visualtheology

Imagining the Lectionary: A perfumed epiphany of grace (Lent 5C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Tue, 12 Mar 2013 12:31:00 +0000

Composite image of two statues at Portmeirion, North Wales.

Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. (John 12:3)

With the weight of the world upon his shoulders Jesus carries the full burden of salvation towards its inexorable conclusion in Jerusalem. Of all those around him as loyal followers and those against him as bitter opponents it is a solitary woman who fully understands what this journey of love is costing him. Using the same extravagant embodied language of grace that is the hallmark of his ministry, through her tender gestures she conveys wordlessly the mystical essence of divinity. As Mary prepares to anoint Jesus' feet all those gathered around them are about to witness a perfumed epiphany of grace. In this one act the bright light of tender, loving care suffuses the commonplace of everyday life with the sheer beauty of divine intimacy, in all its compassionate and kindly glory.

The essentials of this same basic story are reworked in the four gospels, which begs the question: why was this simple incident so important to them? What is it about the anointing of Jesus that so grips their imaginations?

At the simplest and indeed the most simply beautiful level the woman anoints Jesus because she loves him. The story is simply about loving Jesus, and pouring out our love for him. It was customary at the time to pour oil on the hair of guests at dinner parties given by the well to do. What we have here is a woman who desperately wants to express her personal gratitude to Jesus. And so she pours out all that she has to Jesus. Literally and symbolically this is what she does, as she takes the Nard, worth a year's wages, and anoints Jesus with it. And to the men sitting round the table this is madness and waste of the worst sort. They soon tell her what they think of her. But it is the woman who teaches them the lesson. A lesson about valuing each other and showing how much we care for each other. A lesson about not leaving things unsaid or taken for granted. A lesson about being sensitive and showing our affection and affirming each other, especially when someone is going through a hard time as Jesus was.

But what of the wider context in which this anointing takes place? Jesus is a marked man, rejected by those in authority, whose life is in grave danger as his enemies plot to kidnap and murder him. The gospel writers see a deeper significance in what the woman does. She anoints him for burial. This may be the most poignant connotation of all. Rejected and despised Jesus is anointed by someone who still loves him and cherishes him and who sees God and meets God in him. Now anointing is not a neutral act; in the Bible it is an act of God. Historically it signified holiness or dedication wholly to God's work, and is often associated with an outpouring of the Holy Spirit. What the gospel writers see here is nothing less than an act of Messianic anointing. So anointing is a very loaded action, a deeply significant thing to do to someone. And here it is done not by a male priest, but by a woman; not during a religious ceremony, but in an ordinary house at mealtime. Paradoxically, Jesus is the anointed one, chosen by God, who will be put to death by those he loves.

Going deeper still into the meaning of this moment we discover that it is a moment of epiphany as powerful and revealing to us as the Transfiguration or the visit of the Magi. Here is a response that is proportionate in its awesome generosity to the gift of Jesus himself within our suffering, hurtful world. To some, like Judas, it makes no sense at all and is an absurd and stupid thing for Mary to have done, betraying her lack of insight into the focus of Jesus' ministry amongst and for the poor. But it is Mary who demonstrates true depth of spiritual knowing as she takes the most precious perfume and anoints the most precious One in a simple act which pulls back the complexities and mysteries of religion to reveal its living and personal truth. Here is a perfumed epiphany of the nature of Grace.

The God who yearns to anoint our lives with love and who expends everything to transform us through Grace, is appreciated so clearly here as Mary stoops to anoint Jesus with an abundance of costly, precious perfume. As he has anointed the world with God's love so too is Jesus anointed in turn, his radical revealing of divinity affirmed by the oil which now soothes his humanity through the gentle touch of Mary's hands.

The pungent aroma of the perfume and the generosity of its outpouring speak to us of God and fill our imaginations with the potent and imperative presence of God's Grace.

Imagining the Lectionary: Restarting with Abraham (Lent 2C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 19:39:00 +0000

When a particular piece of software starts to behave oddly, becomes sluggish or unresponsive or is incapable of being shut down properly - perhaps bringing with it the real danger of the whole computer locking up - the wise move is often to restart the operating system. Windows users are all too familiar with the last ditch response of hitting the Ctrl+Alt+Del key combination in order to try and get themselves out of just this sort of trouble. On a Mac 'Force Quit' may be just what is needed to put an aberrant piece of sotfware in its place, although for peace of mind a full 'Restart' will ensure that the Operating System runs smoothly and everything works as intended.

In the Old Testament passage set for this Sunday we discover that Abraham is in an unstable state and his 'faith operating system' is in danger of locking up. God's response is to go for a Restart too. In Abraham's case this happens through a vision in which he is quite literally reminded, reformed and reinvigorated by the facts of God's love for him. In the narrative of the vision Abraham's issues unfold one by one and centre around a single recurrent theme; time has passed and he cannot see how God is going to fulfil all that God has promised to be for him and achieve through him (Genesis 12).

So he is understandably unsettled and anxious, uncertain and doubtful that his life will ever turn out the way that he thought that it would. How is an old man without children of his own ever going to become the parent of a new nation? From where he stands, Abraham just cannot envisage the steps which will make that journey and the fulfilling of God's promise possible. So he questions God: "what will you give me?" (Genesis 15:2), followed swiftly by "how am I to know that I will possess it?" (Genesis 15:8). Abraham's faith is in crisis, and the very fact that this episode is retold in the way that it is suggests that he is an archetype for experiences which are not uncommon or unusual, but natural, understandable and to be expected from time to time.

How is God to respond to this failure and breakdown of trust? Not as we might have imagined given the popular conception of the God of the Old Testament as being bloodthirsty, vengeful and intolerant. What we discover instead is that God is experienced as patient, kind and full of encouragement. God does not give up on Abraham, but enables him instead to hold fast to and re-engage with God's love for him. Rather than finding himself rebuked and reproached for expressing his doubts, through the vision Abraham is reassured and reaffirmed. God responds to Abraham in his time of need in ways that do not diminish his faith and self worth, but rather which rekindle his faith expectation and restore his integrity.

This all happens in a particularly vivid fashion. The text moves from visionary encounter to the deep dark terror of Abraham's worst nightmare. The narrative begins with God addressing Abraham's fear and reminding him that he is his shield and that his faithfulness will be rewarded. Indeed God expands upon the original call of Abraham by recasting it in superlative terms: "Look towards heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.’ Then he said to him, ‘So shall your descendants be." (Genesis 15:6) Abraham responds positively to this encouragement and is appreciated by God for it (Genesis 15:9).

The substance of Abraham's terror stricken nightmare is portrayed in the starkest terms imaginable: the future holds a prolonged period of seemingly unendurable slavery and oppression in prospect, and only after this will the prospects of the people look anything like those expressed in the original promise given by God to Abraham. Although he will personally have a long and fulfilling life, Abraham's descendants have a rough ride ahead. But through it all the original promise which God made will hold good and be realised. And it is within his horrid nightmare vision that Abraham experiences God reaffirming that promise to him in terms of a binding covenant, stunning in its depth of grace on God's part, enacted using the common sacrificial imagery of covenants of the period. God is depicted as binding everything together for Abraham through an epiphany of smoke and fire.

This is the faith which Jesus inherits and in which he is formed. Despite everything which would militate against them, God's purposes of love will come to fruition within the nightmare realities of life. God never gives up and never gives in. When faith wobbles or religion fails God acts to restart the operating system. Through Jesus this happens not just to one individual, but to a whole social, economic, political and religious system. God acts decisively and presses the incarnational Ctrl+Alt+Del, intending to reset and restart everything to run as love intends.

