lurchersontheedge

I graduated from Newcastle University on 28 June 1991. I was the first in the family to go to University. My parents and brother came to the graduation. My Dad was very bright, and could have gone to university had his father not passed away at a young age.

The congregation gathered for the graduation. The Chancellor said something about not clapping until everyone had been announced. My Dad did not hear him or wilfully ignored the instruction (that is where I get it from).

When my name was announced, he cheered and clapped. Of course, I was embarrassed. It was like who is he with and all that. However, now I think my Dad in that action gave a perfect image of what God is like.

My God is the kind of one that claps and cheers for all of his children. Sometimes I forget that he cheers for me, and sometimes the church creates a God who is too stern and aloof when in fact God breaks the rules to cheer on his children.

End of the lesson for today

I have been an evangelist for as long as I can remember. I am however sometimes a reluctant one. I love speaking about Jesus. It is a long time since I did any street preaching, but I enjoyed that, whether that be outside the Tower of London or near the Big Market in Newcastle or indeed outside of Rotherham Minster. I have never understood why people think evangelistic activity is offensive; after all people try to persuade us to do things that we do not necessarily want to do whether that is to buy something we do not really need or vote for a particular party. all sorts of opinions are – and should be – welcome in the public square. I suppose there are questions about this when public proclamation turns up uninvited on your doorstep. Yet, I spent over two and a half years as a shy and hesitant teenager doing just that in London and was rarely rebuffed aggressively for doing so. Cold calling might have decreased significantly, but I have lost count of the number of times callers have tried to remind me of accidents that I have not had. Indeed, as a priest whether in Birmingham or Amlwch, I have never not been given a warm welcome when I have just turned up to offer to pray for people or share a little of the story of Jesus with them.

Given that it is something that I enjoy why would it be something that I am reluctant about? Maybe I am naturally hesitant about telling people what they should do. Yet, the point of evangelism is to get to a decision isn’t it? I recall being on a mission weekend with the then Archbishops’ Missioner, Michael Green. I was asked to share my Christian story at a particular event. I did so. Afterwards, Michael simply asked why I had not asked those listening to become Christians. Similarly, when I was a curate in Gloucester, I was part of the suffragen bishop’s faith sharing team. With a couple of others, we developed some Murder Mystery events that were focused on proclaiming the faith. The Bishop asked me why I had not been more specific about those present becoming Christians. I began hesitantly to explain that my goal was to introduce people to a story, and the story would attract people. I think I still believe that to be true.

I remember talking to Ann Morrisy, urban practitioner, and community engagement specialist, about evangelism many years ago. She loves football, as do I. I remember her comparing the evangelist to the centre forward whose job is simple: to score goals. I have never seen it as clear cut as that. I create space and opportunities for the stories of God to blossom and grow. Maybe evangelism is a bit like the kingdom, it is grows initially hidden like the mustard seed, hidden like the yeast or haphazard as the seed that has been thrown by the sower.

Thoughts of an eccentric priest

Mae Sul wedi bod ail-frandio mewn rhai cylchoedd fel Diwrnod y Mamau. Mae’n ddiwrnod o flodau, cardiau, siocledi, gwin, brecwast yn y gwely, a diolchgarwch. Mae hefyd yn ddiwrnod y mae rhai dynes a dynion yn ei chael hi’n anodd am nifer o resymau. Pan oeddwn yn gurad yng Nghaerloyw, rwy’n cofio dynes yr oedd ei mab mewn oedolyn wedi marw, a oedd wedi creithio ei hatgofion o fod yn rhiant. Fel offeiriad yn Birmingham, roeddwn i’n nabod rhieni, a oedd yn ffoaduriaid, wedi gwahanu oddi wrth eu plant.. Nid oedd cerdyn nac anrheg ar y bwrdd.

Mae stori Annah ac Elkanah yn un rydyn ni’n ei deall. Mae’n stori o hiraeth a gobaith. Mae Annah eisiau plentyn. Mae’r anobaith y mae hi’n teimlo yn cael ei gamddeall gan Eli yr offeiriad. Mae Eli yn credu bod Anna yn wallgof wrth iddi annog yr ARGLWYDD am blentyn. Roedd diffyg plant yn chwithig. Roedd plant yn ffynhonnell fendith, a’r rhai heb blant wedi’u labelu’n ddi-haint. Mae angen i ni fod yn ofalus sut rydyn ni’n meiddio defnyddio geiriau. Gall ein geiriau roi gobaith neu ddod ag anobaith.

