lurchersontheedge

I am not inclusive. I am a Christian. I believe welcome and hospitality are at the heart of what I believe and do.

I do not believe inclusivity, without challenge, is at the heart of what I believe and do

You can embrace and welcome people you disagree with. When I was in Birmingham as a vicar, Hasan was a Muslim. I obviously was not. Both our sons were in the same year at the local church school. We got on, had similar interests, laughed at each others jokes, shared food and put the world to right. We believed though that each other were fundamentally wrong about Jesus. That did not stop our friendship.

So, I am not inclusive. I apologise for that.

I had longed for some time to take Alex and Rufus, my boys, to Jerusalem for the Passover. The holy city was something that Sophia and I told them about since they were small. In our homeland, we were in a minority as Jews surrounded by people who worshipped many different gods, and it was a melting pot of different cultures. I yearned to go to the city of David and experience worship in the Temple. sacrifices had been offered for me before of course, but through other pilgrims, but to be there and do it myself would be out of this world. My only regret was the Sophia was not with us any longer to see it.

Jerusalem was all that I expected and more. There were pilgrims from throughout the world. It was a cultural meeting pot of Jews from many and diverse places. All of us here to celebrate the festival of liberation. Rufus and Alexander loved to sit in the Temple and were intrigued by a teacher from Nazareth. He did teach well, although the elders clearly did not like him and wanted to trip him up. Alexander leaned that people had cheered him into the city as David’s son. I was cautious about him because of that. Many had many such claims and it did not end well for our people. Yet, in his dealings with people, he was resolute and kind.

Towards the end of the week, I heard that he had been arrested, and I knew there would be trouble. I wanted to get the boys out of the city, and yet found myself in a crowd of people who seemed to be gathering to witness an execution. As I was looking for a way to get out quickly, I was grabbed my two soldiers. ‘Boy; carry the cross’. I looked at the Nazaerene who returned by gaze with empathy. I did as I was told. The romans struck me for being hesitant, I was looking for my boys. They were being looked after by the women following the condemned man. I kept going surrounded by a cauldron of noise, many of who simply their to see the spectacle of death. I could see the place of execution and my spirits sank at the enormity of it all. The cross was removed from me, and I was manhandled away, as the Nazarene was stripped and placed on the tree. I found my boys and mouthed a word of thanks. I wanted to run, but my boys stood for a little longer as the young teacher prayed God’s forgiveness on those who were killing him. That was unexpected. Come boys, I said as we left the city. It turned dark as we left. The man was clearly something different. I now know him to be the Messiah. My boys lead churches in Cyrene, and often tell of the time when their dad carried the throne of David’s son.

Peter closed his eyes. But each time he did so he was back there, warming himself by the fire. ‘Surely you were with him’ they had said. He knew his pronounced northern accent gave him away. ‘I have no idea what you are talking out. I don’t *** know the man’. The words were sharp on his tongue, causing him to wince, and open his eyes.

His eyes had met those of his master’s. The master’s eyes were not angry, still loving, although for him they were distant now. Hope had gone. Nothing would go back to the way it was, but he would go back to being Simon. The claim that he would be the sturdy one on which anything could be built was now hollow and so desperately sad.

He could not meet the eyes of his companions. They knew what he had done. No one had said anything. There was nothing to be said. Each one had ran away. Only he had denied knowing the man who had turned their lives upside down. He put his head in his hands. As he did so, the sunlight danced through a crack in the wall, and he thought that he remembered something. Fleetingly. Imperceptibly. And then it was gone.

It was a day of nothingness. They would go home eventually, although nothing would be the same. Follow me, he had said. Simon’s eyes welled with tears; hot, bittered, and tired. He had tried. His strength had gone. ‘You are a Galilean’. ‘I don’t know the man!’

His eyes closed once more. It had been after synagogue when they had first met. Simon always went. It was more than a habit. His wife had invited the young preacher back. Simon wanted to smile at the memory of Jesus healing his mother-in-law, and afterwards showing them how to fish. But he could not bring himself to smile. He had let the master down; he had let himself down.

Simon rolled over again and struggled to remember. He could not. The pieces no longer made sense. And he was back again by the fire.

