Bear Fruits Worthy of Repentance

Bear fruits worthy of repentance. (Luke 3:8)

Winter strips everything back and we are left to focus on what really matters. The hedgerows are devoid of leaves and only the red berries remain to signify the life multiplying truth of this plant's existence. Such an extravagant botanical investment in the future is also a present and welcome gift of food to many of the species of birds for whom the hedgerow is a vital part of their habitat. They in turn spread the seed far and wide beyond the parent plant. Such ecological mutuality and interdependence is a fundamental given of this landscape.

Mutuality and interdependence are integral to our wellbeing too. They signify an outlook which goes beyond self to others and which acknowledges the fundamental interrelatedness of life as a given of a healthy society. The fruits of such a worldview are obvious in terms of the bright red berries of welfare, social security, healthcare, justice and social capital which brighten up the wintry landscape in these austere and recessionary times.

The absence of berries in the hedgerow would indicate a catastrophic failure to provide for future generations and a breakdown in the local ecology which would put its very survival in jeopardy. Something would have gone terribly wrong.

And in the view of John the Baptist something had gone terribly wrong in contemporary society. The natural ecology of God's Kingdom of Love was in dire jeopardy. The fruits of mutuality and interdependence were remarkable by their scarcity. Looking around him John was struck by the comparative lack of the bright red berries of compassion, righteousness and service which signify a healthy faith. He confronted those who came to him with the simple facts of conversion, discipleship and Kingdom living. Their lives should bear clear witness to their belief. Their longing for a fresh start with God should entail a fresh start in how they live their lives towards others. They should bear fruits worthy of repentance.

The bright red berries which John looks for are very practical and down to earth and one can easily imagine that they are tailored to the individuals and groups who come to him asking what they should do: “Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.”Even tax collectors came to be baptized. “Teacher,” they asked, “what should we do?” “Don’t collect any more than you are required to,” he told them. Then some soldiers asked him, “And what should we do?” He replied, “Don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely—be content with your pay.” (Luke 3:11-14) John emphasises the social, collective and communal dimensions of authentic faith in God. In this is he being absolutely true to the faith he has inherited and in which he stands. Without these expressions of mutuality and interdependence one can rightly conclude from the Hebrew Bible that as long as the heart remains unmoved, lip service is being paid to faith, for to take God into the heart of our being is to take the heart of the other there too.

Because the human ecology of grace is such a fundamental given of John's faith landscape, in his wintry words he strips everything back and focusses on what really matters; and not just to us, but to God. To be told unequivocally to bear fruits worthy of repentance is as much of a shock to our sensibilities today as it was when the phrase was first uttered by John the Baptist. For it suggest that the opposite holds true, and draws our attention to all that remains unworthy.

