Green Patches

In the beginning was the Word

 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was with God in the beginning.  Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.  In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

  There was a man sent from God whose name was John.  He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all might believe.  He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.

  The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world.  He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him.  He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him.  Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God—  children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.

 The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

 - John 1:1-14

 

Mike F of the Mercy Blog got there before me in reflecting on today's gospel. 

Jesus is the living Word, and all words are somehow almost sacramental as a result.

As I've written elsewhere this morning saw me shatteringly tired in church yet as so often in the past, this timeless prologue to John's gospel  shone out for me in the mists of lethargy and confusion.  Not so much  Did the Earth move for You? Shipoffools style, this time,  just the tinest of tremors, but none the less powerful for that.

It speaks of their timelessness and power that these verses are amongst the few I know almost by heart and have been for as long as I can remember.  Familiarity never breeds contempt.    Every time I hear them, another part of the brilliant, sparkling, paradoxically complex yet simple message of grace and hope that Christ brings falls into place for me.  

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it... 

 

We Shall Not Be Overcome

He did not say, 'You shall not be tempest-tossed, you shall not be work-weary, you shall not be discomforted.' But he said, 'You shall not be overcome.'

 - Julian of Norwich

Green Patches - Five Years On

As we've been here in blogosphere for nearly five years now I think  that  new readers - who might have stumbled upon us  in the mistaken impression that Greenpatches is all about midwifery - are owed an explanation.  So, here for your edification, we have...'Greenpatches - Five  Things You Wished You'd Always Known.' 

1. Greenpatches began in February 2007 when I accepted the Methodist Church's No New Shoes Lenten challenge to Live Simply.  I was following a module on environmental issues and vocation with St John's College Nottingham at the time and taking my first tentative steps into simplicity with  the Anglican  Franciscan Third Order ; No New Shoes was a useful way of helping me to remain accountable. Have I succeeded? Who knows...

2. TSSF, Third Order Society of St Francis  part of the Anglican Franciscan family is a dispersed community whose members try to live a life  of simplicity, love, joy and service after the manner of their founding Saints Francis and Claire -  in the midst of their everyday lives.  I was professed into TSSF in Spring 2009 after three years of discernment and formation.  For the moment I'm convening our local small group. (For the uninitiated, each larger area is divided into three or four smaller groups; much of everyday tertiary life and community takes place at local level). I'm not sure what Francis would have made of me; to be honest, I'm more Claire than Francis, but so far they've not thrown me out.

3. For any confused cyclists, Mr GP has in the past taken part in La Marmotte, the LEL, Kelloggs Tour of Ireland and many other competitive events. I blogged a fair bit about him in the early days as well as co-authoring his own blog for a while, which might account for why you ended up here in the first place!

4. The metaphor of the search for God as journey has always spoken to me and has taken me to places I'd neither have  imagined nor had the confidence to go.  Moving churches gave me valuable  space and time for reflection which in turn led me to some  wonderful experiences of formation in spirituality and spiritual direction skills. The journey continues...

5. Look here to learn about some of our experiences of pilgrimage. Since I made that decision to move, Mr GP and I have walked  along sections of  the Way of St James, the Wayfarers Walk and, finally last year a wonderful 200 + mile trek through the North of England and the Western Scottish Highlands to Iona.

So there you have it. Greenpatches in a nutshell...or a rucksack.  Whether you're a confused cyclist, midwife, methodist,  tertiary, oblate or other religious (of whatever denomination), pilgrim or spiritual searcher, I hope you'll enjoy reading along with me for the next five years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I saw that he is to us everything that is good"

St Julian's Church, Norwich

 

He is our clothing. In his love he wraps and holds us. He enfolds us for love, and he will never let us go. 

I saw that he is to us everything that is good.

 - Julian of Norwich

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?" 

 

 

Epiphany: The Three Kings

 

One of my favourites, to make up for the tone of my past post. Sung here by The Academy of St Martin in The Fields, soloist  - Gerald Finley.

One of our wise men is missing!

Horrors! I dropped into our creche earlier  - to move the magi to the alcove window ready for the Epiphany House Blessings tomorrow evening and ...Wise Man Number Three was nowhere to be found. He's gorn, scarpered, gone AWOL, taken the long and winding road back to Persian Lands afar... Oh Where oh Where Can He Be? Was he left abandoned in the nativity shoe box all Christmastime, with only a Provencal lavender bag and a pile of wood shavings for company? Or was he ever there to begin with?

