The Bible Story Retold

Sunday Retold, Poem: Ascension

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I’m continuing to share with you some poems I’m working on for a new book, The Year’s Circle, which will be out next year – with Wild Goose of Iona Publishing. You can read more about that here.

As I’m settling into the work, I’m finding it so rewarding. I love looking for threads and connections between things, and so I’m weaving together poems which follow the pattern of the church year and poems drawn from nature. I’ve always found the natural world rich with image and meaning, and that is particularly true of the wild beauty of late spring.

This poem has been a bit of a knotty one to unravel, but now I think it’s settled and working. I’m giving it to you a little early, in case anyone is looking for a poem for Ascension (this year, Thursday 29th May) . At the beginning of the book of Acts we find this account of Jesus being taken up, and I have been wondering about what it might mean for us.

I thought first of what it must have been like for his friends, a kind of second losing. They are still caught up in their concerns – they are still thinking of a kingdom with power and borders. And every day, now, we are seeing the pain of kingdoms and borders, the terrible suffering of the people of Gaza and the long history of cause and effect that leads to children, the frail, the displaced and the wounded – starving. It’s shocking and distressing. I find those images fill my inner vision as I read the words of the disciples. And I notice that their nationalistic hopes do not align with the task set them by Jesus.

I have wondered about the complete change in perspective that Jesus seeks to share. I think it might help us, and give us a way of seeing that opens us up to a better way.

He is not speaking of kingdoms with borders. He is sending them out – over borders, without consideration of the divisions between peoples we might make – to the whole earth. A shift in thinking, a higher, more inclusive view. So, in this poem, I try to explore that shift.
The poem has two strands. The experience of Jesus’ friends as he slips away from them, and this wider way of seeing he invites them to share.

Hidden/All things  – Ascension

Perhaps it had seemed a partial
parting, a gradual letting go.

In life, they had lived with him,
travelled dusty roads,
slept under stars,
ate bread and shared a cup.

Then, after that dark Friday,
that bright Sunday, there
came these strange, sudden
meetings, brief comings and goings,
words they found hard
to understand – such
puzzling reassurance.

And still they ate together,
and he spoke of another
presence who would
come to them, be with them.
And despite their questions
of nations and times,
his was always a wider vision.


Always wider and other
Out to the old enemy
and the ends of the earth
Everywhere and everyone

And then at last they came
to this last parting,
and he was taken up
in rolling clouds and
hidden from their sight,
a long perspective
they could not yet share

that saw the whole blue
green turning Earth and all things –
things in heaven and things on earth –
holding together  reconciled
all very good and all beloved.
Above all, beloved.

Acts1:1-11
Colossians 1:15-20

This image is of Gaia by Luke Jerram, when it was at Ely Cathedral. As I’m playing with the arrangement of poems in The Year’s Circle, I’ve placed my poem inspired by this artwork in a group that follows this one on the Ascension – a group that begins to explore our perception of the Earth as an interconnected whole. You can read the Gaia poem here.

And, in the spirit of the original Sunday Retold, here are some passages which might be of interest.

‘The disciples never knew when Jesus would appear among them – but appear he did, telling them more about the kingdom of God, and kindling hope in their hearts.
“Wait in Jerusalem and you will receive God’s gift. You remember how John baptized with water? In a few days, you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit of God.”
Another time they asked him, “Lord, will Israel be a great kingdom again now?”
“That’s not for you to know. The Holy Spirit will come and fill you with power, and then you will tell everyone what you have seen and heard. Start in Jerusalem, and Judea, but then go out beyond Israel to Samaria, and even further – to the whole earth!”
Then Jesus was lifted up, above and beyond the earth, and a cloud hid him…….’

From The Bible Story Retold

Ascension Day
‘Christ has no body now on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours…. Yours are the feet with which is to go about doing good, and yours are the hands with which he is to bless us now.’
St Teresa of Avila

From Prayers and Verses

Poem: Water and Dove – Baptism. Sunday Retold

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Piero della Francesca, The Baptism of Christ. National Gallery, London.

This coming Sunday many Christian communities are continuing to think of Epiphany, or epiphanies – those moments of clarity, of breakthrough, when you see things anew, or perhaps for the first time. In particular, there are readings to follow which tell us of Jesus’ baptism by John in the Jordan river. It’s a moment when everything seems to change – where we see one who closely resembles a prophet from the Hebrew scriptures, and one who tells us that the Kingdom of God is so close, already among us – standing together in a river. The reading is Luke 3:15-17,21-22. I’m posting a link to the whole chapter, though, as it gives us some very helpful reflections on “What should we do?” as signs of a change of heart, as well as the beautiful and hopeful passage from Isaiah.

I love the picture at the top of this post. I love its lines, its clarity and purity. I have a framed poster very like this one, and see it every day. I’ve often wondered at the river stopping, diverting around this moment of baptism. I assume della Francesca was thinking of the story in the book of Joshua, when the priests carrying the arc of the covenant step into the Jordan, and the waters dry. The people then cross the riverbed. In doing so they leave their time in the wilderness, and it is an echo of the time they entered it by crossing the Red Sea, escaping slavery in Egypt as they did so. This time, crossing the Jordan, God’s presence is suggested by the Arc of the Covenant, rather than the pillar of fire and flame that was with them at the beginning of their journey. It’s quite a change. You can read the story here if you’re interested.

And so, to the poem. As so often, I begin by reading the passage through, several times. I breathe, I wait to see what speaks, what arises, what I feel. And I felt a strong response to the water, and the dove – those natural elements I see myself every day in my own walks by my own river. They moved me. And yet, there was also this background thought of the painting that has formed my imagining of the story. So a poem emerged which is in itself a kind of epiphany, a kind of seeing things in a new way, or perphaps a given insight. I leave that to you, the reader.