Mae gan Hannah yn ein stori blentyn. Mae hi’n rhoi ei mab i ffwrdd i fywyd yn y Deml.

Mae Cristnogion yn credu bod plant yn rhodd gan Dduw. Rwy’n dad mabwysiadol. Ni ddigwyddodd unrhyw blant i’m gwraig ac i. Roedd yn boenus. Weithiau mae’n dal i fod. O fewn yr Ysgrythurau Sanctaidd, nid oes stori am rywun sy’n gofyn am blentyn ac nad ydy derbyn un. Rwy’n bersonol yn ymgodymu â Duw ynglŷn â hyn.

Mae Samuel, a anwyd i Hannah, yn blentyn arbennig sy’n tyfu i fyny i gael galwedigaeth arbennig. Samuel yw’r bachgen y mae Duw yn siarad ag ef, ac mae Samuel yn ei glywed o. Mae Samuel yn eneinio brenhinoedd, Saul ac yna Dafydd. Mae’n broffwyd, sy’n golygu ei fod yn siarad gwirionedd â’r rhai sydd mewn grym ac yn egluro’r hyn y bydd Duw yn ei wneud.

Roedd Hannah yn dyheu amdano. Tybed beth rydyn ni’n hiraethu amdano. A meiddiwn ofyn y cwestiwn: beth mae Duw yn dyheu amdano?

Un o themâu’r Beibl, yn y Beibl Hebraeg a’r Testament Newydd yw bod Duw yn rhoi rhoddion. Mae Cristnogion yn credu mai un o’r anrhegion a roddir i’r byd ydy Iesu. Mae Iesu’n cael ei gynnig fel esiampl ac fel rhyddfrydwr, Mesias, brawd ac Arglwydd. Mae Iesu cyffwrdd a’r rhai na fyddem ni weithiau. Siaradodd mewn posau (straeon) yr oedd rhai yn ei chael yn anodd eu deall, a bod y rhai a oedd yn deall weithiau’n cael eu tramgwyddo. Roedd Iesu  chwerthin, crio, creu gobaith, a charu.

 
Yn y darn o Ioan, mae Iesu yn dal i gynnig her. Mae’n ail-greu teulu, gan sicrhau bod y fenyw a esgorodd arno yn derbyn gofal: ‘Dynes, dyma dy fab bellach’, ‘Ffrind, dyma dy fam bellach’. Hyd yn oed ar yr hyn a oedd yn edrych fel ei ddiwedd o, mae Iesu'n caru.

Mae cariad Duw tuag atom yn arbennig a bron y tu hwnt i’n dychymyg. Pan fydd Cristnogion yn ymgynnull i addoli, yn enwedig yn y Cymun Bendigaid, rydyn ni’n torri’r Ysgrythurau ar agor gan ganiatáu i’r geiriau ein herio a’n hail-lunio. Rydyn ni hefyd yn torri bara ac yn rhannu gwin. Mae calon Duw, fel y mwyafrif o rieni, yn torri dros ei blant, ac mae’n cynnig ei gariad a’i roddion inni.

Y peth yw ein bod ni’n ei golli weithiau. Pan ddaeth fy mab i fyw gyda ni. Roedd yn 4 oed. Roeddem yn cerdded gyda’n gilydd ar draeth gwyntog. Roedd geiriau’n cael eu cipio i ffwrdd. Roedd Jennifer yno hefyd, fel yr oedd ein gweithiwr cymdeithasol a oedd yn dal i gerdded ar y daith fabwysiadu gyda ni. Roedd yn rhaid i Jen ddweud, ‘Mae Shaun yn siarad efo ti’

Roedd yn dweud y gair ‘dadi’. Collais y gair, nid oherwydd y gwynt ond oherwydd nad oeddwn byth yn disgwyl iddo ei glywed. Bu bron imi ei golli. Pa roddion rydyn ni’n eu colli gan Dduw. Fel rhieni pa roddion y gallem eu colli. Fel aelodau o’r eglwys, pa roddion rydyn ni’n eu colli a pha roddion nad ydyn ni’n eu rhannu?

All things come from you – and of your own do we give you.