Imagining the Lectionary: facing the danger of freeing the self (Lent 1C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Wed, 13 Feb 2013 16:52:00 +0000

Another Lent begins, and once more we have the precious opportunity mindfully to let God lead us to that place within where God wants us to be strengthened, set free and made whole. Once again, with Easter in prospect, we are invited to grapple with the character making demands of such soul work confident that we are enfolded in God's love as we do so. Or we could opt instead for the far safer quasi-orthodox Lenten observance of deciding to give up something we are ready and prepared to abstain from during Lent in order to prepare ourselves for Holy Week.

So which of these two ways of approaching Lent is closer to the experience of Jesus in the wilderness, and why is the former so forbidding, when Jesus has gone there before us to show us that we have nothing to fear?

The Spirit did not lead Jesus out into the wild places of the Judaean landscape in order for him to sharpen his wits and trim his physique by fasting. Such self-denial, whilst worthy, takes us wide of the mark if we are seeking to understand the purpose of Jesus' time in the wilderness. Giving up chocolate or booze for Lent will not enable us to follow in his footsteps because the primary task Jesus undertook was the profoundly spiritual one of recognising, facing up to and overcoming all that would distract him from being the person God needed him to be.

The spiritual formation of Jesus in the wilderness was the crucial precursor that made possible the rest of his public ministry. It enabled him to enable others to seek and to find such releasing freedom and strength within and for themselves, to become in turn the people God needed them to be also. The coming of the God's Kingdom begins within us, flows between us and is made real amongst us.

Denying ourselves our favourite treats is not the gateway through which we enter the meaning of Lent if in so doing we substitute that self-chosen discipline for the God-directed soul-making repentance of choosing to let the Holy Spirit do what God's love needs to do within us.

The first photograph suggests that there are places within our experience and selfhood that are off limits. We keep them fenced off in our psyche. They feel to us to be dangerous places to explore. Drawing close to them is to invite harm. It is to remember and experience afresh the power of old hurts and to be threatened by unsafe patterns of thought and memory. To be in 'that' place is to feel insecure, afraid, vulnerable or powerless. Better to keep out and stay well away.

As we read Luke's account of the temptation of Jesus we are drawn right into such threatening and unsettling terrain. And there the resurrection is prefigured, because in that wilderness it becomes abundantly clear that everything that would diminish, disfigure and destroy us as God's beloved made in God's image is ultimately lesser than and subject to the power of God's love.

The freedom we thought could and would never come is within our grasp. The second photograph shows a section of the Berlin Wall that is on display outside the Imperial War Museum in London. The graffiti is poignant: "Change Your Life". And the life-changing event that was the destruction of the Berlin Wall began from the inside. It was toppled and dismantled by unstoppable forces from within the very fear filled society that it was intended to constrain. What was divided became unified.

In the Judaean wilderness Jesus takes on these forces within our humanity which divide us, separate us and which threaten our disintegration as individuals, communities and societies. During Lent the Holy Spirit invites us to follow Jesus and enter into our own wilderness places and there to seek the promise of resurrection. Whatever it may be, God gets behind our 'Berlin Wall' and enables us to face up to the ways in which we too are held captive and in thrall. Because God loves us far too much to leave us with merely an absence of chocolate in Lent.

Imagining the Lectionary: Cherry picking with Jesus (Epiphany 3C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Tue, 22 Jan 2013 08:41:00 +0000

As Jesus is handed the Isaiah scroll to read in his home synagogue, Luke delights in setting the narrative stage for the heart of this ancient text to be proclaimed afresh with power and passion as a potent paradigmatic manifesto for the contemporary Jesus movement. Jesus cherry picks from scripture the passage which becomes for him and his disciples the defining motif of their collective role in establishing God's Kingdom.

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour (Luke 4:18-19)

In an act which is stunning in both its simplicity and boldness, Jesus rises above the petty bickering and narrow minded, inward looking concerns of religious life to present an overview of faith that is personal and purposeful. Speaking with all the pure, distilled and uncorrupted verbal force of the verbs which the prophetic tradition poured out into this text from the very heart of God's intention for humanity, Jesus elevates religion to a vocational movement of solidarity. As he reads out loud the text of Isaiah 61, Jesus claims for himself and reclaims for his community, society and nation all that God longs to achieve amongst us, through us and for us. As his voice reaches into the hearing of that congregation, one conclusion, and one conclusion only, is inescapable and authentic: to be in solidarity with God I must stand in solidarity with hurting humanity and to devote myself to their liberation, at the same time as being released and set free within myself too. This is what God wants and this is how God operates.

As his phrases soar, Jesus takes the people higher and higher in their perception of what the life of faith entails and he challenges them to see what he sees with the divinely inspired passion with which he sees it: here is the all encompassing vista of life at ground level viewed from God's perspective and transformed by God's love.

In this moment Jesus rides the hermeneutical cherry picker and takes the prophetic tradition right up to its maximum elevation and reach, and from that stupendous viewpoint proclaims the essence not just of his mission, but of all discipleship which is truly godly and Spirit led. Jesus cherry picks his faith tradition and exercises divine oversight of the people. In his hands and in his being the covenantal solidarity expressed throughout the Isaiah scroll comes to life with imperative force: this is who you must be too.

Here then is good news for the poor and those who enslave them in their poverty; for the oppressed and their oppressors, for captives and those who hold them captive, for the blind and for those who would keep them in the dark, for those burdened by debt and despair and the wealthy, uncaring elite who keep them that way. Cherry picking with Jesus we are confronted by the material, emotional, psychological and spiritual poverty, oppression, captivity, blindness, debt and despairing which afflicts us all. And in him we are promised our liberty and our life. And following him we are called to make this true for each other.

Imagining the Lectionary: Better beyond belief (Epiphany 2C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Tue, 15 Jan 2013 09:06:00 +0000

In St John's Gospel emptiness and fulfilment are the polar opposites which frame the first public disclosure of God's amazing intentions in the ministry of Jesus. Just when the good times are about to stop rolling and the party come to an abrupt and unwelcome end, the two families at the centre of the wedding celebrations in Cana are spared the shame and stigma of not being able to provide sufficient wine to keep their guests inebriated and enjoying themselves.

Jesus takes what is to hand and already in place and transforms it so that the promise of happiness, togetherness and sharing can be realised to the full, exceeding all expectations of those present and ensuring that the hosts and the wedding couple themselves will afterwards be lauded in the memory of the community rather than reproached.

That emptiness, both literal in the case of the guest's empty cups and the empty jugs of wine on the tables with none to follow, and figurative in the sense of the emotional pain and social isolation which the principals avoid, clearly matters to John's Gospel. Being fulfilled is God's answer to the world's angst-ridden emptiness, and it is an answer that is freely, extravagantly and powerfully offered through Jesus, the fulfilling Word of Life made flesh and blood real amongst us.

So when Jesus says "If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free." (John 8:31-32) we can construe that freeing truth as being the revelatory self-knowledge of our profound emptiness and the transforming experience of being fulfilled by God's love and God's purpose alone. What we witness at the wedding in Cana is a forestaste of what happens throughout John's Gospel when all the fabulous creedal euphoria and confidence in God of the Gospel's Prologue is poured out liberally into everyday life. Emptiness is banished and life as it should be is offered to all. Later on Jesus himself unpacks the meaning which we are intended to own for ourselves as our liberating truth: "I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly." (John 10:10)

Starting with the primary context of emptiness is a shrewd move. It provides a place of entry for everyone. Feeling empty and unfulfilled, burdened with shame and regret and held in contempt by others is the nightmare scenario offered up in this story. Crushing public humiliation and letting down all those closest to us is the fearful psychological stage upon which John invites us to improvise our reaction to the presence of Jesus. John homes in to that place within where we are most vulnerable. And in that deeply personal emptiness which we are powerless to fill by ourselves, we are offered hope and fulfilment through Jesus. Abundant life can be ours if we accept God's overflowing, generous love as our most profound truth. In this is our freedom.