If you enjoy following trails, there are some others you might like here, relating to the water and the dove. The first is Jesus’ I am saying – I am the living water. That passage has stayed with me for years. You can read my reflections on it here. And the dove called to mind the story of Noah, and another poem, here. There is more of course, like Jesus washing his friends’ feet. I leave the others to your imagination.

Water and Dove – Baptism

When you stepped into the Jordan,
did the water stop, not daring to
touch your feet – as if
you yourself were the
arc of the covenant,
untouchable, fierce in holiness?
As if you bore within yourself
the whole of the law, the weighty
stones given to Moses? 
The river was in spate then – wild it was,
but it stopped before such fearful holiness.

But I do not see it so. Rather,
I see cool water lapping your feet,
your legs, bathing them clean,
ripples rejoicing, dancing, flowing,
honoured to baptise one
who did not require it,
both water and Son of Man
living out their deep purpose

As the sky opened wide with
tender light, and a white dove
tumbled with the applause
of clattering wings down
to you –  and what then?
Maybe it landed softly
on your shoulder, resting
awhile, heads inclined together,
gently, two wild beings, two beings
overflowing with all love divine.

And so love spoke forth
with delight,
love pouring over you
like the cool water,
river water, living water
like the endless light,
and the softest
brush of feathers
from the wings
of a dove.
Endless,
life-giving
love.

Sunday Retold

If you’ve been joining me here on the blog for a while – thank you, I appreciate your company – you’ll be aware that I have a very occasional series with material from a couple of my books which follow the Sunday readings many Christian communities use. In particular, my retelling, The Bible Story retold in twelve chapters. Recently, I’ve been doing this fresh writing, with a poem, too. But here are some pieces you might find helpful. If you’d like to use any of my material, please feel free to do so, giving this blog as a source. If you’d like to publish it in some form, please do get it touch. Thank you.

For John taught them to hope. In his words, they caught a glimpse of something beyond their everyday lives. They understood that John that Baptist was preparing the way for something, or someone, astonishing.
“I baptize you with water, as a sign of your rependence: your turning back to God and his ways. But wait. There is one coming after me who is so much greater. I am not even worthy to carry his sandals for him. And when he comes, he will baptize you on the inside with the Holy Spirit and with fire. He will sort out the good from the bad, the wheat from the chaff!”

Then Jesus came down from Galilee in the north, and walked through the crowds toward John. John knew Jesus was the one they had been waiting for: the Messiah. Was Jesus really comng forward for baptism like everyone else?
“No!” said John, stepping back. “I need to be baptized by you – and yet you come to me – why?”
Jesus replied, “I must do everything that is right, and it is right to be baptized.”

And so John agreed, and they stepped out into the flow of the Jordan. Jesus went down into the cool water, and was baptised.

As he came up the bright sky broke open, and the Spirit of God came down gently and settled on him like a dove. A voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the one I love, the one who brings me joy. I am very pleased with him.”
From the Bible Retold

Come, let us follow Jesus, who loves us.
From Prayers and Verses

The picture of birds over water (behind my name) is of the Wash at Snettisham RSPB. You can read more about that here.

Hope – the first Sunday in Advent

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I’ve noticed a few of you good readers have been searching out this post, so here it is again, for Advent Sunday 2024.

As the days have grown darker, and colder, I’ve been thinking about Advent, and hope. Traditionally, Hope is the theme of the first Sunday of the season, the first Sunday of the Church year too. Autumn seems to have been long, and restorative, and I’m not quite ready for winter. But here we are, nonetheless. And winter has its consolations.

I think there is wisdom in the old practices of having Advent as a time of quiet, reflective, waiting – a little like Lent before Easter. It’s so at odds with the flashing lights and loud shops and busyness, that understanding, but we can perhaps catch moments where those wintering practices are possible, and might help us….. pools of quiet light where we can breathe and think.

I’m also intrigued by the more medieval practice of putting yourself in the place of the people of Israel as they waited, not quite knowing what they were waiting for. Of not naming Jesus and Christmas, but instead allowing what we long for to be recognised and owned and prayed and worked for. In our context we join so many people throughout history who have felt the future to be shifting and uncertain, and who have longed for a kinder, gentler and more beautiful world. Taking some time to know and feel what we lack, what kind of world and lives we desire, might help us too face a troubling future with some courage and determination.

So Hope is a good place to begin.

Ah, hope. I’ve been turning over in my mind what it means to nurture hope in a world which seems increasingly unstable in climate and economics and culture. I’ve settled, for now, on making a distiction between hope and optimism. So, for me, I’m thinking of optimism as an opinion that things will work out. Something tied to outcomes. I see hope as a stance, an attitude of the heart and spirit, that it’s always worth looking for what brings life, for what is good. It does not require us to be naive about the dangers and difficulties around and within us. We are called to be as wise as serpents, and as gentle as doves – Matthew’s gospel.

Nonetheless, it’s worth working as if the world-as-it-could/should-be is here, emerging amongst us, small as the signs and growth may be. Not a glib avoidance strategy that it’s all fine, really, it’s all going to be fine…. but as a deliberate and courageous stance, holding on to a vision of how things could be.  With the cost of living crisis bringing fear and hardship, and with the climate noticiably more unstable, we need courageous hope that’s prepared to work to refashion things around us in defiance of what we see.  There is real power in such acts.

The picture of the bulbs and the bookmark at the top of this post relates to an action I took with some friends in our local high street to coincide with last year’s COP. We handed out bulbs and bookmarks, and encouraged people to think about ways they could plant hope. You can read more about that here.

