Weaving connections: a cathedral, a market, an art gallery, and a pub

A big day today with much to reflect upon. But... the problem with big days is they're very tiring and tomorrow is a very early start. So it's quick thoughts only.

What do a cathedral, a market, an art gallery and a pub all have in common? Among many possible answers is: people! In today's experiences it means lots of people. St Paul's was chockers with tourists (from a dizzying array of places); Borough Market was as busy as Salamanca, but it's only Thursday (oh, the food!); the Tate Modern draws a substantial crowd to view some wonderful artwork; and the Albert squished us all in for our "getting to know you dinner". And in each of these places people were consuming.

It's somewhat disturbing to stand awestruck in front of a Monet and then realize that others only pause long enough to have their photo taken in front of it before they're off to repeat the performance in front of the Kandinsky. Similarly, the hordes of foodies descending on the market stalls are there because it's a fashionable thing to do as much as for the food. But more disturbing is the extreme popularity of St Paul's. Why the long queues full of people of many faiths and no faith? What are they there to consume?

In the midst of the bustle and noise, it was reassuring to see some folk sitting quietly, absorbing more than just the magnificence of the architecture. But is God any more present in a cathedral than in the art gallery? Or in someone's kitchen? Is quiet contemplation more likely to lead to an experience of the divine just because it's in St Paul's?

I had an interesting chat with a priest who led one of the brief services held regularly while the crowds come and go. "Is there a regular congregation which gathers here?" The answer was unsurprising: Yes - small in number and made up of folk who travel from a wide variety of locations. Very little, if any, sense of connectedness with the community which surrounds St Paul's. It's extraordinary beautiful, but what is its connection with the mission of God?

What was far more interesting to me was an incidental (or should that be accidental?) observation at the market: Where do people go to eat their delicacies? We ate ours sitting on the kerb. But many others were making use of the surrounds of Southwark Cathedral conveniently located next door. And there it appeared that the local congregation had put out tables and chairs for no other reason than to be of service. Is this connectedness with the mission of God?

Weaving connections: arriving in London

The plane gets in on time: a grey 6 a.m. Immigration, luggage retrieval and customs all negotiated without hitch, and on to the Tube. Out the window is England - strangely familiar after nearly four decades; terrace houses, green parks, communal allotments all speaking of past and present. I find myself grinning in the press of early morning commuters and wonder what Janine and Rod might make of my expression so at odds with those on the way to the daily grind.

Brandishing our oyster cards we change at Green Park, then surface at Vauxhall. A turn to the right and, with bags trundling at our heels, we find ourselves on South Lambeth Road and walk to the Comfort Inn. And all before 8:30! Which is, of course, much too early to check in, so it's leave the bags and out again.

What awaits us? Will it all be new and foreign or, heaven forbid, horribly familiar? Where will we find those things which speak of our commonality with people everywhere? Where will we be out of step and out of touch? Most of all - what will God look like in this strange land?

Where does Jesus take us?

During the week, I was listening to someone having a little rant. That happens from time to time. On this occasion, they were ranting about the English language, or more accurately the way the English language sometimes gets used. And their particular gripe was to do with the word “journey”. “Everyone’s been on a ‘journey’,” they complained. “These reality programmes like MasterChef, the people always say they’ve been on a journey. ‘Oh, it’s been an amazing journey,’ they say. But they haven’t been on a journey! They’ve been stuck for weeks on a television set. They haven’t been anywhere.”

Now, while I have some sympathy for my ranting friend, at the same time I understand what those folk are saying. When we experience something which is life-changing, something profound, something which takes us beyond what we have known to someplace new, we often use the language of “journey”. “Journey” is the metaphor for change.

Now while we’re discussing language issues and journeys, let’s consider this morning’s gospel reading. Here we have two journeys: one which is entirely physical – a real, bodily journey – and another which is altogether more metaphysical – a journey of the heart.

We begin with the real journey: Jesus and the disciples travel by boat from Galilee to the country of the Gerasenes. And as we’re interested in language matters, we should note that the NIV which Rhyllis read from says it thus:

They sailed to the region of the Gerasenes,

which is across the lake from Galilee.

But, if we compare it with the NRSV translation we find:

Then they arrived at the country of the Gerasenes,

which is opposite Galilee.

“Across the lake from Galilee”?

Or “opposite Galilee”?

Taking up mat and cross: a narrative sermon on John 5:1-13

Yesterday I watched him,
as I have watched him for a long time.

Old now,
and dragging himself more slowly than ever across the cobbles.

Each night, past my gate, out of the city,
clutching whatever meagre coins he's managed to beg,
out to spend the night huddled against the city wall.

Outside with all the other undesirables –
the dung collectors and stinking tanners and sailors
and cursed money lenders and all the rest
who would never be missed if they didn't make it through the night.

And back again each morning he comes,
dragging himself back to beg and wait beside that pool.

As if he had a chance anyhow.

The way he moves, crab-like and crippled,
scrabbling to keep up with the snails,
he has never had a chance of making it into that pool
ahead of anyone.

Not that I've ever paid him much attention mind.

One doesn't pay much attention to the likes of him.

Not until yesterday, that is.

We watched this in church a couple of weeks ago...

I was wanting people to think about how we celebrate Easster; how we invite them to share with us in our celebration. And it occurred to me that there was a whole lot in this video which summed up what I was trying to say. What do you think?

[It doesn't fit the column, but if you click on the video it should take you to the YouTube page.]

What's been happening...

Much, much delay... while I've been trying to work out how to make this a little more user friendly.

I don't know how much success I've had, so any feedback is welcome. For a start, rather than posting the whole sermon, there should be just an introduction with a "Read more" option - for the diehards who really do want to read more! The other feature is a "Search this blog" option, so that readers can find out jut how much I'm repeating myself.

The next thing to work on is how to automatically let people know when a new post is up. Any suggestions? (Polite ones only, please.)

Touch and see

A reflection on Luke 24: 36b-48, Sunday 26 April 2009

There are some conversations that just stick in the mind. I may have already shared this story with some of you before, but this just sticks in the mind so please excuse any repetition.

Three or four years ago, I was out shopping and I bumped into an old workmate. Twenty-five years is a long time between drinks and so he invited me to his house for a cup of tea and the opportunity to catch up. Now, I need to say up front that this friend of mine was never a religious person. Well, over that cup of tea, I was drawn into conversation, not with my friend, but with his wife.

His wife is a self-confessed atheist, a card-carrying disbeliever in God, not just an atheist but a born-again atheist. And she set out to convert me!