I am an Evangelist. Obviously this is the case for my faith, but also for the Welsh language

https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2026/mar/29/welsh-language-resurges-adult-learners-dysgu-cymraeg?fbclid=IwY2xjawQ1t_xleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZBAyMjIwMzkxNzg4MjAwODkyAAEe6-6WL3nhc7yTiRXBUvF6HiqQYSx5I2BlAirwZ9sWEYKoIAeI2v8BIM5FBqI_aem_dEtI2sIa9DDYEcGSkX4MyQ

This article in the Guardian celebrates the fact that adult learning of the Welsh language is enjoying something of a renaissance.

Learning Welsh and being in Wales has changed me. This is explored in this interview

I have written some stories for Holy Week. I love a little creativity. Stories about Pilate, Mark, Barabbas, Miriam and others.

I would like to get them published one day.

So, if BRF you are scrolling… get in touch.

I sat on my bed. Looking down at my grave clothes smiling. I had been unwell. I am not sure any of us knew how unwell I was. I remember sending for Jesus. We had been friends for what seemed like forever. I passed in and out of consciousness over those last days. I was worried about my sisters. What would become of them? He did not come. I heard my sister saying he was on his way. I only knew heaviness and then….

I spluttered once, and then twice. The dryness of my throat was apparent, and then the stench. Stench? Stench of what? Where am I as my eyes moistened and adjusted. I am dry. It is dark, as I feel for the first-time clothing bandaged around me. But what is it?

I had no idea how long I had been there. I remember my sisters wrapping me in linen when we were children. But where I am I now? It smells… and I remember. Is this it? Darkness. I hear a voice. It is calling my name. ‘Lazarus’.

Lazarus – that is me. I am being called. I see a chink of light. ‘Come out – the voice calls. I recognize the voice. It is him. My sisters were right. He would come. I struggle to move; what am I wrapped in? I shuffle towards the light. I am so weak. Slowly I move, my legs are bandaged – and they seem like I have not used them in ages. ‘Lazarus, Come out!’. My ears seem to retune to the call. I have been unwell. Is this dying? I struggle towards the light. A hand touches my own and pulls me further into the light.

My eyes blink and blink again at the brightness, and I find myself staring into his eyes. It is Jesus. His eyes look like they are on fire. He smiles and laughs. ‘Untie him’ – he commands. I am alive. I did not know I had not been.

Untie me? I remember. Mary and Martha fall upon me. I am not as strong as I was, as the three of us tumble on to the floor as if we were children. Jesus lifts me up. ‘Thank you’. He smiles back at me with a smile that suggests that he had done something easy, as if a greater battle lies ahead.

Hannah

Reading: 1 Samuel 1

How long O lord will you abandon me for ever? When will you visit me with your grace. Day after day these words and other like them fell from my lips. God had chosen not to bless me. The fact that my husband Elkanah is good, gracious, and loving to me did not take away my sense of shame. The fact that he loved me more than he loved Peninnah made my pain bearable at times, but also provoked his other wife as she paraded her sons and daughters in front of me. God who had closed my womb had clearly opened hers. Looking back, Peninnah did not flaunt the fruit of her union with my husband and her husband as much as I thought. Barrenness is though always hard edged and can lead to darkness beyond lament.

I went up to the House of the Lord regularly pouring out every fibre of my being as I pleaded for a child. The priest of the shrine, Eli, thought I looked drunk. In fairness to him, others believed me to be mad. Your great pain is driving your mad, they would say. Do not let it control you. God has blessed you in other ways. It was true I had a fine husband who treated me like a queen, but that which I longed for had not come. So, I begged, cried, and yearned for something more.

Then somehow the old priest saw through my tears and sent me home with his assurance that the God of Israel had heard my prayers. Sure, enough he did, I fell pregnant by Elkanah and gave birth to a son. How my world was complete. God had given me all I wanted and yet I in turn had promised to give him a way. Samuel would be a Nazarite. After he is weaned, he would be taken to the House of the Lord to serve. Weaning happens within our culture anytime between the ages of 3 and 4. It is the time when we are almost certain that survival is guaranteed.  My husband supported my decision, but it left Peninnah bewildered

Her question of why I would give up what was most precious was a good one. I had to. It was inevitable, a debt of honour. I watched Sammy grow strong and become a prophet of the Lord. He crowned a king. I love my boy. It was hard to give him up. I wanted him so much. As I returned home leaving with him Eli, it was almost like a sword pierced my heart. And yet, I rejoice in what he has become.