Mothering Sunday, which is often rebranded in some circles as Mothers’ Day can be a day of flowers, cards, chocolates, wine, breakfast in bed, and gratitude. It is also a day that some women and men struggle with for a wide variety of reasons. When I was a curate in Gloucester, I remember a woman whose adult son had died, which had scarred her memories of being a parent. As a priest in Birmingham, I spent time with parents seeking asylum separated from their children. There was no card or gift on the table.

The story of Hannah and Elkanah is one that echoes down the centuries. It is a story of longing and hope. Hannah is desperate for a child. The desperateness is misunderstood by Eli the priest as the murmurings of a madwoman or of a drunkard as she begs Yahweh for a child. Childlessness was a source of shame. Children were a source of blessing, and those without children labelled as barren. We need to be careful how we dare to use words. Words can create or deny life.

Hannah in our story becomes pregnant. She gives her son up to the life of the Temple. All things come from you and of your own do we give you. Christians believe that children are a gift from God. I am an adoptive father. Children did not happen for my wife and me. It was painful. It still is from time to time. within the Scriptures, there is no story of someone who asks for children not being granted them. I wrestle with God personally about this.

Samuel, who was born to Hannah, is a special child who grows up to have a special vocation. Samuel is the boy that God speaks to, and Samuel hears. Samuel anoints kings, Saul and then David. He is a prophet, which means he speaks truth to those in power and forthtells what God will do.

Hannah longed for him. I wonder what we long for. And dare we ask the question: what does God long for?

One of the themes of the Bible, both in the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament is that God gives gifts. Christians believe one of the gifts given to the world is Jesus Christ. Jesus is offered as both example and liberator, anointed one, brother and Lord. Jesus touched those we sometimes would not. He spoke in riddles (stories) that some struggled to understand, and those who did understand were sometimes offended. Jesus laughed, cried, created hope, and loved.

In the passage from John, Jesus still offers a challenge. He recreates family, ensuring that the woman who gave birth to him is cared for: ‘Woman, this is now your son’, ‘Friend, this is now your mother’. Even at what looked like his end, Jesus loves.

God’s love for us special and almost beyond our imagination. When Christians gather to worship, particularly at the Eucharist, we break open the Scriptures allowing the words to challenge and reshape us. We also break bread and share wine. God’s heart, like most parents, breaks over his children, and he offers us his love and gifts.

The thing is we sometimes miss it. When my son came to live with us. He was 4 years old. We were walking together on a windswept beach. Words were being snatched away. Jennifer was also there, as was the social worker who was still walking on the journey of adoption with us. Jen had to say Shaun is talking to you.

He was saying the word ‘Daddy’. I was missing the word, not because of the wind but because I had not expected it to ever be said to me. I nearly missed it. What gifts do we miss from God. As parents what gifts might we miss. As members of the church, what gifts do we miss and what gifts do we fail to share?

Darlleniad yr Hen Destament heddiw yw Eseia 57: 15-diwedd. Mae’n eistedd ochr yn ochr ag Ioan 1: 1-18 y ddarllen arall, a ddylai fod yn gyfarwydd i ni erbyn hyn.

The Old Testament reading for today is Isaiah 57:15-end. It sits alongside John 1:1-18 in the lectionary, which should be familiar to us by now.

Credir yn gyffredinol bod y proffwyd wedi bod yn ysgrifennu mewn cyfnod o alltudiaeth. Roedd y gymuned yr oedd o yn rhan ohoni wedi cael ei rhwygo allan o’u mamwlad ac wedi tynnu oddi wrth lawer o’r pethau yr oeddent yn eu hystyried yn annwyl. Dros amser, rhoddodd rhai alltudion wreiddiau yn y man lle roeddent bellach yn byw, ac roedd eraill yn dyheu am adref. Tybed pa ddull y byddech chi’n ei gymryd. Rwy’n dychmygu na fyddai’r naill na’r llall yn unfrydol o fewn ein plwyf unedig Bro Eleth.

The prophet is generally believed to have been writing in a time of exile. The community which he was part had been ripped out of their homeland and taken away from many of the things that they held dear. Over time, some exiles put down roots in the place where they were now living, and others longed for home. I wonder which approach you would take. I imagine neither would be unanimous within our united parish of Bro Eleth.

