Green Patches

Who do you say that I am?

 

When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?”

  They replied, “Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still others, Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”

    “But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?”

  Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

 - Matthew 16, text Biblegateway

 

To return to our wandering shepherd, now reunited with his friends after a brief if inglorious career as a visual aid at our church's prayer group.

"Who do you say that I am?" Jesus asked  his disciples. The Sunday before during the service, we'd been encouraged to reflect on who Christ is to each of us wherever we currently find ourselves on our journey of faith.  I say encouraged - maybe 'gently challenged' might best describe it. I picked up on this, leading  into our customary time of silent prayer with Matthew's text and a short meditation posing the question once more "Who do you say that I am?"

I guess any of Christ's questions could equally well have   applied just then.  Maybe they did.  He asked plenty of them, after all. "What do you want me to do for you?" Who are you looking for?" "Who touched me?" "Where is your faith?" "What concern is it of yours?" "What is your name?" and dozens and dozens of others.   

But later I fell to thinking about the approaches different  branches  of our faith communities take to those questions, to discipleship and encouraging  each other to grow and change.  Particularly after glancing through another 'Ship' discussion on Altar calls and 'decisionism': the good old call to the front, altar call, sinner's prayer and whatnot. Not all of it unfamiliar to me, in a fairly restrained Anglican version of from my old church. I'll try  not to  get into arguments about soteriology here; they've been pretty thoroughly covered on the thread.  However, my own reflections did get me pondering some aspects of my own journey - and  where I stand now on some of the methodology used over on the more evangelical and charismatic wing of the church, now that I've spent a few years in a slightly broader and more catholic setting. 

More so  given my own moves since into discerment of a possible  call to spiritual direction, my deeper appreciation and understanding of the nuances of peoples' faith journeys. 

Was,  for instance, my group  meditation  an 'altar call' in a different guise? It certainly didn't occur to me at the time that it might be considered to be this.  That my initial feeling was one of slight...only slight and probably  misplaced  - guilt at even an unintended hint of manipulation on my part  is maybe just the lingering remains of  hangups from my previous experiences.  Certainly I find the more laid back style of 'Newchurch' is enabling me to   grow into a way of relating to both God and my fellow Christians that's far more autonomous, less dependent than  before. Living, as well as living with...the questions.

Likewise, I consider my own style to be less 'directive,' more 'fellow pilgrim,' 'companioning.'  That could account for my ambivalence. Am I confusing  directiveness (is there such a word?!) with challenge? That should pose some implications for my own companioning. 

So after all that hot air, no answers...more questions. Which neatly brings us back to Matthew 16: "Who do you say that I am?" 

 

 

Useful and Acceptable Gifts

I was puffing my way up the hill to church last Sunday; at the last minute as usual, but I just had to stop and pick up these conkers.  I dithered for a nanosecond (I mean, a fifty-something year-old woman getting all excited over something like this - honestly!), but my inner five year-old won in the end, you'll be glad to hear.  The same inner five-year old that I remember popping out during my first retreat seven years ago now, as I wandered round the wild garden at CSF Compton Durville.   It was like exploring a jungle! I was  so thrilled! By the time I went home I must have gathered half of the Somerset countryside on my windowsill - plus any number of creepy-crawlies besides.

To return to last week,  off I hopped to church where I arranged my treasure carefully on the pew in front of me, and, I regret to say, didn't really take in very much of the service at all that morning. Never mind, for once I've managed to get ahead of myself, what with Harvest Festival coming up and all. I came out of the sacristy this afternoon to see one of the flower ladies busy decorating the place with a lovely collection of leaves, conkers and other autumal goodies. Somebody is going to find it rather difficult to concentrate this Sunday as well, and we're not just talking about the children. My inner Busy Fauve is dying to go for a run. As I'd suspect too,  the insect life that might have come into church with the decorations. Who knows? If they hang around for long enough, they'll be able to take part in the pet blessing service the following weekend!

 The beech husks in the photo are another 'treasure' unearthed by my resident Fauve and I on our walks which make me smile.  Do any bloggers remember the classic Joyce Grenfell monologue Useful And Acceptable Gifts where she plays a (Very Buckinghamshire) countrywoman giving a lecture to a Women's Institute on how to make a 'boutoniere' out of beech husks?  Wonderful. Any road, I'm not able to pass a beech tree at this time of year now without giggling quietly to myself. 

So, I'll be up there this Sunday, ploughing the fields and scattering away. And I'll be thinking about boutonieres, earwigs and the gifts of laughter and wonder.

