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Hard Word to Say

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Fr Daivd Muses

One of the pitfalls of priesthood is that we pray so frequently that we easily gloss over the words without paying any particular  mind to what they really mean. The Lord's prayer is a classic example. A minimum of twice a day everyday, almost guarantees that the words will become glib and prattle. It's good to get a wake up call every now and then.

It occurred to me the other day that the word ‘Our’ occurs twice in this famous prayer. Often when I have said ‘Give us our day our daily bread’ I have actually been praying ‘Please Lord, give me what I need to get through the day’. Now that is a particularly valid prayer to offer and offer it I do, on a frequent basis. But I have glossed over and reinterpreted the word ‘our’. It’s not about me and my needs. The word ‘our’ means more than just me, it’s a collective … it involves others.

The same holds true of the very first word in the Lord's prayer which also happens to be… ‘Our’.  So The Father is not my exclusive property. He never has been and never will be.  It's not ‘my Father …’ it’s ‘our Father’. To be reminded of this simple but very crucial thing will take me out of my self centred arena and lift my vision to a bigger whiteboard. It’s our community, our state, our nation and our planet. It’s called sharing.

 

And perhaps if I realised that it isn’t just about me and my bread, me and my Father, then the world might actually be a little less hungry, a little bit more nourished and a bit more ‘Fathered’. I must try and remember this next time to say the Lord’s prayer. It’s ‘Our’.

Truth makes love possible.

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A reflection for Lent 2

I’ll call him Jimmy. Jimmy wasn’t exactly a Sunday by Sunday Anglican. Sometimes you’d look up and he’d be there at the back of the Church, but he would always be gone again by the end of the last hymn. He would phone or drop round just to say ‘Hello’. He flitted elusively but consistently around the edges of parish life. He was always present if there was food at a parish function. One day he popped around for a glass of red cordial and he wasn’t quite his usual self. I just got the sense that something was up. It transpired that after the 2nd glass of red cordial, 2 Tim tams and a home made scone with jam and cream, that he was waiting on some test results. Jimmy astutely described the sense of hiatus whilst waiting. He could not move on with his life in one direction or the other. He said “I don’t mind if the results are nasty and disappointing. I’ve had 9 and 70 years  of good life. I’ve raised 2 splendid children and had the privilege of watching them grow to adulthood. I’ve had a wife who has been far too patient with me and I have always had a roof over my head and food on the table. I’ve got a  will with the solicitor that I am very happy with and Beryl knows what hymns I want for my funeral. But I simply don’t know what the results are and this sense of being frozen in my tracks (and that is how he described it) a frozen no man's  land is just awful.” The waiting was debilitating for him. I offered to go with him when the news was delivered. He accepted the offer and it was a rare and undeserved privilege. I’ll never forget it.

The doctor welcomed Jimmy in. Calmly, with great compassion and with easy to understand words, the doctor told Jimmy that the news was not good. Jimmys response was  one of huge relief and he remarked in rather colourful words that must not be repeated here, that at least now he had a path to follow and there was still much to do. He could now get on with things. The truth set Jimmy free and the truth made love possible. I tell you that story because it resonates so very clearly with Jesus' prediction of his own death. The news Jesus delivers to his disciples is not pretty, it is not pleasant, it is not glamorous and sexy.

“Then Jesus began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed”. But it is the truth and the truth makes love possible. Further Jesus said all this quite openly. He doesn’t try to cover this prickly truth with chocolate. I imagine him saying these hard things not in anger, but with compassion, in a gentle way, looking his disciples in the eye. The truth was spoken in that same non-assuming tone that the doctor used when he told Jimmy his news. When Peter hears the truth he understandably throws a tanty. So unwittingly Peter becomes a hindrance to the truth and a barrier to love. And that’s why Jesus' words while seemingly harsh, are well spoken and right. ‘Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’ Truth makes love possible

Jesus then calls the crowds to himself and there is more truth telling that will make love possible.

“If any want to become my followers, there is a three point plan.

