red plastic bucket was still woefully short of contributions.

I wonder what he expected? Was acknowledgement from one in a hundred pedestrians enough, one in fifty, one in a thousand? Or was it about going on for as long as it took to collect enough cash in the bucket to buy a meal? Or was the essence of this performance that it was primarily some sort of gift, an act of art independent of being seen, appreciated or responded to?

What makes this activity worthwhile as opposed to worthless? And how are we to know for sure, or make such a judgement? Is this mime of intrinsic value, or should we measure its success or failure by what was put in the bucket? And how can the mime artist know for certain that someone might not yet come along a put a £50 note in it? It could happen. Only he will have a sense of how likely it is based on his past experience. But even then he can't rule it out, however improbable it might seem.

The difficult question of how long one perseveres like this in public before calling it a day is a pertinent one for disciples of Jesus. For many struggling churches the complexity and perplexity of it is something they grapple with constantly.

The gospel reading focusses on expectation, preparedness and patience as being key qualities for disciples who are seeking to particpate in God's Kingdom of love. We should expect to encounter the challenge of the Holy Spirit's creative presence, we should be prepared to respond wholeheartedly and without delay, and we should be patient and trust that God will act when the time is right.

The fundamental question is whether we are in the right place spiritually, missionally and physically to respond when the God-opportunity arrives. The mime artist had placed himself in the area of greatest footfall along the main street. He sought to maximise the opportunity which his performance presented. Had he stood at the back of an empty car park we might have questioned his sanity. Standing here he has his best chance of engaging with the public. It's all a matter of where we put ourselves, and for Christians of the faithfulness of what we do in God's name when we are there.

God's kingdom necessarily engages us with the public life of our communities and in Jesus we are called to be an effective Christian presence. Being expectant, prepared and patient puts us in the right place for the value-added fact of our faith-presence to make a real difference in terms of social capital, community cohesion, social justice, quality of life and individual wellbeing. We are ready and waiting to respond, even if that means leaving behind cherished buildings and ways of being church in order to be who Jesus needs us to be now.

If these truths of discipleship are of little interest to us then in every sense we are in the wrong place in the first place, because Jesus needs us to be standing in the right place spiritually, missionally and physically so that we are ready for whatever it is he is asking of us. And sometimes that is simply to let go and stop struggling with the demands and burdens of performing in public and to find a deeper peace and sense of purpose by releasing our fears and needs into his love.

For at its heart our discipleship is simply about keeping close to Jesus and loving those he loves too. And what could be more worthwhile than that?

The Christian Church in an age of protest: no signals no hope?

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 14:54:00 +0000

Jesus would have wept. Not at the loss of tourist income or at the rumoured discomfiture of the bankers and city grandees whose interests register so strongly in the life of St.Pauls Cathedral. No. He would have wept for the sell-out of his gospel and for the missed opportunity of prophetically and demonstrably being good news for the poor which has unfolded in London over the last week.

It has been heartbreaking to watch the bright flame of Canon Giles Fraser's solidarity with the encamped Occupy the London Stock Exchange protestors sputtering out in the increasingly suffocating and oppressive darkness of a cathedral which, in an act of almost suicidal misjudgement and failed leadership, closed its doors on the world outside and turned its back on the protest. When they tried to get us to buy their "Health and Safety" excuse they were peddling snake oil in public. Small wonder that The Guardian editorial likened St Paul's to a "whited sepulchre", with all the bitterly ironic connotations which that reference carries for Christians, or that Giles Fraser, displaying admirable integrity and with the full courage of his convictions, has now resigned as Canon Chancellor.

Jesus would have wept.

In an age of protest, Christianity finds itself absolutely on message and in tune with popular outrage at the economic and social chaos which the elites of the global banking and financial systems have brought down upon the masses worldwide. For the church to offer no signals and no hope at a time like this is just unforgiveable. It empties the gospel of meaning and reduces it to something vacuous, facile and futile. Who in their right mind would follow something so obviously lacking in spiritual authenticity?

