Advent 4

Who will make him welcome…??

This homily completes our advent series where we have been reflecting on some of our most popular christmass carols.

A good Christmass carol, or any hymn for that matter, should not only be a joy to sing, should not just teach us something, but it will also challenge us to think and act differently.

Today’s hymn is the classic ‘Long ago prophets knew’. By the marvels of modern technology and because it’s the 21st century and we can do anything and everything here, except cure the common cold, achieve world peace… Oh and stop nasty potholes from appearing in the roads … The words to this splendid hymn appear in the pew sheet for you. If you are reading this online then this might work . https://hymnary.org/hymn/NEH1985/10

The carol tells the Christmass story leading up to the time Mary and Joseph arrive at Bethlehem.

Verse one is all about the prophets of long ago who foretold the birth of the Saviour. These people knew that the

“Christ would come, born a Jew,
That he would come to make all things new;
That he would bear his people’s burden,
and that he would freely love and pardon”.

Verse two tries to explain the mystery of God made flesh, well, as much as anyone can.

God enters into our time, on a specific day and in a specific place. The Christ child who is God, becomes touchable, measurable, and holdable. He is born of a woman. God is divinely human.

Verse three tells us more about this woman who is pivotal and essential to God’s plan. The hymn gives us her name, guesses at how she might have felt, and that she believed and obeyed.

Mary, hail! Though afraid, she believed, she obeyed

And then there is a mind warping line that should both challenge and excite us.

In her womb, God is laid.

Just sit with that and think about it. …

In her womb God is laid.

Mother Mary had God in her womb. What does it say about her, for God could have chosen anyone?

And what does it say about the crazy, outrageous risk God took?

Verse 4 tells us that Mary and Joseph finally make it to Bethlehem and the stable door is open waiting for them.

Journey ends! Where afar
Bethlem shines, like a star,
stable door stands ajar.

So we have the prelude of the Christmass story told to us in the verses.

But there is also something very important going on with the Chorus of this hymn.

The first three times the chorus is sung it asks  a very pertinent question

When he comes,
who will make him welcome?

But on the last verse, the chorus changes and it’s really easy to spot the difference.

Jesus comes!
We will make him welcome.

So the hymn is about the two comings of Christ. The first was at Bethlehem in a stable where Mary, Joseph, some aromatic animals and shepherds welcomed him.

The 2nd coming of Christ is at the end of time when he comes to wrap up everything and make all things tidy. And we will welcome him.

But there is something going on between these two comings of Christ, here in 2024.

Every day we have an opportunity to welcome him.

The stable door of our hearts and lives must be ajar to all who come knocking, looking for hope, acceptance, love and reconciliation.

When I was writing this I thought of some of the characters that made Jesus welcome when He walked the dusty plains of Palestine.

The thankful leper, the prodigal son, the waiters at the wedding at Cana, the tax collectors and the prostitutes, the blind man yelling out on the roadside for mercy, the woman caught in adultery and the centurion, to name but a few.

The poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart and the peacemakers. These are the people who welcome Christ because they welcome all.

I also think of those who did not make him welcome, like the clergy of the day and there is a Christmass warning for every cleric.

Who will make him welcome? We will, but before we can welcome him we first have to be able to see him. Where to look?

The trick I think is to begin by seeing him within our own selves first. To rejoice and whoop with delight that just as God chose a very grungy place to be born the first time around, we understand that there is no place where God cannot be. Even in our own hearts and lives. And when he is born in us; when we see that and understand that, it’s not so hard to see God in those around us.

His first arrival was largely hidden from the world. He came at night, to a one-hick village, where there was no printing press, internet or social media, yet the word was made flesh and the message spread.

We will see him in the shabby, and the broken, and those who think differently to us. He appears in the most unlikely of people and in the most grubby and fragile of places.

Like bread and wine, like you and I.

When He comes, He has come, He will come and we will make him welcome.

It was a heck of a risk

It began by sending out the invitation to a single teenage lass who lived in a quiet little Hamlet where the services were being withdrawn and the community forgotten.

She could have said a polite ‘No thanks; this seems like a scam’. Actually, she was kind of right. While the deal was authentic, it cost her everything. Once she had said yes, there was no going back to the simple, quiet, life of anonymity.