 

 

 

Blog of The Week - Yn meddwl yn groch

 image from Lavoview at freedigitalphotos.net

Penninegilly's blog caught my eye last week where she was pondering that tricky question: Why don't they come to church?

If those  of us who've despaired of ever finding a satisfactory answer were paid £1 for each time we've asked that question - we'd all be rich!

There's a tongue-in-cheek look at those things which might just put people off over here. 

I guess there'll never be any grounds for complacency - however welcoming we think our communities might be.  It's a question that we need to continue to ask ourselves.

Last week's Blog of TheWeek: Spiritually Directed by Roberta.

 

 

 

Blog of The Week - Introverted Church

Two for the price of one this week.  Adam McHugh's Introverted Church blog  is another long-term occupant of my reader; his  book - Introverts in the Church is on my wish-list.  What caught my eye last week was his quoting Aubry Smith's marvellous 'Introvert Summer Camp'  , which tackles two important topics: Introverts and Youth ministry.

Granted my only experience of Youth Camps  when younger was Guide Camp, where (mercifully) I can recall little of the horrors Aubry relates. (I'd have run a mile!).  From the little I can recall, the chief qualities required way back then were a cast-iron stomach and that peculiarly British stoicism needed in order to transcend mud, constantly damp clothes and boredom at not being allowed to do very much. Or at least - not being allowed to do what we wanted to do. (My patrol's illicit midnight hike over into the adjoining field to visit the Scouts was the final nail in the coffin; I was politely directed out of the Guide Association not long afterwards!).  

But as an adult, I'll admit to having a bit of a love-hate relationship with church weekends away, festivals and the like. I've a few horror stories; a few places I'd  not touch with the proverbial barge-pole and others  - like Greenbelt festival, for example, where I've gained so much that I'm prepared to put up and work with stuff that takes me outside of my comfort zones. Not that Greenbelt in any way resembles the horrors hinted at in McHugh's and Smith's posts. A fair bit for me is to do with maturity and self-awareness, balance; the advantage of having the time and wherewithal to prepare beforehand for potentially tricky situations. 

So, yes, I'll be bookmarking this particular post and going back to it over the next few months.

Thanks to both of you.

Last week's Blog of The Week: The Year of Living Frugally.

 

 

 

 

Raising the roof

at what I guess I'll have to rename 'NotSoNew Church. '   There's  been great excitement and goings-ons these last few weeks as Phase One of the renewable energy project I posted about a year or so ago gets under way.

Cathedrals, cells and contemplation

Of, amongst other things this week, miles and miles of motorway as we took a few days away to visit our son, who's newly completed his second year at UEA Norwich. It was fun to rediscover the city after many many years away. The last time I was there was as a teenager over 35 years ago, and, to be honest, all I can remember was going to the assembly rooms to watch the film "Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines!"  So, we had a great time pottering around admiring the sights, discovering just some of the dozens and dozens of market stalls and what I call "bitty-bitty shops" (i.e. those wonderful places that sell all kinds of pretty and tempting things that you never thought you needed until you set eyes on them!)   Then local 'characters,' (there was a great jazz combo performing in the street yesterday, plus what son calls the 'puppet man.' Don't ask what he's about, go and find out for yourself!)

I also took the opportunity to wander round the cathedral . Another well-known landmark, which had completely slipped my mind, was the shrine of Julian of Norwich, 14th century anchoress and mystic.  Given that I belong to a Julian contemplative prayer group at home it seemed a good idea to investigate. So, we made our way  up the hill to the Church of St Julian,  

 

As you can see from the links, the site of Lady Julian's cell, long gone, has been restored as a chapel and there's also a resource centre and library nearby. Leaving Mr GP happily installed in the garden, I spent a happy half hour or so looking round both. In the midst of such a busy city, it was wonderful to be able to step out of the hustle and bustle for a while.  Though as so often happens when you stop and slow down, various bits and pieces begin to surface, and, it was then, in the quietness that the full realisation of last weekend's events struck home. Not a bad place for this to happen, really. Happily, after a few moments, I recovered my equlibrium, and, after leaving a prayer request for the  community, wandered off to find Mr GP.

Merry Christmas

Belated Christmas greetings. If you've just stumbled across this blog - welcome; if you're a regular (are there any?) hope your Christmas so far is what you'd hoped it would be and more.

 Over in Greenpatch land, we've experienced a white Christmas for what must be the first time in living memory; even if it only lasted for The Day itself. Actually, that's not quite true; snow around  Christmastime wasn't unknown when we lived in France. We have fond...or otherwise - memories of the time it was so cold that the car locks froze; when the chaplain had to drive out to collect the church organist, who lived at the top of a hill, or when we had to use another church for our carol service because, if I remember rightly - the heating at our home church had broken down.  Happy days.