Yn y darn hwn, mae Duw yn atgoffa’r proffwyd o ddau beth penodol. Yn gyntaf, mae Duw yn sanctaidd, ac yn ail, mae Duw yn cerdded gyda’r rhai sy’n ostyngedig neu’n agored i niwed. Mae’n hawdd yn nhymor y Nadolig hwn anghofio bod Duw yn sanctaidd yn ogystal â bod gyda’r bregus. Bu temtasiwn trwy gydol hanes Cristnogol i ffafrio Duw fod y naill neu’r llall. Yn blentyn, treuliais y rhan fwyaf o fy mlynyddoedd yn addoli yn Eglwys St James a St Christopher, Shiregreen. Roedd yr adeilad, yn, hyll. Ac eto y tu mewn roedd clustog dawel neu dawelwch bob amser, lle roedd sŵn o unrhyw fath yn gwgu. Roedd fel petai Duw yn gallu byw mewn lle prin iawn yn unig. Nid oedd unrhyw beth allan o’i le. Rwy’n gwybod beth oedd y saint ffyddlon i fod i’w wneud, fe wnaeth eu helpu i addoli. Ac eto, roedd hefyd yn atal eraill yn y gymuned rhag gwneud hynny. Mae Duw yn cerdded gyda’r isel: y rhai sydd heb ddim, y rhai sydd wedi’u dispossessed.

In this passage, God reminds the prophet of two specific things. Firstly, God is holy, and secondly, God walks with those who are humble or vulnerable. It is easy in this season of Christmas to forget that God is holy as well as being with the vulnerable. There has been a temptation throughout Christian history to prefer God to be either one or the other. As a child, I spent most of my years worshipping in St James and St Christopher Church, Shiregreen. The building was, is, ugly. Yet inside there was always a quiet hush or silence, where noise of any kind was frowned upon. It was as if God could only live in a very rarefied place. Nothing was out of place. I know what the faithful saints meant to do, it helped them worship. Yet, it also prevented others in the community from doing so. God walks with the lowly: those who have nothing, the dispossessed.

Mae thema arall yn y darn hwn, mae Duw yn cuddio ei wyneb oddi wrth y rhai sy’n bechadurus. Mae hyn yn rhywbeth nad ydym ni yn y DU yn meddwl gormod amdano. Pryd oedd y tro diwethaf i chi fy nghlywed yn pregethu am bechod neu ganlyniadau anufuddhau i gyfraith Duw? Rwy’n credu y byddwch chi’n crafu’ch pennau am ychydig. Ac eto, mae’r ysgrythur bob amser yn glir ynghylch yr hyn y mae Duw yn ei gofleidio a’r hyn nad yw’n ei. Wrth i ni baratoi i ddechrau blwyddyn newydd, byddaf yn meddwl am hynny’n agos. Pwy yn ein plith a allai ddal drych dwyfol i’n bywydau a pheidio â gweld y rhyfedd braidd neu ddau?

There is another theme in this passage, God hides his face from those who are sinful. This is something we in the UK do not think too much about. When was the last time you heard me preach about sin or the consequences of disobeying God’s law? I think you will be scratching your heads for a while. Yet, scripture is always clear about what God embraces and that which he does not. As we prepare to enter a new year, I will be thinking about that closely. Who amongst us could hold up a divine mirror to our lives and not see the odd blemish or two?

Heddiw yw diwrnod gwledd yr Archesgob Thomas a Becket. Archesgob ydoedd a lofruddiwyd yn ei eglwys gadeiriol gan farchogion yn gweithredu ar ran y brenin. Mae gan weithredu’n briodol ganlyniadau. Rydyn ni’n cofio ein harchesgob a’n hesgobion yn ein gweddïau.

Today is the feast day of Archbishop Thomas a Becket. He was an archbishop who was murdered in his cathedral by knights acting on behalf of the king. Acting appropriately has consequences. We remember our archbishop and bishops in our prayers.

Mae creulondeb byw o dan drefn despotic yn cael ei ddwyn i ganolbwynt yn sydyn yn y darlleniad heddiw o Mathew. Mae’n rhan o’r stori a adroddir unig  yn Efengyl Mathew yn unig. Fe gofiwch sut aeth y magi i ymweld â Herod i ofyn, ‘ble mae wedi ei eni i fod yn frenin yr Iddewon?’. Gofynnodd Herod am addewid gan y magi i ddychwelyd i ddweud wrtho pan oeddent wedi darganfod Iesu’r baban ond wedi cael eu rhybuddio gan angel, ni wnaethant hynny ond ymadael mewn ffordd arall. Yna mae Herod yn gorchymyn bod pob bachgen o dan ddwy oed yn cael ei ladd. Mae Joseff yn mynd â Mair a Iesu i’r Aifft.

