lurchersontheedge

I had a wonderful Lent, Holy Week and Easter. We did lots of good stuff together, which can be found elsewhere on this blog. One day I promise to ‘tidy the blog up’ a little. This Easter week has been a little surreal, given that I have had a plethora of funerals, conversations and watched a rather wonderful police raid take place at the local shops. I use the words rather wonderful is a slightly ironic fashion.

It strikes me yet again that what I do is bumble. I know I have said this before on a number of occasions.

I stood for about an hour talking to others yesterday about the police raid. Each of us was watching; but we talked about what they were doing. We chatted about the police dogs; the weather and life. In middle of all that, I took a booking for a bab to be done; which roughly translated is Brummie for ‘can my child receive one of the sacraments of the Church of England?’ (baptism or christening). Time was just spent observing and being.

I wonder why I do not do more of this; especially when I know it is appreciated, effective and I actually feel quite good in myself about it.

Is it because it is too costly? It takes time of course; time that could perhaps be better spent beginning my tax return (I do think about it even this early), dealing with the forthcoming APCM, filling in a form for a faculty – again I am specialising a little in irony. I wonder whether it is too costly because it requires us to be human – and it is such a long time since priests were just encouraged to be human.

Perhaps it is costly because it is also encourages us to be alive in the presence of others.

To bumble is then an amazing thing; an act of generosity, because it allows us to touch and be touched. Now that is a scary sacred thought for this season of Easter.

Some small reflections that will be offered in Bartley Green on the Second Sunday of Easter

Fully alive. 2nd of Easter

There are so many of us that it is easy to get us confused. I am normally called by my husband’s name; the wife of Clopas.

I am a follower of Jesus. I am proud to be identified with him. I was proud to stand by his cross, to take him to the tomb, and I was proud to go with his mother, another Mary and Mary of Magdala to the tomb early on what has become the first day of the week.

You see I am proud to be his Aunt, I watched him grow up. Clopas was Joseph’s brother. I was involved in the beginning when stories were swirling about when Mary had become pregnant. She told me everything. Joseph told Clopas everything – well in a silent masculine sort of way. So I actually I knew more than most. One thing is for sure, Joseph loved Mary’s firstborn to bits. You would never ever have known. But that is another story.

What was going to happen in Jerusalem was always going to happen. Jesus was an intelligent man. He knew that his actions would cause concern. I am not saying the family approved of all he did, Jacob and Joses, his brothers did not; although Jacob has changed his tune now. But that is his story. I think Aunts can be a little more distant and weigh things up a little more impartially.

Nevertheless, it was the worst day of my life watching him die. He seemed in control, which I suppose was odd really. It was the worst day possible for his Mother, and to do it without the support of Joseph of blessed memory and of her children. I think they will be slightly ashamed of themselves now; I hope so, if they do not want to feel the force of my tongue.

She had told me of the time when Jesus was dedicated, and an old priest, Simon or perhaps Simeon was his name, had told her that the child she cradled would cause her pain as if sword were to pierce her soul. I think it was far worse than that. Imagine watching helpless, as your child dies.

He was brave – you would not have known it though by the look of him. He was not that attractive at all.

Then we buried him and waited.

I would like to say I knew it all along; but even favourite Aunts don’t know everything.

The tomb was empty.

His grave clothes were folded up neatly. Joseph had always insisted he tidied up after himself.

Then Mary of Magdala said she has seen him.

Clopas and our friend Jairus when off to Emmaus. I stayed with Mary.

The men were back – they had seen him

Peter said he had seen him too.

and Mary saw him. That was a nice touch.

I never did. But I know it to be true.

I cannot stop any more, I have to be about the father’s business. That was something he said to his mum a long time ago.

He was a year older than me. We played together in the carpenter’s shop. Our hands were skilled at the plane and the lathe.

He got to do things before I did, taken to the Temple, learning the Torah, his rite of passage into adulthood. I was a little jealous, which brother is not. I rejoiced when I grew a tad taller than him; and when I could beat him in the race from the market to the workshop.

We comforted our younger brothers and sisters together when our father died. He let me lead the Kiddush, saying it was fitting that Joseph’s firstborn did so. He was always doing and saying strange things, but at the moment it did not matter.

We went into business together, and it was brilliant… while it lasted. We went to the Jordan River to hear our cousin John. He was always the religious one. Don’t get me wrong, we were a devout family. Both of us were baptised at the same time. It was strange, I thought I saw and heard something, but afterwards was not sure. People in the crowd were convinced, and were pointing at us; although afterwards, I thought they were just gesticulating at him.