But the risk was even more daring, more scandalous, more outrageous than she could ever have imagined. To send the Son, the heir, to the place where the slur was ‘can anything good come from Bethlehem’ was not the most astute business move. But it was because it was bold, brash, daring, audacious and unthinkable that made it all the more appealing to those who were looked down from the lofty heights of entitlement.

Whenever a gift is handed over to someone else there is always a risk. What will the recipient do with it? Re-gift it in 12 months time? Treasure it, rejoice in it, use it, put it at the back of the wardrobe or in the recycle bin? Stomp on it, crush it, discard it the moment it becomes a nuisance and does not follow the prescribed instruction manual.

A gift is a vulnerable thing, a priceless, risky thing especially when it is given with more love than we can ever comprehend. When the giver has invested everything. When the Giver gives their very self. It’s a heck of a risk.

What happens if… the world spins merrily, giddily on its way, oblivious to the offer? Was the giver reluctant, to have second thoughts? Will it be worth it? Will it all pay off? Only you, dear reader know.

The Challenge of a Silent Night.

Here we are on the cusp of another Christmass. At this time of year it’s easy to be diagnosed  with the disease ‘sensory overload.’

This is a highly infectious disease and passes quickly from one to another, especially in congested areas like supermarkets and dining establishments. There is no immunisation against this debilitating malaise and only enforced isolation, space and the turning off of all screens, can temporarily relieve the symptoms.

The carol ‘Silent night’ would be a script for the medicine we so desperately need at this time.  The call to silence and peace is easy to write about, hard to hear and well nigh on impossible to put into practice.

To stop. Just stop! And focus on the maiden, manger and child. To think about nothing else … nothing at all, is an exercise for the wise and the courageous.

This is my 64th Christmass and I would have hoped for the bombs to have stopped falling, political rhetoric to be quietened  and the calming vocabulary of silence to blanket us. To speak of peace on earth and good will to everyone. Why can’t we achieve this? But then a quick look at my own frenzied activity, the rubber tyres and barbed wire of doubt and edginess in my heart, the speed with which I think that if only old so and so would…

Silent night must start deep within me. The wise old carol calls me back to a higher ideal and the imperative to persistently keep on trying.

May you make the time, space to have a silent night. Instead of the discarded wrapping paper and the credit card debt, may you see what the shepherds saw. Angels and the fresh hope for all people, asleep on the hay.

Advent 3

What child is this? …What child indeed?

We are reflecting on the words of some of our Advent and Christmass hymns this Advent. We sing them lustily and so frequently that we can easily forget that the words have something to teach us.  The best hymns make us think a lot.

Today I want to unpack some of the words of that classic carol “What child is this?” I’ve put the words in the pew sheet so you can see the clever way the hymn is constructed. It comes to us in a question-and-answer format.

So who wrote this masterpiece?

A gentleman by the name of William Chatterton Dix in 1865 when he was just 29 years old. It was during this time that he suffered a near-fatal bout of sickness with depression. If you like, he very nearly died.

It was in this very dark time that he actually experienced a spiritual awakening that inspired him to start crafting hymns. A better-known hymn that He also wrote is ‘As with gladness men of old.’

The hymn itself speaks to us about the visit of the Shepherds during the birth of Jesus. The lyrics are structured around a series of questions and answers, with the questions reflecting what the shepherds might have been asking when they encountered The Master in the Manger. The hymn's melody is often described as "soulful" and “haunting" and it is that ever popular tune “Greensleeves”

This hymn gives us the feeling that God himself has through this baby, transformed into humanity and that the Almighty has arrived to rescue us. For the shepherds, it's a certain and clear sign, which they went on to declare with courage and fervour.

The skanky shepherds go from the marvellousness of the angels, expecting to see a glorious king and instead, they are shown the back of the local and into a dark cave. Is it any wonder then that William Dix places on their hearts and lips the first question?

What Child is this, who laid to rest,
On Mary’s lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,

But more than that, do you see the clever way William has already drawn us into the drama so that we too, as we sing the words, are asking ourselves and therefore each other the same question.

What child is this?

And there is an undercurrent, a hidden but almost palpable sense of…

‘This is not what we were expecting. This is not the sort of king we had envisioned. This is not what we had hoped for and could we please have our money back. Having left our precious herds on the hill we were kinda hoping for something a little more… weren’t we?