Such good news is the very opposite of the prosperity gospel. Abundant life as understood by John and an abundance of possessions and money are not the same thing at all. Indeed they are probably polar opposites, because abundant life and fulfilment come about when we offer to God all that we have and are - on God's terms for God to use as blessing for others. At Cana Jesus takes what is to hand and already in place and transforms it. The stone water jars set aside for ritual purification and the water brought in from the local well are already in place at the wedding feast. Jesus enables them to be used for an extraordinary purpose way beyond what could be envisaged or intended beforehand.

Those present are extravagantly blessed because what could have been held back is offered and made available in faith and trust. "The jars are not meant for that" and "get your own water from the well" are the fulfilment denying, self centred and empty attitudes which could have stopped this first miracle in its tracks. Jesus blesses the willingness of those present to have faith in him and to trust what God will do because God's nature is to be fabulously generous in love. God loves life and always wants to bless it and fulfil it.

The "good wine" of such a freeing and fulfilled life in God is what John wants us to taste from the outset. This is life better beyond belief. It is what Jesus brings to the table.

Imagining the Lectionary: Baptism of Jesus (Year C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Mon, 07 Jan 2013 20:28:00 +0000

When can faith be said to be truly authentic? This week's Lectionary readings suggest that the answer to this question relates to both our experiences of God's presence and to our expectations concerning God's activity in our own lives, because experience and expectation operate in a feedback loop. The lowest initial energy state of faith is that of minimal experience and low expectation. Faith is a proposition rather than a relationship. Interest is aroused, intellectual curiosity stimulated and sense made. Faith is worth looking into. The testimony of others and the witness of scripture opens up rather than closes down the mind of the enquirer. In the story in Acts 8 the role of the apostles Peter and John is to engage with people at this stage of the faith journey and enable them to transition into an actual experience of the presence of God which will transform their expectation.

Now when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God, they sent Peter and John to them. The two went down and prayed for them that they might receive the Holy Spirit (for as yet the Spirit had not come upon any of them; they had only been baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus). Then Peter and John laid their hands on them, and they received the Holy Spirit.
(Acts 8:14-17)

Whichever way we come at this week's texts one fact emerges as being central to faith: and that is intimacy with God. When God says 'I will be with you' God does not mean present simply as an attractive notion or helpful idea in our consciousness; God means fully, intimately and relationally present in loving ways that are tangible for us. "Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you" (Isaiah 43:1-2). God with us, the incarnational truth at the heart of Christmas, is the cornerstone of our expectation and experience.

The activity of the Holy Spirit is therefore crucial to a biblical reading of the authentic nature of faith. "He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire", says John the Baptist (Luke 3:16), and here at the beginning of his public ministry Jesus is himself empowered by the creative Spirit of God. For the Apostles being open and receptive to the Holy Spirit is what marks out followers of Jesus, because that was his way, his truth and his life. And as experience grows, expectation increases and trust in God builds to the point at which we know that everything is achieved in God's strength and not in our own.

The Spirit which births the Universe is the same Spirit which births faith within us. The Love which holds the universe in being is the same love which holds our lives in gentle hands, hands whose loving touch we can know for ourselves. Being loved by God and loving God is the personal, intimate and heartwarming relationship which energised Isaiah, John the Baptist and the Apostles to engage in and embody the Spirit's ongoing and ceasless work of creation.

And the epitome of faith experience and expectation is Jesus himself, the Word made flesh. In him we see just what authentic faith entails and can achieve.

Imagining the Lectionary: open handed (Epiphany)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Wed, 02 Jan 2013 18:28:00 +0000

The vision of God's glory which we celebrate at Epiphany is a story of extravagant open-handedness which brings the Christmas narratives to a close. The journeying of the Magi is a paradigmatic expression of what openess to God's presence looks like and entails, and is made all the more powerful because it is set so starkly against the contrary reaction of King Herod.

The Magi recognise God's decisive initiative to establish a new King and Kingdom and are refreshingly open-minded and generously open-handed in their desire to pay this new King homage. In this they reflect the very nature of God's grace itself. They open their hands to Immanuel God-with-us because God was graciously open handed towards them in the first place. Their response to God sets the scene for our own. As God offers us new life in Jesus is this a gift we are willing to take in our own open hands?

The story portrays a dark alternative. Herod, mindful of the implications for his hold on power of God's promised Messiah turning up on his watch, deploys a closed mind and a clenched fist in a violent attempt to keep things just as they are. Herod's political and moral failure to grasp the significance of what he has been told and to act accordingly arises out of a grievous and catastrophic theological failure to understand God's relationship with the people over whom he, as King Herod, holds sway.

To Herod, the Herodian dynasty which he represents appears to be an end in itself; to God all human power and authority should reflect God's own and be an expression of the grace, mercy, loving-kindness, justice and peace which is the Kingdom of God. Herod's self-aggrandisment is the polar opposite of God's self-giving in Jesus. This, then, is the closed hand / open hand comparison which the gospel narrative is determined to portray. Far from being God's representative, Herod is shown to be God's antithesis. Indeed in the text he becomes and embodies the darkness against which the promised and longed for light of God's love is to be disclosed. "Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you." ( Isaiah 60:1-9)

God is open-handed and open hands show us what divine grace looks like, because God always offers to needy humanity all that God has to give. The vision of God's glory which draws the Magi to give homage is the vulnerable, incarnational, open-handed embodiment of this truth in the infant Jesus. The Magi's open-handed response is therefore the mirror image of what God is doing in this birth. "they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts" (Matthew 2:11) They symbolically offer everything to Jesus because God first offers everything to them through him. Open hands beget open hands which in their simple beauty disclose truly open minds and hearts.

Nothing is held back, everthing is offered: here is the symmetry of grace and love upon which God's Kingdom is to be established. Hands are opened to receive and then to give. To do otherwise is to embrace the dark alternative of Herod which denies God's open-handed inclusive love for all for fear of losing out personally.

The Methodist Covenant Prayer, typically used at this time of year, represents a clear theological grasp of the significance of God's open-handed gift of Jesus, and displays a Magi-like open-handed understanding of what is for his followers the only appropriate response:

"I am no longer my own but yours. Your will, not mine, be done in all things, wherever you may place me, in all that I do and in all that I may endure; when there is work for me and when there is none; when I am troubled and when I am at peace. Your will be done when I am valued and when I am disregarded; when I find fulfilment and when it is lacking; when I have all things, and when I have nothing. I willingly offer all I have and am to serve you, as and where you choose. Glorious and blessèd God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, you are mine and I am yours. May it be so for ever. Let this covenant now made on earth be fulfilled in heaven. Amen."

Imagining the Lectionary: Death Defiant Incarnation (St Stephen and Holy Innocents - an alternative trajectory for the Sunday after Christmas)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Sun, 23 Dec 2012 15:14:00 +0000

The lifeless tree looms menacingly large over the festive landscape as though it were some sinister and dreadful Tolkeinesque totem signifying humanity's relentless struggle with the deathly pervasiveness of wickedness and evil. Above it a solitary buzzard makes predatory circles in the cold air; watchful, alert and ready to swoop and dispense death with its sharp talons. This nihilistic scene is stark, primal and foreboding. This is no cosy carolling, snow carpeted, goodwill glowing, nativity showing, star shining and robin adorned Christmas card picture. But it gets far closer to the truth of that first Christmas than we care to admit.