He went on into the desert; and said the business was mine now. None of us heard from him for days, but then we heard rumours that he was teaching the people and giving them hope. I liked that idea. People always need hope. Then whispers that he staying with the wrong kind of people: prostitutes, tax-collectors. Eventually, I heard he was being critical of our leaders and our traditions; gathering others around him, claiming to speak in God’s name.

I did not know what to do. I did what any brother would. I got together our siblings and our mum and went to find him. We could not get into house where he was. After waiting for many hours, one of his followers, Judas came out, and let us know that he had said any one who followed him was his brother, sister or mother.

I was angry – we had played, worked, argued, laughed and smiled together – and he seemed to be saying that all that counted for nothing.

I was angrier for Mum; but she seemed calm and peaceful.

He went to Jerusalem for Passover. Mum wanted to go, so I went too. It was my duty; someone had to act like they were the firstborn.

As he rode into the city that day, I almost believed he was the Messiah; although it is hard to believe that when at the same time you have images family races, meals and birthdays flashing through your mind.

Hosanna! to the Son of David. We were always proud that we were of David’s line.

He went mental in the Temple, and from that point on I decided to look after our Mum and have nothing more to do with him. I was asked by Mum to go the Passover celebration, but I would go in.

All of it happened in a blur. He was arrested and condemned. My brother! I was in the crowd, yelling for him.

I kept my distance from him whilst he was on the Cross. I wanted to go to be there, but could not. Only a handful of his followers were there. At least I watched. He gave our mum into the care of someone else.

Then he died. I was suddenly the eldest.

James and John took care of Mum, and told me to keep my head down. “The authorities might want to wipe out the family as well as his friends”, the said.

I stayed in a room by myself. Joses was in the next house.

I spent the day reading the Torah. I felt alone.

On Sunday, there whispers about the tomb

That is all I need, I thought.

It all happened too suddenly.

Suddenly, he was there – the Lord of glory; my brother Jesus.

He smiled

I smiled

He laughed

I laughed.

We patted each other on the back.

I looked into his eyes – and he read everything there is know about me and how I felt in my eyes,

Then he was gone

I thought I had better start acting like the firstborn, and with others I gathered people together; trying to make sense of my brother, the Messiah.

I even ended leading the Church in Jerusalem

With a brother like that, you never know what is going to happen.

Keeping Holy Week is not the easiest when you suddenly find yourself surrounded by funerals.

Maundy Thursday, however, forces some reflection on Jesus the Servant. The story of Jesus washing his disciples feet is central to the Last Supper in John’s Gospel

I have often wondered what the church – and consequently the world – would be like if the central symbol of Christianity was not a cross, but a bowl and a towel.

Jesus – the one who serves.

It is revolutionary

Jesus – the leader would be more apt at times

At least it would be more apt for those in power within the church.

service and servanthood are things that seem to have dissonance for our time.

They are though what we most

and in Jesus we might find an or the appropriate model

Something I have learnt during Lent

I am a Yorkshireman

I am male

I am married

I have a son

I am a priest

I preside at the Eucharist; and with some audacity stand in the place of Christ.

I preside with my arms in a cruciform position; yet am resentful when people take advantage of me

I open my home to people, and get fed up when they do not go away.

I am not an administrator, nor do I want to be

I am a scholar, who does not have enough time to read – and then can end up reading all the wrong stuff that turns out to be poetically right all along.

I spend lots of time with people, when I love to be alone.

I am never more content than when walking my hounds, and wonder how they can live such uncomplicated lives.

I like music, but do not understand it.

I am forever pacing the cage

I like art, but do not comprehend it.

I am on a journey, with many and with a few.

I am still discovering what it is like to live with image that stares back at me from the mirror.

I am learning to like living

to enjoy chasing the wind and smelling the rain.

the touch of the sun and caress of the grass

I am learning to be me in this place

I am a priest. It is sometimes like being a shaman

communicating the divine through the fractured prism of the world

I am a new thinker

I keep to traditions

I cannot make a decision alone

for a priest does not exist in isolation

I am an introvert

I am learning to be me once again

I did not enjoy being young

I did not enjoy being a child

constrained and hemmed in

frustrated by a poverty of the imagination

living without the kaleidoscope of expectation

change came with movement

change came with an opening

I am learning to be me once again

I am priest

I chase rainbows in the rain for people

I laugh at their stories

and help make holy their narratives

I cry and I rage

I stamp and I shout

I lose temper when I should not

I am discovering who I am once again

I can skim a pebble in the stream

I can spend hours waiting for the kingfisher

I can listen to TMS for hours

I can lose myself in the poetry of the word

I can be silent and still embrace the sound

For all that I am is precious

Untarnished

Gem-like

and wonderful

Fearful

carefully crafter

I am learning to be me once again.