The answer
The answer to the shepherd’s question and therefore our question is given to us in the chorus  “This, this is Christ the King”.

And in verse two the concept of a God for all people is comfortingly reinforced.

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and lamb are feeding?
Good Christian, fear: for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.

We are taught that what the shepherds see before them is a child for all levels of humanity.

When we read the hymn through and look thoughtfully at the words, we discover that it tells both a story and a mystery, which is of course everyone’s life. A story and a mystery.

And that is one of the reasons Christmas is such a poignant holy day for all, young and old alike. Christmas is both a story and a mystery.

What does it mean when we say that each human life is a mystery? It means there is a truth about each life that is deeper than anything any person can see. It is true that something of it can be seen from the outside, as an individual’s life story unfolds. Over the course of a year, ten years, or a whole lifetime, more and more of that deep truth breaks through. The story of a person’s life tells us a lot about who they are, why they are here, and where they are headed. This is their story.

The mystery part always remains hidden. The part that we can never quite understand. Sometimes we tantalisingly glimpse it, but such occasions are always fleeting. We can never analyse it, interpret it. At best these glimpses are fragmentary. Like the Master at table at Emmaus with the two disciples. Little snatches of the divine. Glinting, Mysterious. We sort of get it and yet we can never grasp it fully and tidy it away.

This mystery is what I believe our hymn writer William draws us into. By inviting us to sing with our lips and our lives ‘What child is this?’ he has already immersed us into the muck and the mystery of the manger. We are there with the angels, the shepherds, the animals, with St. Joseph, with Our Lady.

So again, in 2024 we ask ourselves ‘What child is this?’.  What child indeed?

Advent 2 December 8th.

Hark:  Sit up, Take notice. Listen!

During this Advent, we’ll be reflecting on the words of some of our Advent and Christmass hymns. We sing them lustily and so frequently that we can easily forget that the words have something to teach us.  The best hymns make us think a little.. or a lot.

Today I want to unpack some of the words of that classic carol ‘Hark the herald angels sing’.

The very first word tells us what we should be doing this Advent.

Hark.

This little word means Sit up, Take notice. Listen!

And as angels are God’s messengers, this hymn is in fact a type of angel. It is bringing us good news.

The hymn or perhaps the author, has something to teach us. There is some important knowledge to impart. Something that is really newsworthy, in fact something that has not been off the news cycle for the last 2000 years. It is The good news of the birth of our saviour.

Hark. Sit up, take notice. Listen!

The hymn will teach us and encourage us to become apeople of reconciliation. Reconciliation with each other and reconciliation with God. So we get …

“Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.”

One of our greatest needs for 2025 and beyond is reconciliation. As I write, wars rage across this planet; tribe against tribe and nation against nation. But more subtle than that, I am very much aware of those who espouse an ‘Us versus them’ policy. ‘Those over there’ are not ‘us’ and therefore they are somehow less than us. They are not worthy or entitled to the privileges that we take for granted; they are not welcome. In God’s eyes however, all are equal. The prodigal son, the taxi collector and the prostitute get into the kingdom of heaven to feast and dance ahead of the clergy Fr. David!

This is how another great hymn writer put it.

Lord in your good creation
All people, every nation
Bear a dignity and grace
Images of you

So help us treat all others
As sisters and as brothers
Valuing all you have made
As good and as true.

The peace of which these words speak goes far deeper than simply a cessation of conflict between warring factions. It reveals the peace in which you and I can enjoy our Creator. This peace is enduring, everlasting even, and life-changing.

It is when we see that God is in the messiness of retribution and retaliation, when we understand that He always wants to be with us in our muck, then we can be at peace with Him, within ourselves and with each other.

Next, The Carol speaks to us about Revelation. Hark. Sit up, take notice. Listen! God has revealed himself to us.

“Veiled in flesh the Godhead see!
Hail the incarnate deity!

The baby born in the ick of the cave gives us a glimpse of the Divine. When we reflect on the reality of that first nativity scene, we realise that the God on the mouldy straw is not what we would expect or hope for. God in a cold, dark place. Snuffling smelly animals, a virgin giving birth and vagabond shepherds who haven’t quite managed to shower for a couple of days. Maybe a little merry from a night warmer or two. The weeing, defecating brat in the manger is actually ….God. God in the flesh, the incarnate deity.