This is worrying. Not the best way to begin the New Year methinks. Thank goodness not all creches are as disorganised as the Greenpatch one: Over on Spiritually Directed, the magi have at last reached the stable.Thanks to the wise words of their landlady, they've escaped the scarey prospect of remaining stuck in a Permanent Advent. Thank you, miniature Magi; I've loved  following your journeyings along the bathroom shelf.  It's helping me process my own sense of Advent discombobulation. If you should come across my missing Wise Man, speak kindly to him and point him back across the Atlantic.

Advent Blog of The Week - Introverted Church/The Modern Mrs Darcy and Mind Journeys

I've a double offering this time round,  to make up for the absence of anything last week: the first A Modern Mrs Darcy features as guest writer on Adam McHugh's Introverted Church with her Christmas snapshot  My second blogger, Franciscan Ted Witham tells us about living with  chronic pain. No extracts here; I'll leave you to read their reflections for yourself.

Why did I choose these particular blogs? Well, I guess you could say they chose me, tying in as they do with this strand of prayer I wrote about at the beginning of Advent  which has come about from my experiences on retreat. More recently, I've blogged about a sense of 'spiritual discombobulation', even rather facetiously spoken about feeling out of sync with the whole thing. Which last isn't strictly true when I pause to look at it. 

What's been going on can be better described in terms of an artist choosing colours. Last Advent for me was a swirl of gold, rich jewel-like shades, strong, set against a deep, dark yet ultimately rich darkness. "The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it." This year the colours are far more thinly spread, there, but often only faintly etched against an altogether more stark, chill shade of blackness.  The darkness is more fragile, brittle. It seems to chime in with a growing awareness of the world's pain: of a never-ending procession of hurting folk that I keep encountering.  So many people who  are ill or who've lost loved ones at this time of year. In amongst my tertiary circle alone for instance, or in church -  we've had several  sudden, unexpected deaths, and a number of folk  who've lost parents in the last couple of days or weeks.

So to our bloggers - waiting, hoping and, aware of the impermanance yet preciousness of this world. Pointing to what it's  ultimately all about; a stark contrast to the ever-increasing razmatazz comercially as the world careers its way towards the final countdown to Christmas.  Thank you for helping  clarify matters for me. 

 

 

 

 

 

Advent - Waiting and hoping

Given my grumblings yesterday, the arrival, not long afterwards, in my feedreader of this Advent sermon by Maggi Dawn was pretty apposite.  God is to be found in the darkness as well as in the light - and :

If we confidently depend upon the knowledge that God's gifts, unlike Santa's, are not delivered to deadlines, then we can live within the seasons knowing that the gifts they represent will come to us eventually - not necessarily on time, and probably when we least expect them.

 - for the rest of the reflection, go here. 

Thanks for the reminder. It speaks very much into where I've been and from time to time  continue to be on my own journey. 

The artwork above comes from my recent retreat at St Beunos, from a grey, grey period halfway through the week when I was struggling with this  sense of 'spiritual  discombobulation.' 

[p.s And for once, the Linkwithin widget's choice of post is entirely appropriate!]

I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday...

Now, I"ve not caved in under the pressure of the pre-Christmas razmatazz.  It's simply that I just had one of those pround 'thunks,' (as one does) as I came out from under a heavy duty card writing session just now with burgeoning RSI and that ambivalent sense of weariness and (mild) guilt: (Why can't I be better organised and write them sufficiently early enough that I've time to give some proper news instead of the falsely cheery "Must write/email in the New Year?!"). 

Much as I love the dulcet tones of Wizzard (Hey, I"m a teenager of the Seventies, after all), the thought of it being Christmas Everyday is, to be frank, my idea of hell. However, in an odd way, the Hairy One has a point, (albeit maybe not exactly the point he'd intended to make). If we were to try and live each day as if it were Christmas, that is, with our focus away from all the tinsel, turkey and stuffing and focussed outwards on true peace and love of neighbour, we'd not be forced into cranking it all up artificially - and cramming it into the space of a month or less.