Our wintry world desperately needs to see evidence of bright, berry red lives. And John still prepares the way for us to take that truth to heart in Jesus and make it our own.

~~~

This post comes from the ever wonderful Visual Theology blog, by Dave Perry. The original post can be read here

He sees when you are sleeping...

I loved this poster referencing Psalm 139... using lines from a well known Christmas song... 

With thanks to Occupy Advent for the heads up on htis where you can even buy a copy!

Advent day 18 - Creator

You will need your smart phone - enabled with the Aurasma app - for this meditation on Freedom from the Traces of Advent team...

Advent Podcast

Advent day 16 - Lighten our darkness...

Do you ever have a really deep seated sense of longing? A yearning, almost an aching? Something tangible, physical.  For some of us it might be for someone we love when we are apart from them. For some of us it might be for a particular place or landscape. For others of us still it might be for a time in the future when things will be different, better, fairer, freer, more just. That sense of just not being complete unless we are there in that place, in that time with that person.

This is the sound that Advent should ring long and deep within our hearts; that insistent tolling, reminding us that with God, the best is yet to come. Things can only get better - and no not in a glib, political, well advertised, slick sort of a way, but one where the fabric of our world is transformed by God and the topography of our innermost souls is transfigured. Change is coming.

The royal purple cloak of Advent, symbolising the coming of God as King and our need of Him because of our brokenness is lightened by the bright beams of hope especially today - hence the pink - rejoice, celebrate, be happy, the change you long and yearn for is coming!

This is the message of John the Baptist to us. But John is significant, not because of what he is, but because of what he’s not.

What is important about John is not his political or religious significance but rather his lack of significance. What is denied about John is extraordinary: he was not the light, he is not the Christ, he is not Elijah, he is not the prophet, he is untrustworthy to untie the sandal of the one coming after him, whilst he baptises with water the one coming after him will baptise with the Holy Spirit, he is not the bridegroom, he must increase so I can decrease. The subordination of John to Jesus shows how important it is that we get their relationship straight. John’s significance is gained only by being one chosen and sent by God to point toward the the One who would bring in God’s long yearned for change.

The other thing we know about John is that he is a witness and gives testimony. This is language of the law court, and in Advent, a trial is underway.  But it is not Jesus who is on trial but us, our world, it’s leaders, our drives and motives, our lives and lifestyles, our choices. As God comes amongst us, returning as a longed for lover, are we still the people He fell in love with at the first moment of Creation?

Did you see the moon on Friday night? Round beautiful and full. It was one of those rare occasions where it feels so close that you could almost reach out and grab it. In areas without too much light polution, the effect was apparently quite stunning – and the amazing thing about the moon, of course, is that of itself it has no light at all.  The moon shines only with the reflected light of the sun.

And here John the Baptist stands as the moon, to the sun that is Jesus.  He was not that light, but was sent to bear witness to that light.  Like Friday’s moon, he shone more brightly that those who had gone before him, but he was not that light.  He bore witness because he too shone with reflected glory….and he was in no doubt that his role in the gospel was not centre stage. In the account we have just heard, John is not called "the Baptist". The emphasis is on his witness.  His calling was to be a sign, pointing the way to Jesus.

Jesus’ coming demands a decision on our part. His signs are too powerful to ignore. He is either at least a prophet or a false prophet who must die. He claims authority which is Gods, and therefore is either a blasphemer and deserves death - or he speaks the truth.

The moon’s light comes from the sun. Similarly John refers us still to Jesus. Like the sun, light, Jesus, shines, and is either welcome as it shows goodness and Godness in our lives; or it is unwelcome as it exposes things in our lives and reveals us as we really are.

John is a witness to the truth of all that God is doing in and through Jesus. We need to decide for ourselves who He is. As we stand on the cusp of a soft focus crib scene - who will this baby grow to be? C.S Lewis put it well...

‘...I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: 'I'm ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don't accept His claim to be God.' That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic -- on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg -- or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to...’

John’s testimony to who Jesus is, challenges us still to react - who is he? The intrusion of Light into the world will not leave things as they are - we must decide. Our decision puts everything at stake...

Advent Day 11

He was a young man, caught in the web of drug addiction. She was the pharmacist who with genuine love and care dispensed the daily dose of Methadone to people yearning to break free from the effects of drugs. He shared with her his desire to re-order his life, to become free of the paralysing effects of addiction. His spoke of his hope for a new beginning. Suddenly he stopped coming. She wondered about him. Where was he? She watched and waited but he never returned.

Years passed. One day her son invited a friend home for an evening meal. When she opened the door, standing before her was the young man of earlier years. Healthy and well, he now worked as a social worker with others caught in the grip of addiction. He shared how her words, like an arrow, had struck his heart, opening him to reform, freedom and hope.