God came down to us in the Person of the Lord Jesus Christ. He fully shared our humanity and knows all about the kinds of trials and tribulations we experience today. How amazing that He entered our world of pain in order to make an entirely different quality of life available to those who receive Him.

Hark. Sit up, take notice. Listen!

The Carol tells us about Righteousness and Resurrection

“Hail, the heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail, the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings

‘Sun of Righteousness’ is a title given to the Messiah (Christ) by the prophet Malachi. Four hundred or so years before the birth of Christ, Malachi predicted that God’s sent One would: “arise with healing in His wings” (Malachi 4:2). Wesley, the author of the hymn, applies this to Christ’s resurrection (“Risen with healing in His wings”).

So we get

Mild he (God) lays his glory by
Born that we no more may die
Born to raise us from the earth (or ‘our grave’ if you like)
Born to give us (a) second birth.

So we have our first birth in the labour ward and our second birth is when we enter heaven.

This Christmas, enjoy singing the carol. In fact, enjoy singing every carol. But when you are singing the words try to remember Revelation, Righteousness, Resurrection & Reconciliation.

Isaiah had it right.

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.

Hark! Sit up, take notice. Listen!

Gatlin: The Parable of the Broken Match Stick.

This is one of those many conversations that happened a long time ago in a place far, far away.  Not quite in another galaxy, but pretty close.

It was towards the end of a rather long lunch and it was just the two of us sitting there with nothing much to say and yet there was everything to say.

“Well Gatlin, how are you?” There was a silence so I postured again “How are you really?” There was a longer silence and then, because the pub was pretty well empty, the ugly truth came reeling, stumbling out.

There was a heavy catalogue of troubles which in and of themselves were not significant or insurmountable, but having accumulated over time were now completely overwhelming. All the little things had piled on top of each other and now, in his own words, Gatlin was like a broken matchstick.

There was a time when Gatlin was fiery, passionate and effervescent with his enthusiasm. Gatlin’s entrance into a room lit up the atmosphere with warmth and joy. People were attracted to my colleague.

Now, however, Gatlin’s description was entirely accurate. You can’t light a fire with a broken matchstick. It’s good for … well it’s good for nothing and should be flicked away along with the dead batteries and shaggy toothbrushes.

I often wondered what became of Gatlin. I steered my friend towards their GP and last I heard Gatlin was OK. But that last report was a couple of decades ago.

I think of Gatlin every R U OK day. I think what might have happened if I had not asked ‘How are you really?’ I am hopeful that Gatlin is OK and grateful that Gatlin’s example warns me not to finish up as a broken matchstick.

Silent Night… really…???

During this Advent, we’ll be reflecting on the words of some of our Advent and Christmass hymns. We sing them lustily and with great gusto and so frequently that we can easily forget that the words have something to teach us.     The best hymns make us think a little.

Today I want to reflect on the words of that classic silent night.

Silent Night is one of the world’s most famous Christmass melodies. The story goes that the carol was first performed on the evening of Christmas Eve in 1818.

Joseph Mohr, a young catholic priest at St. Nicholas church in Salzburg in Austria was in despair. The organ at his church had been incapacitated by mice, and the chances of fixing the instrument before the evening service were looking slim. But our enterprising young hero had an idea. A few years before, he had written a rather beautiful poem called ‘Stille Nacht’. So he asked Franz Xavez Gruber, a schoolmaster and organist in a nearby town, to set his six-stanza poem to music.

That night, the two men sang ‘Stille nacht’ (Silent night) for the first time at Church’s Christmass mass, while Mohr played the guitar and the choir repeated the last two lines of each verse. Maybe it’s just as well they couldn’t get an engineer on Christmass eve.

Listen as I say the words slowly

Silent night, holy night!

All is calm, all is bright.

Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child.

Holy infant so tender and mild,

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Sleep in heavenly peace

The image that these words convey is one of Mary and Joseph gazing adoringly and placidly at their darling child who is sleeping peacefully without so much as a murmur. The labour was swift and painless and Joseph remained unflappable. The animals of course did not make any animal noises or smells or do any of the other things animals usually do so all really is calming and silent.

And in a cave at night is all really bright and wonderful?

I have had the undeserved privilege of going to the labour ward 4 times in my life. It’s a noisy bloody place and silent and calm is not how I could or would describe it.