Little Free Pantry at St Andrew’s Church, Melton

As Advent begins, we re-read the words of the prophets together.  They often spoke into desperate, unpromising circumstances with a mixture of a vision to hold in our hearts, and actions for our hands to do.  Those actions can be prophetic themselves, speaking out and making plain God’s dream for the world – a beautiful, hopeful vision strong enough to withstand hard times – brave enough to choose to be born to a poor family, who sheltered in a stable, and had to run from a murderous tyrant.  This is how hope was offered to the world, in the infant Jesus.

During this Advent series, I’ll share with you some extracts from my books.  Here’s something from The Bible Retold , as the retelling of the Hebrew scriptures comes to an end, and we look forward..

As the walls were rebuild, so were the people.  For God was building them into a new kind of kingdom.  Isaiah the prophet wrote: “This is how to truly serve me: unbind people who are trapped by injustice, and lift up those who are ground down.  Share your food with the hungry, and clothe the cold – that is how to live in the light!”

The people listened to his words of bright hope.  “There is much darkness in the world, but your light is coming!  All nations will be drawn to you, and they, too, will shine!”
….

“A child is born to us,
a son is given.
Authority will rest
on his shoulders,
and his names will be
Wonderful Counsellor,
Mighty God,
Everlasting Father,
Prince of Peace.
His kingdom, his peace,
will roll across the lands,
and he will reign on the
throne of David for ever.”

We give thanks for the work that is being done right now, in our communities, to clothe, and feed, and seek justice.  May we have the courageous vision to join with that work of light.

From Prayers and Verses

Scatter the darkness from before our paths.

(Adapted from the Alternative Service Book)

IMG_0930.JPG

The days are dark,
Dear God, give us your true light.

The days are dark,
Dear God, give us your true life.

The days are dark.
Dear God, give us your true love.

From Prayers and Verses

The Advent Candle Ring is from the good people at The Chapel in the Fields
It gives me great pleasure to know that the oak at the base was once a lectern, and the lighter wood on top a dining table.  The words written around it are from the ancient chants, the  “O” Antiphons. These chants came into being when people did not call for Jesus to come at Christmas, but instead used names from the Prophets – like Emmanuel, God with us – to name their hopes.  The first few centuries of the Christian Era saw these great prayers, the “O” Antiphons, sung during Advent, calling on Christ to come now, and to come again.
You can listen to the old chant, and read Malcolm Guite’s sonnet, and much more, here.

This coming week, let’s hold on to hope, look for signs of the life of God breaking through, and see where we can be part of that move towards a more beautiful, loving, hopeful world.

From the top photo…..

I made my bookmark with a stamp by the lovely Noolibird.

The plastic free bulbs are from Farmer Gracy

And the table is from Hannah Dowding Furniture

Sunday Retold: Christ the King

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Jesus Washing the Feet of his Disciples, by Albert Gustaf Aristides Edelfelt, (1854-1905)

This week, I thought I’d share with you my retelling of the reading many churches will be following this Sunday, in the spirit of Sunday Retold.

It explores themes of power, and so follows on from last week’s poem, Stones.
This week’s reading is that electrifying encounter between Jesus and Pontius Pilate – a trial of sorts. For the flow of the storytelling, I’ve taken a longer sweep than the set reading.

So here’s the story from The Bible Story Retold

At the same time, as dawn was breaking, the council gathered – elders, chief priests, teachers of the Law – and faced Jesus.
“If you are the Christ, the promised one, then tell us!” one said, rolling the words around his mouth as if they were bitter to his taste.
“If I told you, you would not believe me,” Jesus replied, holding him in his steady gaze.
“Are you the Son of God?” they asked.
“You are right to say so.”
At this they rose to their feet with an angry roar, and carried Jesus off to the palace of Pilate, the Roman governor, who had power to sentence people to death.
“This man is a threat to the peace – he claims to be Christ, a king, and opposes Roman taxes,” the accusers called out as Pilate circled around Jesus.
“Are you the King of the Jews?” he asked. Jesus felt the cold edges of the mosaic under his bare feet.
“Yes,” he replied. “But my kingdom is not like the kingdoms of this world.”
“So, you are a king!” Pilate responded.
“Yes! That is why I came, to speak the truth. Everyone who is on the side of truth will listen to me.”
“But what is truth?” Pilate asked. Then he went out to see the leaders and the people together. “I see no reason to charge him,” Pilate said. “This man has done nothing to deserve death. I will set him free.”
“No, set Barabbas free instead!” they cired. Now, Barabbas was a rebel who had killed a man.
They shouted louder, drowning out Pilate’s words: “He’s done nothing wrong! I will release him!”
But, with rising rage, the mob shouted, “Crucify crucify!” In the end, Pilate gave in: he set Barabbas free and handed Jesus over to the guards.
The guards tormented Jesus, the one called king. They draped a fine, purple robe around him, and twisted him a crown of sharp thorns to wear. They called out, “Hail, King of the Jews!” and fell on their kneeds before him, laughing. They spat on him, and struck his head with a staff. They, they took back the robe, and led him out to be crucified in his own simple clothes

Francisco De Zurbaran

We see how those who held religious power allied themselves with the Imperial power of Rome. I expect they were sure they were being faithful, upholding the law and their traditions, defending their faith as they saw it. Being certain you are right can lead you very astray. And we see too how Pilate saw Jesus very differently, one who had done nothing wrong, and yet seemed to have little power in the face of an angry crowd.

The biggest difference of all, to my mind, is in the understanding of what power is, what a kingdom is, who a king is. Those who are embedded in the power structures of this world, and, to be honest, the rest of us too, find it hard to imagine a different kind of power. One that follows a path downwards, even to death. One that washes the feet of the followers, that does not insist on its own place, but instead works through love, in humility, in radical engagement with the world as it is. We will soon be in Advent, preparing for the coming of Jesus. At that time we think of his unity and solidarity with frail humanity, born in such a humble way, amongst the extraordinary, ordinary, beloved people of Bethlehem.