  1. They must deny themselves
  2. take up their cross
  3. follow me.

This friends is the cost of discipleship. It is high, but the truth makes sacrifice possible and just as surely as hurt always flows out of lies and hiddenness, so too love always flows out of truth, even when and sometimes especially when, the truth is painful to our ears and our hearts. This is what the love of God is like: it is free and therefore it is both all-powerful and completely vulnerable. All-powerful because it is always free to overcome, but vulnerable because it has no way of guaranteeing worldly success. So what Jesus says to Peter about his mind not on divine things but on human things is that the love of God belongs to a different order. It is not the order of power, manipulation and getting on top, which is the kind of power that can so easily pre-occupy us. But God's way is the way of truth which sets everyone free and floods the world with heavenly love.

For your prayers please remember those doctors  who this week must speak the confronting truth which makes love possible and commend them to the Master physician Himself.

Of Wilder-beasts and angels

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A Reflection for Lent 1.

I usually get Lent wrong.  I usually think of it as a time when I’m supposed to be holier, when I’m supposed to fast, pray, give alms, do good; all as a way to prepare myself for the celebration of Easter.  All of that usually lasts for about a week or so, but that’s not the only way in which I get Lent wrong.

Our reading tells us  how Jesus spent his own personal “Lenten” time.  The first two verses go like this.

“The Spirit drove Jesus out into the desert,
and he remained in the desert for forty days,
tempted by Satan.
He was among wild beasts,
and the angels ministered to him.”

Jesus’ forty days of preparation were filled with two things that I rarely allow into my observation of Lent: wild beasts and angels.  Jesus went into the desert for forty days and faced wild beasts.  When I observe Lent, I foolishly try to escape from the wild beasts and they are pretty fearsome creatures. Perhaps you have  faced them too and if so you might be able to help me conquer them.

So what are my wild beasts?

Doubt - A subtle little critter who likes to sneak up on you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. What if this is all there is? What if there is nothing on the other side? What if God really does keep count and does not forget the squalor of the past?

Fear - Allowing the forthcoming tricky encounter to eat away at you before its even begun. The percolating fear of dying or death or amputation The potential loss of a loved one.

Guilt - I could have done A, B or C. Instead I chose to do none of those things. I wilfully did x, y and z… again… only with a little more flourish this time and then went back for a second and then a third go. And what about that unfortunate incident 16 years ago? And the sense of guilt when I know I do really try to better and fail spectacularly.

And I get Lent wrong when I try to run away from these things. I try to pretend they are not there.  I try to eradicate them by ignoring them. That’s no way to slay the wild beasts

Jesus’ way was different: He faced up to them and He went among them.  Lent is not about working towards being a better person, but about facing the negative aspects of our lives, acknowledging their existence, and resisting the temptation to be ruled by them.

In facing temptations, Jesus allowed angels to minister to Him.  In other words, what I do is not what is important in Lent.  What’s important is being open to allow God to enter my life.  It’s not about anything that I do, but about allowing God to do things in my life.

Who are the angels then?

The angels are those on the other side of the grave who love me and cheer me on. One of the good things about maturing and getting on in years is that the number of supporters and encouragers you have on the other side of the grave only grows. One of the thoughts that sustains me at a funeral is the sure and certain knowledge that here is another intercessor who is already in the nearer presence of the Living Risen Christ. They are  already supporting me with their prayers.

The angels are also those on this side of the grave who I know support and encourage me. In the canniest and loveliest of ways they offer wisdom and direction. Their sage perception comes bubbling to the surface much later, at just the right time, in just the right circumstance.

The angels are the strangers who appear unexpectedly, whose name I don’t know and who I am never likely to meet again; but by a random and unforeseeable set of coincidences come to me when I didn’t even realise I needed help. Seemingly accidentally they arrive in my wilderness.

You see part of the message of our tiny gospel reading is to reassure us that we are not alone. Ever. The company might be wilder beasts or angels and the landscape uninspiring, but the Master is already there with us and has been all along.

In the reading today Jesus begins the next  stage of his ministry. When he returns from the desert  He has undergone a resurrection of sorts. Now He sees and knows that God’s Reign is already active in the world. He has a new perception about ordinary life:  And we are called to share this vision. We are supposed to see what he sees. To know what He knows. Our humdrum lives are already filled with God’s active justice and love. The only thing left to do is to share this news with others in the hope that they will begin to relish the exhilarating reality of God's Reign on earth. Now with wild beasts and angels let’s do Lent right this year.

Fr David’s Musings

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A time to speak and a time to keep silent.

I’m very new to this Facebook thing. Less than 12 months old.

One of the terrifying things is the speed with which information is spread around the world. Quite literally, it is an international forum.