John the Baptist, the arrow in God’s quiver, waited in the wilderness. At the appointed time he was sprung forth from God’s bow. John pointed a people who lived in dread and uncertainty to a greater power and a greater love revealed in the person of Jesus.

Can you find yourself among the many people who went out to meet and welcome John’s message? What might John say to you?

In what way this week might you become the arrow in God’s hand, the messenger calling people to hope and love and to the reform of social injustices?

Taken from the marvellous and inspiring Sacred Space site

Advent day 10: The Word as as Wordle

Here is the word cloud I made of this Sunday's Gospel read ing which you can read by clicking here

Advent day 6: Advent begins where we are...

I pinched this post off the marvellous Visual Theology blog - thank you Dave Perry, your photos paint words and your words fire imaginations...

 

 

 

The Polish sculptor Igor Mitoraj takes the idioms of classical Graeco-Roman sculpture and gives them a thoroughly postmodern twist by emphasising the fragile, damaged nature of our humanity as opposed to its idealised perfection. As such his representations invite self-recognition, acceptance and empathy in the mind of the viewer. Mitoraj's imperfect marble figures draw us into an awareness of the solidarity of our collective brokenness as individuals. His magnificent Héros de Lumière (Hero of Light), currently on display at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park,  exemplifies this artistic trait to the full.

It is therefore a perfect image with which to begin Advent. It is into this sorry state, this brutal reality, this damaged, broken and fractured sense of self and of the other that our Advent promises speak. Because it is from this place of abject truth that the Advent journey has to begin. Not from some errant and skewed sense of perfection, or from an idealised image of who we are, as individuals, societies or nations. Hero of Light depicts neither fantasy nor illusion, rather it says here is where you are. It is only from here that you can journey to Bethlehem. Depart from anywhere else and your travelling will be in vain; a futile exercise in vanity.

The biblical texts could not be clearer on this point: "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness" (Mark 1:3) and "A voice cries out: 'In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord'" (Isaiah 40:3) both direct us to the startpoint of our Advent pilgrimage. The wilderness and wildness of the human condition in all its fragile, imperfect beauty is where love speaks to us by name. And as God's beloved we are invited to make the promises our own; to take them to heart and believe them. Like this, as this, nothing less than this; from this sacred place of grace we set out again, or maybe for the first time, to discover Christ, the light of the world.

 

Advent day 5

You'll need your Aurasma enabled smart phone to get the most out of today's post... As usual, a h/t to the Traces of Advent team...

30th November (Feast of St Andrew) - Advent day 4

 A shot of Alter Bridge on stage last night at Wembly Arena.

'...On this day I see clearly everything has come to life

A bitter place and a broken dream
And we'll leave it all behind.

On this day its so real to me
Everything has come to life
Another chance to chase a dream
Another chance to feel

Chance to feel alive...'

The lyrics above are from the Alter Bridge's song 'Metalingus.' Members of the band have been influenced by the teaching of Jesus over the years and, for me at least, this song sums up God's longing and ours made present, raw and real in this season of Advent...

It may not be your cup of tea but it is mine, and here's a live version...

November 28th - Advent day 2

I think this just about sums up the season...

Come

Here is the first of a few images made available via 12 Baskets from Traces of Advent .

To use it you will need to use the Aurasma app on your iPhone of Android smartphone. To learn more click here

O Rex Gentium (O King of the nations)

Some of the titles given to Jesus are awkward to negotiate in a democratic world, let alone a world concerned with political correctness. To call Jesus “King of the Nations” and to allude to his role as the Judge of all needs a bit of thought if it isn’t to sound domineering and overbearing. “The authority rests on his shoulders,” wrote Isaiah (9:6) and, “He shall judge between nations.” (2:4) But can we still accept a God who claims to have authority and the right to judge?

Today’s antiphon reads:

O Rex Gentium, et desideratus earum,
lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum:
veni, et salva hominem,
quem de limo formasti.

O King of the nations, and their desire,
the cornerstone making both one;
Come and save the human race,
which you fashioned from clay.

It’s right to demand justice of our authority structures, it’s reasonable to be outraged when election promises are broken, when justice breaks down, when policing favours the privileged and treats the young and the invisible badly. But the fact that we readily insist that “they” should be doing something about it doesn’t suggest a move towards anarchy, but a deep seated desire for authority to be handled properly and fairly, and wielded on behalf of all the people. Authoritarianism is ugly, but authority is good; Judgemental is ghastly, but someone who ushers in true justice would surely be welcomed by the vast majority of people.

Isaiah’s words suggest that the Messiah qualifies as Rex Gentium precisely because only he can handle power and authority without becoming corrupt; only he can be a judge who is unbiased in his concern for true justice, and not open to coercion. He is a counsellor, an arbitrator, the prince of peace, under whose governance war will end and true peace be established. He does not favour the rich over the poor, but lifts up the needy from the ash heap.

“For unto us a child is born us, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulders; and he shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.”

He shall judge between the nations,
and arbitrate for many peoples;
and they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
neither shall they learn war anymore. (Isa 2:4)