The scene we see in the image well reflects the dark side of Christmas, a terrifying truth that gets lost or sidelined amidst our rightfully joyful celebration of Christ's birth. In the Revised Common Lectionary we follow Luke's story and skip gleefully from Christmas Day to the Sunday after Christmas, and in those five days we shift from the infant Christ to the 12 year old Jesus visiting the Temple with his parents, before winding back the clock for Epiphany and switching to Matthew for the visit of the Magi to Bethlehem. The massacre of the Holy Innocents by Herod and the fear-filled journey of the Holy family into Egypt (Matthew 2:13-23), together with the martyrdom of St. Stephen which is celebrated on 26th December (Acts 7:1-60), offer an alternative trajectory for the Sunday after Christmas. I think that we do our ourselves and our communities no favours by declining to explore this dark Matthean terrain or to reflect upon Stephen's forthright courage in the face of intolerant and murderous opposition.

For in the Bible the intense brightness of of God's love is set against the inky, bleak, despairing blackness of 'on the edge', suffering and fearful humanity. In its pages wickedness and evil loom large over the characters and the brokenness of humanity is depicted in ways that make us wince in pained self-recognition. The narratives unflinchingly portray the circling presence of death and destruction. When it comes to Christmas, Matthew's gospel puts this centre stage and gives the malevolent, scheming figure of Herod a leading role opposite that of Immanuel, God with us. The vulnerable nature of God's initiative amongst us is therefore put in the spotlight. And it is this which rings so true.

Such death defiant incarnation does justice to the awesome challenges that God works within when it comes to the eternal struggle of light against darkness in human history. We are invited to discover darker aspects of our own nature as we reflect upon Herod and his henchmen or the opponents of Stephen who reacted so violently to his words, every bit as much as we are encouraged to see our own self worth affirmed by the characters of Mary, Joseph, Zechariah and Elizabeth, the shepherds and the Magi.

This alternative trajectory for the Sunday after Christmas offers an holistic take on life which is recognisable if uncomfortable. When the festivities are over the gospel work of Christmas begins in the death defiant, incarnational, tree and buzzard biblical reality of our world, not in the fantasy landscapes of our Christmas cards.

Imagining the Lectionary: this will be a sign for you (Advent 4C / Christmas Eve / Christmas Day)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Tue, 18 Dec 2012 08:25:00 +0000

In the centre of town, fenced off in a demolition site awaiting redevelopment, the sole surviving interior wall of a once private washroom is now open to the elements. Set above the rotting surround for a pair of long removed hand washbasins, two mirrors reflect the immediate surroundings. Their surfaces bear the marks of violence, exhibiting the tell-tale signs of impact damage. This could have occurred as the building was being demolished, or it might bear testimony to rocks, bricks or stones thrown by vandals at such an easy and tempting target afterwards.

Like razor sharp spider webs, spun within the structure of the glass, the crazed and splintered patterns look like their sole purpose is to capture meaning and prevent it escaping from the mirrored surface intact. Such violence has achieved its aim: the picture is disjointed, broken, distorted, difficult to interpret or see as a unified and intelligible whole. The shattered mirrors convey the truth of the world's brokenness and suffering. Everywhere violence inhibits us from seeing the picture of a world perfectly reflecting the love of God. Violence breaks up the image, smashes it into sharp-edged pieces which hurt and harm. Violence splinters meaning and traps our perception into falsely chaotic and hope-denying mindsets.

Across the world the mirror of everyday experience is shattered daily by violence. The brutality of dictators and the mindless, murderous impulses of dissaffected young men take the lives of the innocent, especially women and children. Domestic violence and abuse, hidden away in every community, wreaks havoc in a similarly destructive way with clenched fists and brutalising words. All around us mirrors of expectation and promise are shattered and smashed; cruelly, deliberately and vengefully.

Violence would smash and destroy all possibility of us seeing God's reflection in the image of contemporary life. The Bible knows differently. If the perfect picture of God's loving Kingdom is broken into myriads of apparently faith denying shards, our Christian faith tells us that it is within the splintered, broken picture that we should expect to discover God alongside us, amongst us, reaching out to us. God never abandons us. Within the shattered heart of life God remains lovingly faithful and true: the ancient promises hold good and God is always and utterly merciful. Mary knew this and claimed it for herself and her son: "in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made" (Luke 1:54-55) The life of Jesus was God's incarnate gift of self within the very splinters and shards of human experience.

The sign of this truth is that God is with us and we should expect to encounter that reality for ourselves: "to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger " (Luke 2:11-12) Looking into the mirrors we can see a face, a woman's face, reflected in one of the broken pieces of glass. She is looking at us. And we realise that she must be standing close by. In the second photograph this splintered truth is picked out in colour. Mary stood in the brokenness of her time and place and Jesus was born right there where the splintered patterns of poverty, death and violence were at their worst.

We see Mary on God's side of the image. She allows us to perceive a different reality all around us, one that violence cannot deny or obliterate. The Magnificat puts this picture into words. In his birth Jesus is the very disclosure of this divine presence and purpose which confronts and confounds violence. Today, as at that first Christmas, God looks out at us with love from within all the razor sharp shards of horror that would deny God's very existence. This will be a sign for you; a sign to turn around and see the God picture which challenges the distorted brokenness of our human behaviour and perception.

Imagining the Lectionary: I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people (Christmas Eve and Christmas Day Year C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 18:55:00 +0000

'The Angel Raphael' by Shawn Williamson is one of the real delights of the sculpture walk at Rydal Hall in the Lake District. The figure is inseparably part of the whole rock from which it has been hewn, and appears to emerge from it and take form in an act of revelation which discloses a mystical truth about the sacredness of all reality. The holy and divine is all around us and the material world exists in the unifying dimension of the sacred. For me the sculpture is an intimate portrayal of the life-imparting presence of God at the heart of everything that is. To speak of one is to imply the other.

We should not be surprised then that the divine presence reaches out to us from within the substance and circumstance of daily life. The appearance of the angel is a meeting place and bridging point between the world of our senses and the world of our faith which discloses that these coinhere as one.

The Glory of the Lord which shines around the astonished shepherds arises from within the oneness of reality, not from beyond it, contradicting any thoughts that we might have of God normatively being out of reach. The sculpture affirms the view that God is closer to us than we are to our own breath.

And it is this intimacy which frames the giving of the words of life that follow. The good news of great joy does not relate to some spiritual hypothesis or religious theory. It does not deny all that we think and see and feel and experience: it arises from within it to completely transform it.

The incarnation is hewn out of the rock of humanity and discloses divinity. It is from within the familiar flesh and blood circumstances of real life, in the birth of a baby, that the presence and purpose of God is comprehended and gifted.

Imagining the Lectionary: The Mighty One has done great things for me (Advent 4C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 18:08:00 +0000

And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name." (Luke 1:46-50)

Twilght in Roundhay Park, Leeds, and a woman walks across the horizon, treading the line between the dark solidity of earth and the infinity of sky and cosmos beyond. Seen like this, set against the vastness of the universe and the unfathomable depths of eternity, she is so singular and tiny. One tiny speck of consciousness in the millennia of human history, a unique person and a self-aware life, she walks along the unfolding pathway of the present moment. Just like Mary did.

Who are we that God cares so much for us? The creator and sustainer of the Universe, the patient weaver of time and eternity, the alpha and omega midwife of alternative, graceful realites, cherishes us and chooses to gift love to us. Little and insignificant though we are, the Mighty One does great things for us too, and invites us to share in the divine vocation of sharing holiness and birthing love.

In terms of comparatives, the sheer scale of this truth takes our breath away. God looks with favour on lowly me? The amazement and awe experienced by Mary in the presence of such holiness and incomprehensible grace is the place where faith begins. At the heart of all Magnificat people is the jaw-dropping wonder of one so singular and tiny being embraced by the beautiful, freeing holiness at the heart of all things.