So you have to be really, really careful before putting anything up there or out there, especially when it is the Parish Facebook page. Once it’s out there… sure you can take it down again, but it has already been seen by… how many people? And is it ever really gone, like forever?

But this same caution also needs to be exercised in my daily words. Once something is spoken out-loud and in the company of one other person it is out there and cannot be retrieved. You can’t get it back, alter it, change it, polish it. Sometimes all there is, is regret and shame.

So I am trying to adopt a new strategy. Before engaging with others  I ask myself these sorts of questions.

“Do I really need to say this today?” “Could it wait until tomorrow?” “Do I really need to send this email now?” “Is it not possible that there is a better choice of words?” “How will the recipient read this?”

There is a flip side to this. “Can I ever put off showing love?” Tonight is too late to write the card, make the phone call, reach out in whatever way is going to be appropriate.

I have been to enough funerals now to know that we are given a finite amount of time and opportunities to make the world a better place. Now is the time to keep silent and now is the time to reach out. It’s just a matter of knowing which is appropriate, but the time is always now.

Fr David’s Musings

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Rights vs. Responsibilities

For a little while I was a school chaplain. It was a stimulating time and I learnt far more than the students.

One of the few lessons that ‘worked’ was the lesson about when and where it is safe to smoke. This was obviously a long time ago.

Is it OK to smoke alone in a cardboard box on a beach where this no one around for 5 kilometres? Alright, well how about we ditch the cardboard box… still OK…? Now what if there was someone else on the beach who was 50 metres away… still OK?

Always there was someone who came up with the real aim of the lesson and would quip … “Yes, but if I choose to smoke, if I choose to put gunk into my lungs, if I choose to pay eye-wateringly high amounts of tax for these addictive drugs, then that’s my right. It is my right to do A, B, C and 3.5 as often as I like and where I like”. Or the flip side “It’s my right not to do Q.2 and by-law z if I don’t feel like it”. And that's when the real discussion began. Responsibilities versus my rights. ‘Responsibilities’ always look outwards to others, while ‘rights’ look inward to oneself.

The awkwardness of this COVID age is that it is so heinously easy to be consumed with my rights and what I want, that my responsibilities to others evaporates.

A classic example is when I take communion to our shut-ins. It isn’t my right to do this, it is my responsibility. And when my focus is right, this little task along with all my other responsibilities are continuously suffused with joy. Let’s have the patience and foresight to think about what are our responsibilities to others. This is always our primary mission.

A reflection for Sunday 14th of February

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Of Prayer moments. A reflection for Sunday 14th of February

Today we have this classic tale that we call “The Transfiguration”. Our Lord takes his inner cabinet of Peter, James and John up the mountain and there for a moment the veil is lifted and they see The Master as he truly is in all his dazzling glory. Moses and Elijah even pop in for a nice cappuccino and all is right with the world.

Much is made of all the loveliness of this perfect moment and thats right. It’s a terrific experience and once in a life time it might just happen to us.

But what we don’t know in this story is what was being said on the way up the mountain. What were Peter, James and John chattering about? What was Jesus teaching them? Perhaps they were reflecting on how Simons mother in law was keeping, or how Zebedee was doing in the fishing trade or their suspicions about Thomas, or what a great guy Judas was and where the couple at the wedding at Cana were living now.

My pet theory.. is that it wasn’t as interesting as that. I reckon they were just having a bit of a whinge as they trudged ever upwards. Why did Jesus ask them to come up this hill? Why us? And Peter, how come you forgot the water bottle and James you're no better for forgetting the bread and olives for morning tea. And boyo isn’t it hot and aren’t the flies despicable.  And.. the age old question “Are we there yet?” Sound familiar?

Tedious, everyday banter complaining about the human condition and the drudgery that so often overtakes our thoughts, our hearts and our lives.

And then the veil slips away and this other world is revealed to them. Suddenly, somehow, they slip into that other dimension and it is indescribably heavenly. Any attempt to stuff this experience into the English language can only mangle it and so it is better not to and just let the experience speak for itself, if in fact that is what experiences do. Maybe they just are and that is all they need to be.

Now these two worlds, the world of tedium and the divine are often thought to be two quite different worlds and they never collide or overlap. But what if that is not true?