I had the joy of growing up on a dairy farm and then a wheat sheep farm and I know animals make noises and they smell funny and they can also taste pretty jolly good.

And no one could call the Holy Land silent today. In fact, with its bombs and tears and funerals, it is noisier than ever.

So what are we to make of this carol and why do we keep it when it is so very clearly and wildly inaccurate as to how things really were and are?

Two things

• First thing. I suspect that one of the reasons we love this carol so much is because the cutesy image of the Christmass card is how we wish it was, it is certainly how we wish things were and how we ache for them to be in the future.
• Secondly, at a deeper level,l I believe that the carol reminds us that when we glimpse God, when we come into his nearer presence when we are close to the virgin and child Silence is the only thing that really cuts it. No words come close to being an adequate or appropriate response. The quieter we are, the more silent we are, the closer we come; because the less noise, the less distraction, the fewer obstacles, the nearer we are to Him. The filters and blinkers are peeled away.

We are called to be completely silent both outwardly and inwardly and it is far harder to be quieter on the inside than the outside.

But sometimes we are stilled. Sometimes we can and do pause and in those rare and beautiful moments when we find ourselves being silent then

Glories will stream from heaven afar

Heavenly hosts will sing Alleluia,

And Christ the Saviour is born in us.

Retreat - the great misnomer

Every year the Anglican clergy of our diocese gather for retreat. There is no truth in the ugly rumour that we actually nick off to the Melbourne Cup and bet on slow horses.

So what do we do?

We gather for a rather noisy meal on Monday night. We catch up with each other, share our triumphs and our disappointments, chatter about our families and share a delicious meal.

On Tuesday morning the Great Silence begins. We say nothing unless we are gathering for worship which happens 4 times a day. There is a retreat conductor who offers two addresses a day and is available for consultation about everything and anything. Sometimes it’s good to have a fresh perspective from a complete outsider.

This pattern goes on all day Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. The evening meal on Thursday is again a very chatty event because the next morning, straight after church, we scatter off back to our parishes and families. From Warracknabeal to Portland, to Coleraine to Ballan and every God box in between.

While some of my colleagues find the silence hard going I have always relished the deliciousness of the quiet. However, there is a sense in which ‘Retreat’ is misnamed.

It is true that we geographically retreat, but with all that quiet, other things, nasty little bombs of truth, come exploding to the surface and we are left with no place to go, nowhere to hide, nothing to do but confront them. Some of them are easy because well they’re history, or it’s way above our pay grade and there is nothing we can do. But there are others…. There is nowhere to retreat from these ugly little blighters. This is the most difficult and valuable thing about the experience we misname retreat.

The Privilege of Grey Hair

The inspiration for this reflection came from my attendance at the Remembrance Day service.

As I toddled along I found myself thinking that my hair is quite a different color than it was 40 years ago. I have photos to prove it!

When my hair first became more ‘Silver Foxish’ I used to bemoan this change in style. Not so much these days. For one thing the cost to change it would be a dubious call on my limited finances and for another, I consider myself fortunate to have lived this long. Long enough for my hair to become ‘distinguished’. I’ve been to far too many funerals now of gentlemen who did not have the opportunity to ponder this transition.

So the service began and a mighty fine turnout it was. There was music and medals in abundance. The last post always sends goosebumps up and down my spine to say nothing of a slightly ‘clogging feeling’ in my throat.

Beautiful wreaths of flowers were laid down and the classic poem Flanders Field was recited.

The students who laid the wreaths were smartly turned out in their uniforms and I could not help thinking that the people we were honouring were not that much older than these fresh-faced adolescents. A very sobering thought.

There was one excellent reflection about the unknown soldier and it was rightly pointed out that while we can never know his name perhaps it is better that way for he symbolises everyone and is a reminder of our own mortality that we must all face one day.

If you are like me and you are sporting a silver fox hairdo, remember these things. On Remembrance Day we pray for those who never had the opportunity to have the years of peace we have enjoyed.

24/11/24

Then we will have begun.

Of all the homilies that I try to piece together, the ones that seek to address the issue of Domestic violence are some of the most challenging. For one thing, it's such a heinous crime. What on earth does one say?

And for another, it should be mind blitheringly obvious as to where mother church sits on this issue. I really shouldn’t have to say anything at all. Further, I long for the day when there is no more domestic violence, there is no more work to do and I won’t have to try to put sensible words together about such a nonsensical issue.