This is the twilight journey which speaks of the dawning of hope. Like Mary we tread the line between darkness and light in the presence of God. As she bore Jesus we bear his care for others. As she gave birth to hope for all humanity, we birth hope amongst others, just as God cares for and birthes hope for us too, lowly though we are.

Imagining the Lectionary: the crowds came out (Advent 3C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Fri, 07 Dec 2012 15:25:00 +0000

How are we to picture the crowds of people who left their homes and made their way out to the Jordan to be baptised by John the Baptist? One striking piece that I saw in a recent exhibition of art fits the bill perfectly. I see portrayed here the weird and wonderful dispositions of humanity; the light and shade, shape and texture of our stories, located within the givens and constraints, pleasure and pain, of our individual natures and social frameworks. The piece looks edgy, complex, surreal and messy because life is like that. There is a tangible sense of 'what if', 'if only' and 'surely not' in this work. To me it evokes an honest and self-aware appreciation of the context of the crowds who came out to John.

And the truly remarkable fact is that they did just that: they came out. They were undertaking a journey from one state of being and self identity to another. For each of them the act of coming out to John speaks of a positive transition to an understanding that is held to be truthful and liberating for that person. As such it implies voluntary movement and freely chosen purpose in the full knowledge that what they will be doing will be a very public act of self-definition. The crowds were not just going out to have a peek at John and to see for themselves what all the fuss was about. They were coming out to be baptised, which is an entirely different thing altogether. Sceptical spectators risked being transformed into willing participants. The crowds came out to experience the love of God firsthand.

Those who flocked to John wanted and needed what he offered. And they didn't mind who knew that to be so. This is not a tale of anonymous individuals booking private appointments and keeping it to themselves. This is about a collective and public movement of redemption and profession of faith. It is testimony writ large in the ink of free-flowing grace on the pristine page of trust in God.

The movement of the crowds coming out to John declares to us that the 'what if's', 'if only's' and 'surely not's' of our lives are not what define us: the love of God is.

Imagining the Lectionary: a very private conversion and a very public statement (Advent 3C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Thu, 06 Dec 2012 14:07:00 +0000

“I’m baptizing you here in the river. The main character in this drama, to whom I’m a mere stagehand, will ignite the kingdom life, a fire, the Holy Spirit within you, changing you from the inside out. He’s going to clean house—make a clean sweep of your lives. He’ll place everything true in its proper place before God; everything false he’ll put out with the trash to be burned.”. (Luke 3:16-17 The Message)

Ultimately conversion is a very private matter. It is both utterly radical and entirely intimate. It happens behind the closed doors of our selfhood, screened from prying eyes in the domestic inner space of our being. There, in the singular sanctum of our mind, we make our choices. It is there that the process of conversion is initiated. And it is that personal decision space that John the Baptist is able to reach into and address in such positively powerful and persuasive ways. So much so that the stage is set for the Spirit of God to transform John's promises into personal realities.

In many senses conversion revolves around a quite simple question: from where do I get my energy? The photograph shows a house which makes a very visible statement regarding that question. Whereas the energy supplies to the estate are buried underground and out of sight, this property also benefits from an energy source that the neighbouring properties are not yet in touch with or able to utilise. The solar panels on the roof are the public sign of a private conversion to a source of energy that is available to everyone.

The house stands out and makes you think and makes you question. It either challenges your own status quo or affirms your own commitment to solar power and renewable sources of energy. Early adopters set the trend which in time is likely to become the norm.

John the Baptist prepares the way for his contemporaries to switch energy source and to become empowered by God. The private conversions he facilitates become very public statements about the difference switching to God makes. John's early adopters become the vanguard of the trend that God is determined to set in and through Jesus.

Imagining the Lectionary: bear fruits worthy of repentance (Advent 3C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Wed, 05 Dec 2012 17:43:00 +0000

Bear fruits worthy of repentance. (Luke 3:8)

Winter strips everything back and we are left to focus on what really matters. The hedgerows are devoid of leaves and only the red berries remain to signify the life multiplying truth of this plant's existence. Such an extravagant botanical investment in the future is also a present and welcome gift of food to many of the species of birds for whom the hedgerow is a vital part of their habitat. They in turn spread the seed far and wide beyond the parent plant. Such ecological mutuality and interdependence is a fundamental given of this landscape.

Mutuality and interdependence are integral to our wellbeing too. They signify an outlook which goes beyond self to others and which acknowledges the fundamental interrelatedness of life as a given of a healthy society. The fruits of such a worldview are obvious in terms of the bright red berries of welfare, social security, healthcare, justice and social capital which brighten up the wintry landscape in these austere and recessionary times.

The absence of berries in the hedgerow would indicate a catastrophic failure to provide for future generations and a breakdown in the local ecology which would put its very survival in jeopardy. Something would have gone terribly wrong.

And in the view of John the Baptist something had gone terribly wrong in contemporary society. The natural ecology of God's Kingdom of Love was in dire jeopardy. The fruits of mutuality and interdependence were remarkable by their scarcity. Looking around him John was struck by the comparative lack of the bright red berries of compassion, righteousness and service which signify a healthy faith. He confronted those who came to him with the simple facts of conversion, discipleship and Kingdom living. Their lives should bear clear witness to their belief. Their longing for a fresh start with God should entail a fresh start in how they live their lives towards others. They should bear fruits worthy of repentance.

The bright red berries which John looks for are very practical and down to earth and one can easily imagine that they are tailored to the individuals and groups who come to him asking what they should do: “Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.”Even tax collectors came to be baptized. “Teacher,” they asked, “what should we do?” “Don’t collect any more than you are required to,” he told them. Then some soldiers asked him, “And what should we do?” He replied, “Don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely—be content with your pay.” (Luke 3:11-14) John emphasises the social, collective and communal dimensions of authentic faith in God. In this is he being absolutely true to the faith he has inherited and in which he stands. Without these expressions of mutuality and interdependence one can rightly conclude from the Hebrew Bible that as long as the heart remains unmoved, lip service is being paid to faith, for to take God into the heart of our being is to take the heart of the other there too.

Because the human ecology of grace is such a fundamental given of John's faith landscape, in his wintry words he strips everything back and focusses on what really matters; and not just to us, but to God. To be told unequivocally to bear fruits worthy of repentance is as much of a shock to our sensibilities today as it was when the phrase was first uttered by John the Baptist. For it suggest that the opposite holds true, and draws our attention to all that remains unworthy.

Our wintry world desperately needs to see evidence of bright, berry red lives. And John still prepares the way for us to take that truth to heart in Jesus and make it our own.

Imagining the Lectionary: I will gather you together and bring you home again (Advent 3C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Tue, 04 Dec 2012 17:00:00 +0000

On that day I will gather you together and bring you home again (Zephaniah 3:20)
John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? (Luke 3:7)

Two sets of footprints stretch back across the wet sand of the beach, leading our gaze towards the dark storm clouds and heavy rain beyond. The direction of travel leads away from the bad weather and indicates that this journey was begun not a moment too soon. This is also a hike made in company; it is not a solitary undertaking but one which relies on companionship. The walkers have been hand-hold close to each other, within whispering distance.

This is the biblical picture of God's ongoing pilgrimage with humanity that informs John the Baptist's public ministry. Whisper close, always walking us out of the storm and into the light, God is the close companion who never gives up on us. Through exile and calamity the Bible describes how God keeps faith with the wayward people who collectively so readily lose faith in God's way and fail to progress in God's direction. Yes there is judgement, lots of it. But always there is hope and promise too. The footsteps never diverge: God keeps close even when we travel in a reciprocal direction to the one God intends.

