Friendship

A couple of things have happened this week to inspire my reflection today. Firstly, at the end of the week, we said goodbye to our beloved dog Sammy of 13 years. Often called Man’s Best Friend, dogs are certainly close friends of the families they live in, always present, in Sammy’s case - making his presence known vocally. Despite the barking, he will be deeply missed. Earlier in the week we went as a family to see the new Toy Story film (I highly recommend it). These are almost always excellent but this one was one of the best, and the story this  focussed on the realities of friendship in a digital age. 

Jesus was no stranger to friendship - on the beach after the resurrection when they were fishing he shouts “friends” to get their attention. The Greek word here is actually more like “mates or lads” - someone who is well known, and deeply loved.

Friendship can be hard however, especially as we get older. I watch my kids, who seem to make a new best friend every time we visit a park. As adults, it rarely works like that. The spontaneity fades, diaries get complicated, and somehow years can pass before you realise you've lost touch with someone who once mattered enormously. The digital age promises to keep us connected - and in some ways it does - but there's a difference between having five hundred followers and having someone who will sit with you when things fall apart.

Which is perhaps why the friendship of Jesus is so striking. He says in the gospels, "I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything”. He doesn’t offer us a connection request, or a follow request on twitter - but in invites us to know him. This is the kind of friendship where we are fully seen, fully known and fully loved.

As we remember Sammy this week - who gave that kind of uncomplicated, utterly present companionship that only a dog really can - and as we think about the friendships in our own lives, it might be worth asking: who have I been meaning to reach out to? Who needs to hear from me this week? Friendship, like faith, rarely maintains itself. It needs showing up.

May you know the friendship of Jesus, and may you be that kind of friend to someone this week. 

Time Flies when you're having fun

On Thursday Jess asked what I had done with my day. The answer? At least in part, I had planned Christmas. On the hottest day of the year so far, I began planning Christmas - such is the life of a vicar! Whilst you may not have started your Christmas planning, it is only June - it can sometimes feel like life is a bit of a fast roller-coaster. I remember, as a child being repeatedly told that my school days would be “the best of my life”. In fact, that’s not proven to be true, my school days were pretty miserable on the whole - but I think the point was that as a child, the days and weeks seem to last longer. As we get older, they fly by a bit quicker. In September my youngest child will start school – how this is possible when I’m quite sure he was born 3 weeks ago, I don’t know - but apparently he’s nearly five years old. 

Of course, it’s not true - twenty four hours is twenty four hours, a week is a week, regardless of if we are 4, 40 or 80 - but our perceptions of time, do change as we move on.

And perhaps that's where faith has something to say to us. In a world where the weeks blur and the years stack up faster than we'd like, there is something steadying about a God who exists outside of time altogether - who is not rushed, not behind, not anxiously trying to catch up. The same God who was present in the slow, long summers of your childhood is present now, in the middle of this whirlwind week.

The Psalmist writes in Psalm 90:4 that "a thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by" - and rather than that feeling distant or abstract, I find it quietly reassuring. If God holds time so loosely, then perhaps we can too. Not every moment needs to be seized and optimised. Not every season needs to pass faster so we can get to the next one.

Whether this week has felt endless or has vanished before you got a proper grip on it - you are held by the one who made time, and who is never in a hurry with you.

Rest

I wonder what your holiday routines look like. Jess and I have a tradition where she will pack what I deem to be far too much stuff to take away - we’ll have an argument about it and I'll say there is no way we can possibly fit it in the car, she will get upset - I’ll pack it all in the car without any issues, and then we’ll go away. It has been such a long tradition in our relationship, I’m not sure it would feel like a holiday if it didn’t start in this way!

For many of us, the start of July means we are looking towards holidays. Whether you're heading somewhere sunny, or simply taking a few days away from the usual routine, there's something in the rhythm of rest that feels important - even necessary - even if the arguments are not a required part.

We live in a world that prizes busyness. To stop can feel almost guilty, as though we should always be producing, achieving, doing. And yet, the word holiday has its roots in something older and deeper: they are to be holy days. Days set apart. Days that are different.

From the very beginning, rest was written into creation. God himself rested on the seventh day - not because he was tired, but because rest is good. It is, in fact, part of the design. And in Exodus, the commandment to rest isn't a suggestion - it sits alongside some pretty serious company.

So if you find yourself by the sea this month, or in the garden with a cup of tea and nowhere to be - know that you are not being lazy. You are being faithful to something ancient and holy. Rest is not the opposite of devotion. It is devotion.