But a few things, which sadly need saying again and then a reflection about where I think the problem might begin.

I want to start by being crystal, shiny, sparkly clear that domestic violence against another person in any form is sin. It is sin because it fails to treat that person as someone worthy of love. Quite the opposite in fact. It treats the person as an object to be used.

Or put another way, violence is evil, violence is unacceptable as a solution to problems, and violence is unworthy of us. We are better than this… aren’t we? Violence is a lie, for it goes against the truth of our faith, the truth of our humanity. Violence destroys what it claims to defend: the dignity, the life, the freedom of human beings.

Men and women are both born with the same imprint of a loving God. One is neither superior or inferior to the other; they are both made in the image of God. Neither has power or authority over the other and neither has reason to lord it over them.

The numbers are not good for the confronting topic of domestic violence. About 1 in 4 women and 1 in 9 men experience severe intimate partner violence according to the National Coalition against Domestic Violence.
https://www.thehotline.org/stakeholders/domestic-violence-statistics

So the odds are that you actually know someone who has been affected, or you may have survived domestic violence yourself.

These numbers are real people, with real lives, hopes, dreams, aspirations and potential. Their lives matter. They matter. These people will always matter. They are important and they are loved. They bring to this world things no one else could. The tears and grief of those left behind is authentic and if we were at one of the understandable rallies that are called, the angst would be almost holdable.

Sadly some abused people carry the heavy and unnecessary burden of thinking that the Church’s teaching on the permanence of marriage requires them to stay in an abusive relationship. They may hesitate to seek a separation or divorce. They may fear that they cannot re-marry in Church. Violence and abuse, not divorce, break up a marriage. The abuser has already broken the marriage covenant through his or her abusive behaviour. Abused persons who have divorced can in time, if they wish, remarry. In these cases, it can be argued that the marriage is pretty much over the moment abuse happens. Where a spouse and children are experiencing violence and abuse, “separation becomes inevitable” and even “morally necessary” for their safety.

How do we begin to shift our understanding so that this scourge is obliterated from our society and I will never have to preach about this again? I think it begins with the word Respect. We get to the point of respect when we learn to look upon everyone (without any exception) as ‘another self’;

The first but significant step is to look upon our own selves as something beautiful, something exquisite and something lovely. When we KNOW that we are a creature of God, a child of God. When we know that as a person we can shine forth the lovely light of Christ then we will have begun… When we begin to see ourselves as God sees us… then we will have begun.

The next step is to see everyone else as God sees them. When we do this, when we look upon our neighbour as another ‘me’ then we will have come some way into conquering this evil.

These 16 days of activism should be a time to refocus and remember our own attitudes, words, thinking and actions, towards ourselves and others.

When we understand that as a church and as individuals we are complicit when we are silent… then we will have begun…

When we hear and respond to those in need then we will have begun.

When survivors understand and accept that they’re just that — they’re glorious survivors, they are not victims. Then we will have begun.

When clergy and lay people become educated in the tactics and red flags of abuse then we will have begun.

As individuals and as church, we can and should be God’s messengers of love, liberation and peace, for everyone, especially those enduring the torment of domestic violence. Let us be sensitive but strong in our response and let us be compassionate but firm in our resolve to bring God’s liberating grace to victims of domestic violence everywhere.

And for those who have died, we pray for you, light candles for you and carry forward your legacy.  So let us smile more, be kinder, create a safe and caring environment for our children and be resilient and fierce.

We can do this … We need to do this.  We must begin.

(Tune: Abide with me)

In shadows deep, where voices mourn and cry,
We gather here, where silent sorrows lie,
Through broken hearts and spirits torn by fear,
We hold each other close, for God is near.

A Hannah Kind of Hurt

Today I would like to reflect on the story of Hannah in the Old Testament reading.The book of Samuel comes in a 2 part mini-series. These two books of Samuel tell us about the difficulty Israel had in transitioning from a loose system of judges to having a King. Hannah’s story is in the first episode of the first series. As we read, we discover her story is essential to Israel's big story. When our story begins Hannah doesn’t know it. In fact, she would never know how important she is/was.

Now the Bible seldom highlights a woman’s story, so when the book of Samuel opens up with the story of a woman and a barren one at that, we are immediately put on notice. This is not business as usual. Something quite remarkable is about to happen.