~~~

This post comes from Maggi Dawn's wonderful blog with thanks for the continued inspiration

winter solstice, lunar eclipse, dawning of love

Just before dawn on the shortest day of the year the eclipse and winter solstice conspired to diminish the light and challenge the dawn. In the freezing darkness of this winter's morning the lunar eclipse brought a startling absence of light, until the dawn broke and the sky brightened into the deep beautiful blue of a new day.

Darkness and light, the solstice of the soul, the joyful dawning of hope; Advent gifts vital themes to the embrace of Christmas. Once again the birth of love melts the frozen denials of secularism, and the radiance of grace illuminates the hard edges of life.

In these darkest times the love-light of Jesus awaits our gaze and our welcome.

~~~~~~

From Dave Perry's 'Visual Theology' blog

Advent 4 - Word as a Wordle

This Sunday's Gospel reading - Wordled!

Matthew 1:18-25...

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah^* took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. ¹⁹Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. ²⁰But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. ²¹She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ ²²All this took place to fulfil what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet:
²³ ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel’, which means, ‘God is with us.’ ²⁴

When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, ²⁵but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son;^* and he named him Jesus.

Pain Killers and Hope Killers

I’m handing out pain killers tonight. You can take it if you want. You always have that option. But Advent asks you to wait just a minute, before you do, and consider this:

Painkillers don’t do what they say they are going to do. They might immediately mask the pain, but they don’t kill the pain. They numb our sense of the pain, but they don’t address the source of the pain. Now I’m not saying that there aren’t good reasons to numb your pain. And it seems like Advent brings a lot of these reasons to light.

Earlier we read in Isaiah about a time when everyone comes running to God to teach them how to live, about a time when the world forgets how to fight, a time when every tool to make war is repurposed into a tool to make food. And yet the present reality is that most of our children cannot remember a time when our country was not in two wars. The drastic disparity between what God promise for the future and what we experience now is hard to bear. And Advent seems to bring these differences out. So it makes sense that during the season of Advent we encounter so much pain-killing, like… excessive eating… excessive drinking… excessive shopping… excessive entertainment… the list goes on because your pain-killing is as unique as your pain. Making the connection is scary – but it could change everything.

Karl Marx said, “religion is the opiate of the masses”, “Religion is the people’s pain killer.” And that is definitely one of the many shadow-sides of religion, but tonight Jesus is calling us out of our opiate stupor. Advent is the smelling salts of the masses; wakes you up to all that is around you, wake you up to all that is within you even if it hurts, because there is some pain that is linked directly to your hope and if you kill that pain, you kill your hope. Making the connection is scary – but it could change everything.

There are times when we feel so drugged, so groggy, so numb that we need something to surprise us into hope. The salvation of God always comes as a shock.

This year, you’ll know it’s Advent if there is desire awakened in you tonight. You’ll know it’s Advent if you face the possibility of becoming horribly disappointed, but you risk to hope anyways. You’ll know it’s Advent if you are beginning to feel the discomfort of reality and you know that you were meant for more. You always have the option of taking a pain-killer, but this year Advent is asking you to wait, confront your pain, and be shocked by the closeness of your God.

~~~~

This post featured originally on Christine Sine's excellent Godspace blog

I see Dead People

This very famous scene comes from M. Night Shyamalan's excellent film 'The Sixth Sense' but personally I can empathise with Haley Joel Osment's character, Cole Sear. At the moment I feel like I see dead people.

This feeling has much to do with a significant number of requests to minister to the dead and dying in recent weeks.

This blog post is not an opportunity to bemoan that ministry, for it is all too rare a privilege. Nor is this an opportunity to comment on the cost of that ministry on me personally, even though there is one but it is nothing compared to the cost of being a grieving relative in the first place.
Death is one of the things that Christians have traditionally meditated on during this holy season of Advent, along with Heaven, Hell and Judgment. Advent is, in the context of Christ's longed for coming amongst us and promised return, an opportunity to prepare ourselves for a holy death.

Death though is something that as a society, we try to avoid. Everything from extreme dieting, through rigorous exercise, plastic surgery and even anti-wrinkle face creams are all, at various levels, forms of coffin dodging, of death avoidance. Death more often than not no longer happens at home, but in hospital, the funeral no longer in the local church but in an out of town crem. Funeral services are no longer simply 'The Burial of the Dead' but 'Thanksgivings' and 'Celebrations.'

Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was…

These words were written by Henry Scott Holland when he was a Canon of St Paul’s cathedral. But they weren’t written as a poem, these words were part of a sermon. Scott Holland fashions these words to encapsulate one response to death, a response which often comes in the immediate wake of a death but which swiftly evaporates. Alongside this response to death he expressed another view,

Death ‘makes all we do here meaningless and empty…. It is the cruel ambush into which we are snared... It is the pit of destruction. It wrecks, it defeats, it shatters It makes its horrible breach in our gladness with careless and inhuman disregard of us. We get no consideration from it. Often and often it stumbles in like an evil mischance, like a feckless misfortune. Its shadow falls across our natural sunlight, and we are swept off into some black abyss. There is no light or hope in the grave; there is no reason to be wrung out of it.’