Living in New York in the 1930's when the great skyscrapers were being built, the legendary photographer Alfred Steiglitz was fascinated by what he saw happening to the city's skyline outside his window, and pondered its significance for his identity as a photographer. He said "If what is happening in here cannot stand up to what is happening out there, then what is in here has no right to exist." That piece of insight applies equally powerfully to the Christian Church in an age of protest.

If we choose not to signal Jesus' solidarity with the poor, marginalised and exploited members of our societies, living desperate lives beyond our stained glass windows and pews, and if we fail to offer them hope through our own costly discipleship, then what happens within our holy huddles has no right to exist in his name. No signals. No hope. And real Christianity will be expressed 'out there' by those who really 'get' Jesus.

Slavoj Zizek, writing in yesterday's Guardian, gets the point across splendidly as he coins this memorable phrase: "one should remember what Christianity is: the Holy Spirit, the free egalitarian community of believers united by love. It is the protesters who are the Holy Spirit, while on Wall Street pagans worship false idols." At which point I rather think Jesus would dry his tears, put down his hankie and cheer.

Imagining the Lectionary: Extreme Discipleship (Proper 25A;Ordinary 30A)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 10:53:00 +0000

'Extreme' was one of the most popular rides at this years Hull Fair. Its clientele consisted mainly of teenagers and young adults who queued up to be strapped in and whirled up, down and around at dizzyingly high speed. All around the perimeter of the ride its name shone out in brightly lit deep red lettering, leaving no one in any doubt as to what to expect once they paid their money and stepped beyond the steel safety barrier.

Being taken to the extremes of our experience and feeling the buzz is something many actively seek today, be it ever more thrilling rides at the Fair or the 'living on the edge' excitement of extreme sports. However for others this is the very epitome of what they will avoid at all costs. And that is before we consider the undesirable connotations of the word 'extremist' itself, not least when applied to religion. So is there a valuable sense to the word 'extreme' which might catch our attention as disciples of Jesus, just as the red neon sign caught my eye as we walked around Hull Fair?

If we imagine for a moment the mutterings that accompanied Jesus as he ministered and taught about the Kingdom of God, the phrase 'That's a bit extreme isn't it ' comes to mind. Jesus was so often heard by those who had something to lose to be pushing the boundaries and going to the extremes of what was normative, acceptable and expected. He was portrayed and experienced by them as an extremist. Those who had nothing to lose and who were daily 'in extremis' were amazed by Jesus and marvelled at the extreme lengths to which God would go to love them into wellbeing and hope.

God's love is always extreme because it goes way beyond the limits of what we understand, convey and practice in our own usage of the word 'Love'. Jesus' life stands like that red neon sign in the darkness proclaiming that the extreme love of God is close and beckoning us to enter in and experience it for ourselves.

“’You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” (Matthew 22:37-40)

As his disciples, these words of Jesus take us to the extremes of our commitment and to the extremes of our need. Yes it is possible to stay safe and protect what we fear we might lose by qualifying our discipleship to fit our own boundaries. Jesus will then appear to us as an extremist. If, however, we identify with those who have nothing to lose and are prepared to dwell honestly within the 'in extremis' realities of our being human, Jesus will be the one who centres us in the liberating truth of God's love, and who leads us as his disciples into the extreme love in action which scripture calls the Kingdom of God.

And that experience will be as though we are strapped into the ride 'Extreme'. We will be swept up and into the whirling, dazzling, heart-shaped colours of God's divine energy as the Holy Spirit transforms the world. It is this fabulous fact which the image of the two teenage boys experiencing the power of Extreme at Hull Fair is meant to convey.

God's love and grace in Jesus is just wonderfully, breathtakingly extreme.

