Pilgrimage

This week I'm writing from New Wine - a large Christian festival in Somerset where thousands of people have travelled from across the country, and indeed from around the world, to worship together. There is something quite extraordinary about it. Strangers becoming friends over coffee, children running between tents, music spilling out across fields - all of it held together by the simple fact that we are all heading in the same direction.

It feels, in the best possible way, like a bit of a pilgrimage. This theme has been picked up in the all age worship, and Nick and Becky Drake, who write many of the songs we sing at Eden, have written a new song called The Pilgrim Way.

The idea of life as a pilgrimage is ancient. The Psalms of Ascent - Psalms 120 to 134 - were songs sung by Jewish pilgrims as they made their way up to Jerusalem for the great festivals. They sang as they walked. They encouraged one another on the road. They arrived, not just as individuals, but as a people.

I think that's what the Christian life is meant to feel like. Not a solitary trudge, but a journey made together - with companions for the road, songs for the hard stretches, and a destination worth heading towards. We are, as the writer to the Hebrews puts it, "strangers and pilgrims on the earth.”

Wherever you are this week - whether you're at New Wine or another Christian Festival, on your summer holiday, or simply at home - you are part of the same great pilgrimage. We are all, together, on our way home. 

All Change

This week we had yet another new Prime Minister walk into number 10. Whatever your politics, there is something a little dizzying about the sheer number we seem to get through at the moment. Seven in a decade. Each comes with promises and hopes and then the inevitable disappointments. It feels a bit, at times, like a revolving door of people who were going to fix things.

I don't say that to be cynical - I genuinely pray that Andy Burnham and his team will do well, and I hope they do. But it does make you wonder how much we pin our hopes on earthly kingdoms and the people who lead them.

Tomorrow we'll be singing Ancient of Days, I’ve quoted this before, but it carries a line that feels particularly timely this week: "kingdoms rise and fall, there is still one king reigning over all."

If we are feeling a little weary by yet another change in power, this isn’t an excuse for disengagement - we should care deeply about how our country is led. We must pray, and remain hopeful - but this song reminds us that we have another, far more secure anchor. Governments come and go. Leaders rise and fall. And through all of it, there is one who does not change, does not resign, and does not let us down. As the writer to the Hebrews puts it: "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever." That's an anchor worth holding onto.

Disappointment

Well what a difference a week makes. England are now out of the World Cup. Tonight, of course, we’ll face France for third place but this is very much a consolation prize. For a lot of the match it looked like it might go a different way, but our hopes were dashed again. So close. 

Whilst, as I’ve said - I’m not particularly a football fan, there is a special kind of English grief that seems to come for some with football. The nearly, the not-quite, the heartbreak snatched from the jaws of hope. If you're feeling it this weekend, you are, I’m sure, not alone.

But here's the thing about defeat - the Bible again is full of it. The disciples watched the one they thought would change everything die on a cross on a Friday afternoon. All that hope, extinguished. Peter wept. They hid. It was over. 

And then Sunday came.

The Christian story doesn't pretend that loss isn't real, or that it doesn't hurt. It sits with the Saturday - the day of grief and confusion and dashed hope. But it refuses to let that defeat be the final word. Paul writes in Romans that "suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope"  and not a thin, fragile hope, but one that does not put us to shame.

England will play again. 

And whether or not they ever lift that trophy, we are held by the one who has already won the thing that matters most.

Underdogs

What a week to be English! Earlier this week we watched Arthur Fery beat the odds to reach the semi-finals at Wimbledon. Even though he was beaten yesterday, he played very well, and got so much further than anyone expected. A few days ago the England football team beat Mexico, and whilst I know next to nothing about football, the history of the stadium made this a remarkable achievement. Tonight we're all looking ahead to England's quarter-final match against Norway. I'm writing in hope, which feels like quite an appropriate posture for a vicar!

England against Mexico earlier this week felt like a bit of an underdog story - certainly Arthur Fery's early wins were. The underdog story is as old as the Bible itself. When God needed someone to take down a giant, he didn't reach for the obvious candidate. He chose David - the youngest, the smallest, the one left minding the sheep while his brothers got the glory. Gideon was hiding in a winepress when God called him to be a "mighty warrior." Mary was a nobody from nowhere when she was chosen to carry the Son of God. Again and again, the story goes the same way - the world looks in one direction, and God quietly gets to work in another.

Paul puts it plainly in 1 Corinthians 1, "God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong." Not because weakness is the point, but because it gets God's fingerprints on the outcome.

So whoever you're rooting for this weekend - on the grass at Wimbledon or the pitch this evening - spare a thought for the God who has always had a soft spot for the underdog. And if you're feeling a little overlooked yourself this week, a little out of your depth - you might just be exactly where God does his best work.

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.

Popmaster

Recently, I told the church family at St Gregory's about my love of Popmaster with Ken Bruce. It has been running since 1988, almost as many years as I've been alive - and most of the songs which feature in the quiz were popular long before I was around. As a consequence, I rarely get any questions right - and yet, each day, when my diary allows, I like to sit and listen to it and try.

