Author: andreaskevington

The Spirit Comes

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We celebrate Pentecost this weekend, and the story continues its extraordinary movement outwards.  Last week, it was Ascension, when the disciples were still thinking in terms of their own people, and Jesus showed them an ever widening perspective (Acts 1:6-8).
Now, we see how God continues to open and include.  It seems that all those gathered together (1:14-15) were part of the great outpouring of the Spirit, and the impact on the listeners suggests God was at work beyond even those.  The barriers between us of race, gender, nationality, language, youth and age, are being broken down, moving us towards a deep unity (Col 1:17, Gal 3:28). No wonder the whole house was filled with a great sound! This is powerful and much needed work.

We notice how the barrier of language is overcome.  We notice that God’s priority is not to change the listeners so they can understand, but change the words (and the speakers) so people can hear – directly, in a way that makes sense to them as they are.
The words are an overflow of joy.

Below is my version of the story, from The Bible Story Retold

If you wish to use it this weekend, please do, saying where it is from.  I hope it helps.

 

From the fields it came: the first sheaf of barley cut for that year’s harvest.  It was carried high through streets crammed with visitors, and on to the Temple. And then the priest offered it to God, giving thanks for the good land, and for the gift of harvest. For that day was the celebration of the first fruits.  It was Pentecost.

Meanwhile, the disciples were all together, waiting.  Then, suddenly, it began.  It stared with sound – a sound like the wind – but this was no gentle harvest breeze.  This was a shaking and a roaring: a sound of power, whooshing and howling about the house, rattling every door and shutter.  The sound seemed to come down from heaven itself, and filled the house as the wind fills sails.  Then, the disciples watched wide-eyed as something that looked like fire came down, and tongues of flame peeled off it and rested on each of them without burning them.  All of them were filled, for the Holy Spirit had come.  And as it happened, their tongues were loosened, and they began to speak as the Spirit gave them words.  These words were not Aramaic, their own language, but in languages that were unknown to them.
A crowd had gathered by the house because of the extraordinary sound, but then they heard voices. There were pilgrims in Jerusalem from all over the known world, and they recognized the words the disciples were speaking.
“He’s talking Egyptian!” said one.
“That one’s talking my language,” said a visitor from Crete – and the same was true for all.  Each person heard God’s praises in their own tongue.
“What can it mean?” they asked each other.  But others among the crowd joked that the disciples had been drinking.
The Twelve heard what they were saying, so Simon Peter stood up to speak to the crowds.
“Listen, I’ll tell you what’s happening.  We’re not drunk! It’s too early in the day for that! This is God’s promise come true.  Do you remember what one of the prophets wrote long ago?
I’ll pour out my Spirit on everyone – young and old.
Your sons and daughters will prophesy,
young men will have visions, and old men dreams.
All who follow me – men and women – will
be given my Spirit, and there will be wonders!

Bless you this weekend, and always.

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Contemplative Prayer – The Cloud of Unknowing

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One of the joys of working for Quiet Spaces is that the meditations you write months ago seem to come back when you need them.  So this morning, the latest edition arrived in the post, reminding me of a prayer practice that had slipped away.

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For this issue, packed with good things, I wrote a series of meditations and explorations of The Cloud of Unknowing. The 14th century text is an extraordinarily rich resource for anyone interested in contemplative prayer. It feels very necessary and timely to me right now, and with the Archbishops’ initiative for a week of prayer before Pentecost, I am finding it helpful  to look again at this way of praying.
The Cloud seeks to remind us that God is above our knowledge, but accessible in love. It asks us to wait, to lose our discomfort with “unknowing”, to be prepared to be in what can feel like a cloud.  We are often afraid of mystery, and sometimes prefer knowing to loving, so this type of prayer calls for humility, and patience with ourselves.  It seems to deepen our ability to connect.

Here is my first suggestion to begin – it may help if you are following the week of prayer.

You may wish to establish a pattern for contemplative prayer.  For example (you could)  turn off technology, find a place, light a candle, do some steadying breathing.  Begin with this verse:

“My soul thirst for God, for the living God.  When can I go and meet with God?”
Psalm 42:2

Calm your mind.  Let go of thoughts. Focus your loving attention on God, who is always present. Stay in the stillness, the silence, for as long as you can.  When your mind wanders, try again.
“Lift up your heart to God with humble love”
The Cloud of Unknowing, Chapter 3

This act of prayer begins with the act of lifting up your heart, and directing your loving attention, to the source of love.

The Cloud of Unknowing is well worth reading. It is broken into small sections, which helps slow down the process and make it less about mastering a technique, or gaining knowledge, and more about entering into presence.
Penguin classics have an excellent version, and you can also access an online version here

 

 

Glad

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It’s easy to see why the English  discuss the weather – on Monday, I lit a fire, and today is warm enough to throw open the doors.  A day when you can slow, and breathe, and see.