So Zephaniah, contemporary of Jeremiah, spares nothing in his condemnation of the nation for all that is wrong and misguided in its life. Reading this prophetic book we witness how his searing God-given rebuke rips right through complacent thinking, leaving it in complete tatters. Until that is we reach midpoint in chapter three, when there is a complete change of mood and tone. Out of the terrifying destructiveness of the storm is heard a voice which gathers together and leads to safety those who willingly and readily accept the companionship of God.

God takes the initiative. It is up to the people to choose to travel in the direction in which God would lead them. So when the crowds are drawn to John the Baptist there is irony in his question regarding who it was who warned them to flee. The ungodly are challenged to accept the One who set their feet in motion towards John in the first place and who caused them to realise the seriousness of their predicament. John's primary concern is to get them to turn away from the path of iniquity and walk in the right direction, the way of righteousness, accompanied by God. This is the truth into which he seeks to immerse them.

It is a theology rooted in God's grace, always a hand-hold away and a whisper close.

Imagining the Lectionary: Filled, low, straight and smooth - the civil engineering of grace (Advent 2C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Thu, 29 Nov 2012 20:06:00 +0000

"Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth" (Luke 3:5)

This familiar sentence trips off our tongues in Advent with almost glib ease. The truth of what John the Baptist claims for himself and his followers, however, is anything but easy or glib. The biblical metaphors from Isaiah chapter 40 which frame his ministry and the work of his own movement rightly imply that the scale of the task is epic and awesome. God's incarnational reshaping of the entire human landscape is truly astonishing in its ambition and scope. At the outset John lays out what is involved in preparing the way for the One who is to come. He is very clear regarding the civil engineering of grace required in order to be ready for Jesus.

One way or another everything is going to change, because everything that gets in the way of knowing the loving presence of God, accepting it and living within its transformational purpose and power will be reengineered to become filled, low, straight and smooth. That is the guiding vision of John's life. It is what compels him to undertake the risky, on the edge existence of a prophet / preacher and to expend all his energies in trying to reach as many people as possible with the tremendous message of what God intends for them.

At the heart of the Baptist's call to repentance is such a vivid and strong sense of all that is wrong, unjust and damaging. Isaiah's language of topography is especially appropriate therefore, because John is clearly appalled by the sheer immensity of the mismatch between God's vision for humanity and the mess and misery he sees all around him. Small wonder then that the mountains and valleys and rough winding paths of his homeland and the plight of his people fuse together in his imagination with the vocational imperative from Isaiah.

What he sees with his eyes and knows in his heart ignites a prophetic blaze of righteous indignation within his soul. He sets about the holy task of God's civil engineering of grace with a single-mindedness that sends shock waves reverberating through the political, social and economic terrain.

And his contemporaries begin to believe that the ancient promises might yet come good in their lifetimes.

Imagining the Lectionary: Advent conundrum (Advent 2C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Wed, 28 Nov 2012 11:44:00 +0000

The photograph presents a conundrum. The room in the tower offers a view over the boundary wall which cannot be seen by those at ground level. The access door is set well above head height and offers a tantalising glimpse of the space within and the outlook beyond. But there is no way of reaching it. Whatever steps were once in place are long gone. And this is a conundrum that no one seems in a hurry to resolve.

The word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God (Luke3:2-6)

God is not content for us to remain hemmed in behind the boundary walls of the way things are and how we like them to be. God always wants to expand our vision and our horizons by placing us in a viewpoint where the Kingdom of Love opens up before our eyes. God's word has the power to raise us up to see over the wall of our limitations and to dispel all the negativity of what cannot be, which so inhibits our imaginations, releasing us into the far reaching possibility of all that could be.

This is what God was up to through John the Baptist. John's ministry was the God-given means whereby people could once more gain access to God's panoramic view of life, an outlook which was made flesh and blood in Jesus. John reignited popular passion for looking beyond the boundary and over the wall to a different future. John was determined to sweep away all the obstacles to ordinary people knowing this for themselves and gave his life in the task of putting in place the means whereby they could reach the doorway of grace and go through it into that long neglected space of authentic faith.

John was God's means of trapped, confined and frustrated folk being liberated to see just how different life could be. And that life was what became tangibly present in Jesus, who was both the means and the message of God as to how they could make it their own.

God calls us now to prepare the way for people in our time to experience the same for themselves. We are the answer to the Advent conundrum. With our hands we have to build the steps up to that neglected doorway once more. And in our hearts and minds and with our whole being we have to demonstrate that the view is worth seeing.

Imagining the Lectionary: Espalier for the soul (Advent 1C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Tue, 27 Nov 2012 13:46:00 +0000

And may the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all, just as we abound in love for you. And may he so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints. (1 Thessalonians 3:12-13)

Espalier is the art of growing trees and woody shrubs in one plane, in this case against a wall, and shaping the developing branches with ties or trellis to form a radiating or regular pattern. With the blossom of spring long gone and the leaves now fallen we can see the structural beauty of these espaliered cherry trees and ponder the patience and care with which they have been tended in order to achieve this spectacular result.

Looking closer the magnitude of the effort needed and the unwavering commitment required in order to achieve this is perfectly clear. At regular intervals the tightly packed bundles of branches are carefully tied together and then anchored with green twine to metal hooks in the stonework. The scale of the task is impressive, as is the devotion and foresight needed to see it through to completion and maintain it thereafter. This is not something for the faint hearted or fickle.

What Advent offers, and what the Thessalonian Christians in Macedonia are being reminded of, is the truth that following Jesus involves espalier for the soul. Their lives are to be ever more conformed to Christ's and shaped by God's love. In effect their whole being must come alive in that one flat discipleship plane and that one godly missional dimension of his Kingdom alone, rather than branching of in unruly fashion in all directions, to the detriment of themselves and others.

Espaliered growth displays the intentions of the one who shapes and tends. It cannot be mistaken for anything else. Throughout the Bible the witness to this divine espalier is consistent. Leaders, prophets, priests, and visionaries; the high, the mighty, the lowest and the least all bear witness to the fact that God never gives up on the task. God always reaches out to tend our humanity with love and grace; God binds us to each other with compassion and kindness; God anchores us into the solid truth of the Spirit's creative task of reshaping the world. This is the truth which meets and greets us in the birth of Jesus himself.

Through his life and his love we are offered espalier for the soul.

Imagining the Lectionary: Kairos Moments (Advent 1C)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Mon, 26 Nov 2012 19:17:00 +0000

As the sky lightens at daybreak this is the moment in which the sun penetrates the chilly shroud of mist and bathes the landscape in milky light. Chronological time becomes irrelevant. Here and now, in this Kairos moment, consciousness is suffused by rays from another realm, imparting a deeper sense of place and space, purpose and meaning. God is our soul's timekeeper and the light of God's love describes an arc of grace on the sundial of our yearning.

When you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near (Luke 21:31). You must be vigilant at all times (Luke 21:36) In those days and at that time I will... (Jeremiah 33:15). The choices of scripture for this Advent Sunday carry the same sense of expectation, revelation and surprise for us as does the sun emerging through the cloaking mist. God's love has broken through, is breaking through and will break through to enlighten us and to show us the world in a different light. These Kairos moments are an invitation to recognise God's unfolding initiative, to be inspired by what we see and to participate in its outworking.

In this sense the season of Advent takes us right back to basics. We rediscover just how dependent we are upon such Kairos moments and how stale and staid our faith journey would become without these gifts of awakening to the inbreaking dimension of God's presence-full purpose.