Lord Jesus,
May our lives bear the mark of love.
As we are kind, as we share, as we are gentle,
may your love be seen in us.
Help us, for this is hard for us.

Dear God,
May I welcome you as my king:
King of peace,
King of love,
King in death,
King of life.

From my book of prayers to accompany The Bible Story Retold, Prayers and Verses


Poem: Jacob’s Dream and Awakening. Sunday Retold.

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Hello. This week I’ve been taking a look at the readings many churches follow on Sunday, and found something coming up this week that has sparked my interest, and led to some contemplation. A poem has emerged, as they sometimes do. I’m not sure I can say it’s finished, but it is settled for now, and I’d like to share it with you. Those who have been looking at this blog for a while – thank you – may remember that I’ve a thread running through it called Sunday Retold, which includes extracts from my book, The Bible Story Retold in Twelve Chapters.

Jacob's ladder

This beautiful illustration by Sophy Williams is from another edition of the same text, published as The Lion Classic Bible

Here’s my retelling of Jacob’s dream:

Jacob went alone, travelling until it was dark.  Shivering in the chill of the desert night, he took a stone for a pillow, and lay down to sleep.  As Jacob slept, a dream came to him.  He saw a ladder, with its feet on the ground, stretching up and up to heaven.  In his dream, he watched as God’s bright angels travelled up and down in between heaven and earth.  And in his dream, God himself was there……

Jacob woke with a jolt and looked around.  He was alone.
“God was here and I didn’t know it!  This place is the gate of heaven!” he said  Then he took the stone he had slept upon and set it up as an altar to God. He poured oil on it as an offering, and worshipped there. Starting out once more, he left his homeland far behind.

You can read the original here, Genesis 28: 10-17, it’s the set reading for this week. It’s a story which has spoken to many over the centuries, revealing depths of meaning. For me, this time, I was struck by the way comfort came to one who was a fugitive, who had lost all that was precious to him. It also speaks to me of how our perception can shift, and we can be illuminated with a new understanding, how we can find the simplest things holy.

Jacob’s dream and awakening

Night can fall suddenly
on the road, when alone.
Darkness sweeps in
like a flood,
and one who lived with
others, a dweller
among tents, is out
in open country now.

Alone, he chooses a stone
and rests on cold rock

And finds that to the fugitive,
the lonely, the guilty one,
dreams may come.
And company, too, of sorts –
strange, perhaps luminous –
angels ascending and
descending

And a presence, such a presence,
that is here, and now.
One who is above the angels,
and right beside him, and speaks
with that deep resonance
that comes through dreams.


Perhaps those away
from the knottiness and rush
of their own mind can
know that this stone,
and so every stone,
is the gate of heaven,
shining with oil.
That this place, and so
every place,
is where God is

That this dream-night
can change the day-heart
of one who walks away.
For even the stones have a
sheen of brightness now,
wherever they are.

From my companion collection, Prayers and Verses through the Bible

If you’d like to use any of my material, please feel free to do so, acknowledging this blog as the source. It’s always a great encouragement when people let me know where my writing has been read.

Poem: Poured out and overturned – Sunday Retold: Turning the tables

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Christ chasing the money changers from the temple Raymond Balze

Hello again.
Here’s another post combining a look at the reading many churches will be following on Sunday, and a poem which emerged as I read it and read it again. So it draws on my occasional series Sunday Retold, and my practice of dwelling imaginatively with the story, meditating on it, and seeing what arises.

Firstly, the Gospel reading from my retelling The Bible Story Retold in Twelve Chapters.

Jesus went into the Temple courts, and found them choked up with stalls and salesmen, ringing with the shouts of hawkers and hagglers. People were not gathering for worship: they were changing their money into special Temple coins, and buying birds for Temple offerings. Jesus grabbed the traders’ tables and threw them over. The money changers and the dove sellers shouted angrily while the coins clattered and rolled across the stone floor. “You’ve taken ‘the house of prayer’ and turnind it into a ‘den of thieves’!” Jesus said, and all fell silent at his words.
Then, the blind and the lame came to him and were healed. And children came, too, running and shounting, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” The Temple was filled with joy, and the priests and teachers of the Law drew back, muttering angrily.

From The Bible Story Retold, based on Matthew 21

One of the things I found while working on this retelling was that there was always so much more I wanted to explore – so much depth and meaning hinted at, or concealed by years and culture and translations. My practice in writing the book was to read widely, and then to meditate on the passages in the style of Lectio Divina – imagine myself into the story, and allow it to unfurl in my mind – a mind with questions, open to prompting I hope. So with this one, there was so much here about Jesus’ rage at the commodification of the things of God, making what was freely given into a commercial venture. We are so used to everything falling into the realm of money it can be hard to imagine how things could be any different, or how the realm of God might offer a radically different Way. Jesus spoke more about money than about prayer, and yet it’s a difficult subject to explore for us. So many of the ills and injustices and exploitation of the natural world we are currently experiencing suggest to me that something has gone wrong with the way we view and use money. Can we begin to dip into the realm of gift, generosity, and finding ways to do what is necessary and right? I hope so.

The Little Free Pantry at St Andrew’s Church, Melton. An example of gift, of sharing. Apologies for the soft focus!

And so, to the poem which came out of my reflections. The meaning of gift and the exchange that arose in my imagination on reading the passage was many layered, and I hope the poem can be read a number of ways depending on what chimes with you the reader. It draws from the Mattew 21 passage, as above, but also the passage early in John’s gospel (John 2).

Poured out and Overturned

Some things cannot be bought
and yet, they are. See
those neat piles of coins,
counted carefully, those inkmarks
methodically made, those
animals sold for sacrifice,
coins given for prayers, for favour,
for the words and work of God.