The brutality of living under a despotic regime is brought sharply into focus by the commemoration of the massacre of the Holy Innocents. It is part of the story told only in Matthew’s Gospel. You will remember how the magi went to visit Herod to ask, ‘where is he born to be king of the Jews?’. Herod sought a promise from the magi to return to tell him when they had discovered the infant Jesus but being warned by an angel, they did not do so but departed by another way. Herod then orders that every boy under the age of two be killed. Joseph takes Mary and Jesus to Egypt.

Mae’n stori ofnadwy. Bu ysgolheigion sydd wedi wfftio’r stori fel creu llenyddol. Efallai bod dau reswm uniongyrchol pam nad oes angen i ni wneud hyn. Yn gyntaf, mae ysgrifennu Iddewig y ganrif gyntaf yn tynnu sylw at Herod yn gallu gwallgofrwydd mor ddrwg, ac mae ail hanes yn frith o enghreifftiau o farbaraidd echrydus.

It is a galling story. There have been scholars who have dismissed the story as a literary construction. There are perhaps two immediate reasons why we do not need to do this. First, first century Jewish writing points to Herod being capable of such evil madness, and second history is littered with examples of appalling barbarity.

Mae dwy nodwedd o’r stori hon sy’n werth i ni drigo ynddynt. Yn gyntaf, hediad y teulu sanctaidd i’r Aifft ac yn ail, y ffaith nad yw ein Efengylwr (Sant Mathew) yn ceisio cuddio i ffwrdd o wyneb drygioni.

There are two features of this story that are worth us dwelling upon. First, the flight of the holy family to Egypt and second, the fact that our Evangelist (St Matthew) does not try to hide away from the face of evil.

Mae dianc y teulu i’r Aifft yn codi sawl cwestiwn, yn anad dim pam mai dim ond y plentyn hwn sy’n cael ei arbed. O fewn naratif Matthew, mae awydd i ddarlunio Iesu fel math newydd o Moses. Wrth ddarllen yr ysgrythurau, mae angen i ni fod yn ymwybodol bod ysgrifenwyr ein Efengylau yn ddiwinyddion medrus yn eu hawliau eu hunain, ac felly roeddent yn gwneud pwyntiau penodol. Felly, mae cael Iesu wedi ei achub yn tanlinellu hyn, ond yn agor y cwestiwn pam na arbedwyd y boen a achoswyd i gynifer o bobl eraill? Mae hwn yn gwestiwn sy’n atseinio i lawr y canrifoedd.

The escape of the family to Egypt raises several questions, not least why only this child is spared. Within Matthew’s narrative, there is a desire to depict Jesus as a new type of Moses. When reading the scriptures, we need to be aware that the writers of our Gospels were skilled theologians in their own rights, thus they were making specific points. Thus, to have Jesus rescued underscores this, but opens the question why was the pain caused to so many others not spared? This is a question that reverberates down the centuries.

Nid bwriad Matthew yw ateb y cwestiwn hwnnw. Fodd bynnag, fel disgyblion Cristnogol mewn byd toredig mae’n un y mae angen i ni fynd i’r afael ag ef weithiau. Dechreuwn ei ateb trwy ymuno â Rachel yn wylo am ei phlant. Rydym yn galaru gyda hi ac ar brydiau yn ei dal. Yn amlach na pheidio, rydyn ni’n gwneud hynny mewn distawrwydd. Ond weithiau rydyn ni’n siarad am Dduw sy’n ein dal a’n caru. Nid darparu ateb ar gyfer y boen yw hyn, ond cyd-destun. Oherwydd, y cyfan a wn am y Duw a ddatgelwyd yn yr ysgrythur yw hyn, nid ydym ar ein pennau ein hunain.

It is not Matthew’s intention to answer that question. However, as Christian disciples in a broken world it is one that sometimes we need to address. We begin to answer it by joining with Rachel’s weeping for her children. We lament with her and at times hold her. More often than not, we do that in silence. But sometimes we speak of God who holds and loves us. This is not to provide an answer for the pain, but a context. For, all I know of the God revealed in scripture is this, we are not alone.

Mae Duw yn ein dal yn y cofleidiad dwyfol – y cwestiwn yw hwn, ydyn ni’n meiddio cael ein dal?

God holds us in the divine embrace – the question is this, do we dare to be held?