Imagining the Lectionary: Seasons of leadership (Proper 25A;Ordinary 30A)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 07:40:00 +0000

As the autumn weather deteriorates a solitary pink flower is the last remembrance of summer on this rose. Insects still seek nourishment within it and raindrops glisten on its colourful petals. It is a pleasure to behold. And its time is limited and very soon will come to an end.

Four days later and the inevitable has happened. What remains of the flower stands proud against the sky and the nature and purpose of its being is now apparent. All that it offered beyond itself to bring life elsewhere, its means of producing pollen, forms a dark speckled circle around its yellow centre, just below which we see the place within its own being in which that life from beyond has been welcomed and incorporated into seed for the future. The task was fulfilled for this pink rose and it could let go of its petals and finally, in time, fall into the earth.

Offering life into the world around and securing continuity of life for the future is what the rose does. And reflecting on these things leads me to think about seasons of leadership and the transition from Moses to Joshua which we witness in Deuteronomy 34. Having led the people on their epic journey out of slavery towards God's land of promise it becomes clear that Moses will not set foot in it himself.

"The Lord said to him, “This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, saying, ‘I will give it to your descendants’; I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not cross over there.”" Deuteronomy 34:4

But then why should he? Faithfully being the best leader he could be was what God required of Moses. God needed Moses to pour out God's life-love into a fragmented and anxious group of people and form them into a purposeful community certain of its identity and direction of travel. To the best of his ability this is what Moses did.

Getting into the promised land was never going to be the end of the story or the journey. God knew that from the outset. And I think Moses did too. Life is never that simple or straightforward. The story was never going to end in settled 'happy ever after' bliss. Human history is one of continual struggle for peace and justice. So dying before the people cross that momentous threshold is not the career calamity that it might at first sight seem to be for Moses. And neither is entry into the promised land the sinecure it might seem to be for his successor Joshua either. For God's people in every generation the journey of faith never ends or ever reaches a final, settled destination. Because God's Spirit is always prompting freshly relevant ways for our faith to be life-bringing. And Jesus is always saying 'follow me".

Year after year the rose does what it does because that is what it is. Producing flowers it fulfills its biological purpose to ensure that life flourishes and its own genes and its own species endure. Within the people of God seasons of leadership have a similar purpose too. The dynamic energy of God's Spirit is always leading us to journey further with Jesus in the task of bringing life truly alive. The rose-like sense of life flowing out into our communities and of life coming in from the world around us speaks deeply into what it is to be in leadership today.

All things have their seasons and in leadership it is vital that we are mindful of the three lessons we learn from Moses' story:

It needs to be enough to know that we are faithfully on the journey, bringing life alive and seeking human flourishing through the liberating, challenging power of the Holy Spirit. The end result is in God's hands.

An essential part of our task is encouraging others and setting seeds of leadership and ministry for the future.

And we must be be ready to know and willing to accept when the time comes for the petals to fall from our leadership and the transition to be made to the next phase of the journey.

To become besotted with entering the settled state of a particular destination is to miss the point of the journey in the first place. And that is a mistake God's people are habitually prone to making.

Imagining the Lectionary: The utter incongruity of faith devoid of practical compassion (Proper 25A;Ordinary 30A)

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 06:25:00 +0000

A pile of autumn leaves in the bottom of a kitchen sink is a profoundly incongruous and unexpected sight. The 'out of place-ness' of the heap of wet leaves is self-evident and the image surprises us because of it. Our curiosity is provoked to ask 'how come?'. Yet it isn't the leaves but the sink unit which is out of place: it lies discarded as junk underneath deciduous trees at the side of a path and has now become a receptacle for their falling leaves.

This surreal conjunction fits well with the picture Jesus has in mind when he is questioned by his opponents concerning the essence of faith. They want to know which commandment is supreme. He knows that the genuineness of one's faith rests not upon the priority of one commandment over another in our minds, for the intellectual sterility of rank ordering does not save us. No, the real question concerns whether God's divine presence and purpose takes primary place at the heart of our lives in such a way that both we and the world are transformed by love. Such a wholehearted giving of ourselves to God through faithful lives of discipleship and service brings the reality of God's kingdom of love into plain sight. Because to love God is to love others, for that is how God delights in meeting us.