In a world where barrenness was considered a curse, only the birth of a child could complete Hannah. Day after day, year after year, she had to live with a pain in her heart that would not go away. Her barrenness was an “unsettled ache.” The worst turmoil of all often takes place in one’s own soul. This happens when you can’t seem to live with yourself, when your own pain, anxiety, depression, and regret eat you up, leaving you with an unsettled ache. You are at war within. You have a Hannah kind of hurt.

An unsettled ache lingers no matter what one does. Possibility thinking, positive psychology, words of affirmation, wishing, hoping, and even praying don’t make the hurt go away. It is an unwelcome guest that overstayed its welcome long ago. Unlike hurts that are at least manageable, this type of hurt affects one’s entire life, leaving the heart wounded and the spirit broken. This type of wound impinges not only on life circumstances but also on one’s sense of self as well.

This is a “Hannah kind of hurt.” This kind of hurt can lead to addictions and “emotional disorders” since people will do just about anything to relieve the agony as they “search for escape — some way to numb the pain, remove the anguish, and discover some momentary peace.” Hannah resorted to no such escape.

As if the taunts and shame of being barren were not enough, Hannah has a couple of other things going on that are not pretty and not pleasant. For one thing, there is Hannah’s husband, Elkanah. He just didn’t get it. Thinking himself better than ten sons, his inept and misguided words of comfort actually made things worse.

So we get

“Her husband Elkanah would say to her, “Ah Hannah my love, my turtledove, my darling… Why are you weeping? Why don’t you eat? Why are you downhearted? Don’t I mean more to you than ten sons?” Every marriage counsellor and divorce lawyer's dreams come true. Now if you were Hannah, wouldn’t you just want to pick up the nearest stone water jar and do the very logical thing?

But there's more. Thinking herself better than Hannah, Peninnah, Elkanah’s other wife, has a disdainful attitude towards Hannah. She repeatedly boasts about her fertility leaving Hannah shattered beyond words.  And I imagine Hannah suffered the same sort of snubs and disdain whenever she went to buy the fish, bread and olives at the local market.

But there’s more. Adding injury to the blithering insult, Eli, her insensitive parish priest, accuses her of having too many raspberry cordials.

So we get

“Eli observed Hannah’s mouth.  Hannah was praying in her heart, and her lips were moving but her voice was not heard. Eli thought she was drunk and said to her, “How long are you going to stay drunk? Put away your wine.” ”

Professional standards would wipe the kitchen floor with this guy.

Despite her ‘Hannah Hurt'  she chose not the path of retaliation, retribution and the stone water jar treatment. She takes her concerns to God. Just as David is explicitly described as a man after God’s own heart, Hannah implicitly is a woman after God’s own heart. Like David who later would refuse to harm God’s anointed King Saul, Hannah refuses to retaliate against her rival, Peninnah or her husband.

Although Hannah does not share the details of her situation, Eli eventually understands that hers was a heartfelt cry. Thank you, God. There is hope for unthinking priests. Assured by Eli that God had heard and would answer her prayer she went home, confident that God’s answer would present itself. God’s answer does come when she gives birth to Samuel, Israel’s last judge, the prophet who would in turn anoint Saul and David, Israel’s first two kings.

When we read Hannah’s story in its totality and look back, we understand that the story of Israel’s transition and subsequent events cannot happen, and cannot be told, without first telling Hannah’s story and her hurt. Her hurt and what she does about it is an integral part of Israel’s transition. Israel’s story cannot begin without her. Of course, Hannah would never know it on this side of the grave, but we do and we are inspired.

The message of the story is of course that while we might think that what we do on this side of the grave and our little life is of no consequence to the bigger picture that God has in mind, in actual fact, every action, and word and thought is important to God. Every conversation, every misunderstanding and petulant niggle is important. Even our own ‘Hannah hurts’ are a necessary part of God’s continuous unfolding plan. Something to think about when you have a Hannah kind of hurt.

To Plant is to Hope

The parable of the tomato plants

There is a wizened gardener who grows tomato plants from seeds. Each year we are privileged to go and get some from him and you never know exactly what sort he has come up with. It's a real liquorice all sorts, a lucky dip sort of experience.