Holy Wednesday. Our title series continues with ‘Son of Man’. One of the intriguing things is that this phrase is at one and the same time the description most commonly used by Jesus to describe himself and one that disappears quite quickly from usage within the early church. Luke places it on the lips on Stephen as he is martyred and John uses it in The Revelation. There is also the slight conundrum as to what this title or phrase actually means. A variety of solutions have been offered. It is used as the personal pronoun ‘I’. It means a ‘human being’. Or perhaps an identification with the first human ‘Adam’. I am more persuaded by the possibility that Jesus was alluding to the divine figure found in Daniel and Enoch. Thus, when Jesus refers to himself as ‘the one like a son of man’; he is placing himself truly on the side of God.

Within the first decade of the life of the early Church, that is to say within a decade after the resurrection, Jews who followed Jesus as Messiah were worshipping him alongside God. We cannot overestimate the importance of the language and symbolism surrounding the figure of the ‘Son of Man’, in helping them to do this.

Holy Tuesday sees us exploring the title ‘Son of God’.

In many ways I want to begin with a further reflection on the term ‘Messiah’ or ‘Anointed’ from Holy Monday. The term ‘Anointed’ is fairly meaningless, without some idea of what a person is anointed for. In a similar way, the term ‘son of God’ may be a little bit vacuous without some thought as to who God is. Let me explain, when I return home to my childhood church, I am always regarded as the ‘son of George’. That makes no sense to those who of you who have no idea who ‘George’ is or was; but means a lot to those in that congregation who view my late father with something close to hagiography.

Jesus being the son of God obviously means something in terms of the relationship between Father and Son. Theologians can talk at length with about that.

However, the most important thing might be to reflect on what Jesus being God’s son says about God.

I hope people will say of me. Kevin is a chip off the old block. That would be a hugely satisfying thing for me. It would also say something about my Dad.

To say Jesus is God’s son, means that God is a little bit like Jesus. Sadly, I am not sure the church is yet ready for that sort of revelation.

Holy Monday – so we continue with the titles of Jesus. Today we have been exploring Jesus the Messiah. Messiah is translated into Greek as  Christos (Christ) and into English, Anointed.

The Jewish background to the term ‘Messiah’ is interesting. Many of us might think that Jews at the time of Jesus had a highly developed understanding of what Messiah was meant to be. Of course, some undoubtedly did. Others did not. The term ‘Messiah’ or ‘Anointed’ occurs 38 times in the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament. One of these times is interestingly enough applied to the pagan king, Cyrus. Undoubtedly around the time of Jesus, there were those who wanted some sort of davidic leader to come and rid Palestine from the Roman oppressors. Some of those who wanted the Romans out thought of a Messiah figure. Certainly this is true of the writers (and uses) of the Psalms of Solomon, particular Ps 17. There are some connections between that text and the title found for Jesus at the beginning of Luke’s Gospel. Other Jews and Jewish groups wanted Rome gone, and themselves in charge.

The writers of some of the scrolls found near the Dead Sea seemed to think of the Messiah as a priestly figure, sometimes with a royal messiah at the priest’s side. That is not surprising really given that those writers wanted a Messiah to come and renew the the worship of God.

There then is perhaps the rub. To say Jesus is the Messiah is in many ways something quite safe; it can mean not a lot. However, if we say Jesus is the Anointed one, then another question is automatically begged. Anointed for what?

That perhaps is the deepest theological question there is.

We are exploring the titles of Jesus of Nazareth during Holy Week this week. The theme for Palm Sunday is Son of David. This is the term that the crowd of northerners around Jesus cried out as he approached the capital city on Palm Sunday. One might have a sneaky sympathy with the Perushim (the Pharisees), the teacher from Galilee looked nothing like David’s Son. There is little wonder therefore that Matthew in particular needed to stress that Jesus did look like a royal. I recall though from a long time ago that Jewish tradition contemporaneous to Jesus did hold that the Son of David was not a royal warrior, but one who healed and touched people. This would make sense of Lucan tradition of Bartimaeus crying out, ‘Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me’. In those same midsts of time, there are fragments or scraps from the Dead Sea that appear to point to a suffering messiah.

To those watching the claims of the crowd, Jesus may have looked foolish. There is then a delight that Palm Sunday fell on April Fool’s Day. Fools speak truth to power. Jesus did that, but something more dynamic and confusing. He spoke grace to power. Grace, generosity and vulnerability: all things that we at times struggle to understand.

It is far easier to think of Jesus as the warrior king still who will smite our enemies or as a failure than as someone who played with grace, and through that changed people’s lives; in ones and twos rather than of nations. Ones or twos are best. They are the size of a mustard seed to quote the poet-prophet king who became the fool on the hill.