His carpenter’s hands gripped
the smooth grained tables and
upended them.  Poured out the
shimmering piles of coins
rolling and chiming
over the stone floor.

Some things, perhaps, once, all
are freely given – life, air, water,
growing things for food, breath,
beauty, favour, love.  So many
things we lay out in rows,
so many tables, so many
neat marks of ink or light.

Bound, we see no alternative,
cannot imagine another way,
and yet, here is a man throwing
coins to the floor, with a whip
to drive out money changers
while wooden tables lie
groaning on their sides.

Set free, then, what happens in
this space, this chaos,
with all our reckoning upended?
The blind and the lame come,
and are healed.
And the children run and shout
Hosanna.
And what is, and what will be
is all gift.
So it is, and may it be so.

John 2:13-22, Matthew 21:12-17

Elisabeth Frink, Chapel of the Transfiguration, St Edmundsbury Cathedral.

I notice that some of you good people are looking up resources for Easter on this blog. Thank you for considering my work. If it helps, here’s a link to a summary……
Please feel free to use my writing in any way that helps, mentioning my name and this blog. And do feel free to let me know, I do love to hear where it gets to!

Edit: Sunday 3rd March.

I’m absolutely delighted to find my poem below at Diana Butler Bass’ The Cottage.  She shares an informative piece on this passage which I’ve found has helped me understand what can be a puzzling story. Do read it if you haven’t already. I hope this link will take you there…..

https://open.substack.com/pub/dianabutlerbass/p/sunday-musings-b9b?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=46vq

Further edit… I seem to be having difficulty clicking through on this link. She has included one of my Mary of Bethany poems in another recent post if I’ve whetted your appetite and you can’t find Overturned…. try this.

If you search for her name on this blog, you will find other poems and other links.

Poem: Empty/Water into Wine, Sunday Retold

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Mike Lacey – Glass

Hello, welcome back. This week, I am combining two things I sometimes do: Sunday Retold, and a poem drawn from the reading. For those who follow set Bible readings through the weeks, we’re still in the season of Epiphany, when we look at moments of understanding and revelation. And this Sunday, we’re meditating on the first sign recorded in John’s gospel, which took place at a wedding. As I was reading it, the image of those stone water jars filled my mind, and I’ve attempted to turn my meditation into a poem, below. I thought I would share it with you even though it’s so new, in case it helps you or prompts you in your own reflection. 

So, first the reading, then the poem:
John 2:1-11

On the third day after Jesus called his disciples, Jesus went with them to a wedding in Cana, near Lake Galilee. The whole community was there, eating and drinking, dancing and laughing, blessing the young man and woman who were starting their life together. But Jesus’ mother, Mary, noticed that the wine had run out and said to her son, “They have no more wine!”
“Dear mother, why are you telling me this? Now is not my time.”
But later, Jesus spoke to the servants. “Fill those jars with water!” he said. For there were six large stone water jars nearby – the sort that were used to store the pure, fresh water the Jewish people used to cleanse and purify themselves before worship. The servants filled the jars with water and, puzzled, dipped their serving jugs into the newly filled jars. They poured some out for the host, as Jesus had told them.
Then the host called the bridegroom over, a broad smile on his face. “By now people are usually serving the rough wine – but this wine is really good – wonderful! You’ve kept the best till last.” He gulped another warm mouthful of the wine that had been water as the servants served the wedding guests.
Jesus had taken the water from the stone jars and turned it into fine wine. When his disciples saw what had happened, and saw the servants pouring out new wine for all the guests at the wedding, they gasped in wonder. They had caught a glimpse of Jesus’ glory, and the glory of God’s kingdom. The disciples put their faith in the one who turned water into wine.

The Bible Story Retold

The Marriage at Cana, Gerard David

It’s a beloved story, often shared at weddings, its many layers rich with meaning. I tend to find that something strikes me in particular, draws me in, and this time it was those empty stone jars. So, here is a poem that grew out of turning the image of those empy jars over in my mind. There is much else that could be said, but today, it’s simply this…..

Empty/Water into Wine

Those empty stone jars,
I see them – pale grey,
with a film of dust, leaning
against the wall, overlooked,
unregarded as the wedding
rolls on, music and dancing
and laughter sending tiny
tremors through their hollowness.

Six of them, as empty as
days can be, an emptiness
we know by taste, our dry mouths
rimed with fine powdered stone.

And this is where you began
your work, with these empty jars. 
Had them filled
with cool water –
so far, so expected.
For purification, cleansing,
the couple’s, the town’s,
love and life,
as the wise look on, nodding,
sure that they have your meaning.

Oh, how you delight in upending
expectations, traditions.
What was drawn from these jars
was not water for making pure,
but the red bubbling joy
of good wine, poured and shared,
for the delight of all gathered,
for the blessing of love, and union,
uproariously, and without fanfare.

After three days, this is the glory
revealed, this is what it means
to be full of grace and truth,

To have our days, our beings,
filled with water, only for it
to poured out as fine vintage,
only for it to be transfigured,
transformed, as wondrous
as the grapes on the vine,
as wondrous as a day,
a life, so open to joy.

If you would like to use the poem or reading, please feel free to do so. I’d appreciate it if you mention this blog and my name is doing so.

Sunday Retold: A voice in the darkness – the boy Samuel

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This New Year, I’m picking up the occasional series, Sunday Retold. Many churches follow a set pattern of readings, so communities up and down the country are gathering around the same stories, the same prayers, and meditating on them together. Often, at least one of the passages appears in my retelling of the Bible, The Bible Story Retold, and so it seems a good idea to share that with you. If you’d like to use any of the material on this blog please do, and please say where you got it from. My books should be available to order at all the usual real life and online places.