What if our whinges and our complaints and our mutterings are just as authentic in prayer as those little moments when all is serene and joyous? In God’s eyes, and that is how we must always try and see it, is one somehow better or less regarded than the other?

The  heartfelt mutterings of a 6 year old for great gran to get better, compared to the weeping ‘Have mercy’ by the alcoholic, to the wise old nun whose been singing  the psalms for 52 years and 4 months. Aren’t all valid prayer moments?

So while we might smirk and belittle James, Peter and John,  perhaps they weren’t so far off the mark after all. Doesn't that mean that there is hope for us in our flimsy prayers no matter what form they might take.

But there is a deeper chemistry going on here and perhaps a story to finish with might help.

Shane was an aspiring lad who badly wanted to study medicine at Melbourne Uni. His folks were proud of him and everyone said that he would be great. He had superb people skills and would always be there to help someone no matter what the need was. He studied diligently for the year 12 score that would enable him to get in. And guess what? He failed to get the right number of marks. He was gutted! Absolutely devastated. So he goes to the University of Queensland to study physiotherapy. He must leave his home, family, part time job and pursue something which was and would always be only his second choice.

However it is on the campus of the University of Queensland where Shane meets the gorgeous Melissa who is just as besotted with him.

The future has rewritten the past. Shane’s grief is transfigured into unexpected joy. The past didn’t change. It’s not as though his disappointment never happened. Of course it did, but the icky is transfigured into something he could never have dreamt of.

 We have no idea what joys await us and what hard slog it is to get up the mountain. We might even be grumbling about the trek and how there is little food or water and its too hot and rocky and hard. But as long as we are always climbing upwards, staying within view of the Master who is continuously beckoning us on, encouraging us on, helping us up when we stumble, then one day we too will see HIm as he truly is.  Our mutterings with others are our first little steps to sorting out our relationship with our heavenly Father and when we have untangled our knotted relationships with ourselves and each other, then we will have that same union that Jesus and his Father have. We will see what Peter, James and John saw. The world as it should be, the world as it can be, maybe even the world as it is.

The gifts we never knew

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Fr. Davids musings

The gifts we never knew

I saw them at 7:00am on Sunday. 3 smartly dressed police officers on Griffin street. They had captured three recalcitrant horses that had been spooked by the storms. Thanks to their calming vibe the horses were now grazing happily on the nature strip.

I thought of our police force as I went inside. Like me they probably had no idea what they signed for. Each day had its surprises, challenges, rewards, excitement and it’s tedium. We did not realise that expectations, joys, tears, giggles, reprimands and COVID were all coming.

We never knew what hoary dragons we would slay, or chocolate flavoured liqueur  we would savour. We did not know the emails we would write and the ones we wish we hadn’t. We did not know the friendships we would make, the lives that would be entrusted to us. How fortunate, how lucky, blessed we were; how blessed we are still. We did not know the gifts that would be given to us and the gifts that we would bring. The gifts we never knew.

All the time we were maturing, growing, being pruned, loving and being loved. We made mistakes and sometimes we got it right. We were rewarded not with large bouquets of flowers or limitless cash bonuses, but with that sweet, elusive sense of a job well done and the realisation that no matter the outcome, we could have done nothing more.

And while this cauldron gurgled, our gifts and talents gradually came bubbling to the surface. Shiny, glossy and unexpected. “Oh, I never knew I had it in me”. The gifts we never knew.

In a delicious irony that occurs only once a millennium, the reading that Sunday morning was the story of the three wise men bringing their gifts to the squawking Christ child.

I thought of those three police officers, and the three horses. Again, we had all discovered the gifts we never knew.