Though from the same Scott Holland sermon, this extract is not read at funerals.

But death for the Christian is neither ‘nothing at all’ nor is there ‘no light or hope in the grave.'

Paul writes in Rom 6:23 '...the wages of sin is death'. Death is a serious thing, it is not a trivial or illusory as the first scenario from Scott Holland suggests. But Paul’s verse continues ‘...but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord...' Therefore the second scenario from Scott Holland is also wide of the mark. For us as Christians therefore we can own on the one hand the seriousness of death, but also to our hope that it does not have the final word; hence Paul can taunt death, I Cor 15:55 '...Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O grave, is your sting?'

And yet the words 'earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust', part of the committal prayer, can so often sting. For whilst we rejoice as Christians in the knowledge that death itself is conquered by Christ's own death and resurrection, the reality that the person we have known and loved will be with us no longer is the harshest of realities, it is something.

Jesus knew this. 'Father if it is possible for this cup to pass from me...' Jesus didn't want to face what he ultimately willingly chose in the Garden of Gethsemene and turned his face to Jerusalem and his crucifixion. Confronted with the death of his great friend Lazarus '... Jesus wept...'

Death is nothing at all? No, death is something. God knows. This priest feels surrounded by death and dying at the moment. I see dead and dying people.

Advent reminds us that in a sense we all see dead people.

We are all made from dust and ash - from the ground, from the elements around us. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, reminds us of our mortality and failing and gives us permission to cry out to God for redemption, salvation and change.

God's Messiah comes to be enfleshed in dust and ashes with us, calling us to be transformed into glory.

Advent reminds us of our mortality, to prepare for our death's well and to long for God's transforming glory in our midst.

The Gospel for Christmas Shoppers

I dislike Christmas shopping. I don't dislike the thought that goes into choosing a present for someone I love. What I find hard is that you are all there when I want to go and buy it!

God offers us good news good news from Isaiah's prophecy (Is. 35:3&4)...

'...Strengthen the weak hands,
and make firm the feeble knees.
Say to those who are of a fearful heart,
‘Be strong, do not fear!...'

In this season of goodwill, I am rejoicing that whilst our wallets might get exercised, our hands might get tired from bag carrying, God's all transforming love promises to transform the landscapes of our lives - even in the mayhem of Christmas shopping.

Perhaps that same good news is better expressed or demonstrated another way...

Christmas Can [Still] Change the World

The story of Christ's birth is a story of promise, hope, and a revolutionary love.

So, what happened? What was once a time to celebrate the birth of a savior has somehow turned into a season of stress, traffic jams, and shopping lists.

And when it's all over, many of us are left with presents to return, looming debt that will take months to pay off, and this empty feeling of missed purpose. Is this what we really want out of Christmas?

What if Christmas became a world-changing event again? Go to the Advent Conspiracy website to take part

Advent encourages me to believe that love will appear where the need is greatest

Dave Perry writes, '...With temperatures down to -16C our snow-bound village has been blessed with a spectacular display of frost. One sight in particular caused me to stop and think, an image which quite unexpectedly visualised my expectation of Advent and the Christmas season.

I came upon a barbed wire fence adorned along its entire length with a translucent fringe of delicate ice crystals. It was as though a decorative strip of tinsel had been unwound and very gently and deliberately put in place to counter the barbs with beauty. And what beauty.

The frost was growing by the hour, and to me it had the quality of a determined and irresistible protest at that which is designed to harm. Materialising out of thin air, the frost made visible the front line of love's work. Where else would I expect love to be if not where life's barbs are the sharpest and its boundaries the cruelest and most intransigent?

Where the tools and techniques of violence and oppression separate us from each other, where hatred divides and the innocent are denied freedom, that is where love materialises. Advent tells me this is so.

And so in the frosty miracle of love's incarnation in Bethlehem, God's crystal clear protest at all that bedevils and belittles the beauty of our humanity is made manifest for all to see. Such translucent grace makes a mockery of our barbed wire world. It encourages us to believe that love will always appear where the need is greatest...'

~~~~

From Dave Perry's moving and enlightening Visual Theology blog...