Through the Sundays in Advent we recall how the prophets were compelled to proclaim, challenge and act by their Kairos moments; how John the Baptist was filled with fiery passion to preach and baptise in preparation for the inbreaking of God's Kingdom through the imminent arrival of the Messiah; how Mary accepted the heart-piercing gift of bearing Jesus in the Kairos moment knowledge that in birthing and cradling his life she was participating in the divine rebirth of hope for humanity. All these precious world-remaking Kairos moments are the historical antecedents of our own in a pattern that never changes and a process that is recognisable today. God reaches out to us as individuals and imparts to us an imperative awareness of Kingdom opportunity and invites to to grasp and own its significance for the benefit of others.

What Kairos moments will God offer to us this Advent? What does God intend to happen through them? And will we be vigilant when they occur and be willing and prepared to be changed by them?

Imagining the Lectionary: Must have love and the danger of following Christ (Christ the King)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Wed, 21 Nov 2012 16:32:00 +0000

My kingdom,” said Jesus, “doesn’t consist of what you see around you. If it did, my followers would fight so that I wouldn’t be handed over to the Jews. But I’m not that kind of king, not the world’s kind of king. (John 18:36 The Message)

I’m The God Who Is, The God Who Was, and The God About to Arrive. (Revelation 1:8 The Message)

I read recently that research into the biophysics of avian migration points to the tantalising possibility that birds might be able to 'see' the earth's magnetic field as an integral part of their vision using magnetosensitive cryptochrome molecules in their retinas. Such an 'overlay' would enable the birds to navigate vast distances using their visual perception of variations in the magnetic field around the earth. This would be the much more elegant avian equivalent of a hiker holding up a magnetic compass to their eye, orientating themselves to the correct bearing and looking along their intended direction of travel.

As soon as I read this the thought struck me of the spiritual parallel; namely that followers of Christ perceive the world and see everyone in it overlain with the intentional and invitational patterns of God's love. We navigate through the choices and challenges of everyday life on the basis of this Kingdom of Love overlay. Through the Holy Spirit God directs us, challenges us and awakens us to possibilities to follow Christ and build his Kingdom. We migrate and find our way together by virtue of the constant nature of the whole field of God's love which envelops and enfolds us, and indwells within us. The Holy Spirit catches our attention in the ordinary and draws us towards those who need us most. The Wild Goose flies beyond the horizon of the mundane and familiar to discover the pulsating presence of Grace lighting up the everyday and ordinary with opportunity to be present to and engage with love's task.

The first photograph attempts to picture what I mean. I took it on my iPhone in a department store in Hull. I was captivated by the conjunction of the big, bold, red "Must Have" slogan and the pure white wooden "Love" dual heart shaped photo frame set to one side beneath it. This was what my attention was drawn to. Not one heart but two; to reciprocity, mutuality and to the relational power of God's Kingdom as Jesus lived it. Not one heart, but two. Not me but we. Not separate but together. Not just me loving God, but me loving God and my neighbour as myself. It was as though in the midst of all the visual distraction, the Wild Goose drew my perception to the place where it needed to land.

So when Jesus is confronted by the power of Pilate we find Pilate confronted by God's perceptual overlay of love in Jesus. Pilate does not see as Jesus sees. Pilate's Kingdom ideal is altogether different. It is founded on violence, coercion and superiority, the worn Trinity of Despotism the world over. This is how he sees. It shapes his perception of the world and those in it. He is like a goose unable to migrate to a better world because he is incapable of seeing the spiritual and political pathways towards it. His sight is conditioned by the need to dominate, subjugate and oppress. In total contrast Jesus sees with the powerful overlay of God's Spirit which focusses his whole attention on love and its radical consequences. He is not the kind of King that Pilate could ever comprehend.

To follow Christ is to see differently and to travel with a definite purpose towards the spiritual destination that Jesus calls the Kingdom. It is to be sensitive to the presence of the Spirit and to take our direction from the persistent overlay of God's Kingdom of Love. And just like Jesus, this is to risk getting into hot water with the powers that be and to expect confrontation with all that diminishes our humanity. 'The God Who Is, The God Who Was, and The God About to Arrive' invites us to navigate by his divine presence alone. Made in God's image this is inherent in our nature. What was true is true and will always be so. God's love is our most natural "Must Have".

Playgrounding Christianity

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Mon, 12 Nov 2012 11:46:00 +0000

Walking with the family through Roundhay park in Leeds I had one of those moments of insight which immediately had me raising my camera to my eye and pressing the shutter button. The playground was alive with hordes of young children dashing around whilst their parents stood by keeping a watchful eye on the antics of their offspring. In particular the wacky shape of this imaginatively designed wooden installation provided lots of opportunity for the kids to have fun. They swarmed all over it, enthusiastically exploring all of its potential. There were no instructions, no right way or wrong way to engage with it, just the chance to discover the delights and challenges of this wooden wonder for themselves.

The absolute contrast with our approach in the Church to matters of faith and theology was what struck me so powerfully when I first saw this scene. And the thought occurred to me that perhaps we should encourage people to exuberantly 'faithground' their own theology much more, rather than obsessing about 'Faith and Order' and slavishly having to follow the pathways devised and predetermined by others.

Faith is wacky and theology does look odd to modern eyes. Surely it is better for us to envisage getting to grips with Christianity by having the complete child-like freedom to explore its shapes and challenges with a real sense of adventure and even fun than always being made to feel anxious lest we put a foot wrong? The parents in the photograph were on hand to help, encourage and if needs be to warn of danger ahead. But that was not their primary task: first and foremost they were there to encourage their kids to have fun exploring the equipment for themselves and in so doing to explore and enrich their developing sense of self and individual identity.

I rather think that this was the approach Jesus took to the faith formation of his disciples. It was very much hands on and experiential, much to the consternation of the 'Rules and Order' brigade. Jesus' followers were encouraged to live God's love first and to exploit every opportunity they had to explore its biblically based faith structure in everyday life. In their encounters with poor, distressed, suffering, sickly and excluded people they climbed all over the fantastic promises and stories in the Bible which tell of God's passion for just such as them. As they challenged those who should have known better they had a firm grip upon God's prophetic dialogue with humanity. And as they did these things, as they climbed, leapt, jumped, scrambled and swung through all that the Bible tells us is so fabulous about God, they discovered for themselves what it is to be an authentic disciple.

If we have the faith to playground our Christianity more we might discover something really precious too.

Imagining the Lectionary: provoking the best rather than bringing out the worst (Proper 28B/Ordinary 33B)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Thu, 08 Nov 2012 17:23:00 +0000

Let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another (Hebrews 10:24-25)

What do these two images provoke in you? I ask the question because the subject of both photographs was intended to convey meaning and influence your perception and choices accordingly. The first is based around two images of togetherness which are used as street advertising with the shadow of a couple naturally superimposed as they walk by adding a third complementary element.

The second photograph is a close up of an advertising display placed outside Nando's in a local shopping mall. Having taken aim, Daniel Craig's James Bond is recumbent at our feet, ready to fire his signature automatic pistol. This publicity image for the excellent 'Skyfall', together with the Nando's marketing copy which framed it, seeks to establish a beneficial synergy between the two brands in our minds, leading to increased footfall for both. One can only hope that we are meant to focus on the machismo glamour rather than the extra-judicial killing which is part and parcel of the Bond franchise, but one never knows with marketing....so complain about the chilli at your peril!

The image which the church presents to the world similarly conveys meaning and influences the public's perception and choices accordingly. Unlike the marketing campaigns in the photographs however, we have to take account of a set of deeply ingrained images which exist in popular perception which are beyond our manipulation or control. They are not what we would wish to present or have in circulation. The cumulative effect of this culturally negative set of associations has been the marginalisation of faith, church and religion within society.