On Healing

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A reflection on healing

A couple of words that might set with these stories of healing. in context. The gospel begins in the synagogue on a sabbath. From there Jesus and his companions go immediately to the house of Simon and Andrew. And immediately (there it is again, one of Mark's favorite words) they tell Jesus about Simon's mother in law who is crook in bed with a fever. Later that evening when the sun had set we get multiple healings including the driving out of some demons. The phrase ‘when the sun had set’ is significant because it shows that the people were keeping the sabbath. To help or carry an ailing buddy to get healed would have been considered work. So let's have a look at the healing of Simon's mother in law first. Notice please that unlike the exorcisms later on, Jesus doesn’t say anything in this healing;. He heals not with a word, but with a physical action. He simply “came and took her by the hand and lifted her up.
”Sometimes healing is like that. It is not only in the physical action that the most effective healing often occurs. Often silence does its own healing. When there is a child we often touch and hold and hug them, but then somehow as the years flick by we often lose that intimacy. Why? One  of the most painful but understandable reactions to the whole sorry Church child abuse sadness, is that clergy have to be so very careful of showing any physical demonstration of care. I am old enough to remember a time when it was not so. The mistakes of our past have cost us more than just dollars.
The silence of Jesus is also I think symbolic. I strongly suspect that some of our most effective healing is done in silence where it is just a matter of sitting with and being with another. Words sometimes just muck it up. And sometimes it is just OK to say “I am sorry. I don’t know what to say so if you would like I will just sit with you awhile and not say anything”. Simon's mother in law shows her gratitude for her healing by waiting on them. Usually when someone recovers from a fever the process is long, arduous and tedious. What Mark is showing us is that she went from wretched to fit and healthy in a matter of moments. This is no ordinary healing folks. And the word gets out. Is it any wonder then, that as soon as it is spiritually proper, a grab bag of people come crowding around the door, bringing their sick, maimed, halt, blind and possessed to be healed.
There is a curious line where Jesus does not allow the naughty spirits to speak because they know who He is. The identity of Jesus must not be publicly proclaimed … yet. Presumably Jesus speaks to the evil spirits and gives them this directive. So sometimes an authoritative word brings about healing. Sometimes we heal by words that we did not even know we had within us. But dig deeper we understand that only when we know who Christ is, can our demons be expelled. Not just what Jesus does, not just what He can do, but who He is as the Messiah, the Saviour, our companion and Our God.
We should draw great comfort from these miracles for we all need a bit of healing. Hopefully not too much physical healing, but the healing that goes on deep inside. In that place where there are chips and blemishes and things that are not quite right. The bits and pieces of refuse of life that we draw to ourselves. We are not quite perfect, we are not quite as we should be. Clergy are just as good if not better than most, in trying to convince themselves that they are otherwise. The most effective and pastoral healer is the one who knows their flaws and reaches out with a mucky hand to my grubby hands. The grazed knuckles and the bits of skin that have been knocked off are what we have in common. And here's another lovely thing that I know to be true yet have no idea how it all works. We are most healed ourselves when we reach out and offer healing to others.
This process takes us out of ourselves. We may not feel as though we did very much, or we might think that we were a spectacular failure, but in simply being there, being accessible, being amiable, being approachable, we become more like the wounded healer Himself. If we stretched out our pierced hand to others who are wounded, would we not be imitating the Wounded healer himself? The most effective healing is when we bring healing to others. In this story we are the ones who bring others into the Living healing presence of the Master. We help our ailing buddies limp and falter and stumble along, all the time knowing that they are in fact helping us to come into His nearer presence where all are perfected and one in Him.

Reconciliation

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This business of reconciliation

Fr. Davids musings

2020 was not the most attractive year. What made it so unattractive was not just the ventilators, the tired and frazzled health workers and the refrigerated morgue trucks. No, far more uglier and painful than any of those things was the relationships that became fraught and frayed. Some I imagine were able to stitched back together again. Always with a line or scar to show that ‘something’ had happened. Some perhaps were left as irreconcilable, irreparable, gaping wounds.

Here we are with one month completed of 2021 and while there is a psychological edge to starting a new year, COVID has not mysteriously vanished into thin air never to return again. There are still restrictions at least in some parts of the world and understandable precautions are still being exercised. The business of reconciliation is still just as urgent and vital as ever.

Now this business of reconciliation is a tough gig because it must start with the individual. In other words it has to begin with you and it has to start with me. We need to get our own stuff together before we pick up the newspaper or turn on the TV. Before we phone old so and so, or type that email and text. We need to be reconciled with ourselves and with our God, whatever your version may or not be. If you are not as placid as Lake Hamilton on a gorgeous Autumn morning, then your encounters will be choppy and rambunctious. For the rest of this year  our news people we will continuously remind us just how enormous and urgent this business of reconciliation is.

Every decision and every word should be guided by this question. Will my actions and words lead to reconciliation or will they lead to disaster? The choice is ours.

January 31

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The question God asks us when we muck up is…

A reflection from Fr. David.