Samuel Dedicated by Hannah at the Temple by Frank W.W. Topham

Anyway, this week is a story often shared with children – at least in part. The central character is the boy Samuel, son of Hannah. He was a much longed for child, who was given to the service of God in the temple at a very young age. Eli, the priest, was given charge of him.

The set reading is 1 Samuel 3:1-10, and here is my retelling:

The boy Samuel learned how to serve God in the shrine. And he slept by the lamp of God’s presence, close to the holy ark of the covenant. One night, in the darkness before dawn a voice called out,
“Samuel, Samuel!” So Samuel got up and went to Eli, who was ond, with failing eyes.
“Here I am! You called me!” Samuel said. Eli stirred.
“I didn’t call you! Go back to sleep!” So he did. But there was the voice again.
“Samuel, Samuel!” The boy got up again and went to Eli.
“You called, and I came!”
“No I didn’t call you. Go back to sleep.” But, when Samuel woke Eli a third time, he wondered what this voice could mean. Perhaps God was speaking.
“Go back and lie down. If you are called again, say, ‘Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.'” So Samuel went back to bed and lay there, waiting, hardly daring to breathe.
“Samuel, Samuel!” came the voice. Samuel remembered Eli’s words.
“Speak, Lord, your servant is listening!” And so God spoke to Samuel. God said that the right to be priests would be taken away from Eli’s family, because his sons had donw wrong, and Eli had not stopped them. They would be punished. In the morning, Samuel had to tell his tacher what God had said. ”God is God, and will do what is best!” Eli sighed.

From The Bible Story Retold in Twelve Chapters

Often, when this passage is shared, the empasis falls on listening to God’s voice, and being ready to respond. We’ll get back to that in due course, but for now I’m following my immediate reaction to this passage today, and how it might help us navigate this difficult new season we’re in.

Samuel in the Temple by David Wilkie

What a message for a child to have to deliver to their high-status, powerful teacher – you and your line have fallen short of the standards expected of you, and your position will be taken away from you. It must have been terrifying for Samuel to have to speak up, even with Eli’s encouragement. I can imagine him shaking in his sandals. Although this story is often a Sunday School favourite, I don’t think many teachers and others in authority would be bold enough to encourage youngsters actively speaking up in condemnation of their elders. And yet, as so often, these stories show God’s leaning towards the powerless, the young, the outsider. So often, the perils of power, and the shortcomings of those who practice it, are central to this counter-cultural narrative. Indeed, as we follow on with Samuel’s story, of how the people of Israel ended up with a king, we see that pattern all the more strongly.

As a story of a child challenging conventional ideas of power, and who has it, the story of the boy Samuel sits well in the season. It’s one of the Epiphany stories in which the rich, the wise, the powerful humbly bow before a mother and child in a simple, working house. It also follows on well from Mary’s radical song in the early stages of her pregnancy, which in turn draws on the words of Hannah, Samuel’s mother, when she leaves her son in Eli’s care. I love the dense connections which imaginatively weave all this together, so rich patterns emerge from the threads. I love the way the lectionary puts things near each other, and then sees what connections and conversation arise like a good host.

And so, back to what struck me today on reading this passage – the wisdom of the child, the going astray of the elders and those in power. I thought of the prophesy “And a little child will lead them” (Isaiah 11.6), and how, today, the young who lives will stretch out far into this century are trying to shake us awake, to speak to us of those things which they care about and will affect their lives and the lives of their children. They see that the way we are living is doing harm, they see the injustice and the destruction more clearly than those of us who may have become immured to it. They see that the structures of power seem to protect the powerful and ride roughshod over those whom the scriptures speak highly of – the widow, the orphan, the outsider, the poor, the young, the old. We need those in power to be humble enough, like Eli, to hear their voices, and to act in their interests. Intergenerational justice is a concept that is coming alive now – especially in terms of debt, and the damage to the ecosystems on which we all depend. We need to pay attention to those who have no voice, and give due respect to the rest of the natural world, as well as to the young. Can we, at the beginning of this year, resolve to notice our natural bias towards the rich and powerful, and seek to listen to the young and the powerless? I think that would be good for us all.

Gaia at Ely Cathedral

Here in the UK, many have been moved, outraged, saddened and stirred to speak up by the ITV drama, Mr Bates vs The Post Office. It was a powerful drama, compassionately acted. I am always curious, though, about things which really catch the public mood – why this, why now? And I think part of it is the theme of people with power who feel immune and distant from the consequences of their actions, who listen to each other rather than to ordinary people – in this case their employees. I think there is a rising sense of injustice about how some are gathering so much to themselves, while others are stripped of what they have, and what they might come to have in the future too. And this injustice reminds me of the words of the prophets, including the child Samuel.

Of course, this passage carries many meanings, and this critique of power is one amongst many – but it is one that chimes with the biblical narrative as a whole. When we’re thinking of how we might live by it, another question naturally arises – how do we know, in a world of so many voices, which ones to heed? In this passage it is Eli who wonders whether the voice might be God. Yet history is littered with terrible tales of those who were convinced they were acting for God, or doing what was right, and going horribly wrong. Often the very worst things are done by those who claim good motives. And that should give us all pause. I touched on an exploration of this theme in my book, “Jesus said, I Am. Finding life in the everyday” in the chapter on Jesus, the good shepherd, when he talks about the flock knowing his voice.

Of course, knowing the voice, and distinguishing it from the voices of those who would lead us to harm, is no easy thing. I think it helps to come to a place where we don’t see the path ahead of us as a narrow tightrope – one false move and we are lost – but that we look for the relationship, and recognise the freedom to walk behind the shepherd, listening for the voice.
…….
History is full of the mistakes people have made, thinking they are doing the right thing but going terribly wrong. I do not ee us going so wrong when we seek to follow the way of love, seeking to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, and learning from him.