There's something in this small, faithful habit that I find strangely comforting - the act of showing up, not because I'll get it right, but simply because I want to be present to it. Sometimes, I get an answer right, and oh the joy I feel!

I wonder if that's not unlike our life of faith. We don't come to God because we have all the answers. Sometimes we get it right, but often we don't - but still we are called to come, day after day, imperfect and often stumped, simply because we love Him and want to be in His presence.

Ken has been a faithful presence on the radio for most of my life - he has been a comfort - but I know he won't host that quiz forever. This is where the analogy ends - because unlike Ken, God does promise to be faithful to the end of my life - to always be there. All he asks of us is to turn up and try again. To know we are loved regardless of whether the day means we feel like we've got all the answers, or if it's a day when we get none of them right.

The bible reminds us that "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning." — Lamentations 3:22-23

Whatever kind of day this is for you - a day of answers, or a day of blank looks and shrugged shoulders - may you know that you are held by a love that does not depend on your performance. You don't have to get it right. You just have to show up. And He will meet you there, faithful as ever, every single morning.

Scones

 How do you like your scones? Is it jam and then cream - the correct way - or are you one of those strange people who put the cream on first? Perhaps you’re even stranger, like Jess, who doesn’t like any cream! Maybe you don’t like scones at all - if so, prayer ministry is available...

If we needed further evidence that we are all different, how we eat our scones is something that divides families and friendship groups, as well as counties (I can never remember which is the Cornish way and which is the Devonshire way…). Fortunately, there is space for everyone in God’s kingdom, and whilst it might seem to us that others are a little bit strange (sorry if I’ve inadvertently insulted you today!), it’s another reminder that God loves each of us equally - even if you hate scones!

If you feel a bit different today - or a bit “other”, maybe even a bit strange - know that God celebrates your difference, loves you for it, and welcomes you into His kingdom.

More with Less

I don’t know if you’ve watched the BBC’s mockumentary ‘W1A’ – there is a new series at the moment, and when it was originally on TV it was one of our favourites. There is a moment when they have a strategy meeting described as ‘more of less’ – the idea being, apparently, that they should establish what they do best and find fewer ways of doing more of it for less.

For those of us who have worked in corporate environments, this sort of talk is a little bit close to the bone – and we will have probably found ourselves in meetings where doing more of or with less is proposed as vital for an organisation’s success.

The fact is, life can sometimes feel a bit like this, however – whether its our finances which need to stretch further and further – or our physical, or even our emotional energy – we are often asked to do more with less.

This morning, in the bible in a year, we reached the story of Gideon. If you don’t know it, we find it in Judges 6, where Gideon is called to to lead God’s people to defeat a huge army (the Midianites) who were not being particularly kind. At first Gideon has his own huge army (over 22k men) and God tells him to send all but 300 of them home. Why? Because God doesn’t want them to say “my own strength saved me.”

I have often found it is when I come to the end of our my resources that we realise we need to rely on God. Each time it happens, I wonder if it might have been easier to rely on him from the start. 

If, today, you feel the need to do more with less – that your resources are running low – be reminded of Gideon, who defeated the Midianites with a tiny army – not because of anything they had, but because of the one who was with them. That same God is with you today.

Power

I’ve been thinking a lot about power this week. Perhaps it's watching arguably the world's most famous monarch meet one of the world's most powerful men. Perhaps it's the ongoing coverage of the misuse of power both in public office and the appalling abuse of power by a minority towards others.

Before I moved here, I went on some residential training, at which we were invited to explore the power we hold. It was eye-opening to say the least. Whoever we are, wherever we are, we all hold power to change the culture around, to speak life to others, to influence. How we choose to use that power is very often up to us.

Fortunately, however, we have an excellent role model in Jesus. One who spoke truth, who looked for the vulnerable, who cared. There is even better news, summed up in the words of one of my favourite songs ‘kingdoms rise and fall but there is still one king reigning over all’. The one who is an excellent role model remains king over all things.

Night Sky

I wonder if you managed to spot any of the meteor showers this week. Sadly, it was too late for me, but I saw some stunning photographs that my friends took. As I was looking at them, I was reminded of what I consider to be one of the most throwaway lines in the bible. In the creation story of Genesis 1, verse 16 simply says, "he made the stars also". I always read this as "oh yeah, and he did that as well" - and yet, especially in our rural settings, the stars that we see are such beautiful and wonderful things. Over the years, they have been studied and observed; they have helped navigation, and some even believed they told the future. David's Psalm 8 is a bit more appreciative - "When I consider … the moon and the stars… what is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?

 

There is something profoundly humbling in that question. The God who scattered billions of stars across the heavens - almost as an afterthought - is the same God who knows your name and notices you, your joys and your worries. This scale is impossible to hold in our minds - but perhaps that is the point. The night sky reminds us how small we are, and yet we are minded, cared for, and known.