“’You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” (Matthew 22:37-40)

Therefore faith in God without love, kindness, care and practical compassion is like a sink full of leaves. Something is out of place, missing and very wrong. Faith in God without an outpouring of love for others is utterly incongruous. Because these characteristics are of the very nature of God and are the tangible signs of God's presence and purpose at work in us and in the world.

And the tragedy of our humanity is that when they are absent they don't leave a vacuum or an empty space within us and around us. That which should be brim full to overflowing and beyond with God's free-flowing, life-giving, sparkling love becomes instead the receptacle for the dead, lifeless and decaying leaf-litter of our isolating, ego-needs driven self-centredness. Jesus' point is that faith in God without loving your neighbour as yourself isn't faith at all; it is just the discarded junk of a disconnected religious sink by the side of life's path.

It is the wholeness of a God full-filled faith devoid of incongruity which marks out the aspiration and life of the early church. All the hazards of this leaf-litter of inward focussed attitudes and the disconnected uselessness of religion without discipleship and mission are plain for all to see and are to be avoided at all costs. "So deeply do we care for you that we are determined to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you have become very dear to us." (1 Thessalonians 2:8) Jesus couldn't have been clearer either in what he said or in how he expressed his faith.To share the gospel is to share oneself. The good news is always embodied in flesh and blood compassion.

So the message from Jesus and his missionary church is clear: God so loves the world, so how can we do anything less?

Moonlight on a wet and wild night

noreply@blogger.com (Dave Perry) — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 09:35:00 +0000

As the last lingerings of daylight slip away from sight on this wet and wild night the landscape's descent into darkness is almost complete. Blustery winds and rain make a hurried return to the car a necessity. I squeeze one final hand-held photograph out of the camera before returning it quickly to its bag, knowing that its sensor is already perilously close to the useable low light limit and the shutter speed is as low as I dare go without a tripod.

The shot I had seen seemed to express something Hitchcockian about the looming terrors of the night. The tree is silhouetted against the sky and the light is rapidly disappearing. And with it the comforting familiarity of the well-lit landscape has slipped away too. The weather is worsening fast and darkness is about to envelop everything. The tree itself looms massively overhead, its very structure seeming to roar in the storm, as though making an unsettling statement about my powerlessness to evade what is coming. There is a primal quality to this moment. Enveloped in darkness and struggling to see, I become present to the surround-sound power of the battle between the weather and this place. Raw sensation inevitably replaces considered sight.

And then there is the moon. One bright point of reference illuminates my consciousness and enlightens my thinking. The fact of its presence changes my perception entirely. The moonlight is a beacon to guide me back through the wet, wild darkness. Its very reliable familarity brings the sense that this time will pass. As darkness falls, the faithfulness of light matters. Daylight will return, because below the horizon the sun is till shining. Dawn and daytime will come.

So put your thumb across the image on your monitor and see what a difference the moon makes in this picture.

In the Bible it represents God's faithfulness. It reframes our anxieties and reminds us of God's presence. Jesus reassures his friends that those who follow him will not walk in darkness, they will have the light of life (John 8:12), and this as the terrible inevitability of what was about to befall him and them became starkly apparent. His words are to be to them the moonlight of hope when the night time of fear and uncertainty holds them in its seemingly unendurable grip.

The photo attempts to convey this truth. It is why I added the moon in post-processing. It was not in the shot when I took it. The fact of the image being a composite does not detract from its resonating power to open up the experience of faith though. It makes the point that faith and a godly point of reference adds so much to the human scene. They transform our consciousness and perception. The Hithcockian terrors which would diminish the present moment have decisively met their match.