And so, noticing the topsy-turvy nature of the gospel, the way things are not what they seem, let’s be ready to listen, be ready to respond to those promptings and quiet voices which would guide us better than the pomp and power and authority which make so much noise and show.

Dear God,
When we hear a mighty wind, strong enough to shatter roci,
when the ground underneath us shakes like an earthquake,
when fire comes from mountains,
help us to know these sounds of power and anger are not your voice.
Help us to listen in the silence for your whisper.
Help us to wait for your whisper

Prayers and Verses

Christmas Retold – the hope of light in the darkness

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The solstice has come, the longest night, and we are now in those few days when light and darkness are poised together, equal. Here, the clouds have blown away, and the wind is mild, if wild. In the garden I see new shoots beginning, green and bright, and tiny catkins, and there is light, at least for a few hours, and a promise of lengthening days. For now, though, it’s a time for fires and gathering. It’s a hard time of year, where we need shelter and warmth and companionship – powerful and beautiful in its own right, and also full of the promise of light to come. I hope that what follows can offer you a moment of reflection and mystery as we think of Jesus, entering the world so precariously, helplessly vulnerable. The Prince of Peace born into dark times, with the strangest of fanfares, the most unpromising of resting places.

I’m not quite in a place of tinsel and jollity, though. I’ve been haunted by an image from Bethlehem this year - Christ in the Rubble – where the Lutheran church there has replaced its more traditional nativity scene with one that vividly demonstrates the reality for babies being born in Gaza now. We need the message of Christmas, with its offer of healing, love, forgiveness, presence, as much now as we ever did. The wonder of One laying aside power, and emptying himself for the sake of all.

Photo from The Print

Let’s pray for Peace on Earth this Christmas, peace for all, for the healing of the nations, for the healing of our world.

May you have a peaceful and blessed Christmas, wherever you are.

Caravaggio Adoration of the Shepherds.jpg
Caravaggio – Adoration of the Shepherds

From The Bible Story Retold

The Roman Emperor, Caesar Augustus, had ordered a census throughout the whole empire, when all the people would be counted, and taxed.  The orders spread along straight Roman roads, and were proclaimed first in the white marble cities and ports, and then in the towns and villages of the countryside.

Even quiet Nazareth heard the news, and Mary and Joseph began to gather together their belongings, ready to travel to Bethlehem.  That was Joseph’s family home:  he was descended from King David, of Bethlehem. They set off south on the crowded road, for the whole empire was travelling.  But, for Mary, the journey was especially hard, and the road seemed never ending. It was nearly time for her baby to be born.

At last they came to Bethlehem, but it was not the end of their troubles.  The city was noisy, bustling, and heaving with crowds, and Joseph searched anxiously for somewhere quiet for Mary to rest – her pains were beginning, and the baby would be born that night.  The inn was already full of travellers, and the only place for them was a stable.  There, among the animals, Mary gave birth to her firstborn son, and wrapped him up tightly in swaddling bands and laid him in a manger full of hay.  Then, she rested next to the manger, smiling at the baby’s tiny face.

There were shepherds who lived out on the hills nearby – the same hills where King David had once watched over the flocks, long ago.  The sheep were sleeping in their fold under the shining stars, while the shepherds kept watch.  Their fire flickered and crackled, and the lambs would bleat for their mothers, but they were the only sounds. All was peaceful.  All was well.

Suddenly, right there in the shepherd’s simple camp, appeared and angel of the Lord, shining with God’s glory and heaven’s brightness.  The shepherds gripped each other in terror, their skin prickling with fright.
“Don’t be afraid, I’m bringing you good news – it will bring joy to all people!”  The shepherds listened, awestruck, their faces glowing with the angel’s light.  “This is the day the good news begins, and this is the place.  In the town of David, a saviour has been born.  He is Christ, the Anointed One, the one you have been waiting for.  And this is the sign that these words are true: you will find a baby wrapped tightly in swaddling bands, lying in a manger.”

The shepherds watched as light was added to light, voice to voice, until they were surrounded by a dazzling, heavenly host of angels, all praising God and saying
“Glory! Glory to God in the highest,
And on the earth be peace!”

And then, in an instant, the angels were gone, and the shepherds were left in dark night shadows, listening to the sound of a distant wind. But their eyes still shone with heaven’s light.
“Let’s go and see for ourselves!” they called to one another as they raced over the dark, rocky fields to Bethlehem.  There, they found Mary and Joseph, and, just as the angel had said, they found the baby wrapped tightly in swaddling bands and lying in a manger.  They saw him with their own eyes, and spread the angel’s message to all they met.
“The Promised One has come! The Christ, the Anointed One, has been born!” The angel’s words were on everyone’s lips that night in Bethlehem.  And, as the shepherds made their way back to their sheep, bursting with good news, Mary kept their words safe, like treasures, in her heart.

And from Prayers and Verses

What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man
I would do my part;
Yet what I can, I give Him –
Give my heart.
Christina Rosetti 1830-1894

Also from Prayers and Verses, a poem I wrote as a child.

The dawn is breaking, the snow is making
everything shimmer and glimmer and white.

The trees are towering, the mist is devouring
all that is in the reaches of sight.

A bell is ringing, the town is beginning,
slowly, gradually, to come to life.

A candle is lighted, and all are excited,
for today is the ending of all man’s strife.

5b Walter Launt Palmer (American painter, 1854-1932) Winter's Glow

The light is coming into the world.

Please feel free to use the extracts, saying where they are from.

The third Sunday in Advent – Joy

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Ely Cathedral’s powerful statue of Mary, by David Wynne

As we approach the third sunday of Advent, the word we turn to is Joy. And, as part of that turning to joy, many also remember Mary. In particular, her response to the angel’s message when she was invited to participate in this story of “God-with-us”… but more on that later.