Thankfully as the churches refocus on our core identity and business of birthing God's Kingdom of Love and transforming lives, challenging injustice and being a real force for good in our communities, new much more attractive images are being created and presented. Provoking one another to love and good deeds, being together and encouraging each other forms positive pixels of association in public perception, which combine cumulatively to reveal the big picture of Christianity in a much more attractive way. Provoking the best about life rather than bringing out the worst is at the heart of this emerging image.

And we find ourselves looking at Jesus.

GraceSight: Looking beneath the surface and seeing beyond the superficial

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Thu, 08 Nov 2012 13:56:00 +0000

Do not judge others (Matthew 7:1; Luke 6:37)
Do not condemn others (Luke 6:37)
Look beneath the surface so you can judge correctly (New Living Translation) (John 7:24)
Stop judging by mere appearances, but instead judge correctly (NIV) (John 7:24)
Do to others as you would have them do to you (Matthew 7:12; Luke 6:31)

The external appearance of this padlocked set of doors into redundant commercial premises in the centre of Hull tells its own story. Seen out of context the image itself would lead us to conclude that this was a doorway into a property that, if not entirely abandoned, was severely neglected. With its peeling paint, rotting wood and broken letterbox, the image conveys the antithesis of care.

As we look at it we might arrive at certain conclusions and value judgements about why this might be so. And as we do we are without thinking already positioning ourselves in relation to those responsible for the doorway in terms of our understanding of what the right thing to do would be and also of why that view has not prevailed in this instance.

Instead of this doorway substitute an image of unemployed people in a queue at a foodbank, or a photograph of a banquet for financiers and bankers in the City of London, and you will perhaps sense what I am getting at. We are making judgements all of the time and we interpret what we see from our own standpoint as individuals, each with a unique story of how we are what we are and why we are who we are.

It is this innate human tendency to judge on the basis of appearances that Jesus questions in order for us to be aware of its hold over us, and so that we might then learn to see with deeper insight.

The second image conveys pictorially what I am trying to say. Behind the doorway is a vulnerable, imperfect and bruised person like you and me. Rather than judging on the basis of superficial appearances we are prompted by Jesus to delve more deeply into the whole backstory of why things are like this. Rather than criticise we are challenged to empathise as though it were us who were looking out of this particular letterbox onto the world beyond. How would that feel? And what effect would the critical gaze of others have upon our self-worth?

Would we not yearn to be seen with GraceSight? And might such seeing be the beginning of our redemption? Why won't we gaze upon each other with the GraceSight of Jesus? For it is only when we can and do judge as he judges that we will find ourselves freed to address the issues which separate us from each other.

Imagining the Lectionary: Appearance and separation (Proper 27B/Ordinary 32B)

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Wed, 07 Nov 2012 09:47:00 +0000

We all fade like a leaf and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away (Isaiah 64:6)

As he taught, he said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.” (Mark 12:38-44)

Our local woodland is gloriously carpeted with newly fallen leaves, providing a rich kaleidoscope of autumnal colour. Leaves of many different species have found their way into this vivid display of fallenness under our feet. However this splendour is short lived, and the inevitable transition to a uniform brown mulch is clearly taking hold. Indeed, on the pavement at the corner of our street the fallen leaves are already becoming shrivelled and curled up, and with each day that passes more and more of them are being blown unceremoniously by the wind into the gutter. Soon our focus will return to the bare trees themselves, sentinels in a barren landscape in the grip of approaching winter. Stripped of their visible glory only the tough substance of their hardy vitality remains to endure and wait. Bereft of leaves, the trees are rooted and ready to respond to the embrace of greater light and warmth, heralding the approach of Spring, with a verdant outpouring of fresh growth.

Shedding its leaves is a deciduous trees way of ensuring that it can withstand adversity and survive to grow and set seed to secure future generations. Disposable leaves are a means to a biological end. Letting go of what we would otherwise cling to in order to survive and thrive is a spiritual principle too.

Appearance and separation go together.

When Jesus contrasts the demeanour of the wealthy and privileged male elite with that of a poor widow he is mindful of that truism. The outward trappings of a life are not an end in themselves; in order to fully embrace the presence and purpose of God we have to be prepared let go of the stuff of appearances because these have the power to separate us from God. Spiritually deciduous, we shed all that would imperil our spiritual survival and flourishing. Stripped back to the bare spiritual structure of God's Kingdom of Love - loving God utterly and totally and others as ourselves - and being deep rooted into the solid ground of God's love and care for us, we are liberated to follow Jesus unreservedly, to grow and set seeds of faith for the future into the barren soil of the world's suffering and injustice.

Otherwise the words of Isaiah become all too true for us; beholden to appearances, in thrall to that which we deem indispensable but which is actually disposable, the irony is that we fade spiritually like an autumn leaf anyway, and our iniquities carry us away like fallen and shrivelled leaves upon the pavement of life.

remembrance

noreply@blogger.com (David Perry) — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 09:10:00 +0000

The Bomber Command Memorial in London is a long overdue tribute to the 56,000 aircrew who lost their lives in the second world war. When we visited there was a steady stream of people from home and abroad milling around the sculpture, taking photographs and looking at the poppies, notes and photographs strewn around the feet of the figures. These personalised the all too familiar scene of a crew back at base waiting forlornly for their friends, now several hours dead in the wreckage of their aircraft, to return. Pictures of uniformed young men in the prime of life, annotated with notes describing the dates and circumstances of their loss, filled out the empty space of lost friendship in and around the sculpture. The tiredness, stress and combat fatigue of the crew, just back from another 'trip', is plainly evident; as for that matter is the chilling statistic that two thirds of aircrew never made it to the end of their thirty trip first tour of operations. Here, in stone, bronze, document and space, the presence of death is unmistakable.

And in a deeply poignant gesture, a visitor had placed a silk, jewel encrusted poppy into the top of one of the flying boots of the crew. Here bronze, history and intention come together in a symbolic act of remembrance, the colour jarring us into an awareness of the presence in our present of the dead and those who survived. Elderly people carry the truth of this memorial within them still, as do their families and friends. Stories of war and loss shape and frame so many family histories. All around us in our society the impact of what this memorial represents is still felt. Wives lost their husbands, girlfriends lost their boyfriends; mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, aunts, uncles and grandparents, and countless children, lost more than words can ever express. This history lives within us and among us.

This truth came home to me when I visited an open exhibition at an art gallery in Scunthorpe recently. The painting of a young, beautiful woman, framed by red flowers, yet with hints of a much darker context perhaps evoked by drips and washes of red paint reminiscent of blood, spoke to me powerfully of this loss. Although not painted as such, to me it became an image of remembrance that is seldom pictured or expressed, but is so deeply felt by women the world over. The passion and vitality of love and togetherness is prefigured by the cruel red-raw reality of death. Loss awaits and tragedy beckons.

Post-war politicians and commentators followed Churchill's lead in seeking to disown the area bombing campaign waged by Bomber Command. The targetting of civilians and the deaths of women and children detracted from the righteousness of the cause. Only now, in 2012, has the mendacity of politicians been set aside so that the lives and raw courage of these talented young men, who in the face of appalling odds did what was asked of them by their government, can be rightfully and publically honoured and commemorated.

Conflicts, uniforms and weaponry change, but the faces of the dead and the war mongering of politicians do not. They are always familiar. Looking at the carved figures of two infantrymen on a memorial in York to those who were killed in the South African campaign, which was fought during the long drawn out death throes of British Imperialism, I am stuck by the ordinariness of their faces. The figure on the left holds our gaze to convey this fact insistently and render the tragedy of his loss forecefully into our perception as though he were the very latest casualty to lose his life in a war on foreign soil carried out in our name and in our time.

How many memorials will we need before we come to our senses?