I am typing this looking out of the window you see in the picture below, looking to the place you are looking from.  The gardeners among you may notice it is a picture taken a little further into the summer, when the hollyhocks, which are babies now, grow tall.  It’s all there, waiting.

Below are a few small lines I hope will cheer your day, wherever you are.

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Glad

How little, some days,
it takes to make the heart glad.

A line full of dry washing,
a mother blackbird’s beak,
heavy with worms,
sweetness rising in the grass,
a breeze shot through
with the scent of flowers,

these are enough,
yes, enough.

 

 

 

Wind, and weather

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This is my second response to the wonderful Quiet Day at Otley Hall with Malcolm Guite.
While  Trying to listen to God grew out of the day’s content, this next came from the distractions. While we were listening, and looking out at the garden full of delicate spring flowers, the weather had an agenda of its own, bringing swift and sudden bursts of snow and hail.  With the north wind came this very small verse.

 

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Wind

Who knows what the wind brings?
These clouds cross the blue sky
full of rain
and hail
and snow,
as the birds sing,
as the flowers grow.
They come if I say yes
or no –
can I say Yes to the wind?

 

 

 

 

Trying to listen to God

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This week, I had the great privilege of spending a day at Otley Hall listening to some of Malcolm Guite’s most recent poems, to be published soon in Parable and Paradox  .  This collection on the sayings of Jesus is full of personal response and deep scholarship.  Those of us who were there had time to reflect on all the wisdom and beauty outside, which always helps my thinking!  It was an astonishingly good experience, and several new poems ended up among my jottings – they still feel quite tentative.

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Here is the first.

 

Trying to listen to God

There is all this that speaks –
the electric green grass,
the cowslips and fritillary lilies –
I know I am to consider them,
consider it all.
The song the trees sing today –
their tender beauty
like the beauty of a child –
will not be repeated tomorrow.
Today is the day to hear it.

There is all this
and stories too –
The Kingdom is like this, like that –
slipping past the guard of ego
and reason
they work their slow growth
Seeds that crack the
dark tarmac,
the grey concrete,
soften the callouses our own
stories have worked.

For there is all that too –
the stony weights,
the things that choke.
How does good soil get to be
good?
I wonder, as I am shaken,
as my ground is cleared.

 

 

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Seeing what the Father does

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One of this Sunday’s readings is an account of a healing, stopping short of the controversy that follows.  Retellings have to be more concise, so my version below sketches it out – another example of people missing the point.  The religious leaders were so concerned about policing sabbath observance, making sure law was kept, that they overlooked the astonishing things that were right before their eyes –  healing, and mercy.
What Jesus says in response outrages his listeners, and as we reach the end of the exchange we come to one of those extraordinary phrases of Jesus that stop you short, and stay with you, changing the way you see things.
He is doing what he sees the father do…
If we pay attention to what Jesus does, we might learn something of God’s heart.
It’s helpful to remember that the Greek word we translate disciple – mathetes – means both pupil and apprentice.  I am drawn to the idea of apprenticeship – of watching and making fumbling first attempts to imitate.  It is an adventure, and I am still working out what it means.
(John 5).

The extract below is from my retelling, The Bible Story Retold, published by Lion.  Also available here and your local bookshop.

One sabbath, Jesus was in Jerusalem.  He came to the pool of Bethesda, which means “House of Mercy”.  The pool, with its steep steps, was surrounded by covered colonnades. Under their shade lay many who were sick, waiting to enter the water when it welled up, for they believed that the water could heal them.  Jesus went and sat down by one man, and asked him “Do you want to be healed?”
“Sir, there’s no one to help me down into the pool.  I’ve been an invalid for 38 years.  How can I reach the water?”
So Jesus said, “Just get up! Take your mat and walk away!” – and he did so.
Some teachers of the Law stopped him. “What do you think you’re doing, carrying a mat on the sabbath?  Don’t you know that’s work, and forbidden?” And the man told them what had happened.  How angry they were at Jesus – a sabbath-breaker, they called him.
“My Father is always at work, so I, too, am working!” Jesus said.  The teachers of the Law gasped, shocked.  He was talking as if he were God’s equal!
“I don’t do anything by myself,” Jesus went on. “I see what my Father is doing and do the same!”

I hope it helps.  If you wish to use this reading, please say where it is from.

The Spirit and the Centurion

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Today’s reading (Acts 10) is strange and beautiful.  It is no accident we start with an account of Cornelius the Centurion’s vision – we see first that God is at work among people considered outsiders, people who did not follow the rules.  It is after the angel appears to the Roman that Peter has his vision, and that vision challenges his idea of the centrality of the Law. To begin with, he saw a temptation to be resisted.  It took time to see that God was inviting him to a more inclusive, more generous understanding.  God is expanding the categories, again and again.  The Spirit is moving, freely.  It was hard for Peter to keep up – but he sees what God is doing, and his response, in the end, is to accept these new brothers and sisters.