May your July hold some stillness. May it hold some joy. And may you return from your rest, like the disciples returning to Jesus, ready to share all that you have seen and done - renewed, and a little more whole. "Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while."— Mark 6:31

What grows in weary lands

I read an excellent book this week on the work of the desert fathers and mothers. You might know them intimately, or may never have heard of them before. They are those who lived in the early days of the Christian faith, who often retreated to the 'desert' in order to draw near to Jesus. In a lot of ways, this might seem rather extreme - if I were to book a retreat, I'd almost certainly book somewhere hot - but probably not a desert. I'd like there to be life wherever I am, I'd want sustenance, I'd want chocolate.


And yet, as I read, I was struck by how often God seems to do his most profound work in the barren places. Moses encountered God in the wilderness before leading his people to freedom. Jesus faced the desert before stepping into his public ministry. The people of Israel wandered through emptiness before arriving at the promised land. In each case, the desert wasn't a detour - it was the preparation. I wonder if many of us feel something like that right now. When we look at the news, the tensions, the fear and anger spilling onto the streets, it's easy to despair. It's easy, to wonder why God seems so distant and quiet, to ask where He is in all of it.


Paul reminds us in Romans that all of creation groans, aching for redemption, like something waiting to be born. I find that strangely comforting. It means that which may seem dormant, or quiet is not the same as being dead. It means we can be assured that even in the seasons that feel dry, empty, or frightening, God is quietly at work - forming something beautiful, solid, and lasting. Whatever your week has held, however weary the world may feel, the same Jesus who walked out of the desert in the power of the Spirit walks with you now. The desert, at last, will bloom.

Best laid plans

One of my favourite songs in my late teens was Robbie Williams's Feel. For those of you thinking I couldn't possibly have been a teenager, that song was only released a couple of years ago - I'm sorry to tell you that it came out in 2002. Twenty-four years ago. I'll just let that sink in.

I loved it for the line: "I sit and talk to God and he just laughs at my plans." For some reason it always stuck with me, particularly on days when I've felt a little lost. 

Theologically, Robbie Williams is perhaps slightly off course. The closest we get in Scripture is Proverbs 16:9 "In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps." The picture Proverbs gives us isn't of a God who laughs at our plans, nor one who tries to stop us making them. It's of a God who is ultimately in charge - who takes our steps and directs them with purpose and care. 

On Sunday, we're planning Eden in the Garden - this is a summer picnic and cream tea on the village field - and as I type these words, it is absolutely pouring with rain outside my window. Is this going to be one of those plans I end up feeling slightly laughed at for making? I really hope not. I hope that come Sunday, all will be well and we'll be able to enjoy some wonderful community time together after all the madness of the road closure.

But whatever the weather brings, I find it genuinely reassuring that God directs our steps. That He will, as Paul writes in Romans 8:28, work all things together for good for those who love Him. We can trust Him - even with our slightly optimistic British summertime plans.

 

Contentment

About 10 days ago I pulled my winter coat out of the wardrobe and miserably declared the summer over. This week has rather put paid to that theory, and I found myself lying in a dark room on Wednesday, feeling like I might actually melt, again feeling a bit miserable about the weather.

Earlier this week I managed to pop into our monthly community lunch, and as we ate, we were reflecting on how easy it can be to lose sight of our blessings. When writing to the church in Philippi, Paul says "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through Him who gives me strength."

Paul has learned a lesson I am still learning, that it can be easy sometimes to focus not on what we have, but on what we don't. Be it air conditioning this week, or better weather last week, or be it something much more significant. Paul knows all he needs is given to him through the Lord, and has learned to be content. Let me encourage you to do the same this weekend.

Pentecost

Tomorrow is Pentecost, traditionally known as the birthday of the Church! On this day, the Holy Spirit fell on the first disciples, empowering them to continue the work Jesus had been doing on earth. It comes 10 days after Ascension Day - the day they saw the risen Lord Jesus ascend into heaven.

The time between Ascension and Pentecost is often a time when the Church stops to pray. This is because Acts 1 tells us that this is what the disciples did. In those ten days, they did two things: firstly, and most importantly, they prayed. Secondly, they acted - replacing Judas (now dead) with Matthias as one of the disciples - knowing they needed to move forward.

Many of us find ourselves in these seasons of uncertainty. I usually write this a couple of days before it gets sent out by Liz, and today I find myself checking the news more than usual to see what has changed, and wondering what might change in the next two days. Last weekend, it seemed certain we would be on our way to yet another a new Prime Minister - and perhaps that conversation will resurface again before this goes out - but uncertainty, whether in world events, national politics, or the privacy of our own lives, can seem like a permanent state.

In these times, we do well to follow the example of the early disciples: to pray constantly, giving to God the things we cannot change. And secondly, to keep moving forward - approaching each day and each task as it comes, trusting God with the bigger picture.