Each year we plant out these seedlings, we water, fertilise, wait and hope. I have to say that on the law of averages, the quality and abundance of fruit is always pretty good.  I am sure this is due to the craftsmanship that has gone into nurturing these seedlings.

But… you just never know. There are no guarantees in this world, particularly when it comes to growing tomatoes in the garden.

We simply plant, wait and hope.

It is like this with everything in the garden, fruit veggies and flowers. There are no promises, no guarantees. You simply give it a jolly good try and you hope.

It’s the same with relationships. You try, you work and then you hope. It seems nothing is happening and yet everything is happening. Sometimes it starts out robustly and then it falls over.

The ones that start out straggly often become the most productive and the ones that begin life sturdy and full of promise sometimes don’t seem to reach the potential that was hinted at in the early stages of life.

When we plant things in the earth this is the risk we take. I think about this at every burial I conduct. We tenderly, with great respect and thankfulness plant the body in the ground. We then wait and hope. We have no way of knowing what the final outcome will be. We sort of have an idea but…

To Plant is to Hope.

Of Rifleman Cyrus Thatcher

Rifleman Cyrus Thatcher was killed on 2 June 2009. He was one of the youngest soldiers to die in the Afghanistan war. I am going to read the letter that he wrote to be delivered to his family if he died.

I want to read this to emphasise the importance of remembering that behind the terrible numbers of men and women who have died in war across the world, behind each name, there is a story, a person with a family, with hopes, dreams and ambitions, whether they died in recent combat or in the Great war. Let’s never forget this.

Hello it’s me, this is gonna be hard for you to read but I write this knowing every time you think it’s got too much for you to handle (so don’t cry on it MUM!!) you can read this and hopefully it will help you all get through.

For a start, Damn I got hit!! Now I’ve got that out the way I can say the things I’ve hopefully made clear, or if I haven’t this should clear it all up for me. My whole life you’ve all been there for me through thick and thin, a bit like a wedding through good and bad.

Without you I believe I wouldn’t have made it as far as I have. I died doing what I was born to do. I was happy and felt great about myself. Although the army was sadly the ending of me, it was also the making of me, so please don’t feel any hate toward it.

One thing I know I never made clear to you all, was I make jokes about my life starting in the Army. That’s wrong, VERY wrong. My life began a LONG time before that (Obviously) but you get what I mean. All the times I‘ve tried to neglect the family, get angry when you try teach me right from wrong, what I mean to say is I only realised that you were trying to help when I joined the army and without YOUR help I would have never had the GRIT and the down right determination to crack on and do it.

If I could have a wish in life, it would to be to say: I’ve gone and done things many would never try to do. And going to Afghan has fulfilled my dream i.e. my goal. Yes, I am young, which as a parent must break you heart, but you must all somehow find the strength that I found, to do something no matter how big the challenge. As I’m writing this letter, I can see you all crying and mourning my death, but if I could have one wish in an “after life”, it would be to stop your crying and continue your dreams (as I did), because if I were watching, only that would break my heart. So dry your tears, and put on a brave face for the rest of your friends and family who need you.

I want each and every one of you to fulfill a dream, and at the end of it look at what you have done (completed) and feel the accomplishment and achievement I did, only then will you understand how I felt when I passed away.

[To his brothers:] You are both amazing men and will continue to be throughout your lives. You both deserve to be happy and fulfill all of your dreams.

Dad – my idol, my friend, my best friend, my teacher, my coach, everything I ever succeeded in my life, I owe to you and maybe a little bit of me! You are a great man and the perfect role model and the past two years of being in the army, I noticed that. And me and you have been on the best level we have ever been. I thank you for nothing, because I know all you have given to me is not there to be thanked for, it’s there because you did it cause you love me and that is my most proudest thing I could ever say.

Mum, where do I start with you!! For a start you’re perfect, your smell, your hugs, the way your life was dedicated to us boys and especially the way you cared each and every step us boys took. I love you, you were the reason I made it as far as I did, you were the reason I was loved more than any child I know and that made me feel special.

You’re all such great individuals and I hope somehow this letter will help you get through this shocking time!! Just remember do NOT mourn my death. As hard as this will seem, celebrate a great life that has had its ups and downs. I love you all more than you would ever know and in your own individual ways helped me get through it all. I wish you all the best with your dreams.

Remember chin up head down. With love Cyrus xxxx