For Christmas I was given a splendid book called “Humans”  by Brandon Stanton. Brandon travels the world to interview people and they offer a brief snap shot of their life. Sometimes its just a one liner  like “I’ve seen a lot of death” from a person in a displaced persons site in South Sudan. Sometimes it's a youngster “There’s nothing hard about being four” from a child in New York. This child in Paris was particularly endearing “We’re eating cookies before lunch because Grandpa doesn’t have any rules.”

The book has a photo of each person that is interviewed.

But the one that smacked me in the right ear hole was from a gentleman from Colombia.

“I’ve been sitting here for four hours thinking about what I should do.  I don’t want to go home.  I *** up again.  I’ve been a drug addict my whole life.  But I was clean for three months.  I got a job at a call centre.  I was doing well.  Then as soon as I got my pay-check, I went out drinking with some co-workers.  Just a normal thing.  But then I tried a little coke, went on a binge, and lost my job.  Same story as always.  And now I don’t want to go home.  I live with my mother.  She’s never lost faith in me.  My brother was killed in the army so I’m her only son.  She doesn’t deserve this.  She was so happy that I had a job.  She’d convinced herself that things were finally going to be OK.  And I’ve got to go home and tell her what happened.  And I don’t want to do it.  She’s not even going to be mad.  She’ll just be so hurt.  Then she’ll ask me if I’ve eaten.”  (Bogotá, Colombia)

It was such a candid piece and I related to it so strongly.  I believe that it has much to teach us about our fallible, faulty ourselves and more importantly the forgiving nature of God.

Let's unpack what this guy says and see what we might learn.

“I’ve been sitting here for four hours thinking about what I should do.  I don’t want to go home”

Our friend is clearly procrastinating. He knows what he needs to do and where he needs to go. He needs to go home and own up, but for very understandable reasons he doesn’t want to.

Then the very first important and hardest thing happens. “I *** up again.” The recognition that not only has he failed, but he has failed again. And for me, looking in on that admission there is a sense of grumpiness but also I want to say ‘Bravo’ for being brave enough to fess up and own up. To face not only what he has done but also the consequences of his actions.

Then the whole sorry story comes out. How he has always been a drug addict. Just like us, we have always been sinners. How he was doing so well and how his mum was so proud of him. Read God and the heavenly host enthusiastically cheering us on.

‘My mother has never lost faith in me’. Just as God has never lost faith in us.  ‘My mother doesn’t deserve this’, just as God does not deserve this.

“And I’ve got to go home and tell her what happened.  And I don’t want to do it.”

I know this feeling well. I have to go to my heavenly Father and tell him what has happened and I don’t want to because I am ashamed.

‘She’s not even going to be mad.  She’ll just be so hurt’.

Whenever I have gone home to my heavenly Father He has never been mad. It’s why fessing up is such a painful experience. In some ways it might be easier if God got grumpy but he never does. He is saddened, yes; disappointed, frequently; tender, always. He always wants to be reconciled to me far more than I to Him. He is already at home waiting for me. In fact, He was probably on the front porch before I have even turned around and started walking home towards Him.

“Then she’ll ask me if I’ve eaten.”

And there it is. A ruling off, a new beginning, the offer of nurture and nourishment. That is how God loves us. Our fear of retribution and wrath was severely misplaced. Instead of a blazing blowtorch of indignation, we are fed and given what we need to go out and make a fresh start.

We believe in a God whose only concern is not retaliation and punishment. He does not say “What a naughty brat!” He does not ask  “Why did you do this… again? What were you thinking?” The question God asks us when we muck up is…

“Have you eaten?”

Come After Me

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"Come after me"

Each year we read one of the three gospels Matthew, Mark and Luke. We get large slabs of John in Lent and Easter.

This year we will be reading through Marks gospel. It is the shortest of the gospels and was designed to be read out loud to a congregation.

In Mark’s gospel the figure of Jesus is an irrepressible and energetic person who bounds swiftly from one incident to another. No wonder Mark is represented as a lion and if you look closely at the pulpit in Christchurch Hamilton you will spot the lion. To accentuate this, the phrase “and immediately” is used no less 41 times in the short gospel of Mark. Look out for it this year.

Further this industrious and spritely Jesus goes blithely and swiftly from one incident to the next episode, seemingly with little regard for the confusion and bewilderment that he leaves behind.