But this Christmas eve was definitely the first time Mr M and have had to don walking boots in order to get ourselves up the hill to midnight mass. Much against the advice of the two junior Greenpatches, I might add, who seem to be  quite protective of their poor  old parents of late. They were out at the pub,  of course; however, I get the impression they'd rather we were safely home tucked up in bed with a cup of cocoa, rather than  galliavanting around singing carols and suchlike amidst clouds of incense and dripping candles. Whatever happened to Health and Safety?

Never mind, in the event all went well, nobody set themselves alight, I'd no need to reach for my inhaler,and the lady sitting next to Mr GP harmonised so beautifully during the carols that I'll forgive she and her neighbour their flagrant breaching of Communion etiquette, (the rule that dictates that those nearest the aisle let those furthest away go up to receive first , so avoiding the blockage on the way back when I and another poor soul had to hover what seemed like ages at the end of the row whilst the others finished their rather prolonged post eucharistic private devotions.) I have the gift of patience and humility in equal measures, as you'll no doubt have gathered!

That's the serious stuff out of the way. For fun, frivolity and memories of times past,   do pop over to my other blog. 

Carbon- neutral church

Given the name of this blog, I've been a bit remiss in not mentioning an exciting new sustainable development project launched recently. Newchurch [must stop calling it that; I've been there a year] is aiming to become one of the first carbon-neutral congregations in the Church of England.  Hear and read all about it here, here  , here   and of course, here. [you'll need to be a  Church Times subscriber to access this last link]. 

For readers who might wonder Climate Change - Why  the church?  the C of E's National Environmental Campaign Shrinking the Footprint  provides some helpful info, as well as linking to a talk on the topic by the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Ascension Day

According to the 100 Years Ago archive section in OldChurch parish mag:

Ascension Day was well kept. We had a peal of eight bells [my italics] at half-past five in the morning, and all the Celebrations, including the Choral at 7, were well attended.

The mind boggles! Can you imagine what the reaction from parishioners would be nowadays if they were rudely awakened at crack of dawn  by Bob the Bellringer and his band of merry men? Contact the local council Environmental Health department? Phone the Bishop? 

Also, the account doesn't specify exactly what number constituted 'well attended'  way back then, but somehow, I suspect rather more of the faithful would have turned up to greet the happy morn than would now. Ah -  the good old days!

Encounters on the road...

...though not of the As I Walked Out One May Morning variety beloved of folk singers (and singing teachers, as I've discovered).  No, on the way back down the hill from what I supppose I'll have to refer to as Newchurch last night, I bumped into somebody from Oldchurch. We talked, briefly and I discover that they had only just realised that I'd left - from some info in the parish magazine.  As always with these meetings, they asked how I was finding the new place and as always, I found it tricky to give any sort of an answer.    I generally respond with something about it  being pleasant enough, albeit rather too early to form any sort of an informed opinion.  Privately. Well, at times it seems rather like being in a kind of no man’s land.  When I get there it’s fine. Pleasant, unthreatening. A nice, smallish manageable size. (Far less chance of standing around at the coffee hour feeling like a lemon.) Everybody’s perfectly friendly. There’s little or  nothing to push any of my ‘anti-church buttons.’ And I’m only now coming to realise just how much I’ve missed the space and quiet that I felt was so much missing in the old church setting.  I’m not in any way involved, completely ‘unrota –ized.’ Hence  no shreds of churchy politics, in-stuff, gossip to intrude on the peace. I’m not constantly fighting the background feeling of frustration at not seeming to ‘fit in,’  being unable to contribute in the way I sense I might, being a square peg in a round hole, or worse, the tiniest cog imaginable in the huge, monolithic machine that comes over in some places as the Church of England plc. It’s good to just…be… And yet….  Is it ‘home?’ Who knows? I don’t. I do wonder, however,  if I’ll ever again want to be as involved in any church to the extent that I’ve been in the previous couple. (Which if I’m honest, was at times, way too much).     

 

On the other hand, just occasionally, when I’m not wearing out my brain cells pondering the above ‘problem,’ I catch a glimpse, just the occasional glimmering of a something slipping by on the periphery of my vision. A glimmering of …well..freedom.  Maybe for now, ‘home’ is more of a secure ‘base’ -  a framework (similar in some ways to my Franciscan rule of life)  in which I’m equipped to go out and explore. On a good day, I think I can smell the approach of Spring.