As I look at this statue, I find Mary’s stance compelling. It is open and powerful, it feels like a “yes” which accepts and trusts what will be, even if it is beyond the mind’s understanding. Pictures of Mary often show her looking more afraid, more passive. This work captures a moment of glorious, positive choice. But there is something else. The slight downward tilt of her head seems to acknowledge the difficulties caught up in this acceptance, and the enormity of that choice. There is awe and vulnerability here too – vulnerability captured in that bare foot peeking out.

Here is the story, from my book The Bible Retold

Among the fields and vineyards of Nazareth, in Galilee, lived a girl named Mary.  She was soon to be married to Joseph, a carpenter, who could trace his family back to David, the shepherd king.

Then, one day, astonishing news burst into Mary’s quiet, hopeful life.  The angel Gabriel came to her with a message.
“God is with you, Mary!” Mary gasped, and fell to her knees.  “Don’t be afraid. God smiles on you!” The angel spoke the astounding words gently, lovingly. “You will have a son and name him Jesus.  He will be called great – the Son of the Most High God! The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David, and his kingdom will never end!”

For a moment there was silence, as Gabriel’s words filled the air – and Mary’s mind. “But how can this be, as I am not yet married?” Mary asked.
“God’s Holy Spirit will enfold you.  Your child will be holy.  Even Elizabeth, from your own family, is going to have a child, despite her age! She is now in her sixth month.  So you see, nothing is impossible with God!”

Mary raised her eyes to Gabriel’s face. “I am God’s servant. Let it be as you say.” And the angel let her alone, her mind spinning with the strange words.

Then Mary thought of Elizabeth. “The angel knew all about her – I must go to her.” She got ready, and set off quickly for Elizabeth’s home in Judea to the south, near Jerusalem.

As soon as she arrived at the house, she hurried to Elizabeth and took her hands.  At the sound of Mary’s voice, the baby leaped inside Elizabeth, and the Holy Spirit filled her.  She understood at once what had happened to Mary.

“You are blessed among all women, and blessed is your unborn child!” she said. “Why have I been so honoured? Why should the mother of my Lord God come to visit me?” Elizabeth laughed, and put Mary’s hand on her belly. “You see how my child leaps for joy at the sound of your voice?”

Then, Mary speaks out extraordinary words, which in turn echo the words of Hannah when she said goodbye to her long-awaited son, Samuel (I Samuel 2) . You can read Mary’s words – the Magnificat – in my version here, and also more about Mary and Elizabeth’s time together.

img_0773

It strikes me how deeply Mary entered into uncertainty, with her acceptance despite her questions – “how can this be?” She is setting out on a path that will cause her pain, but the angel’s words focus on a bigger picture, an unknowably big picture. There is a vision of what will be, the good that will come from her choice. There is tenderness and reassurance here as she asks the question, honouring her uncertainty, the impossibility of comprehending what this may mean. And there is also a gentle, tactful suggestion of a path to be taken. A path to her cousin Elizabeth – who is also caught up in this great bursting through of hope and joy into a world marked with difficulty and pain. And that path will bring her companionship with someone who will believe her, and will support her, and to whom she can offer love and encouragement in turn.

Sometimes, during Advent, we are also reminded of John the Baptist – Elizabeth’s son – and his question to Jesus when he was in prison: “Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?” You can read the account here. What I love about this reading is the way Jesus reassures John in a way he will understand, echoing the prophet Isaiah. There is a tenderness and deep compassion here too. We can almost hear an echo of their mothers’ relationship in this question, this uncertainty, and this reassurance. Jesus then goes on to speak to those listening who may, we presume, be shaken by John’s question – or critical of him for doubting. The compassion of Jesus’ response can reassure all of us. It is hard for us to understand, and doubt and question and uncertainty are here embraced and not feared.

So our focus on joy is one where joy can be experienced despite our frailties and uncertainties. It does not come with knowing the answers, having things all neatly wrapped up, but in the courage to enter into the mysterious life of something beyond and greater than ourselves. Perhaps here is the only place it can be found.

We mentioned Isaiah above. Here is part of the passage paired with the reading about John in the Church of England readings for this week. You can read it all here.

The desert and the parched land will be glad;
    the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus,  it will burst into bloom;
    it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.
The glory of Lebanon will be given to it,
    the splendor of Carmel and Sharon;
they will see the glory of the Lord,
    the splendor of our God.

 Strengthen the feeble hands,
    steady the knees that give way;
 say to those with fearful hearts,
    “Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come,
    he will come with vengeance;
with divine retribution
    he will come to save you.”

 Then will the eyes of the blind be opened
    and the ears of the deaf unstopped.
 Then will the lame leap like a deer,
    and the mute tongue shout for joy.
Water will gush forth in the wilderness
    and streams in the desert.
 The burning sand will become a pool,
    the thirsty ground bubbling springs.
In the haunts where jackals once lay,
    grass and reeds and papyrus will grow.

 And a highway will be there;
    it will be called the Way of Holiness;
    it will be for those who walk on that Way.

Once again, we have a vision of how the world could be, restored and flourishing. A highway through the wetlands bursting with life, and even those who lack strength and steadiness will walk it.

We so need this vision of restoration and abundance. We need this vision of life and joy, of a better way of being in the world. And then we need to walk into it. We can be part of bringing it into being.

We thank you for being born among us,
sharing with us what it is to be human.
we thank you for showing us a way to live,
full of grace and truth.
Light up our path, and let us walk with you.

From John 1

From Prayers and Verses

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is img_0942.jpg

I’ve just discovered the beautiful Waterlands podcast from the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust, which is relevant to the greening of barren places. Why not listen?