The extract is from The Bible Story Retold
If you would like to use it, please feel free, mentioning the source.

Cornelius the centurion had been watching the galleons sail in and out of the white marble port of Caesarea.  Every day these great ships came and went, to and from the rest of the wide Roman empire.  He and his family did not follow the Roman gods or Roman ways.  They were faithful, prayerful, and generous to the poor.  As Cornelius turned away from the bright sunlight, he saw something even more dazzling – a vision of an angel.  The vision spoke.
“Your prayers and gifts to the poor have come before God as an offering.  Send men to Joppa and tell them to bring back someone called Simon Peter.  He is staying at the home of Simon the tanner, who lives by the sea.”
Cornelius did just that.
As his men were approaching Joppa, Simon Peter the fisherman was praying on the flat roof.  There he had a vision. He saw a huge white sheet let down before him.  Inside it were all kinds of animals that the Law of Moses said not to eat.
“You’re hungry, so eat!” said a voice.
“No!” Simon Peter replied. “I’ve never eaten anything unclean in my life!”
This happened three times, and each time the voice answered
“Don’t call anything unclean that God calls clean!”
Just then Cornelius’s men arrived, asking for Simon Peter, and the voice said, “I’ve sent men to find you.  Just go with them, don’t hesitate!” So he went with them.
When Simon Peter went into Cornelius’ house, it was the first time he had entered the home of a Gentile, a non-Jew, where “unclean” food was served, and the Law of Moses was not followed.
“Why did you want to see me?” Simon Peter asked, looking around at the crowd of family and friends Cornelius had invited.  Then Cornelius told him the vision of the angel.
“So it’s true! God really has no favourites,” Simon Peter replied. “He wants everyone to follow him!” And he began to tell them about Jesus.
While he was still speaking, the Holy Spirit came, filling Cornelius, his friends and family with joy, and they spoke in different tongues as the disciples had at Pentecost.  Simon Peter and the other Jews who had come with him were stunned that God had given the same gift to the Gentiles.  And Simon Peter baptized them. “God accepts them, and so will we!” he said.

 

Pulling up trees

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I am sure that all of us who are have responsibility for a little bit of land know what it is to turn your back for a while, then find  it is growing with such glorious, irrepressible speed that you have no hope of getting it back to whatever plan you had.  If, like me, you have a secret preference for wildflowers and woods, it can be hard to pull things up.  I keep the runaway primroses and bluebells – but runaway trees!  Much as I love a wood, I have to remove them. The tension, wanting but not wanting order, is something I explore in this small poem.  I also touch on the more-than-reality of fairy tales, so often expressing some of the deeper workings of our spirits.

 

Pulling up trees

How quickly this place becomes a wood!
Last year, while I was sleeping,
seeds fell and grew, fell and grew, and now
as the year wakes, these small brown sticks
are all topped with leaves –
miniature sycamore, tiny ash.

How easily they pull up from the damp earth –
one long strong root, going deep,
and side filaments that resist, then
give, satisfyingly.
Such destruction –
I am the giant of my fairy tale.

Open lawns of grass, clusters of flowers –
bluebells and primroses – would be
swallowed up in a dense picket of saplings,
so close the squirrel and the bird
would find it hard to move,
the deer’s path would
no longer be straight –
my garden a wood
that grew while
I was sleeping.

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The Good Shepherd

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Photo: The Good Shepherd, Rosanne Kellar, Exeter Cathedral

One of the most striking things about the Exeter sculpture is it’s height: the plinth is tall, so as you stand before it the shepherd is reaching down to you, as if ready to help you up.  In front of it, I instinctively grabbed the hand offered to me.

This is a Sunday when many Christian traditions reflect on The Good Shepherd – the model of humble and compassionate leadership that Jesus provides for us (John 9 and 10).

Here is my retelling from The Bible Story Retold.

“When the shepherd comes to the sheepfold, and calls out to his sheep, they’ll follow him because they know his voice.  They won’t follow a stranger.  The shepherd will keep them safe from the wolves that howl at night because he loves his sheep.  The shepherd leads them to green pasture, and will never abandon them when danger comes – unlike someone hired, who is working for money.  The shepherd will lay down his life for his flock.
“I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep, and my sheep know me.  They recognise my voice and follow me.  And I will lay down my life for them.  Some of my sheep are far away – I’ll call them, too, and they’ll come.  They will be one big flock, with one good shepherd.”
Yet the religious leaders argued over who Jesus was. “The man’s mad!” said some, while others were less sure. “How can a madman open the eyes of the blind?”

Please feel free to use this reading if it is of help, saying where it is from.