In today's gospel it reads as though the 4 fishermen were parked close together on the same beach and were all called on the same day. The reality was probably quite different. But what of poor old Zebedee who apparently within the space of a 10 second conversation, finds himself without 2 of his leading hands. In fact we don’t hear anything more about Zebedee for the rest of Mark's gospel. For Mark’s purposes, the call of his sons James and John is the important bit.

The usual translation of Jesus' invitation is “come follow me” but I happened to stumble across a slightly different translation. “Come after me.” Now that puts a totally different perspective on things.

It could mean ‘Come after me’ in time and that is certainly true of us. We come much later. A couple of 1000 years later in fact. But at a deeper level the words ‘Come after me’ evoke a sense of tease or of dare. “Come after me”. An invitation to dance, to chase, to try and catch up. If we think of it in this sense, we come to understand that Jesus often seems elusive, almost mischievous, almost as if He knows that the more we chase, the more we want Him and the more we will enjoy Him in those rare moments when sometimes He seems so very, very close.  In those rare moments the Master is like an ethereal bubble. There, but not really there. The  bubble pops just as quickly as it arrived. Then He is gone again and we are left wanting Him more than ever. Bewildered and be-puzzled we are left scratching our head and realising that He was not where we expected Him to be. Then we are fired in the chase, and we start the search again. Come after me.

Perhaps there is a sense in which we are always playing catch up with Jesus. We get close and we think we understand; that we finally have our brain around one small piece of the puzzle. That He is near. And then just when He is at our fingertips, He streaks ahead, laughing and playfully invites us to come after Him once more. And far from despairing, we giggle and come after him in our limping stumbling, tottering way just as a toddler comes after their parent. With arms outstretched with hope and joy, knowing that an embrace is always there for the taking and the asking. Come after me.

It is when others sense the urgency, vitality and purposefulness  of our pursuit, that they just might begin to wonder what all the fuss is about. It is your vocation and mine to invite them along in this game called “Come after me”.

And there are moments when the pace seems frantic and our brains and hearts go into overdrive and there are times when we lie down in green pastures beside still waters and He spreads a table for us. Then we just sit quietly and feast in his presence. Come after me. We are called to make a conscious, intentional response to come after Him.

This is a choice. To work at a living relationship with the Living Christ. It is not inherited, it is not accidental, it is not a written contract on a bit of paper with a sunset clause and a use by date. In another place Jesus will offer an implement to help you on your way with this journey. If anyone wants to come after me he must….Come after me.

Sometimes in this game, it is us who need to do the asking. Just like Matthew the tax collector did. "I’m having a dinner party tonight Jesus with some of my dearest and dodgy friends. I’m hoping that you might come along." Come after me.

But with affection, the thing I come back to, is an image of The Master walking along a golden beach on a bright sunshiny day. Me, self absorbed in something that is about to become redundant. I just don’t know it yet.  He stops close by. I turn and look up. With a twinkle in his eye and a winning smirk, He says “Come after me”. And immediately, in a heartbeat, I am there. I am walking away from everything that is familiar and I am already home.

This Week’s Words

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Play School

I grew up with Play-school on a black and white TV screen. I can still remember the song.
“There’s a bear in there and chair as well; there are people with games and stories to tell…”
I heard these words afresh the other day and it occurred to me that they are indicative of every family and every home. Doesn’t every home have it’s characters like Big Ted, little ted, Humpty and Jemima? Some are fragile, some are noisy, some are cuddly and others are larger than life. Some are helpful, some are less so. Some of the people play games and these games can be amusing, but they can also be manipulative and detrimental. Time and time again, I have learnt the hard way that I have no idea what goes on behind closed doors in other peoples ‘Play school’. It all may seem sugar and spice, but the reality is often quite different.
Things are never exactly as they seem. Sometimes things slush around a bit. People can grow twisted and brittle while others in the most arduous of circumstances seem to become bold, and mature like a fine bottle of wine. And it’s so terrifyingly easy to think that we know exactly how ‘their gig’ works, when the reality is that often we haven’t got our own gig worked out. So next time the door is ‘open wide’ and you are invited to ‘come inside’, tread gently friends. Tread very gently. Sit on the ‘chair in there’ and remember that you too come from a home that is complex and full of characters. Remember that like the windows in Play-school, you are only being shown one fleeting insight of something that is continuously evolving.
Play-school continues to be educational at every stage of our life.